by J. T. Edson
‘I don’t see’s how it’s any of your never-mind,’ Buerk replied in a surly fashion and flickered a glance suggestive of worry at the two Texans and the cook as they came to a halt in a half circle behind the youngster. ‘But it’s ’cause there ain’t enough wild critters ’round hereabouts to do the feeding.’
‘What’s wrong with beef?’ Sangster challenged, without noticing the way in which the other three hunters were matching their leader’s reaction and moving into a line on either side of him.
‘That depends on who-all’s beef it is,’ Waco replied.
‘As nobody has legal title to the land across the Platte where these gentlemen are hunting,’ the New Englander said, with the air of stating the obvious except that it was underlaid with a worried timbre. ‘Any cattle there must be running wild.’
‘We don’t keep ’em penned up on the lower forty like Eastern milk cows, mister,’ the blond youngster countered. ‘And longhorns roam plenty, but whoever puts a brand on ’em owns ’em, no matter where they go.’
‘And have those brought in by Mr. Buerk and his men brands on them?’ Sangster asked.
‘There’s a real easy way of finding out,’ Waco replied. ‘We’ll go take us a look.’
‘Like hell you will!’ Buerk snarled, having no desire for the examination to be made. The matter was taken from his hands in no uncertain fashion as he continued, ‘You’re not wearing bad-!’
Thinking he was not observed, the man on the far left of the hunters grabbed for his Colt. Instantly, he discovered he had made an error. Alert to the possibilty, none of the Texans were giving their full attention to Buerk and Sangster. They were aware that the suggested inspection would be more than just resented by the hunters. Anywhere in cattle country, because the half wild longhorn cattle were allowed to fend for themselves on the open range and often wandered for considerable distances, the right of ownership being established by the brand on the animal was considered inviolate. Therefore, to have killed cattle which were so identified classed as theft and was treated by drastic methods when discovered.
The moment their owners saw the hostile gesture, five hands moved immediately. Four descended in the conventional fashion, but the other had its palm turned outwards. While thumbs coiled over hammer spurs, the fingers coiled around the butts of the revolvers waiting in holsters and the draws were commenced with slight variations of speed. Fastest of all, Mark’s two ivory handled 1860 Army Colts cleared leather. An instant later, the staghorn butted brace owned by Waco came out and the one on the right thundered. Twisted free in the manner required due to being carried with the walnut grips pointing forward, the single big old Dragoon Colt was brought into alignment by the Kid. However, the latter movement was only just completed as the youngster’s bullet took the man who had started to draw in the right shoulder and spun him sideways with his weapon not yet quite fully drawn.
Watching the speed with which the first two Texans in particular armed themselves, the hammers of the unfired Colts also being taken to fully cocked although not released as the barrels were pointing forward, Buerk and the other hunters restrained the movements their hands were making towards their guns. If they had not been aware of the reputation acquired by Mark and the Kid, even before becoming peace officers in Mulrooney, as well as having heard of Waco’s capability as a gun fighter whilst a deputy town Marshal, the way they had found themselves looking into the muzzles of the Colts would have served as a warning that they were up against men extremely well versed in all matters pistolero and could in all probability back up the rapidity with accurately placed lead. The latter point received verification from the fate which had befallen their companion.
Yet, although none of the hunters realized it, the one who was shot might have counted himself fortunate. He had been hit in the shoulder and it would be some considerable time before he could regain the use of the right hand, but he had suffered nothing worse. That would not have been the case before Waco had met Dusty Fog and the other members of the floating outfit. In those days, he would have shot to kill without hesitation or giving the matter a second thought. Because of the change wrought upon him by association with the small Texan in particular, he now dealt with each situation according to its merits and, this time, had realized there was no need for him to take such extreme measures. What was more, aware the cook and Sangster would be endangered if a fight commenced, he had sufficient confidence in his ability to fire and just inflict an injury which would prevent the hunter from starting gun play liable to involve everybody else.
