by J. T. Edson
‘Why not?’ Marlene barked, climbing down.
‘We just ain’t got no way of holding the coach up while we changes the wheels, ma’am,’ the driver explained. ‘And we can’t change ’em unless it is held up.’
‘Do you mean to say that we’re going to be stuck here, with that?’ Marlene snapped gesturing towards the roof of the coach.
‘Where’s Pierre’s valet?’ Mark asked, having followed the direction indicated by the woman and realizing that a member of their party was missing.
‘Damned if I didn’t forget him,’ the driver ejaculated. ‘He done gotten his-self throwed off when we hit that rock.’
Followed by Marlene, the two men hurried to the other side of the vehicle. They found the valet, looking disheveled and dazed, trying to rise.
‘Are you all right, Joe?’ the driver asked, hurrying forward to help the other Negro stand up.
‘I reckons I is,’ the valet decided, after testing the movements of his arms and legs. ‘It’s like the Good Book says, the Lord takes care of his own.’
‘Likely,’ Mark conceded, guessing that the man’s escape from injury had come through him being taken by surprise. So, instead of trying to break his fall, he had landed relaxed rather than tense. ‘Now let’s see what we can do about getting the coach fit to move.’
‘It’d be easy enough, happen we could get us a long, stout pole, sir,’ the driver said miserably. ‘Only there ain’t one around. Them bushes hereabouts ain’t big enough nor strong enough for us to use ’em.’
‘The nearest woodland’s back at Joel’s Bluff, unless Pilar’s closer,’ Mark drawled pensively, thinking about the change in the nature of the terrain. Since they had left the way station, they had been traversing open and rolling range country. For a moment he studied the coach, then tested the consistency of the gravel underfoot with his boot’s toe. ‘Will that wheel hold up long enough for you to get it on to harder ground, do you reckon?’
‘Just about, maybe sir,’ the driver replied dubiously as he measured the distance to what would be the bank of the stream. ‘It sure won’t go much further.’
‘That’ll be far enough,’ Mark assured him. ‘Take it over and unload it.’
‘What are you going to do, Mark?’ Marlene wanted to know.
‘See if we can’t change the wheel,’ the blond giant answered. ‘It’s either that, or I’ll have to ride on to Pilar and fetch help.’
‘Send Jackson,’ Marlene suggested, nodding in the driver’s direction. ‘I’m not staying here alone.’
‘It’d take him too long on one of the team horses,’ Mark pointed out. ‘And I don’t reckon he could handle my blood-bay.’
‘I sure enough wouldn’t want to try, sir,’ the driver declared, darting a glance at the big horse which—with its saddle removed and carried on top of the coach—was fastened to the boot as it had been the day before.
‘Then we’ll have to do what we can here,’ Mark stated. ‘Take her over like I said, friend.’
‘I’d best have the axle-nut off first, sir,’ the driver suggested. ‘That way, the wheel’ll come off when it starts to collapse. If it can’t, it’ll maybe bend the end of the axle and we’ll be in worse trouble.’
‘Do what you want,’ Mark authorized, accepting that the man’s knowledge exceeded his own in such matters.
‘What do you have in mind, Mark?’ Marlene inquired as the driver went to the front of the coach, climbed on the wheel and produced a spanner from the boot under the seat.
‘Like I said,’ the big blond answered. ‘See if we can change the wheel.’
Without further explanation, Mark watched the driver remove and place the axle’s nut in his pocket. Then, climbing aboard his seat, he liberated the reins and released the brake. At the driver’s request, Mark went to the lead horses’ heads and helped to make the team back up a short distance. Showing considerable skill, the man started them moving forward. Watching until he was satisfied that the rear wheel had passed the rock, he guided them steadily towards the edge of the stream. Although the wheel wobbled and wavered, it did not leave the axle. Nor, due to its sturdy construction and dished shape, viii did it collapse. However, the men knew that it would never have lasted the remainder of the journey.
