by J. T. Edson
When he found the birds had flown Tring cursed savagely. A look over the painted lower half of the Land Agent’s office windows showed him the room held only the body of a man who would have sold them out. The safe door hung open and clearly Mallick was gone. So had his partner Jackieboy Disraeli, when they came to the saloon. A boot sent his office door flying open but once more the Double K had arrived too late.
We’ll take it out of here boys,’ Tring said waving a hand towards the saloon. ‘And anything more we need this stinking lil town’s going to give us.’
His plan only partially succeeded. The men headed for the bar where scared bartenders poured drinks and emptied the till for Tring and the hired gunmen. They drank and then one of the men standing by a window and watching the street, gave a warning shout.
Silence fell on the room. They heard the sound of hooves, many hooves and gathered to see who came to town. Mutters of surprise and fear rose from amongst the men as they recognized the men who led the well armed party into town.
‘There’s Dusty Fog and Mark Counter!’ one man said. We never touched either of them when we hit Lasalle’s.’
‘Naw. They weren’t staying in the house ‘cause they was scared neither,’ another went on, putting forth the reason one faction of the raiding party offered for Dusty and Mark not coming after them in revenge for the attack on Lasalle’s. ‘They was waiting for help.’
‘And they got it!’ a third put in. ‘That’s Clay Allison and Stone Hart up front and some of their boys along.’
‘They coming in here?’ asked a fourth man, casting an eye on the rear door.
‘Nope, going through.’
They formed quite a party, coming down the main street. The four men in the lead each famous in his own right. Behind them came the Gibbs and Jones’ wagons, driven by the women and flanked by men. Stone had called a further four men from his herd, bringing the fighting force to fourteen, but they were fourteen who might have made a troop of cavalry think twice about attacking.
‘There’s the stores, Clay,’ Dusty said. ‘Get to it.’
In his store Matt Roylan looked at the two gunhung deputies who now lounged at the counter and decimated his profits by their constant dipping into cracker barrel or candy jar.
‘How the hell does your boss expect me to make a living with you scaring trade off?’ he asked.
‘Whyn’t you go and ask him?’ answered one of the men, then looked towards the door.
Horses and a wagon had halted outside. Then boots thudded on to the sidewalk and up to the door. It opened and two tall men stepped inside, two men with low hanging guns, although one of them did not look more than sixteen years old.
‘The name’s Clay Allison,’ said the bearded man and jerked a thumb to where Ma Jones stood by her wagon. ‘The lady aims to buy supplies and I’m here to see she gets them. Understand?’
The two deputies understood. So did Roylan. He removed his apron, walked around the end of the counter and shot out a hand to grip each collar of the gunmen. With spirit and delight he hustled the two men across his business premises, doing what his heart craved to do ever since they first came here. He heaved the two astonished deputies through the door, ran them to the edge of the sidewalk and hurled them off. With a delighted grin Roylan looked down at them.
‘That was gentle!’ he said. ‘The next of you shows his face in here gets it damaged!’
One of the daputies sat up, mouthing curses. His hand went to his side, to grip the butt of his gun, eyes glowing hate at Roylan’s back as the storekeeper turned to Ma Jones.
Waco lunged through the door, his right hand Colt coming clear and lining on the man.
‘Loose it!’ he snapped. ‘Then on your feet and find a hoss. The next time I see you I’ll shoot.’
Watching this Clay Allison felt puzzled and then smiled. Waco would have shot the man without a chance had this happened yesterday. Waco also felt surprised at the change in his outlook. His first instinct had been to shoot, to send lead into the gunman. Then, at the last instant, he held his hand. He knew Dusty Fog had said no killing unless it became necessary. He could not see Dusty, or Mark, wanting truck with a fool trigger-fast-and-up-from-Texas kid who cut down a man in cold blood.
So Waco watched the man get to his feet, then kept the two deputies under observation as they walked away. He stood aside and let Roylan and Ma Jones enter the store.
‘I had to do it, Ma,’ Roylan said. ‘So did Banker O’Neil. They threatened his wife and family unless he went along with them. It’s over now.’