‘Let’s have those hands raised a whole heap higher!’ Mark commanded and the three uninjured hunters complied with alacrity.
‘Just what do you think you’re doing?’ Sangster demanded, his face pallid and his demeanor showing he was shaken by what had happened. ‘You can’t—’
‘We can,’ Waco corrected, thumb cocking the right hand Colt deftly. ‘And have.’
‘By what right—?’ the New Englander began.
‘You’ll know when we’ve took a look at them hides,’ the youngster stated. ‘If they’ve got brands on ’em, these hombres’ve been shooting and selling somebody’s stock to the railroad.’
‘It’s called “slow-elking” back home to Texas,’ the Kid elaborated, looking at his most Comanche. ‘And slow-elking’s the same’s stealing cattle. Which’s a crime against the legal law, Mister Sangster, and a man don’t need no peace officer’s badge to stop anybody breaking it.’
‘You don’t know they’ve broken the law!’ the New Englander protested, his antipathy towards the Texans causing him to utter protests he felt at the bottom of his heart were unjustified.
‘Then let’s go and find out,’ Mark suggested. ‘You reckon you can keep those jaspers amused while we’re doing it, Lon?’
‘I’ll lend a hand, happen you can’t, Kid,’ Bone offered, going to collect the revolver which had fallen from the wounded man’s holster as he spun around.
‘They’re branded all right,’ Mark declared, after having examined the first half dozen hides from the pile.
‘I don’t read the brand, though,’ Waco commented, looking at an outline something like a letter ‘V’ with two curved lines joining them together above it.
‘I do,’ the blond giant said grimly. ‘That’s the “Beefhead”, boy. Which’s how “Front de Boeuf,’ comes out from French to English. It’s my Uncle Winston’s brand.’
‘I still think you’ve behaved in an improper fashion, regardless of whose brand it might be,’ Sangster claimed indignantly. ‘And we’ll hear what Captain Fog has to say about your behavior when he gets back this evening.’
Fifteen – For the Benefit of the American People
Strolling alone through the darkness, having forgotten a handkerchief when leaving for the party funded by Harland Todhunter which had been delayed a day due to the construction hands having been too tired to feel like celebrating on their return from the display of rapid track laying, Dusty Fog was in a thoughtful mood not in accord with the belated function at Finnegan’s Bar And General Store. Although he was aware that he still owed Raymond Sangster a debt of gratitude for having saved his life, he was thinking, as he approached the converted Pullman car in which he had his temporary quarters, that he would not be sorry when the gang boss promised by the railroad magnate arrived and he could consider he had fulfilled his obligation.
The ploy employed by the small Texan at the construction area had proved successful so far as the visiting members of the Railroad Commission was concerned, but the situation he had found on returning with them to the base camp had removed most of the pleasure from it and increased the dissatisfaction he felt towards the New Englander’s attitude and general behavior. It had been apparent that the events which occurred in his absence had brought the hostility between Sangster and his three amigos to a point where some action was necessary to avert trouble. Waco’s temper in particular was clearly approaching its breaking point and Dusty believed h
e might not be long enough removed from his previous way of life to be able to keep holding it in check in the face of such continued provocation. The last thing the small Texan wanted was for the youngster to revert to the way he was heading when they had first met.
On the other hand, Dusty was willing to admit Todhunter had behaved in an honorable and satisfactory fashion when hearing of the means by which the work crews were being supplied with meat. Looking less than pleased at having to make the admission, Sangster had said he was at the hunters’ camp delivering payment for the work they had carried out— the accountant having declined vehemently to perform the task because of their obnoxious behavior on previous occasions—and was unaware of the means they employed to do it. Obviously resenting how his own shortcomings in the matter had been exposed, the young New Englander had not concealed his antagonism towards Mark Counter, the Ysabel Kid and, most especially, Waco, when complaining about what had happened. To his equally apparent annoyance, his employer had expressed complete agreement with the way the Texans had dealt with the situation.