Once the vehicle was on solid ground where its wheels did not sink in as they had while crossing the gravel bed of the dried-out stream, Mark set the men to work. While the driver started to unhitch his team, the valet began unloading the boot. Releasing the blood-bay, Mark led it to one side. He removed its bit and reins, leaving on the bridle but allowing the lead rope to dangle and ground hitch the animal. Climbing on to the coach, he passed down his saddle and the wheels to the waiting men. Next he lowered de Froissart’s body into their reluctant hands. That was a task which none of them relished, but it had to be done.
What Mark did next came as a surprise to the other members of the party. Spreading his horse’s blanket beneath the wagon, he knelt on it in such a manner that his shoulders were under the rear axle.
‘Get ready to take the wheel off, Joe,’ the big blond instructed, looking up at the startled faces of his companions. ‘And you be set to put the other on in its place, Jackson.’
‘You don’t mean you’re going to try—?’ Marlene began.
‘It’s that or stay here until somebody comes along to help out,’ Mark answered, then slowly and deliberately he began to press upwards.
At first, to the onlookers at any rate, nothing appeared to be happening. Under the coach, Mark could feel the great weight resting upon his shoulders. It seemed to be as completely immovable as if the rims of the wheels were fastened to the ground. Gritting his teeth, he summoned up every ounce of power in his two hundred and sixteen pound body and continued to strain with all his might. Perspiration bathed his face, which was set in lines of grim determination and effort. The sleeves of his shirt stretched tight against the expansion of his enormous biceps.
‘He can’t—’ the valet commenced.
‘Look!’ commanded the driver, grasping the spokes of the five foot one inch reserve rear wheel ix tightly as if he hoped that by doing so he would help the blond giant to succeed.
‘Lordy lord!’ croaked the valet. ‘It’s moving!’
Struck silent for probably the first time in her life, Marlene stared in awe and was hardly able to believe the evidence of her eyes. Very, very slowly, but undoubtedly, the coach’s rear-end was beginning to move upwards. It rose half an inch, then an inch and so onwards until the damaged wheel’s buckled rim was clear of the ground. With a space of three inches between them, the movement halted.
‘Get if off, Joe! ’ yelled the driver and, when the other man did not respond immediately, supplemented the command with, ‘Quick!’
Galvanized into motion by his companion’s final shouted word, the valet gripped the rim of the damaged wheel and pulled. It held for a moment, then slid slowly and reluctantly away from the axle. Even as he staggered under the weight, Marlene shoved him aside and caused him to drop it. Muttering something under his breath that it was fortunate for him Marlene did not hear, the driver stepped around them with the reserve wheel held upright. Working as fast as he dared, he manipulated the hub against the end of the axle. Finding the hole in the center of the former, he carefully eased it on to the latter and thrust the wheel into place.
At that moment, Widge and Dog-Ear appeared on the rim of the slope down which the coach had come.
Like the party they were pursuing, the two outlaws had ridden through most of the night. They had passed the way station at Joel’s Bluff as dawn was creeping into the eastern sky. Failing to see the coach, they had concluded that their proposed victims must have made an early start. Instead of paying a visit to learn how far ahead the other party might be, they had pushed on, optimistically expecting to catch up at any moment. With that in mind, they had ridden at the best speed their horses could manage. As he had taken Dolman’s chestnut gelding in addition to the re
volver and Henry rifle, Widge could have travelled faster had he been alone. However, he had declined to do so and, although riding the two animals in relay, had held his pace down to that which Dog-Ear’s mount was capable of producing.
The two men’s optimistic feelings had started to diminish as mile had followed mile without them finding the coach. Taken with the open nature of the terrain through which they were passing, the continued failure was beginning to give even Widge second thoughts regarding the wisdom of his scheme. Each was hoping that the other would suggest quitting as they topped the rim and looked down at the dried-up bed of the stream.
‘It’s them! ’ Dog-Ear yelled, staring and pointing.
Which proved to be an inadvisable, stupid even, piece of behavior.
Being just as capable of seeing what lay before them, Widge had not needed to have his attention drawn to it. Certainly not in such a fashion. The words had carried over the hundred or so yards which was separating them from their victims. Up to that moment, the women, the two Negroes and the big cowhand who was crouching under the coach had been unaware of their danger. Dog-Ear’s shout had alerted them to it.
