by J. T. Edson
Dusty did not reply to this friendly greeting, his face the hard mask of a martinet officer. He walked forward, eyes on Bollinger, lips in a tight line. “All right, Bollinger. You know where the jail is. Get down there.”
The crowd drew in its collective breath. Every one present knew Bollinger to be for the most part a cheerful and amiable man. When he was roused he was terrible in his anger and no man to take orders. They waited to see him tear this small man to pieces.
“Sure Cap’n, sure!” Bollinger stepped over the fallen man and walked past him headed for the door.
A woman came down the stairs from the verandah. A tall, blonde woman who would catch the eye in any company. It did not take a man much time or intelligence to figure this was Bearcat Annie herself. Her blonde hair was piled on top of her head, two large diamonds glittering in her earlobes. Her face was beautiful in a hard way. Her green satin dress was clinging to her body. The dress was slit to the waist at the left. Her legs, clad in black silk stockings showed, rippling with muscles and graced with red garters that looked large enough to rope a longhorn steer. Her arms were bare, round and firm yet the biceps looked hard and strong.
Sweeping across the room she halted and looked at Dusty, then at Mark and Doc. “I heard you were young. You look even younger than I expected.”
“Been troubled by it since I was born, ma’am,” Dusty replied. “Likely I’ll grow out of it in time.”
She looked him over again, her full lips parting in a smile. “You handled Cy Bollinger real well.”
“Sure, ma’am, didn’t you think I could?” Dusty watched her face but could read little from it. “What started it?”
A man spoke up, pointing to a gambler .who stood nearby. “He started to rile old Cy. Then said the Texas Light Cavalry was a no-good bunch of goldbricks.”
“Did, huh?” Dusty’s tones were mild.
He came round in a fast turn, his right fist swinging up to smash under the man’s jaw. The gambler’s head snapped back and he went clean over a table. Even as he landed a big bouncer lunged forward, hands reaching for Dusty. The small Texan’s hands shot out, caught the man’s wrist and jerked. The bouncer howled as his hand was twisted up behind his back. Dusty still held the wrist and moved his feet back, lifting the right to place it against the bouncer’s rump. Pushing hard Dusty sent the man staggering forward and at the same time barked out, “Mark!”
Mark stepped forward, his left fist coming up to crash under the jaw of the onrushing man. The bouncer straightened up, his arms flailing wildly as he went over on to his back. Mark grinned at Dusty and blew on his knuckles.
Across the room one of the other saloon men dropped his hand towards his gun. Doc Leroy’s hand made a white flutter and the ivory handled Army Colt came out of leather, hammer eared back. The man froze, his gun still undrawn and Bearcat Annie gave a shake of her head. The man’s hand dropped to his side and he stood fast, his original aim forgotten. Even if his boss had not ordered him to let it drop he did not intend trying conclusions with a man as fast as that pallid, studious cowhand.
“Old Cy doesn’t take to people calling down the Texas Light, ma’am,” Dusty said. “He rode in it through the war. So did I.”
“Bannock there never could learn to keep his mouth shut,” Bearcat Annie replied. “He should have known better than try it with Cy Bollinger. He might not have known about Cy being in the Texas Light though.”
Dusty held down his smile, that was like saying a man did not know Washington was the capital city of the United States. Bollinger was very proud of having served in the Texas Light Cavalry during the war and made sure everyone knew he had been in it. “Could at that, ma’am. You wanting me to charge him with anything?”
“Not unless you want to.” Bearcat Annie was looking at Dusty with even more interest now. “The Town Council were a mite over-eager to take you on. I didn’t get time to say if I approved.”
“Your man came in and got out-voted, ma’am.”
“So I heard. I sent another man down to the jail to ask you to come along and see me. He isn’t back yet.”
“Nor won’t be, ma’am,” Dusty replied. “He’s in jail.”
Bearcat Annie frowned again. Her eyes were not friendly as she looked Dusty over. “What charge?”
‘I’m calling it disturbing the peace.”
