by J. T. Edson
Moore left the stall, to which he had returned after dragging Colin across the barn, and prepared to take cards. With a yell that was three-parts fear, he snatched up a pitchfork that leaned against the side of the stall. Gripping its handle as if using a rifle and bayonet, he moved forward ready to help Sam. When the lanky man failed to deal with Dusty, Moore charged in. As he came into range, he drew back the fork and launched a savage thrust.
From knocking Sam aside, Dusty spun around to meet the fresh danger. Already the sharp twin tines were driving towards his body. Swiftly Dusty twisted himself aside, bringing his right hand down to grasp the pitchfork just below its head. With a savage jerk, he forced the fork outwards and downwards. A wail of shock broke from Moore. Before he could prevent it or halt his attack, the tines spiked into the ground behind his intended victim. Interlacing his fingers, Dusty spun around and crashed them into Moore’s back as the man was forced to bend forward. Again Moore howled. The tines snapped under his weight. However the handle of the fork, which he still gripped, acted as a fulcrum. Carried on by his own impetus and the force of Dusty’s blow, Moore turned a somersault, passed through the door and lit down on his back in the street.
Through the mists of pain caused by the blow to his lip, Sam saw Dusty’s back turn to him and took the chance it offered. Thrusting himself forward, he locked his arms around Dusty’s torso from behind. Feeling the surging power of the small Texan’s powerful biceps, Sam decided that he needed help.
‘Eric!’ Sam yelled, swinging Dusty’s feet from the floor. ‘Help me, damn you. Help me!’
Given that much of an advantage, Eric was only too willing to comply. Sucking in deep gasps of air to re-fill his tormented lungs, he hurled himself towards his brother and the small Texan. Seeing Dusty Fog held in such a vulnerable manner, Eric figured to repay the blow interest.
The trouble was that Dusty did not regard himself as being helpless. Although his arms were pinioned to his sides, the same did not apply to his legs. If anything, being suspended in such a way helped rather than hindered him. Up lashed his right leg, sending the toe of its boot under Eric’s jaw. The kick landed hard, flinging him in a spinning line across the barn.
Surging around, Sam flung Dusty from him. Despite landing on his feet, Dusty could not prevent himself from colliding solidly with the wall. Following him up, Sam turned him and crashed a punch to the side of his head. A second blow drove into the hard muscles of Dusty’s belly, bringing a grunt of pain. Then Sam’s hands clamped hold of his neck. Drawing Dusty forward, Sam slammed him savagely against the wall and the fingers crushed at his throat, threatening to strangle him.
On the street, Moore dragged himself erect. He was so engrossed in his aching body and thoughts of revenge that he was oblivious of his surroundings. Turning, he started to jerk out his revolver as a preliminary to re-entering the barn. As he moved forward, a hand clamped hold of his right shoulder and swung him outwards. To his surprise, he found himself faced with Ma Schell. Releasing the shoulder, she uncorked a roundhouse swing. Her whole body turned with the punch, adding its weight to the clenched right fist. Being a mustanger’s wife was not a sedentary occupation and Ma’s buxom frame carried hard muscles. More than that, she knew how to throw a punch. Her knuckles connected solidly on Moore’s jaw, snapping his head over and pitching him sideways. From the way he landed, he would not be rising for some time.
Shaking her right hand and making a wry face, Ma summed up the situation. She knew who Moore worked for, so guessed why Colin had been lured into the barn. From various sounds which reached her ears and the lack of gunshots, she concluded that Dusty was tangling barehanded with more of Branch’s men. Most likely he would need help, despite those fancy tricks learned from Tommy Okasi. Which raised the point of how she might best give him assistance.
Ma knew her limitations. Sure she packed a useful punch and had just stretched Slinky Moore on the ground. That did not mean she could achieve similar success against the Trimbles or Sprig Branch. Besides, there was a much better way to help the small Texan.
Turning to look in the direction of the Black Bear, she saw no sign of Mark Counter’s party. Most likely they had not noticed Dusty cross to the barn, so turned along an alley with the intention of returning to Ma’s house. Giving a low snort, Ma expanded her lungs and cut loose with a yell that rang along the street.
‘Mark! Mark Counter! Dusty’s needing help!’
