Trigger Fast

by J. T. Edson

  Nearer thundered the hooves. Clearly if these were the Double K they did not expect trouble from Gibbs or his wife. Joyce suddenly realized the riders did not come from the direction of the Double K and she turned from the window to call out this information to Dusty. A voice let out a cowhand yell from the darkness, before she could speak.

  ‘Hey Dusty, Doc! Don’t go fanning any lead. It’s us.’

  Which left a lot unexplained to Gibbs and his wife, but apparently satisfied the two men in the dining-room. After a brief pause a match rasped and the table lamp lit once more. Joyce saw Dusty resting his carbine against the wall then open the door they had repaired.

  ‘I can’t think of a better reason for shooting!’ he called to the men outside, then looked across the room towards Joyce. ‘It’s all right, ma’am. They’re friends.’

  Saying that Dusty stepped out of the house to greet his old friends of the Wedge trail crew.

  Six men sat their horses in a half circle before the front of the Gibbs’ house. Six men who, apart from the OD Connected crew or some of his illustrious kin, Dusty would rather have seen than any others at such a time. Rusty Willis was one, leaning on his saddlehorn at the right of the party. Next to him, tall, slim, still retaining some of his cavalryman’s stiff-backed grace, sat Stone Hart. He would have been a handsome young man had it not been for the sabre scar on his right cheek, a memento of a cavalry clash in the War Between The States. He wore cowhand clothes neither better nor worse than those of the others, but about him hung the undefinable something which sets a leader of men apart from the others. Stone Hart was such a leader of men. He rode as trail boss for the Wedge and that took a leader, not a driver of men.

  ‘Rusty allows you found some trouble, Dusty,’ Stone said, his voice an even cultured deep south drawl.

  ‘You called it right, Stone,’ Dusty agreed, then threw a glance at the woman in the doorway. ‘Can they light a spell, ma’am?’

  ‘Of course they may,’ she answered, annoyed at being so lax in her hospitality. ‘Please get down, gentlemen.’

  Now she was no longer scared and half-hysterical Joyce could tell quality when she saw it. Every man in that group looked like a tophand, even the medium sized, stocky man with the drooping moustache and the woe-begone look on his face. The rest did not look like hired hard-cases, but they did look like remarkably efficient fighting men. He alone did not fit into the picture, or the sort to be tied in with such an outfit as the Wedge. Later she found this man, Peaceful Gunn by name, would move easily two inches out of his way if he ran into trouble. His element was a fight into which he could plunge, all the time insisting he was a peace-loving and easy-going as a dove. Joyce knew something of wild animals and knew the dove, for all its being regarded as the bird of peace, was in reality amongst the toughest and most trouble-hunting of birds, always ready for a fight.

  Next to Peaceful sat a tall, wide shouldered, freckle faced and handsome young man with a fiery thatch of red hair. He wore cowhand clothes and belted a low hanging Army Colt. He rode as scout for the Wedge. Folks said Johnny Raybold, as the red head was named, could eat as much as would founder a good-sized horse although he preferred something more nourishing than grass. He had other good qualities and could be relied on in any man’s fight.

  While the other three men were not members of Stone Hart’s regular crew, all carried a look of tophands who knew what their guns could be used for. They were the usual type of men he hired, tough, salty, loyal to the brand they rode for. Stone introduced them as Tex, Shaun and Billy.

  The men trooped into the house at Joyce’s invitation. She watched Peaceful as he peered around him a shade nervously. His moustache, which was capable of more expression than most folks could get from their entire face, dropped miserably and gave him the appearance of a terrified walrus.

  ‘Where they at?’ he asked in a tone which suggested they might be hiding under the table ready to jump him. ‘It’s getting so a body can’t ride a trail these days without running into fuss.’

  The rest of the men ignored Peaceful’s words. Johnny Raybold gave out a whoop and held out a hand to Dusty.

  ‘Where at’s thishere wire, Dusty?’ he asked. ‘And where’s Mark ‘n’ the Kid?’

  ‘What you want them for?’ groaned Peaceful, his moustache drooping like the wilted lily on a cheap undertaker’s lapel. ‘They’ll only help wind us up in more trouble.’