“He’s lucky to be alive now,” Mark went on. “Any man who tries to run a blazer on a lawman asks for all he gets.”
The crowd stood watching everything. Bearcat Annie’s place was not only the biggest and most garish in Quiet Town, it also was known as the toughest. Bearcat Annie herself was said to be the power behind the town and to have the ability to remove anyone who crossed her. They all waited to see how she handled these young looking Texans who now wore the badges of Quiet Town’s police force.
“You like to take a drink?” she asked.
“Not while we’re working, ma’am,” Dusty replied.
“All right. The pickings are good for a lawman in Quiet Town. If he knows how to act. How much pay are you taking in?”
“Enough, ma’am. One rule I always learned. Take pay from only one boss at a time. That way a man lives to draw it longer.”
“Dusty being brought up polite doesn’t say it, ma’am,” Mark went on, “but we don’t take bribes.”
Bearcat Annie scowled. There was real anger in her eyes although she held her temper in control. “You don’t. That is a change among lawmen. I’ll, pay the fine for my boy. From now on don’t put any man who works for me in jail. I don’t like it.”
“Ma’am, I’ll jail any man I want,” Dusty replied. “If any more of your men try to run a blazer on me they’re going to wish they hadn’t.”
The saloon owner watched the three young Texans walk from the room. She glanced at the groaning man Dusty had knocked over the table, then at the unconscious bouncer. With a contemptuous jerk of her head she ordered them taken out back then went up the stairs again.
On the street Doc looked at Dusty. “A man’d say you knew that big gent in the saloon.”
“Was my farrier in the Texas Light,” Dusty answered. “Say one thing, that blonde gal’s real fast thinking.”
“Meaning?” Doc asked looking at Dusty again, seeing far more than he had first realised. Dusty was more than just good with a gun.
“Like this. A lawman in any town stands or falls on the way the folks back him. That play there was rigged to try me out. Dammed near everybody who knows Cy Bollinger for over a week knows how mean he gets when he’s riled. She figured that I’d either kill Cy, who never goes armed, or back down. Either way I lose respect of some of the town.”
“Man’d say you gave her a surprise,” Doc chuckled. “I know one thing. You sure handed one to me.”
They arrived at the jail and heard a woman’s voice raised in anger inside. “I’m warning you, Cy Bollinger. I’ve just about took all I aim to. Going in that fat hussy’s place and getting arrested for brawling!”
Dusty, Mark and Doc entered to hear Bollinger spluttering feeble attempts at apologising while the big, buxom, good looking woman told him what she thought of him. She was a black haired woman wearing a cheap gingham dress which emphasised a figure as rich and full as Bearcat Annie’s. Turning she stopped, then smiled a greeting at Dusty.
“Why howdy Cap’n Fog, sir.” Her voice dropped to a polite note which contrasted with the strident tones she had used to her husband. “I’m sure Cy didn’t mean any disrespect down there. He was led astray by them evil bunch.”
“That’s all right, Mrs. Bollinger, ma’am,” Dusty removed his hat and held out his hand towards her.
Maggie Bollinger rubbed her palms against her frock then took Dusty’s hands, blushing in a manner which would have amazed her friends. She was never able to get used to a famous man like Captain Fog treating her with respect and politeness.
“How about Cy, Cap’n?”
“There’s no charge against him. But Cy—.�
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“Yes sir, Cap’n,” Bollinger answered, stiffening up again.
“You cause trouble again and I’ll bounce you the length of Lee Street by the ears. Understand?”
“Yes sir, Cap’n.” Bollinger had never really understood the strange fighting techniques of karate and ju-jitsu Ole Devil Hardin’s Nipponese servant, Tommy Okasi, taught Dusty. What Bollinger did know was they rendered Dusty well capable of doing just what he said. “I’ll behave.”
“And I’ll see that he does,” Maggie Bollinger warned grimly. “Come on home, you.”
Cy Bollinger followed his wife from the room still trying to explain how he came to be in Bearcat Annie’s place. The door shut and Dusty looked at the others. “See what it’s like to be married.”