A point with which Dusty was in agreement. Only he did not figure on waiting until somebody came to give it to him. Sam’s fingers closed on his throat and the man drew him forward for another crash into the wall. Something had to be done, and fast.
Although unable to prevent it, Dusty managed to brace himself and reduce the impact of his collision with the wall. Then he struck back. To obtain a better grip, Sam had raised and spread his arms from his sides. So he presented Dusty with a way of getting free. Once again the small Texan attacked as Tommy Okasi had taught him. With his fingers extended and thumbs bent over the up-turned palms, he chopped the heels of his hands suddenly and savagely into the sides of Sam’s short ribs. The result of the attack was devastating to its recipient. Sam’s eyes bugged out, his mouth trailed open and worked in soundless agony. Opening involuntarily, his hands left Dusty’s throat and fell limply to his sides.
The rear door of the barn flew open and Sprig Branch came in. Fury twisted his face at what he saw, He had never hoped to be so lucky as to grab Colin in such an easy manner. He had seen Ma’s party enter the general store and sent Boone to watch for an opportunity to lure the Scot away, then stationed his men in the empty barn—its owner and staff being at the Black Bear Saloon—in case a chance arose. It came, but Dusty Fog’s intervention might ruin everything. Like Sam, Branch realized they would not have another opportunity to remove Colin. So the mustanger did not mean to let it slip by.
Looking across the barn, Branch saw Eric lurch to his brother’s assistance and advanced meaning to help him. A groan brought Branch’s eyes to Colin as the Scot tried to force himself on to his hands and knees. All the mustanger’s fury broke in full force at the sight. Maybe he would lose the contract, but he aimed to make sure that Ma Schell did not get it through Colin’s help. Changing his direction, he went towards Colin.
Freed from Sam’s grasp by the tegatana, handsword, attack, Dusty went on to show that he could fight in Occidental fashion. His right fist ripped into Sam’s belly, jackknifing the other over. Coming up, Dusty’s knee met the descending face with a sickening thud. Lifted erect, blood spraying from his nose, Sam reeled away from Dusty and fell dazed to the floor.
Arriving just as his brother took the knee in the face, Eric caught hold of Dusty by the front of his shirt and vest. Having no desire to tangle at close quarters with the deadly fighting big Texan, Eric exerted all his strength to heave and hurl Dusty across the barn. He hoped to be able to draw and use a weapon before Dusty could come to a stop, then return to the attack.
Going forward, Dusty saw Branch looming beyond the helpless Colin and drawing back a foot to deliver a kick. So Dusty did not try to stop himself. Instead he used Eric’s heave to build up momentum that would help to save the Scot. Springing from the floor, Dusty cleared Colin’s body. In midair, rushing towards Branch, he bent and drew up his legs. Then he thrust them forward, crashing his feet into the mustanger’s chest. Coming as Branch stood balanced on one leg, the leaping high kick landed with sufficient force to lift him off the ground and hurl him backwards so that he collided hard against the end of the nearest stall’s wall.
Behind Dusty, Eric jerked the knife from his belt. Again caution prevented him from going too close. Instead he whipped up his arm, ready to throw the weapon at the small Texan’s back. Realizing the lanky man’s intention as she entered the barn, Ma saw also the means of countering it. Bending, she scooped up the handle of the pitchfork discarded by Moore. Even as Eric’s arm rose into the air, Ma gripped and swung the handle in both hands. Hissing rou
nd in a whistling arc, the handle descended on to Eric’s skull and splintered. Although the knife left his hand, it flew wild and spiked into a bale of hay. Buckling at the knees, Eric collapsed in a limp heap.
Bouncing forward uncontrolled, Branch ran into more trouble. Dusty landed from the kick and reacted almost instinctively as he saw the mustanger coming his way. Catching the dazed man’s right arm at the wrist and shoulder, he pivoted into a kata-seoi shoulder throw, Bowing his legs, Dusty used Branch’s weight and impetus to catapult the man over his shoulder. Passing above Colin, Branch crashed awkwardly to the floor.
Feet thudded on the street and Mark Counter burst into the barn with his right-hand Colt held ready for use. Skidding to a halt, the blond giant looked around. Then he turned to Ma, dropping the gun back into its holster.
