Under the Stars and Bars (A Dusty Fog Civil War Western Book 4)

by J. T. Edson

  Coming to his feet, Ole Devil glared across the desk at the man who had delivered the message. They were in what had been the library of a fine old colonial-style house on the outskirts of Prescott. Presented by its owner as a combined headquarters for the general and the Texas Light Cavalry, the building and especially Ole Devil’s office had been as carefully maintained as while in its owner’s hands. There was a kind of Spartan comfort about the room that suited Ole Devil’s personality and particularly matched his present mood.

  ‘Have you read this blasted thing, Beau?’ Ole Devil demanded, waving the document angrily.

  Major Beauregard Amesley could hardly have avoided doing so. Before the War, he had been a fencing master with a justly-renowned salle des armes in New Orleans. He had been wounded early in the conflict between North and South and left with a permanent limp that precluded further active service. So he had accepted the post as Ole Devil’s aide-de-camp. In addition to handling the general’s affairs, Amesley also gave fencing instruction to the young officers of the Texas Light Cavalry and they in turn occasionally put his lessons to good use.

  ‘I have, sir,’ Amesley admitted, then stood like a man waiting for an explosion to take place.

  The wait was not prolonged. Cutting loose with a furious blast of a snort, Ole Devil flung the offending paper on to the desk.

  ‘So I’ve got to release this Captain Bertram Gilbertson, of the New Hampstead Volunteers, have him escorted from Murfreesboro to the Snake Ford of the Caddo and there exchange him for Captain Charles de Malvoisin.’

  ‘You know why, sir.’

  ‘I know why!’ Ole Devil confirmed grimly. ‘Young de Malvoisin had to be clever and cross the Ouachita on an unofficial raid, then got himself captured. Now we have to arrange for him to be set free. If his men hadn’t escaped, I’d say to hell with him. God blast all hot-headed young French Creoles. I should never have let him into my command.’

  ‘His father’s not without influence in our Government, sir,’ Amesley pointed out in a placatory manner.

  ‘Influence!’ Ole Devil spat out the word as if it burned his mouth. ‘What the Southern States need, Beau, is more cooperation and coordination and a whole heap less influence. Well, damn it, I suppose we’ll have to waste men and time to effect this infernal exchange.’

  ‘The order stresses the extreme urgency of making it, sir,’ Amesley said.

  ‘That’s probably so that young de Malvoisin can be on hand to attend his sister’s birthday ball,’ the general sniffed. ‘Do you know anything about this Gilbertson, Beau? Are we getting a fair trade?’

  ‘I’m not sure, sir,’ admitted Amesley. ‘His name doesn’t mean anything to me but the New Hampstead Volunteers aren’t the best outfit Buller’s got. Even if he did put up most of the money to organize and equip it.’

  ‘If Gilbertson’s got two legs, two arms, a pair of eyes and ears that work, the Yankees are getting the best of the deal,’ Ole Devil rumbled. ‘Who can I send to handle the exchange?’

  ‘Gilbertson has the right to expect an officer of equal rank as his escort, sir. It’s military courtesy and a convention of war.’

  ‘If that’s supposed to be a comfort to me, Beau, believe me, it isn’t one.’

  ‘No, sir,’ Amesley replied. ‘Company “C” came in last night.’

  ‘I saw Dustine’s report,’ Ole Devil answered. ‘It hardly seems fair to give him the chore, he did so well. Still, it ought to be straightforward enough. A furlough even, although I don’t suppose he’ll think of it that way.’ Grinning frostily, he raised his voice in a bellow. ‘Sergeant major! Give Captain Fog my compliments and tell him I want to see him as soon as convenient; whether it’s convenient or not.’

  ~*~

  Gripping the knife so that its long blade extended below the heel of his hand, the big man rushed at Dusty Fog. Up whipped the man’s right arm, then it propelled the weapon downwards in the direction of the small Texan’s shoulder. Throwing up his hands, Dusty crossed his wrists and interposed them between himself and the knife.

  Descending into the upper section of the X-shape formed by Dusty’s arms, the man’s wrist came to a halt before the knife could reach its collar-bone target. Transferring his left hand rapidly to the man’s right wrist, Dusty laid his thumb along the back of the knife-hand. Advancing a pace towards his attacker, Dusty curled his right arm underneath and behind the raised elbow to fold its fingers over the inside of the trapped hand. All the time, Dusty continued to move his feet. He stopped alongside and facing towards the man’s rear, elevating the ensnared arm. Delivering a swift stamping kick to the back of his assailant’s right knee, Dusty tumbled him to the straw-covered floor of the big barn. Immediately on feeling the other going down, Dusty released the arm to avoid injuring him.