  This brought howls of derision from the others who all knew Peaceful much better than did Joyce.

  ‘Should head for the badlands and go ‘round,’ he went on miserably. ‘That way we won’t wind up in fuss with them gents who strung the wire.’

  ‘Get mum, all of you,’ Stone growled, bringing an end to the argument which was developing, even before it started. ‘We all know you’d be fit to be tied if I even thought of going round.’

  ‘Rusty tell you it all, Stone?’ Dusty asked, while Joyce went to fetch coffee for her guests.

  ‘What he knew about it. What’s on that tricky Rio Hondo mind?’

  ‘I figured that Double K might come back and that’d we’d give ‘em a real Texas welcome, only I needed a few friends on hand to tote ‘round the tea and biscuits for the guests.’

  Stone Hart smiled. He’d known Dusty for a few years now and they’d sided each other in a couple of tight spots in that time. One thing he did know for sure. The situation up here must be very grave for Dusty to send for help during a drive. Dusty knew trail driving, knew it from the angle of hand and as trail boss, so he would not lightly send and ask for men.

  ‘Stake ‘em out the way you want,’ he said, setting the seal of approval on Dusty’s actions and giving permission for orders to be passed to his men. Stone hired the men, it should be to him to make any arrangements for their employment, but he knew Dusty had a better idea of the situation and knew what would be needed in offence and defence.

  ‘I’ll have Johnny staked out on the range about a mile out towards the Double K, waiting for the first sound of their coming. When they get here I want some of the boys in the out-buildings, some here. I want that bunch boxed in and held tighter than a Yankee storekeeper’s purse strings.’

  ‘Get to it, Johnny,’ drawled Stone. ‘Which’s the way Double K’ll most likely come ma’am?’

  ‘That way,’ Joyce answered, a finger stabbing in the direction of the Double K house. ‘But they might not come that direction.’

  ‘It’s likely they will,’ Dusty replied. ‘They don’t know about Stone and the boys and’ll likely think they’ve got nothing to worry about. So they’ll come the easiest direction.’

  ‘Dusty could be right at that, ma’am,’ Stone put in.

  Joyce noticed the trail boss never looked straight at her and tried to keep the unscarred side of his face to her all the time. She felt sorry for him, he must have been a really handsome young man before the Yankee sabre marred his face. Even now a woman would not find him revolting; the scar looked bad, but could have been far worse. Much as she wished to tell him her thoughts she knew any reference to his injury would offend Stone. He would not want a stranger to mention it.

  The men stood around Joyce’s table and drank their coffee, all except Johnny who knew what was expected of him and faded off into the dark astride his big iron grey night horse. Only Peaceful seemed to be worried by the forthcoming possible visit and Joyce got the feeling that he did not care as much as he pretended.

  ‘What do you want from the rest of us, Dusty?’ asked Rusty Willis.

  ‘Stone, Doc and I’ll stay at the house,’ Dusty answered with a grin. ‘And don’t go saying we’re pulling rank on you — because we are. Rest of you pick out your places and wait until you hear Johnny come back. Put your hosses in the barn, but keep them saddled. If Double K hit, I want them. Not one’s got to get back to their spread.’

  ‘These Double K bunch, Cap’n Fog,’ put in one of the new Wedge hands, ‘How’d you want them, alive or dead?’

  ‘Which
ever way you have to take them.’

  Dusty’s reply came in a fiat, even voice, but every man present knew what he meant. Shoot if you must and if you must shoot, shoot to kill, that was Dusty’s meaning. It was the way of a tough lawman, of the man who tamed Quiet Town. Such would be the orders he gave to his deputies when they went after a dangerous outlaw in the line of duty. In the same manner Dusty now spoke. He did not want killings or trouble, but if Double K forced them on him he would try and prevent his side from taking lead if he could.

  ‘How about me, Dusty?’ asked Joyce after the men went to their posts. She used his given name, having received no encouragement to carry on with his formal rank and title, and knowing far better than call a cowhand ‘mister’ after being introduced.

  ‘If they come, get in the bedroom with your man. Let Doc handle the fighting, he’ll be in there. Stone, Johnny and I’ll be out here.’