“Sure, that’s why I’m staying single,” Rusty agreed.
Dusty chuckled. He knew the Bollingers were a happily married couple and devoted to each other. It was only when something like this came up that their happiness was marred.
“How’s the prisoner?” Mark asked.
“Bedded down real comfortable. The Judge came by. Says he’ll be back to tell you how much the fine is, Dusty,” the Kid replied. “That gambling man sure handles a real mean broom.”
The jail was cleaner, the weapons in the racks looking more serviceable than before. Outside word was going the rounds of the town as men told of what happened in Bearcat Annie’s Saloon. The general feeling was that at last Quiet Town was going to have some law.
CHAPTER POUR
Roxie Delue
“I’LL RAISE!” Mark Counter said the words of wisdom as he studied his cards. “And if you’ve got those three kings again I’m going to look on you with dire suspicion.”
Doc Leroy, the dealer, shrugged his shoulders. “T’ain’t worth me trying to put them back. I’d only have to get them out again next deal.”
It was the morning of their second day in office as the law of Quiet Town. The town remained quiet for the night, people not wanting to be the first to try out those soft talking but fast moving young men any further. Word of who the town marshal was went out. The gunhandy men of the town knew Dusty Fog’s reputation and were willing to wait for someone to go against him first. The miners, for the most part not gunfighters, were content to wait and see how he treated them. The rest of the town heard of how Bearcat Annie failed and stayed their hands, withholding any judgment until they knew what changes their new Marshal meant to bring.
Dusty leaned by the wall watching the poker, game between his four deputies. Doc Leroy’s slim, boneless looking hands were fast, he knew how to manipulate a deck of cards. By dint of fetching cards from the bottom, middle or just under the top card, Doc was winning. The jail was empty now, the gambler’s fine having been paid he was set free.
The door of the office opened and a tall, slim young woman entered. Her hat was pushed back from her short cropped brown hair. Her face was tanned, pretty and without any beauty aids to try and make it look better. The buckskin coat could not hide the rich curves of her body. Her tartan shirt was loose fitting but the swell of her breasts forced against it. She wore a pair of tight fitting blue jeans, tucked into fancy decorated high heeled boots. Around her slim waist was a gunbelt with an ivory handled Navy Colt in the holster. The men looked at her, coming to their feet. Dusty was watching her face, reading something in it, a grief which lined her eyes and made her lips tight.
“Is this how the law earns its pay?” Her voice was a gentle southern drawl made hard as she looked them over.
“No, ma’am,” the Kid replied. “We only plays poker when we’re not sleeping. Which same’s near on all the time.”
“And while you’re sleeping or playing poker folks are getting backshot in the hills.”
The lounging manner left Dusty, and he came away from the wall. “Where, when, who and how?” he snapped, then before she could answer turned to his deputies. “Mark, Lon and Doc’ll go with me. Go snake my paint out and saddle him for me. We’ll pull out in five minutes. Now, ma’am, tell it, please.”
The girl’s face showed held down grief and her voice fought to stay hard. “My pappy, over to Dutchy Schulze’s place. I’ll take you. Where’s Webber at?”
“Who ma’am?” Dusty and the girl were alone now, Mark and the others having left to get the horses ready.
“The old marshal?”
“He retired. I’m the new marshal. You’d best tell me all you can as we ride out of town.”
The girl looked Dusty over, comparing him with Webber. She looked around the clean office and knew that here was a man she could rely on.
“I’m Roxie Delue,” she said and turned. “My hoss’s out front, I’ll get him and meet you on the street.”
Dusty went out back to find his big paint stallion saddled ready and his short Winchester carbine in the saddleboot. The Kid was already afork his huge white stallion and Doc was swinging into the kak of his black. Dusty mounted his paint and grinned at Mark. “Don’t let that big blonde gal scare you off, amigo.”
The girl was afork a spirited looking bay gelding and rode astride with easy grace. She did not offer to speak as they rode from town, holding the horses at an easy trot. People watched them go by and there was some speculation about where the new Marshal and his two deputies were riding.