  Excited and interested comments rose from the assembled soldiers. A dozen recently-enlisted recruits, they were undergoing the final stages of their training before joining the Texas Light Cavalry’s Companies. The demonstration of unarmed self-defense had been put on at the request of the big, burly sergeant who sprawled at Dusty’s feet.

  ‘You all right, Ditch?’ Dusty inquired.

  ‘Sure, cap’n,’ the sergeant replied, rising and retrieving the blunt knife.

  ‘That’s what I figure’s the best way to handle a feller using a knife Indian fashion,’ Dusty told the recruits, ‘Don’t try to grab at and catch hold of the arm. If you miss it, you’re dead. Cross your Wrists and block his hand, then do it like I did. Only do it fast— You’ve got something to say, soldier?’

  One of the recruits was a tall, well-made youngster slightly less than Dusty’s age. Handsome, black-haired, he had an air of cocky self-assurance. While the small Texan had been speaking, he muttered to his companions.

  ‘That’s bueno when you’re facing Injuns,’ the recruit answered, showing no embarrassment at being singled out. ‘Only it wouldn’t work so good happen you come up again’ a greaser or somebody’s knows how to handle a knife properly.’

  Looking the speaker over, Dusty silenced the sergeant’s angry rumble. All too well Dusty knew Tracey Prince’s kind. Full of notions about the extent of their own salty toughness, they frequently needed convincing that the small captain held his rank by something more than being Ole Devil Hardin’s nephew. Dusty had always found that a practical demonstration worked far better than words.

  ‘I’m not sure how you mean, soldier,’ Dusty said quietly, in a tone that would have screamed warnings to any member of Company ‘C’, ‘Give him the knife, sergeant. Then he can show us what it’s all about.’

  ‘Yo!’ answered Ditch, offering Prince the knife hilt first and eyeing the recruit in a pitying manner.

  The sergeant’s attitude went unnoticed by Prince. Flickering a grin at his companions, the recruit accepted the training weapon and stepped into the center of the open space. He held the hilt so that the blade protruded ahead of his right thumb and forefinger. Crouching slightly and showing that he had picked up some skill in the use of a fighting knife, he suddenly assailed Dusty with a series of rapidly-executed slashes and jabs. None came close to connecting with the fast-moving captain. Nor, at first, did Dusty attempt to disarm his attacker. Instead he contented himself with evasive tactics, side-stepping, twisting away, ducking beneath or bounding clear of the weapon.

  Hearing his companions’ sniggers combined with his repeated failures to infuriate Prince. Letting out an exasperated snort, he tossed the knife from his right hand and caught it in the left. Executing the exchange with smooth precision, he drove his weapon into a savage thrust directed at his unsuspecting victim’s midriff.

  Unfortunately for Prince, his ‘victim’ was anything but unsuspecting.

  Swinging his left foot to the rear, Dusty pivoted his torso away from the advancing blade. As the knife rushed past him, carried onwards by the impetus of Prince’s lunge, Dusty whipped up his right arm. Striking beneath Prince’s right forearm, Dusty forced it into the air. Then the
small Texan’s left hand flashed across to grip Prince’s raised wrist. Bending his right elbow, Dusty removed his blocking arm and carried it in front of his chest. From there, he lashed the heel of his clenched fist into the soldier’s solar plexus.

  Breath exploded from Prince’s lungs, for the blow had not been a light one. The knife clattered to the floor as he clutched at the stricken area and doubled over. Releasing the trapped wrist, Dusty caught the discomforted Prince by the scruff of the neck and gave a sharp heave. Flung bodily across the barn, the recruit landed on his hands and knees in an empty stall.

  ‘Now I’d say that’s a tolerable fair way of handling a feller who uses his knife like a greaser,’ Sergeant Ditch announced and the other recruits laughed.

  At that moment, the regimental sergeant major arrived and delivered Ole Devil’s message verbatim.

  ‘I reckon it’s convenient now,’ Dusty grinned, collecting his gunbelt from the wall of a stall and buckling it on. ‘How many of these fellers’re for me, Sergeant Ditch?’