‘Mark!’ Marlene screamed. ‘It’s the outlaws!
‘Rush the bastards!’ Widge snarled, dropping his right hand to the butt of Dolman’s Navy Colt.
Remembering what had happened on the previous occasion when his leader had given such a command, Dog-Ear made no attempt to obey. Instead, although Widge kicked the gelding to make it move faster, he stopped his mount and reached for the Enfield rifle in his saddle boot.
Without realizing that he was advancing alone, Widge tried to complete his draw. Badly designed and made from poor quality leather to carry a larger gun, the stiff and awkward holster held the revolver tightly. Snarling curses, he snatched with such vigor that he ripped it free. The attempt was only partially successful. While the Colt left the holster, he had put so much force into the effort that his fingers lost their hold on the smooth rosewood handle and it flew from his grasp.
In one way, the loss of the revolver ought to have proved a blessing in disguise. Widge was too far away for it to have been any use. Deprived of it, he transferred the reins from his left hand to between his teeth and extracted the Henry rifle from its boot. Under the circumstances, it was a far more suitable weapon than a handgun.
Beneath the coach, Mark had become aware of the danger just before Marlene had turned, seen the men and shouted her warning. Instantly he had started to study the situation and sought for a way out of it. Although he did not know if the wheel was in position, he did not dare to wait until he had asked. Bending his arms and allowing his body to sag, he waited until he felt the tremendous weight removed from him. The moment that the vehicle’s downwards movement ended, he dived forward.
Unlike Widge, the blond giant realized that the range was too great for a revolver to serve his purpose. However, he too had an alternative and more suitable weapon close at hand.
When the valet had unloaded the coach, he had removed Mark’s Winchester from the hooks on the wall above the rear seat and had rested it against the big blond’s saddle near items which he had removed from the back boot.
Flinging himself forward, Mark reached ahead. Catching hold of the rifle in both hands, he landed on his stomach with the butt already cradled at his shoulder and rested his elbows on the ground. He decided that Widge was the greater danger for three reasons. Firstly, during the hold up, the lanky man had behaved like the leader of the gang. Secondly, Dog-Ear had been given the task of holding the other men’s horses; which implied that he was regarded as the most useless of them. Lastly and most important, Widge was drawing a Henry repeater and that would be a far more dangerous weapon than his companion’s single-shot muzzle-loader.
Sighting as best he could, with his chest still heaving from the exertion of lifting and holding the coach, the blond giant squeezed the Winchester’s trigger. Instead of hitting Widge, the bullet tore into the chest of Dolman’s gelding. Screaming in pain, the animal started to collapse.
To give Widge his due, he responded with considerable speed. Kicking his boots free from the stirrup irons, he quit the stricken gelding’s back and contrived to land on his feet.
Ignoring his own horse, which had torn its reins free from the other animal’s saddle horn and wheeled away in panic, he reeled onwards for a few steps. Recovering his equilibrium, he whipped the rifle back to his shoulder and continued to charge down the slope.
While reloading Mark glanced at Dog-Ear to find that he was having trouble in handling the long rifle due to the movements of his horse. So that still left Widge as the greater threat. Striking the ground close by Mark, a bullet gave emphasis to that point. Once again the Winchester was lined and spat. Hit in the head, the lanky outlaw rebounded as if he had run into an invisible wall.
Watching his leader fall, Dog-Ear put aside any notion of trying to finish the robbery. He let the rifle slip from his fingers, so that he could use them for holding the reins which he too had grasped in his teeth. With them in his hands, he applied his spurs and guided the horse in a half circle to go back up the slope.
Mark was turning his Winchester towards Dog-Ear. Instead, on seeing that the man was running away, he laid it down and rose.
‘Where are you going?’ Marlene yelled as the blond giant ran to his horse.
‘They’ve tried to kill you twice,’ Mark replied, grabbing hold of the lead rope and vaulting on to the stallion’s bare back. ‘I aim to find out who’s told them to.’