“Didn’t tell me your name,” Roxie Delue remarked.
“Dusty Fog,” Dusty replied. “This’s the Ysabel Kid and Doc Leroy.
The girl looked at him for a moment. She was a girl born and raised in the West and knew some of the top-guns. She knew that this small man was just who he claimed to be. Roxie felt relieved; her ride to town had been made with little or no hope of getting help from the local law. Now she knew that everything possible would be done to get the man or men who killed her father.
“Like I said, I’m Roxie Delue. My pappy ran a freight haulage company. We’re only small, four wagons. We were up to Dutchy Schulze’s place, just pappy and me this morning. We went to the cabin to call Dutchy and there was a shot. Pappy dropped. I didn’t see who fired the shot.”
“Your pappy have any enemies?” Dusty asked.
“A few. Some of the old timers. But they wouldn’t go up against him from behind. They’d stack again pappy from the front. Besides, we’ve not been here long and none of pappy’s old enemies are up this ways.”
They were riding through the hill country now, the girl leading them along a winding wagon trail. Here and there could be seen the raw gashes and the tunnels of mines in the sides of the hills. Some of the mines were being worked, others stood empty and deserted. Faintly came the sound of an explosion as some miner blasted his way deeper into the earth.
“How about the gang that’s been hitting at the other freighting companies?” the Kid inquired.
“For new boys you surely got to know things,” Roxie remarked admiringly. “It might have been them but I don’t see why. They tried to hit at us once. We’ve got a hard bunch working for us and we never run our wagons singly. Why’d that bunch want to kill pappy?”
“Be real stupid,” Doc agreed. “Just to drop a man when there was nothing to steal from him.”
“Maybe,” Dusty said looking at the girl, seeing how she was fighting down her grief. “Figger it this way. This is the last freight outfit. With the boss gone it might fold up. Then the miners can’t move their ore, can’t ship in fresh mining equipment or supplies. Suppose there was another freight outfit waiting to come in here and take over. The hold-ups and the killing would make sense then.”
“You could be right at that,” Roxie agreed. “Without our wagons the miners would have been in tight by now. But I’m going to keep them rolling. Say! We had a dude come to see us just after we moved up here. Wanted to buy us out. Pappy told him where to go and he got uppy. Pappy showed him the business end of a Dragoon Colt. That ole dude took off fast, went faster’n I’ve seen anybody go since the day I dropped a live rattler on the floor of the school in Lil Rock.�
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“You know,” the Kid remarked, guessing that the girl was holding her emotions in check and wanting to help take her mind off her troubles. “I figgered you were from Arkansas.”
“And what’s wrong with that?” Roxie bristled back.
“Waal, it warn’t your fault you weren’t born in Texas.”
“It sure was,” she replied heatedly. “I was three months late being born. All ‘cause we were in Texas at the time. I just wouldn’t get borned until we crossed the Arkansas line. I’d as soon been born a Yankee.”
Dusty grinned at the girl. “Waal, I can’t say Texas’ lost on the deal. See now why the Yankees never bothered to reconstruct Arkansas.”
The talk died off for a time as they rode along. Dusty and the Kid were both noting where the various mines lay. They were town law and strictly speaking this was out of their jurisdiction. However they were taking a hand because there was no other law willing to do it. They might never need to know how the land lay around the town but if they did this would be a good chance to see some of it.
Roxie watched the men, knowing they were trying to help her forget for a time the deep and gnawing agony of grief which filled her. More to stop herself from breaking down than for any other reason she started to talk. “We were running our outfit from the Kansas railheads down into Arkansas. Then some Pawnee renegades jumped us and killed maw. Pappy was never the same after it. He couldn’t stand working in Arkansas any more and when we heard about this strike we came up here. Was making things pay us and now this.”
Dusty reached over and gently squeezed the girl’s shoulder. He felt hard firm muscle in the arm and then said softly, “We’ll do all we can to get the man who did it.”
