Is-A-Man (A J.T. Edson Standalone Western)

by J. T. Edson

  Colkiss was able to draw and fire, taking the nearest of the charging braves in the body, but he learned too late the weakness of the revolver he was holding. Unlike the much more powerful Colt Dragoon Model of 1848 revolver he had declined to buy in St. Joseph because of its size and weight, the Navy Belt Pistol discharged a .36 ball with a powder charge which was too light to generate the great stopping power of its .44 caliber contemporary from ‘Colonel Sam’s’ Patent Arms Manufacturing Company in Hartford, Connecticut. xii Therefore, instead of going down, his assailant was able to keep coming.

  The largest of the International Lady Wrestlers, whose blonde hair and Teutonic appearance gave some credit to her title, ‘Countess Fritzi von Hamburg, Germany’, was one who had no weapons. Nor was she holding anything which could be improvised as such. Accepting the situation and leaping forward with the kind of yell she gave when launching an attack upon an opponent in the ring, she felled the brave closest to her with a blow to the chin from her clenched right fist. All her weight and power was behind it. Combined with his forward impetus, the impact was sufficiently enhanced to seriously damage her hand. Nevertheless, breaking his jaw and snapping his head to the rear, the blow flung him unconscious to the ground. Unfortunately, she only gained herself a very brief respite. A moment later, before she could continue her defense, her skull was crushed by another Kiowa wielding a war club.

  Slower than the Troupe’s advance man, who would have gone on ahead to make arrangements for their appearance when nearer to their destination, Pulbright had not quite got the revolver clear of his waistband when he saw a brave thrusting his way with a war lance. Instantly, his instincts as a fist fighter took over. Releasing the Colt, his right hand deflected the spear-shaped head of the weapon and his left lashed across with a blow to the side of his attacker’s head. However, as the Kiowa went reeling aside without dropping the lance, an arrow sent by the man who killed Brackley plowed through his throat. Sent in a twirling stagger, dropping his revolver and clutching involuntarily at the shaft protruding from his flesh, he collapsed coughing his life away.

  Instead of using the coffee to help douse the fire, a precaution which none of the party ever failed to take when breaking camp, Dona Conchita flung it into the face of the brave closest to her. A howl of pain burst from him as the still hot liquid flooded over his features and into his eyes. Hurling the metal pot after its contents, she darted over and snatched up a razor sharp butcher’s knife from amongst the utensils dropped by Duchess Molly. Putting it to use in the way she had learned as a child in the less than salubrious district of New Orleans where she had grown up, she inflicted a mortal injury upon the brave who had come to a stop and was aiming a bow and arrow at Duchess Molly. Even as she did so, a tomahawk was sunk into her back and she sprawled face down on the grass.

  The warrior shot by Colkiss was filled with eagerness to gain the acclaim of counting coup by personal contact before any of his companions, such a feat always being more highly regarded than when acquired as a result of a weapon striking a mortal blow from a distance. He was also given encouragement by still feeling the stimulation derived as a result of drinking some of the ‘rotgut’ trade whiskey they had purchased from a white renegade and which had inspired the raid. Despite receiving what proved to be a fatal injury, the lead did not hit any vital organ capable of causing instant death. In fact, he hardly felt it in his aroused state of mind and was not even slowed down. Reaching his intended victim before another shot could be fired, although bleeding to death internally, he swung his tomahawk with deadly effect.

  Tall and slender, yet strong as whipcord and agile to boot, Vicomtesse Fifi elected to employ the skill at savate she had acquired and which was her specialized style in the ring. She was successful in kicking aside her first assailant. However, as she was trying to deal with the second in a similar fashion, the one she had already attacked spun around and flung a tomahawk which buried into her side. Stumbling with fingers trying to extract it, she was struck down by the second man.

  Having failed to acquire the requisite skill needed to thumb back the hammer of the Colt quickly, Colkiss might have fared better if he had duplicated Pulbright’s reliance upon barehanded fighting skill. As it was, while he was still fumbling in his attempt to perform the vitally necessary function required by the single action mechanism, the blade of the more primitive weapon buried deep into his uncovered head and toppled him lifeless at the feet of his assailant.

  Despite having been on the closest and most intimate terms with Brackley of all the Troupe, Lady Lavinia did not allow her feelings for him to slow down her reaction to the sight of his fate. Rather it gave an added inducement for her to move with rapidity. Making for the wagon which she and he shared with half of the Troupe, she was reaching for the double barreled ten gauge shotgun on the driver’s seat when a brave leapt on the box from the opposite side. Snatching up the weapon before he could do so, she was starting to cock the hammers as he sprang at her. Lacking the time to complete the necessary action, she stepped aside and, caused to miss her, he collided with a second Kiowa who was rushing her way from the other direction.

  Moving with all the speed she was capable of, which—as was the case with all the buxom Lady Wrestlers—was far from sluggish, Duchess Molly leapt to where a muzzle loading rifle was leaning against the side of the wagon used as mobile accommodation by herself and the other half of the Troupe. Catching it up, having learned how to handle one as a girl in Kentucky, she hauled back the hammer while swiveling around. There was no time for her to raise it and take aim. Nevertheless, unaware that she had been saved from a Kiowa bowman by Dona Conchita, she fired from waist level and managed, by instinctive alignment, to send the bullet into the side of the brave kicked towards her by the Frenchwoman. Although she inflicted a mortal wound, it was just too late to prevent him throwing his tomahawk and killing Vicomtesse Fifi.

