The Fastest Gun in Texas (A Dusty Fog Civil War Book 5)
Page 18
Covacs licked his lips. This was a challenge and held a deadly warning. Dusty was giving him the first break, allowing him to make the first move—but at the count of five Dusty meant to draw whether Covacs was making a move or not.
Slowly the showman lowered his left hand to unbuckle his gunbelt and throw it behind him. It fell inside the corral and the big paint stood snorting in anger as if it knew the fate the man planned for it.
‘You lousy, yeller-gutted, hoss killing skunk!’ Red Blaze hissed and swung down from his saddle, his hands going to his belt buckle.
‘He’s mine, Red!’ Dusty’s voice was soft and gentle, yet there was deadly menace in it. ‘Hombre, you killed my horse and stole this paint. I’m going to beat you until you’d wished you’d drawn.’
Covacs snorted, watching Dusty moving closer. ‘I’m a gentleman. I do not brawl like a common cowhand.’
He started to turn, then swung back, his fist smashing up into Dusty’s face. The small Texan was knocked backwards and Covacs leapt in smashing another punch which knocked Dusty down. The showman leapt forward, his foot lifting to stomp down. Covacs gave a yell as two hands caught his down-swinging foot and twisted it. The strength of the young Texan took him by surprise. Dusty forced himself to his knees, still holding the foot, then lunged up and shoved hard. Covacs yelled as he crashed into the corral fence. His hand gripped the butt of the whip and he came up, the lash leapt out biting into Dusty’s flesh.
Three times the whip hit home, then as it was driving out for the fourth, Dusty’s hand shot down and caught the lash. Gripping the leather Dusty pulled with all his strength. Covacs gave a startled yell as he was dragged forward. Dusty let loose of the whip and drove his right fist into the big man’s stomach, smashing home the blow with all the power in his frame. The big man doubled over and went to his knees, both hands clutching his stomach.
Dusty’s knees smashed up, driving with all his power into Covac’s face, smashing the nose. Blood gushed out, thickening in the heavy moustache as the man was lifted almost to his feet. Dusty followed up the attack with hard swung punches that ripped the big man’s face, smashed his head from side to side and drove him reeling towards the corral side.
Covacs staggered before the savage attack. He turned and saw his gun, forgot where it lay and dived over the corral rail, landing on the ground, rolled over and brought the revolver from his holster. Even as he started to lift the weapon Covacs heard a yell of warning; the thunder of hooves and the fighting scream of an enraged horse. He twisted around and screamed aloud as he saw the big paint rearing over him with hooves slashing and ripping down.
Too late Covacs tried to avoid the horse. One great hoof smashed on to his head, then as he fell the paint was on him, ripping home savage kicks which tore open the man’s head like it was paper.
Dusty lunged forward but Red and Billy Jack threw themselves on him and held him back. It would be certain death to go into the corral while the horse was filled with bloodlust and fighting mad.
‘It’s too late, Dusty,’ Billy Jack drawled gently. ‘You can’t do a thing.’
‘What a way to go,’ Dusty answered, standing still.
‘No more’n he asked for,’ growled Billy Jack and picked up the thin, strong piece of cord. ‘He aimed to use this on the horse.’
Dusty took the cord, the ghost cord, that instrument of torture used only by the most callous and brutal of horse-breakers. The cord would have been fastened around the horse’s tongue and gums, the ends carried back and used as reins, inflicting terrible pain to the animal. The pain would either turn the paint into a vicious and unmanageable killer, or break its spirit. That was how a man like Covacs treated a horse. He would never do it again.
Dusty watched the big horse for a moment and then slipped through the corral rails and walked forward. All the time he went towards the horse he spoke gently, showing no sign of fear. Slowly the big horse drew back from the bloody thing which once was a man. For a moment the watching men thought the horse would charge and Red dropped his hand to his side, ready to draw and shoot. Then the horse relaxed, the wild fury leaving its eyes. Dusty went straight to the horse and stroked its sleek neck. He knew he’d won, the paint was his.
Red Blaze, Billy Jack and Kiowa stood watching, they could hear the sound of running feet as men came to investigate the noise. Kiowa grunted, his eyes on Dusty and the big stallion.
‘Ole Dusty was right,’ he said, dropping his eyes to the bloody body of Covacs. ‘That’s a tolerable fierce hoss.’
Red nodded, pride in his gaze as he looked at his cousin. Dusty Fog, the fastest gun in Texas.
‘Sure,’ Red agreed. ‘And that’s a tolerable fierce man who tamed him.’
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More on J. T. EDSON
i Told in THE YSABEL KID
ii Told in THE TROUBLE BUSTERS