Pointing out that stealing cattle was not the way to ensure good relations with ranchers, who could provide an early source of profit for the railroad by using it to ship their cattle into Mulrooney instead of driving herds there on the hoof, Todhunter had praised Mark, the Kid, and Waco for having brought the slow-elking to light before it was discovered by the owner of the cattle thus arousing his animosity. However, because of the feelings such behavior would cause, he had suggested it would not be politic to bring the matter to public attention by handing the hunters over to the nearest law enforcement agency. Therefore, backed by Dusty, he had ordered the hunters to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the railroad in the shortest time. Then he had instructed Sangster to contact and compensate the owner at the current price given in Mulrooney for every animal taken.
Pointing out the meat supply would have to be kept up, the New Englander had sought to regain some of his loss of face by demanding rather than suggesting the work should be taken over by the three otherwise unoccupied Texans. He had clearly considered Dusty would back him on the issue when they declined to take part in what they regarded as the wholesale butchery of wild animals rather than the sport they had been contemplating before Waco had aroused their interest in the way meat was being supplied to the railroad. Nor had Sangster improved the situation by saying he felt they should do something to earn their living if they were to remain on railroad property. Dusty’s immediate and angry offer to pay for their food and accommodation, backed by Mark—who had independent means beyond his wages from the OD Connected—was just as instantly rejected by Todhunter in a declaration that they were to be considered his guests.
In the face of such an outlook on the part of Sangster, even though he did not feel his own debt was discharged sufficiently to justify leaving himself, Dusty had been relieved to be given a reason to remove two of his companions from the presence of the New Englander. Having expressed satisfaction with what they had seen, showing a shrewdness which suggested he was better employed in the British diplomatic service than might have proved the case had he followed a long standing family tradition by taking a commission in the Royal Navy, [31] Sir John Uglow Ramage had hinted he, Lord James Roxton and Jean Pierre Radisson would not be averse to doing some hunting on the way back to Mulrooney if they had somebody to act as guides. Guessing what lay behind the comment, Dusty had asked whether his amigos would be interested in taking on the chore. Considering the circumstances would be close to what they had envisaged and having developed a liking for the two English aristocrats in particular during their earlier acquaintance, the Kid and Waco had agreed. However, Mark had said he would set out to try and locate his uncle’s ranch and explain about how the slow-elking of Beefhead cattle had been handled, hoping to ensure it did not produce a hostile response against the railroad. Such had been the strength of ill feeling aroused by Sangster that all three had left that morning.
Although he missed his amigos’ company, the small Texan had been looking forward to the celebration that evening. Nor had he been put off too greatly by Todhunter insisting that Sangster, who had not troubled to try and conceal his dislike of being compelled to mingle with the work force, attended. It was quickly made obvious to Dusty that he was held in even higher regard by the gandy dancers since the inspection and everything appeared set for a most pleasant party until the discovery that he did not have a handkerchief caused him to take what he anticipated to be a brief and uneventful departure.
A flicker of light showing through a window in the converted Pullman car diverted the small Texan from his thoughts. It was only brief and disappeared as the curtains were closed. Nevertheless, he found it disturbing. Although he knew a lantern was hanging alight in the passage between the cubicles and that all had similar illumination supplied for the occupants, the one to which his attention was drawn was Sangster’s office and he remembered it had been in darkness when they set out for the party. Nor had anybody with the authority to be inside it left Finnegan’s Bar.
Despite there having been no deliberate actions to interfere in any way with the construction of the railroad—except those by Richard Reiser and the Russians which Dusty did not learn of until much later—certain events in Mulrooney had led Dusty to consider something strange might be amiss. Therefore, he had not allowed himself to be lulled into a sense of false security. Rather he was aware that sufficient time had elapsed for the man who had hired killers to have replaced the men that Dusty had wiped out when they refused to surrender and accept arrest. Therefore, ever since his arrival at the base camp, he had remained on alert for anything out of the ordinary which could warn of a resumption of the attempts.