  ‘Don’t you think it might be better to send that miserable looking man back to the herd?’ she asked. ‘He looked terrified when he went out to the barn.’

  Two faces looked at her, trying to see if she was joking, then Dusty and Stone started grinning.

  ‘You mean Peaceful, ma’am?’ asked Stone.

  ‘I don’t know his name. Nobody got around to introducing me to any of you.’

  Taking the hint Dusty introduced her to Stone. She knew the Wedge boss by reputation but nothing more. He and Dusty seemed much alike in many ways. Polite, courteous, yet masterful. Men who gave orders and knew their strength without being over-aggressive or bullying. She could see how they extracted such loyalty from the men under their command.

  ‘How many men do you have, Stone?’ Dusty asked, forgetting the matter of sending Peaceful to the safety of the herd.

  ‘My regular crew and nine more.’

  ‘Seventeen, huh? Double K have at least that many at the spread and more in town. You’ll be needing half of your men to hold the herd back down there for a day or two while we sort this wire trouble out.’

  ‘There’s folks relying on me taking their herds through, Dusty,’ Stone pointed out.

  ‘I’ve thought about that too.’

  What’re you fixing to do then?’

  ‘Wait hereabouts for Clay Allison to come closer, ride down tomorrow and meet him, ask for help.’

  Stone grunted. ‘I never knowed the Wedge to need Clay Allison to do our fighting for us.’

  ‘He’s not fighting for you. He’s fighting for himself, for every herd that comes up the trail, for every man who died making this trail and keeping it open in the early days,’ Dusty answered. ‘And I hope to keep it from busting into an open fight if I can.’

  ‘It’ll come to fighting, happen Clay reaches here and the wire’s still up,’ Stone answered.

  ‘Not the way I want to play it. With him and your boys I reckon we have enough hard-country stock to make Double K think twice about locking horns.’

  ‘Would Clay Allison make all that much difference?’ Joyce asked, looking from one man to the other.

  ‘Enough, ma’am,’ Stone answered.

  He knew Clay Allison, respected the man as a rancher and a trail boss of the first water, but there had never been any close ties between them. To Stone the end of a trail meant little more than selling his herd at the best possible price, paying off his hands, working out each ranch’s share of the profits and taking his cut to be added to the bank balance with which he hoped one day soon to buy a ranch of his own.

  To Clay Allison, already a rich rancher owner in his own right, the end of a drive meant fun, hoorawing the trail-end town, celebrations, wild and hectic parties with his hands and anyone who cared to join in the fun, before heading back home to Texas. Happen there should also be a chance to tie into some loudmouth Kansas lawman who boasted he jailed Texans one handed, left-handed at that, then Clay Allison’s trail-end was made complete.

  So, beyond their mutual loyalty to the south in the War and their combined interest in keeping open a trail to the Kansas markets, Clay Allison and Stone Hart had little or nothing in common. Yet Stone knew Clay’s name packed considerable weight as a fast-gun fighting man. With him along, backed by the Wedge’s men, Dusty might be able to make the owner of the Double open the trail without blood being shed.

  ‘I’d like to leave three men here and send three across to the Jones spread, if that rides all right with you, Stone,’ Dusty drawled. ‘Just for a couple of days happen all goes well.’

  ‘Sure, I’ll see to it,’ Stone replied. ‘We’ve made good time up to here and the beef could stand a couple of days’ rest. I’ll leave Rusty, Doc and Billy here.’

  Hearing the words Joyce could almost have sung with delight. She knew Rusty looked like he could take care of himself and any of the other hands, apart from the one called Peaceful, would also be a good man to have around. She decided Doc was being left to help care for her husband, although he did wear a fast man’s gun-rig, she doubted if so studious a looking young man could make best use of it.

  Which spread’s the further from Double K?’ Dusty asked. ‘You or Jones?’

  We are.’

  ‘Be best to have Peaceful up there then. Should be far enough away from Double K to keep him happy,’ Dusty said.

  ‘But we’re farther from Double K—!’ Joyce began, thinking Dusty misunderstood her words.