‘I thought you yelled that Dusty was in trouble,’ Mark said.
‘You’re too late,’ Ma replied. ‘We settled everything for ourselves.’
‘You all right, amigo?’ Mark inquired of Dusty, while Ma went across to Colin.
Sucking in a deep breath, Dusty touched the side of his jaw. Then he nodded and replied, ‘Sure.’
Among the people attracted by the disturbance, Colonel Monaltrie made his way to the barn. Coming through the door, he stared about him.
‘What the—’ he began.
‘Branch and his bunch tricked Colin into coming here and jumped him,’ Ma explained, helping the young Scot to turn into a sitting position.
Before any more could be said, the sheriff arrived. Finding a U.S. Army colonel present, and one who probably had more influence even than the local post commanding officer, Lansing prepared to show greater zeal than he normally employed in the execution of his duty. Glaring around, he took in the sight of Ma kneeling alongside Colin and Branch’s men scattered about the barn. Putting a brisk, efficient note into his voice. Lansing demanded to be told what had happened. So Dusty repeated the information Ma had given to Monaltrie.
‘Why’d Sprig Branch do that?’ Lansing asked. ‘It ain’t likely he’s working for the Flores boys.’
‘Why should Branch be working for the Flores gang?’ Monaltrie inquired, turning back towards the sheriff instead of joining Ma and Colin.
‘I ain’t saying he is,’ Lansing protested. ‘Only there don’t seem to be no other reason for him jumping that young feller.’
‘So it was Colin there who killed Adàn Flores in the holdup,’ the colonel breathed. ‘And shot the other one in the street. I thought somebody was jobbing me when I heard it had been done by a Scot wearing a kilt’
‘It’s the living truth,’ Dusty confirmed. ‘Which’s likely why Branch figured he could get away with making Colin disappear. Folks’d blame it on the Flores boys and it’d leave Ma without a man.’
‘You reckon that’s what’s behind it, Cap’n Fog?’ Lansing inquired.
‘It figures,’ Dusty answered. ‘Maybe they’ll feel like telling you when they get to talking.’
‘Will I be needed?’ asked the town’s doctor, entering the barn with his bag.
‘Not here,’ Ma replied, helping Colin to rise. ‘He’s got a knot on his head, but nothing’s cut or busted.’
‘You’d best take a look at Branch,’ Dusty suggested. ‘He lit down kind of awkward.’
Taking the advice, the doctor crossed and knelt down by Branch. Nobody spoke as he made an examination of the unconscious man. At last he raised a startled face towards the on-lookers.
‘I’ll say he lit down awkward. His collarbone’s bust. And what the hell kicked him? He’s got three broken ribs.’
Sucking in a deep breath, Monaltrie let it out again in an exasperated exclamation. A man in Branch’s condition could not go mustang hunting. Which meant that, unless the colonel wanted to wait until other mustangers could be contacted and gathered, only the Schell family was available. He wondered if two women and a young man freshly arrived in Texas could fill the contract, even backed by experienced Mexican mesteneros.
Chapter Ten
Following his usual way, Sheriff Lansing adopted the line of least resistance. He had no desire to antagonize a man with Dusty’s powerful connections, so gave his opinion that the whole blame for the trouble rested on Branch. When Dusty declined to swear out a complaint, Lansing willingly agreed to let the affair be forgotten and promised to make sure that Branch’s men caused no more incidents.
After ensuring that Colin had suffered no serious injury, Colonel Monaltrie left the barn. He wanted to think over his future actions before reaching a decision on whether to give Ma the contract.
Picking up Colin’s bonnet, Mark handed it to him. Although swaying a little, the young Scot refused help and walked outside with the others. They found April and Temple waiting and the whole group started to walk across the street.
‘Did you fix up about working tonight?’ Ma asked the blond.
‘It didn’t need any fixing,’ April replied wryly. ‘When Harve Jute arrived, he fired me.’
‘Why?’ Ma demanded.
‘He’s scared. Reckons that with the Flores bunch after me his place’s likely to get shot up and paying customers killed. More likely he thinks the customers’ll stay away.’
‘I’ll go down and see him,’ Dusty growled and Mark rumbled agreement.
‘It won’t do any good at all,’ April assured him. ‘I only just got Mark and this old goat.’