  ‘Only three, cap’n,’ Ditch answered apologetically. ‘You don’t get your old hands killed off fast enough to need more.’

  ‘I’ll try to change that,’ Dusty promised. ‘If you think they’re ready, have them move their gear to my Company’s lines when they get through here.’

  ‘Yo!’ the sergeant replied. ‘Trouble being, I’m not sure one of ’em’s ready yet a-whiles.’

  Following the non-com’s sardonic glance to where Prince was climbing slowly to his feet, Dusty nodded agreement. However, one did not waste time gossiping when General Ole Devil Hardin said come as soon as convenient. Collecting his hat, Dusty left the barn with the sergeant major. Prince lurched from the stall and scowled at his companions, noticing the mocking grins on their faces.

  ‘I likes a feller’s quits when he’s ahead,’ Prince declared. ‘If—’

  ‘If Cap’n Fog’d been so minded,’ Ditch put in coldly, his patience wearing dangerously thin, ‘he’d’ve bust your arm, or your fool neck. You’ve maybe seen Tommy Okasi around headquarters?’

  ‘That Chinee runt’s works for Ole Devil?’ Prince replied. ‘Sure, I’ve seen him.’

  Going by the recruit’s tone, he did not regard the sight as being worthy of interest or comment.

  ‘Tommy allows he ain’t no Chinee, but comes from some place name of Japan—wherever that be,’ Ditch elaborated. ‘No matter where he hails from, he knows some jim-dandy fighting tricks and he’s taught Cap’n Dusty all of ’em.’

  Although the claim tended slightly towards overstatement, none of the recruits felt like challenging it. They had just seen enough to warn them that Captain Dusty Fog possessed some out-of-the-ordinary knowledge and ability when it came to bare-handed fighting.

  However, Ole Devil Hardin’s Oriental personal servant had not taught Dusty all his extensive repertoire of ‘jim-dandy fighting tricks’. He had, nevertheless passed on sufficient knowledge of ju-jitsu and karate—all but unknown at that period in the Western Hemisphere—for Dusty to possess a decided advantage when tangling with larger, heavier men.

  ‘Could be they ain’t so all-fired “jim-dandy” second time you go again’ ’em,’ Prince muttered, wanting to avoid sounding impressed.

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ Ditch growled. ‘Nobody I’ve met’s been hawg-stupid enough to take a second whirl. Happen you feel so inclined, you’ll maybe get your chance. You, Berns ’n’ Svenson can tote your gear across the Company ‘C’s’ lines as soon as you’re dismissed.’

  ‘Company ‘C’,’ repeated Prince, delighted to learn that he would soon be on active duty. Then the full significance of the words struck him. ‘Hey! That’s—’

  ‘Yeah,’ Sergeant Ditch finished for him with a malicious grin, ‘That’s Cap’n Fog’s Company.’

  ~*~

  ‘Pick up Gilbertson at Murfreesboro, Dustine,’ Ole Devil ordered, showing no sign that his favorite nephew stood at ease before his desk. ‘You’ll not get from the camp to the Snake Ford in one day’s ride with him along, so you’ll have to spend the night in the hotel at Amity.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Dusty replied.

  ‘It’ll be easy enough,’ Ole Devil continued. ‘And, if I remember correctly, Frank Jex at Murfreesboro sets a good table. We must go up there—on a tour of inspection—one day soon, Beau.’

  ‘Yo!’ Amesley answered, then looked at the small Texan. ‘Remember, Dusty, if Gilbertson can escape before you reach the Snake Ford, the exchange can’t be put into effect.’

  ‘I understand, sir,’ Dusty replied.

  ‘What escort will you be taking?’ Ole Devil inquired.

  ‘A sergeant, four men. That ought to do it, sir. I’ll not need a large party.’

  ‘That’ll be enough, I shouldn’t think Gilbertson will bother about trying to escape. How about the rest of your wild men while you’re away?’

  ‘I’ll leave Cous—Mr. Blaze enough work to keep them occupied, sir.’

  ‘See you do,’ Ole Devil warned. ‘I don’t want them rampaging around Prescott. It’d be enough to turn the local citizens into Yankees.’

  Already, with pride in their solid achievements behind them, Company ‘C’ regarded themselves as the elite of the best damned fighting cavalry regiment in the whole Confederate States’ Army. As was always the case, they insisted that their company commander was the sole authority to which they should be accountable and considered that few other officers had the right to give them orders.