  ‘Yes’m, that’s just what we mean,’ grinned Stone. Leaving Joyce to try and work logic out of the words, Dusty and Stone got down to discussing the events leading up to this night gathering. Joyce sighed, deciding she would never understand cowhands. She went into the bedroom to find her husband sleeping comfortably and Doc sitting by the window, cleaning his Army Colt.

  Sitting his horse about a mile from the ranch house Johnny Raybold looked around him, studying the open range. Then he swung down and squat on his heels, letting his iron grey stallion stand with reins dangling. Tied or loose the big horse would not stray far from him, and never played up or tried to avoid him when he went to it. That was a quality Johnny often needed in his task as scout for the Wedge.

  Johnny drew his Winchester from the saddleboot and then settled down for a long wait. He took out his makings, rolling a smoke and hanging it from the corner of his mouth, but did not offer to light it. The horse moved to one side and fell to cropping the grass.

  ‘Fool chore this, ole hess,’ he said quietly, after being on watch for an hour. ‘Bet Chow put Dusty up to it.’

  Snorting softly the horse moved closer to its master. Johnny grinned, realizing that Dusty could not have seen the Wedge’s cook for a couple of years and could hardly have worked up this business with Chow. It made him feel better to lay the blame on somebody for being sent on a chore that he, with the exception of the Ysabel Kid, could handle best.

  Johnny knew little or nothing of the trouble in this section of the Panhandle country. He had been with the rest of the crew when Rusty Willis returned on the run with a message for Stone. Johnny found himself one of the group Stone selected to ride with him, leaving his segundo, Waggles Harrison, in charge of the herd. Why they came still remained something of a mystery to Johnny. He did not particularly care. A good friend needed help and Johnny needed to know no more.

  Listening to the night noises Johnny stayed where he was, quiet, relaxed and without moving restlessly. Often he had done this kind of work and knew how to keep his mind alert and working without it interfering with his watching and listening. He thought of nights spent sitting by a fire, listening to the baying of coon-hound music as a redbone ran a line in the darkness. To Johnny no sound in the world came so sweetly as the trail song of a good hound dog. He thought of his return to Texas for the fall. He’d head down and see some kin who owned good hounds and— Suddenly the thoughts ended. Johnny came to his feet in a lithe move. He stood with the rifle held before his body, face turned towards the sound which took his thoughts from hound music. For a moment he stood, listening to the night sounds and catching once more t
he faint crackle of shots in the distance.

  Now Johnny had a problem on his hands. He did not know if Dusty could hear the shots while in the house. So Johnny needed to decide if to stay here or head back with the word would be best. Then he decided. Dusty would want to know about the shooting, especially as there did not appear to be any sign of the Double K.

  Johnny turned, he went afork his stallion in a bound, catching up the reins and starting his mount running towards the house.

  In the house Joyce poured her coffee for her guests before making for the barn and serving the other men. She stifled a yawn and said, ‘They might not be coming tonight after all.’

  ‘Might not,’ agreed Dusty. ‘But—’

  They all heard the thunder of a fast running horse’s hooves and made for the door of the house. Outside they could just hear the crackle of shots. Joyce’s face lest some of its colour.

  ‘Lasalle’s!’ she gasped.

  By now the other men were from the barn. A sudden bright flash showed down where the shots sounded, followed by a dull booming roar.

  ‘Dynamite!’ Dusty snapped. ‘Loan me a hoss, Stone. I’ve got to get down there.’

  Stone wasted no time. ‘Peaceful, loan Dusty your hess. Stay here with Doc. The rest of you hit those kaks and let’s ride.’

  For a man who professed to have no other aim in life but to avoid trouble, Peaceful showed some reluctance to being left out of the rescue party. He did not argue for he knew Mark Counter was out there some place, most likely where that explosion sounded. He led his big horse from the barn and jerked the Spencer rifle from the saddleboot.

  Dusty went astride Peaceful’s horse in a flying mount, grabbed the reins and put his pet-makers to work. The horse was no livery plug to accept a stranger on its back, but it sensed a master rider and did not try to make a fight. It set off across the darkened range at a gallop. The other men followed. They rode fast, pushing their horses. For all they knew, their help might be needed at Lasalle’s place.