She nodded. ‘It looks that way.’
Mrs. Gibbs traded with the other store. She found that her escort would consist of Stone Hart, Rusty Willis and Peaceful Gunn. They made for the store where Peaceful and Rusty insisted on entering first, to sort of watch things and kind of make sure the deputies didn’t get too festive when Mrs. Gibbs entered. This was Rusty’s idea. Peaceful moaned about it being safer inside than on the streets where already Dusty’s men were letting out their wild cowhand yells, firing guns into the air and doing all they could to produce the local law.
In the store Jake Billings leaned his old frame on the counter and glowered at the pair of deputies, one of whom lit his third free cigar from Jake’s private stock.
‘You pair’s supposed to be deputies,’ he said. ‘Whyn’t you get out there afore those cowhands ropes the town and hauls it back to the Old Trail with them.’
‘Not us. We’re special deputies,’ replied one of the men, his face bearing marks of Mark Counter’s big fists.
They looked at the door as Rusty Willis and Peaceful Gunn entered. The two cowhands separated, crossing the store to halt one by each deputy. Peaceful removed his hat and held it in his right hand, mopping his brow with a large red handkerchief and letting his moustache droop in an abject manner.
‘Them rowdies out there,’ he said in his ‘usual mournful and whining tone for such an occasion. ‘They’re causing so much fuss that I’ll just get me some t’baccy and light out afore the marshal comes and jails everybody in sight.’
If anything could have lulled the suspicions of the two deputies, Peaceful words were most likely to succeed. Neither of the hard-cases gave him another glance. The second deputy looked at Rusty who stood by him and took up a heavy skillet.
‘Chow asked me to get him one of these,’ he drawled, looking at the deputy. ‘You reckon this’n’d be all right?’
‘How the hell would I know?’ snapped the deputy, then looked to where Stone and Mrs. Gibbs came through the door. What do you want?’
‘The lady’s here for her supplies,’ Stone answered.
‘Then she can get the hell out of—!’ began the deputy by Peaceful.
His speech did not end. Peaceful moved at a speed which amazed Joyce, when she thought of his usual lethargic movements. His hat lashed back, full into the man’s face. Two pounds of prime J. B. Stetson could hurt when lashed around with the full power of a brawny arm. The gunman’s hand, almost on his gun butt, missed and he gave forth a startled, pain-filled yell.
The second man sent his hand flying towards his gun and almost made it. At his side Rusty gripped the heavy skillet by the handle and swung it sideways, using the edge like an axe blade against the man’s stomach. With a croaking cry of pain the gunman doubled over, holding his middle. Up lifted the pan to come down with a resounding and very satisfying clang, on to the temptingly offered head. Billings let out a whoop of delight, but the gunman gave only a moan to show his disapproval of Rusty’s actions.
With tears in his eyes, the deputy Peaceful assailed with his hat dropped a hand towards the butt of his gun. Steel glinted in Peaceful’s hand, the bowie knife which mostly rode at the peace lover’s left side, now lay in his hand, its clipped point driving at the man’s stomach, Joyce let out a gasp of fear for she expected to see the deputy drop writhing in agony and spurting blood on the floor.
At the last instant Peaceful changed his aim slightly,
the knife rose and then cut down, the razor sharp lower edge ripping through the leather of the man’s gunbelt causing it to drop. The deputy’s hand clawed air for his holster now hung mouth down by the pigging thong and his gun lay at his feet.
‘I’m a man of peace, I am!’ warned Peaceful and cut again, this time through the gunman’s waist band causing him to grab hurriedly at his pants. ‘And if I sees you again after you go through that door I’ll prove it!”
Taking the hint, and holding his pants up at the same time, the deputy headed past Joyce and out through the door. She watched him go and smiled a little. It appeared that the hard-case Double K were not as hard as she at first imagined.