‘She means me,’ Temple interrupted.
‘Who else, damn it?’ April snorted. ‘They were all set to hang Harve’s saloon around his neck and I only just managed to get them out afore they started. Did you ever try talking sense to a man, Ma?’
‘Allus found whomping ’em with a hickory bar worked better,’ Ma grinned.
‘I should’ve had one to hand,’ April stated. ‘It’s lucky you yelled when you did, or they’d still’ve gone back to do it.’
‘What’ll you do now, gal?’ Ma inquired.
April shrugged. ‘I’ve been fired out of better places than the Black Bear. There’re other saloons.’
‘Not in Fort Sawyer,’ Dusty warned. ‘The word’ll’ve gone out about you.’
‘So there’re other towns,’ April sniffed.
‘’Cepting that when you try to go to one, the Flores boys’ll be waiting for you,’ Mark warned.
‘You’re welcome to stay on with us, April gal,’ Ma announced. ‘Maybe Lansing or the Army’ll get around to doing something about those Flores critters real soon.
‘If they don’t, I aim to,’ Dusty promised, before April could express her gratitude. ‘Soon’s we get to the house, I’m going to send Lon out on a scout for their hideout.’
‘Won’t that be dangerous?’Colin asked.
‘Real dangerous,’ Mark agreed. ‘For Flores and his bandidos.’
While the others were talking, Ma had been looking at Dusty with worried eyes. Taking a deep breath, she made a decision. With Branch out of the game and Colin acceptable to Monaltrie as a protecting male influence, she stood a good chance of receiving the Army contract. Yet she could not fill it without supplies and Hoffer wanted cash for them. Ma had her fair share-of pride and her brother-in-law’s behavior made her fight shy of asking favors. Accepting there was no other way out, she set her face into impassive lines and moved to the small Texan’s side.
‘Can I have a few words with you up to the house, Dusty?’ she asked.
‘Why sure, Ma,’ Dusty replied, guessing what the topic of conversation would be. ‘Any old time at all.’
The Schell house had been erected on the edge of town and clear of other buildings. Behind it stood their wagon, canopy removed for loading and empty. The team horses shared a corral at the right of the building with Jeanie’s coyote-dun mare and Kenny’s powerful grulla gelding. Curving around from the left, a large bosque stretched to the rear of the house. However an open area of not less than seventy yards separated the building from the trees. Although the hotel’s buckboard was hitched before
the porch, it had been unloaded and was deserted.
‘I sure hope you’ve plenty of chow in, Ma,’ Mark commented as they walked towards the building. That Shad and Tex’ll eat—’
A shot crashed from among the trees, its bullet slashing in front of Dusty and Ma to tear into Temple’s chest. Giving a choking cry, the driver reeled, let his carbine fall from the crook of his arm and crumpled to the ground. On the heels of the shot, riders burst out of the bosque. They were Mexicans holding guns and they charged towards Dusty’s party.
‘Down!’ Dusty roared, hands crossing in flickers of movement so that the bark of his left-side Colt echoed the word.
Living in frontier Texas had taught Ma to react instantly in such a situation. So she was diving for the ground almost before Dusty spoke. No less quick to appreciate the danger, April followed Ma down. Bringing out his Colts, Mark remained standing and cut loose at the attacking bandidos.
Like Dusty and Mark, Colin stayed on his feet. Bullets hissed around the Scot and he realized that the gang were concentrating their fire on him. Fury filled him as he decided that the first shot had been meant for him, but missed and killed Lou Temple. At the same moment, Colin became aware that he did not have a weapon. The alterations to the gunbelt had not been completed and the Dragoon was still at the store, while his shot-pistols had been left behind with his other belongings to be moved to Ma’s house.
Then Colin saw Temple’s Spencer. Bending for it, he missed death by inches as a bullet passed just above his lowered head. Grabbing up the carbine, he sprang over Ma and April to sprint away from the house. In doing so, he hoped to draw the bandidos’ fire and attack after him, clear of his friends.
The intention paid off. Seeing the man who had killed his brothers running towards the town, Matteo Flores swung towards him. Followed by the majority of the attackers, the stocky bandido thundered after Colin. Matteo drew ahead of the others, holding his fire until sure that he could not miss.