While partly true, the youngster had something else in mind. He had recognized Dolman’s horse and could guess how it had come into the outlaws’ possession. As Widge would be unable to supply the information, he wanted to capture the other man. He hoped that, in addition to learning who had hired them, he would get hold of one of the mysterious statements.
Ten – Take Them At His Price
‘Here the greaser bastards come, Mr. Viridian!’ Stack Leathers announced, standing just inside the main entrance to the Pilar Hide & Tallow Company’s factory building and pointing to where a bunch of riders were approaching in a cautious manner along the trail from the south. ‘They’re acting just like when I first saw ’em. All ready and set to meet trouble.’
‘We’ll give it to them, if that’s what they want!’ the burly hide and tallow man promised and glanced at the tall, blond exceptionally handsome young Texan who had arrived with his wife shortly after noon.
While Viridian did not comment on the matter, he was wondering whether Mark Counter would be the deadly and efficient gunfighter that Marlene had claimed. If so, he could prove most useful in helping to deal with Ribagorza’s Mexicans. However, once that was done, he would require very careful watching. Knowing his wife, Viridian had accurate suspicions of why she had brought the big youngster with her from Fort Worth. It might, the hide and tallow man decided, be advisable to ensure that he did not survive the fighting.
A light rider, for all his size and weight, astride a powerful horse that was in the peak of physical condition, Mark had experienced little difficulty in capturing the fleeing outlaw. On becoming aware that he was being pursued, Dog-Ear had done his best to escape and had managed to stay ahead—although at an ever-decreasing distance—for almost a mile. Then his leg-weary and exhausted horse had given out. Seeing the big, menacing figure bearing down upon him, he had drawn and thrown aside his revolver, yelling that he wished to surrender.
Making the capture had provided Mark with little more than negative information. On being questioned, Dog-Ear had declared that he did not know from whom Widge had learned of the payroll which Marlene Viridian and Pierre de Froissart were supposed to have been carrying. Nor had finding out that the gang had been misinformed caused him to change his story. Studying him, Mark had concluded that he was too afraid to lie. So the big blond had accepted his assurance that only Widge had seen and talked to the informant.
Dog-Ear had insisted, none too convincing
ly, that he had not known they would come across the coach again and how he had been unprepared for Widge’s decision to attack it. Nor could he offer any satisfactory explanation for them having been in the vicinity. Having had no intention of sharing the money which he was expecting to receive from ‘Laxterby’, Widge had not mentioned the rendezvous on Frog Creek. So Dog-Ear had known nothing about it. In the hope of exculpating himself, he had claimed that he had believed their sole reason for coming south had been to confuse any lawmen who should be hunting for them.
On the matter of Dolman’s murder, Dog-Ear had been explicit if even less convincing. According to him, he had been absent and attending to the demands of nature at the time that Widge had fired the fatal shot. When emptied, his pockets had yielded the captain’s wallet with the badge removed but holding a fair sum of money. He had tried to convince Mark that Widge had made him accept it so he would be implicated in the killing, while retaining the more valuable horse, saddle and firearms for himself. Pretending to believe what he was being told, Mark had turned to another matter. Further questioning had established that only one document had been found in Dolman’s possession and it was destroyed by Widge, who had claimed that it was of no value.
After having ascertained the approximate whereabouts of Dolman’s corpse—so that he could arrange for it to be found and given a formal burial—and taken charge of the captain’s property so he could return it to the State Police detachment at Fort Worth for disposal, Mark had permitted the thoroughly frightened outlaw to ride off. He had been satisfied that Dog-Ear had not killed anybody, but had known taking him into Pilar would in all probability have resulted in him being hanged. Regarding him as more stupid and easily led astray than vicious, evil or dangerous, the big blond could not bring himself to cause Dog-Ear’s death in such a manner.
There had been another point in favor of Mark letting the outlaw go free. On being delivered to Pilar, Dog-Ear was almost certain to have mentioned the contents of Dolman’s wallet. Although the blond giant intended to return all of the captain’s belongings, he had realized that he could not send the money until after he had completed his assignment. To have done so would have been contrary to the character he was playing and might, probably would, have aroused Marlene’s suspicions.