She knew why her friends acted in the way they did. Stone Hart might be accepted as a master trail boss, but his name did not carry the same weight as Clay Allison’s in gun fighting circles. So Stone and his men arranged to take care of the deputies before announcing their presence, or at least to make sure that the two deputies could be rendered harmless by having Rusty and Peaceful on hand before Stone brought Joyce into the building.
‘About these supplies, friend?’ Stone asked.
Billings grinned. ‘You can have them, Joyce. I didn’t dare go again Mallick until I had some backing. But I got it now. What do you want?’
‘It telled you we ought to’ve gone round!’ Peaceful wailed. ‘I—’
Joyce spun to face him and stabbed an accusing finger at his face. ‘You’re a fake!’ she yelled. ‘And if you ever mention peace and quiet to me again I’ll drag you east by the ear and make sure you get some?
The threat brought a heart-rending sigh from Peaceful. ‘There,’ he told Rusty miserably. ‘For this here lady I forget me true and beautiful nature, and that’s all the thanks I get.’
Since the arrival of the Texans there had been a steady departure from the Jackieboy Saloon. Men who took pay for their fighting ability drifted out, mounted their horses and rode out of town. The word had passed around that Barlock would be unhealthy for any hired gun who took pay from Double K and they aimed to stay healthy as long as they could.
One of the men who went was Preacher Tring. Unlike the others he did not have his horse before the saloon, but left it saddled and ready down by the civic pound. He left the saloon by its rear entrance, having an idea that his prominence in matters of the Double K, including the attack of the Lasalle house and attempted dynamiting, would put him high on the list of those most wanted by Mark Counter and Dusty Fog.
Tring went to the civic pound, a walled corral in which stood the horses of Elben and his deputies. His own horse waited at the rear and he passed around to the rear of the corral. Just as he was about to mount and shake the dust of Barlock for ever from his feet, he saw a man come around the side of the town marshal’s office and halt standing facing the rear door of the building.
A hiss of satisfaction left Tring’s lips. The man was Dusty Fog. More he clearly did not suspect Tring’s presence or he would never have been foolish enough to present his back in such a tempting manner.
Never again would Tring have such a chance of killing Dusty Fog. The small Texan’s back was to him, his attention fixed on the rear door of the marshal’s office. Tring’s horse stood saddled and only needed mounting for a rapid departure to safer pastures once he sent lead between Dusty’s shoulders. Ever since Dusty drove him from the Double K, Tring had nursed hatred and swore he would be revenged. Now it seemed he would be given his chance.
Not suspecting the danger behind him, Dusty Fog stood watching the rear door of the town marshal’s office. He took no part in the general freeing of Barlock and clearance of the Double K hired guns. For himself, Dusty reserved the duty, if not the pleasure, of handling the matter of Mallick’s tame lawman.
Dusty never made any move without good reason. His reasons for removing Elben were simple. The man wore a law badge. He might not have been elected by true democratic principles but he held the badge and while he wore it he had certain rights and privileges. So Dusty aimed to see Elben and use moral suasion, of his own style, to make Elben resign from office. In other words Elben was to be offered the chance of resigning, or being resigned forcibly. Dusty did not intend allowing Mallick the protection of a law badge when they met and discussed the matter of the Lindon Land Grant.
The office door opened and Elben emerged carrying a saddle and looking back across the room. Dusty knew at what Elben looked. On the front porch Mark Counter stood waiting and Elben wondered when the blond giant would come after him to take reprisals for the attack upon his person on Mark’s last visit to town.
Whatever his other faults, and they were many, Elben counted himself as being smart enough to know when to yell ‘calf rope’ and get clear of danger. He had seen the eviction of his deputies from the stores and the departure of Double K men so knew his term of office was due for a sudden termination at the hands of the enraged citizenry of Barlock.
With that thought in mind Elben took his saddle which he kept in his room. He emptied the office safe of various little trinkets and keepsakes presented by people around town, including the donations made by various sources to his election campaign funds. These he stuffed into a saddlebag, took up the saddle and headed for the back door, aiming to collect a horse and ride out.
‘Going someplace?’