  While Ole Devil recognized the military value of such a spirit, especially in the kind of war circumstances compelled him to fight, he wished to avoid friction within his command or among the local citizens. So he wanted to be sure that Company ‘C’s’ more reckless members were held in check. Dusty could do it, but Ole Devil wondered if Red Blaze possessed the type of personality to do so. Knowing his cousin, Dusty felt no such doubts as long as he took certain precautions before leaving.

  ‘I’ll have a few words with them before I go, sir,’ Dusty promised. ‘Will that be all, sir?’

  ‘It will,’ Ole Devil confirmed. ‘Get him there and effect the exchange, Dustine. Bring de Malvoisin back here with you. You’re dismissed.’

  Saluting, Dusty made an about-face and marched from the office. Leaving the building, he made his way in the direction of his Company’s lines. Strolling along, he gave thought to the composition of the escort. There could be only one choice for his second-in-command. Red would need help to control the Company’s high spirits. It could best be supplied by Billy Jack with the able backing of Sergeants Bixby and ‘Stormy’. Weather. While Kiowa Cotton also held rank as sergeant, his duties were riding scout and he had small interest in disciplinary or administrative matters. Conditions might arise during the delivery of the Yankee prisoner where Kiowa’s specialized talents would be invaluable. For the rest, Dusty would select the men most likely to provoke the kind of incident that Ole Devil wished to avoid.

  Hearing his name called, Dusty came out of his reverie and saw Ditch approaching. The sergeant saluted and said, ‘I’ve sent your recruits over, Cap’n Dusty. Berns, Svenson— and Prince.’

  ‘I know Phil Berns and Ollie Svenson from back home,’ Dusty replied. ‘What’s this Prince yahoo like, Ditch?’

  ‘Good with a gun. Better’n fair with a hoss.’

  ‘Now get to the things he’s not so “good” or “better than fair” at.’

  ‘He’s a mite uppy, like you saw. Which he’ll maybe need his toes taking up a couple of times afore he shapes up. That’s why I assigned him to your Company.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Dusty said dryly, but he was pleased with the implied compliment.

  A long-serving career-soldier, Ditch knew men and could figure out how best to handle them. So he had decided that Dusty was the officer best suited to tame Prince and turn the recruit into a useful soldier.

  If a horse on a roundup insisted on repeatedly breaking out of the wranglers’ rope-corral, xxi the boss would tell his
best roper to ‘take its toes up’ on the next departure. By tossing his loop around the recalcitrant horse’s fore-feet, the roper would slam it to the ground with sufficient force to knock better sense into it, or break its neck. If the latter happened, the rancher would regard it as small enough price for preventing the bad habit spreading among the rest of the remuda.

  Such drastic treatment would not be applied to Prince, but he might require a sharp, painful lesson before he accepted discipline.

  Continuing his interrupted journey, Dusty approached his company’s lines of cone-shaped Sibley tents. He discovered Billy Jack making the three recruits welcome before assigning them to their quarters. Standing with his back to Dusty, the gangling sergeant major was obviously unaware of his commanding officer’s arrival.

  ‘Cap’n Dusty don’t make favorites,’ Billy Jack was saying. ‘He’s just naturally mean to everybody. So you-all keep one thing in mind. In this outfit, there’s two ways of going on. How the captain wants it and the wrong way. Do your work and life’ll go so easy you’ll reckon you’d been born rich. Make fuss and you’ll wish you’d never been born at all.’

  ‘I couldn’t have put it better, sergeant major,’ Dusty declared.

  Calling the recruits to attention, Billy Jack performed a much smarter than usual about-face and saluted. Dusty returned the compliment, then turned his gray eyes to the trio. Glancing briefly at Berns and Svenson, he let his gaze stay longer on Prince’s face. Then he dropped his eyes to the gunbelt with its holsters tied low on the recruit’s thighs. Prince had the kind of attitude best calculated to raise Red Blaze’s ire. Until the youngster had learned to accept discipline, he would be better away from Dusty’s fiery-tempered cousin. However, Dusty wanted to avoid making the matter too obvious.

  ‘Get your gear settled in,’ the small Texan ordered. ‘Inspect their horses, sergeant major. I’ll be taking Svenson and Prince with me on patrol in the morning.’

  ‘Yo!’ Billy Jack replied, looking more apprehensive than interested. ‘Where’re we headed this time?’