Without the need for conscious thought, the left side Colt 1860 Army Model revolver came swiftly into the small Texan’s right hand. Then, feeling grateful that he had removed his spurs as being unnecessary for his work as gang boss, he began to make his way as quietly as he could to the entrance of the car. It was ajar and he eased it until wide enough for him to pass through. Still maintaining his silent approach, he arrived at the door of the office. Jerking it open, he went through fast and with the gun ready for instant use. On crossing the threshold, he discovered that he had not imagined there was somebody in the office cubicle who had no authority to be there.
‘What the hell,’ the interloper ejaculated in the accent of a well educated Easterner, straightening up and turning from where he was examining a map spread open on Sangster’s desk.
However, the tone was not in accord with what Dusty had previously heard from the man. In his early twenties, tall and powerfully built, he had longish shaggy blond hair and a bushy beard which prevented his features, apart from his nose and blue eyes, from being seen. His attire was that of a gandy dancer and, as far as the small Texan’s experienced gaze could detect, he was unarmed.
‘What’re you doing, Swede?’ Dusty demanded, employing the sobriquet by which he knew the interloper.
‘I ban come to see Mr. Sangster about something,’ the man replied, speaking with the somewhat lilting accent frequently employed by people of a Scandinavian origin—the tone to which the small Texan was accustomed.
‘I might have believed that if your voice hadn’t changed when I came in,’ Dusty said quietly, without relaxing his vigilance or lowering the Colt from its rock steady alignment. He knew the interloper to be very strong and capable of swift movement when necessary, so was taking no chances. ‘And knowing you’d seen him down to Finnegan’s.’
While speaking, the small Texan was remembering other things about the man he was confronting. Going by the name, ‘Olaf Svenson’, his accent had always suggested a Scandinavian birth. Despite his comparative youth, he had proved himself so good at his duties and possessed of the ability to make others work under his guidance, that Dusty had made him one of the assistant gang bosses. However, although the small Texan had not attached any significance to the matter,
he had always contrived to keep at a distance when Sangster paid a visit to the construction area. What was more, he had left the other gandy dancers when the members of the Railroad Commission were approaching yesterday and did not return until they were going away.
‘All right, Captain Fog,’ the man said, giving a shrug and losing the accent. ‘I know what Ray Sangster did for you, but I don’t think you class him as a friend and you certainly aren’t his kind. So I’ll tell you the truth. My name is Harland Todhunter, Junior—I see you’ve heard about me and I bet it wasn’t from dad.’
‘Ray told me how come he got the chore of building the line instead of you,’ Dusty admitted.
‘He didn’t tell you all of it,’ the young man stated. ‘Somebody at the party spiked what should have been a reasonably harmless bowl of punch with some kind of alcohol and things got real wild, but we never found out who, or how the faculty got to know what was happening. I’d never got on with the Dean for various reasons, mainly because he’d a real mean hate for dad, so he jumped at the chance to kick me out before I had a chance to graduate. Dad got riled over the report of the incident he was sent and wouldn’t listen to my side of it and—well, I left home. But I knew how much he’d got at stake in this railroad and, when I heard he’d put Ray in charge, I decided I’d best come out to keep an eye on things.’
‘Ray didn’t recognize you?’
‘Not with my hair grown longer than I had it in college and this beard. Mom’s maiden name was “Olsen” and I’ve spent enough time with her side of the family to be able to put on a Norwegian accent well enough to get by. I made sure I didn’t get too close to him and, anyway, he’s not the kind to look over carefully at the men working under him. I could see things weren’t going well and did what I could to help, but I’ve never been more relieved than when you showed up to take over as gang boss from Reiser.’
‘So why’re you here?’ Dusty demanded, returning the Colt to its holster. However, it was the sincerity underlying the story and not the compliment which led him to do so. ‘In here, I mean.’