The words brought Elben around in a startled turn. He stood with the saddle in his right hand, his left hovering over the butt of his gun. Then he stiffened and his hovering hand froze for he recognized the small man standing before him.
‘Yeah, Cap’n,’ he said. ‘I’m going someplace.’
He thought of the money in his saddlebags. Money extorted from various people around town. To be caught with it was likely to wind him up in jail for a fair time and he didn’t want such a thing to happen. Yet he did not see how he could avoid it.
At that moment Elben saw Tring sneaking along the side of the corral behind Dusty. This would be his chance for Tring held a gun and clearly aimed to use it. Elben watched the man raising the gun, licked his lips with the flickering tip of his tongue and prepared to take a hand. He could get off a shot into Dusty Fog even as Tring fired, showing his heart to be in the right place. Then he and Tring would be free to make good their escape. For a share of the loot Tring would carry his saddle while he rode bareback until they had time to halt and get the saddle on Elben’s mount.
Elben tensed slightly as Tring aimed the gun. At the same moment he heard a voice yell one word.
‘Dusty!’
A tall, blond youngster burst into view around the corner of the office, his hands fanning down towards the butts of his guns. Instantly everything burst into wild and sudden action.
Hearing the yell and seeing the danger, Tring turned his gun and fired at the newcomer, his bullet fanning by Waco’s cheek. Even as he did so. Dusty flung himself backwards and to one side, hands crossing and fetching out his matched guns. At the same instant Elben let his saddle fall and clawed out his right hand gun to take a hand in the game.
Dusty’s matched guns roared, slightly less than three-quarters of a second after his first move. He threw his lead at Tring, shooting to prevent the man correcting his aim and cutting Waco down. In doing so Dusty put his own life in peril for he had his back to Elben and the ex-town marshal’s gun was already sliding clear.
A warning flicker caught the corner of Waco’s eye, brought his attention to Dusty’s danger. He ignored Tring, ignored the fact that the next bullet from the gunman might hit him. He aimed to save Dusty Fog’s life even if he died doing it.
Even as Dusty’s lead smashed into Tring, rocking him over into the corral fence and sending him down, Waco shot Elben, shot him in the head, aiming for an instant kill to prevent him being able to trigger off even one shot.
‘You fool kid,’ Dusty said quietly, but there was admiration in his voice. Why in hell didn’t you put lead into Tring?’
‘Figured you could handle him, and that hombre behind you sur
e didn’t aim to play spit-balls,’ Waco replied.
One look at Elben told Dusty the marshal offered no danger to him now. He heard running feet as men came to investigate the shooting. Then he holstered his guns and walked towards Waco.
‘You risked Tring killing you to save me,’ he said, speaking quietly.
‘And you hauled me out from under that stampede,’ Waco replied. ‘Figured to get even, but,’ he looked at where Tring lay sprawled by the corral, ‘you’re still one up on me?
Mark reached the scene first, coming with guns in his hands. He holstered the weapons, looked at the scene before him and read its implications. He had seen Waco leave the store and pass between the two buildings, disobeying Dusty’s orders, but could also see that likely Waco’s disobedience saved Dusty’s life.
‘Why’d you come here?’ he asked.
‘Me’n Clay’d done our lil piece down at the store and I figured to see how this here moral suasion worked,’ Waco replied with a grin.
‘You did the right thing, boy,’ drawled Mark and slapped Waco on the shoulder. ‘For once.’
A grin came to Waco’s face. He doubted if he could have been given greater praise than that.
‘Let’s get to the Land Agent’s office, Mark,’ Dusty said. ‘These gents here can attend to the bodies.’
After unlocking the rear door with a powerful kick from Mark’s right leg, Dusty led the way into the office. Mark and Waco followed on his heels and they stood behind Dusty looking at the body by the wall, then at the charred remains of many papers lying in the waste-paper basket.
‘Looks like we got here too late,’ Dusty said.
Mark did not reply. He went to the body and looked down at it, seeing the bruise left by a fist and the way the neck hung. It had taken a man with exceptional strength to deliver such a blow and one man sprang to Mark’s mind.