  Spinning around, the red head saw what she had caused to happen and appreciated the chance she was being offered. Realizing she would not be able to bring the heavy weapon to shoulder level, aware of its potential, she also knew there was no need. Elevating the muzzles, she squeezed the forward trigger. Flame erupted from the right side barrel in the wake of the lethal load of lead shot. Engulfed by the nine .32 caliber buckshot balls, which had barely started to spread, neither Indian survived. Already staggering from the collision, they were thrown onwards helplessly.

  Having been on the point of dousing the fire with the water used for washing the breakfast utensils, ‘Contessa Rosa of Milan, Italy’, hurled it and its container at the brave making for her. Before he could recover from this, she followed it up with a powerful kick to the most vulnerable portion of the masculine anatomy and toppled him in a writhing heap on the ground. Sent her way by Pulbright’s blow, the warrior armed with the lance drove it into her back before she could take any further action. However, he was not allowed to feel more than a momentary elation over his action. Realizing what he was intending while firing at the pair, Lady Lavinia was unable to use the second charge from the shotgun quickly enough to stop him. While the buckshot balls divided sufficiently to strike the man and break the shaft of the lance, they arrived too late to prevent him from driving its head between the Italian woman’s shoulder blades with such force it emerged from between her breasts.

  Aware there would be no time to reload, Duchess Molly swung the barrel of the weapon in a sweeping arc at the Kiowa who was closing in upon her. Although he was knocked aside by the blow, another warrior laid open her stomach with a raking slash from a tomahawk. As she was going down, a similar weapon was thrown to sink into the red head’s back and bring to an end all resistance in the clearing.

  It less than five minutes from the release of the first arrow, with one exception, Pug Brackley’s International Troupe Of Lady Wrestlers had ceased to exist!

  However, the Indians responsible had not achieved their purpose without loss to themselves!

  Five – Die, White B
itch!

  Staring horrified at what was happening in the clearing, Becky Ingraham was torn between two conflicting emotions. Incensed by rage at the sight of first Horace ‘Pug’ Brackley then other members of the International Troupe of Lady Wrestlers being struck down, part of her wanted to dash across the trail and do everything she could to help fight off the attacking Indians. Countering the desire was the inborn trait of sturdy common sense which had guided her when faced with the possibility of suffering the consequences of having protected herself so effectively against Robert Clay’s son in far off Surbiton, Missouri. This warned there was little she could do, being unarmed, so to go across would avail her friends nothing and bring about her own death. Nevertheless, being a person of strong loyalties, she found it difficult to accept such a practical and sensible point of view.

  Before she could reach a decision, the matter was taken out of the girl’s hands in no uncertain fashion!

  Despite the commotion in the clearing, a rustling sound from the bushes close behind her came to Becky’s ears!

  Swinging around, the girl discovered she had been correct in her belief that she was under observation!

  ~*~

  Despite the high hopes with which they had set out and the boasting of anticipated successes, after having been out for fifteen days, dissension had arisen amongst the fifteen Kiowa warriors who formed the war party. In fact, some of them had begun to question the wisdom of making the raid into territory left untouched for a long time because of the speed with which white retribution was delivered against previous expeditions. For one thing, regardless of the promises made by their self-appointed leader, Plenty Coups, their travels had been practically non-productive until the previous evening when scout had returned to report locating two wagons.

  The news could not have been better timed as far as the leader of the party was concerned. There were several amongst the braves who had begun to suggest the enterprise was not looked upon favorably by the Great Spirit and he was badly in need of something to reinstate his claim to having divine support for suggesting it be carried out. For one thing, the supply of ‘fire water’ obtained by Plenty Coups, xiii which had been used as a major inducement to persuade the others to accompany him and had ensured his leadership was accepted, was almost all gone. Even while he still had some of the liquor left, there had been another cause of discontent. The sole success so far attained had benefited only three of the warriors. Finding a Comanche woman alone while scouting ahead on the sixth day, they had raped and killed her instead of bringing her alive to be shared with the rest of the party.

  Such had been the resentment of the leader over what he had regarded as a deliberate flouting of his authority that, when giving his instructions for the attack upon the white people, he had told the fortunate trio they must cross the trail and make their approach through the woods on the opposite side to the wagons. Also still incensed at having been excluded from the pleasures described at length—if less than tactfully—by the participators in the rape, the rest of the party had given support for the decision. Therefore, despite knowing they were selected to reduce their chances of counting coup or getting an early choice of the loot, the three had grudgingly concurred. While their companions were taking up positions closer to the intended victims, they were making their way there by a much longer route.

  Filled with a sense of grievance against their leader, Long Wolf and Steals Food had come into sight of a white girl as she was concluding her reason for being in the woodland. Watching as she adjusted her attire, they had found the appearance she presented most attractive. A glance around had suggested their companion, Chases Antelope, was not close enough to have seen her. Instead of signaling for him to join them, they kept silent and set off after her. Although deciding she would offer them an opportunity to indulge in sexual pleasures which their leader had hoped to make them either miss or be late in taking, they realized they must not offer to do so prematurely.

  Despite their resentment over the task they had been given, the older of the pair had been aware that it would provoke reprisals of a painful nature if they were responsible for a commotion which caused the element of surprise to be lost by the main body. Therefore, even though doing so could allow Chases Antelope to find out what was intended and join them, he had reluctantly concluded that they must wait until the attack was launched by their companions before closing in to make their capture. Having formed the summation and passed it in a whisper to his companion, who had reluctantly accepted his decision, they had stalked their quarry with the intention of taking her by surprise as soon as there was no need to worry about her making a noise.

  Before the two braves had been able to get near enough to grab and silence her, their intended victim started walking in the direction of her companions. Believing they had even less to fear from a single paleface squaw than the Comanche woman who had fallen into their hands and whose spirited attempts at defense had left all of them marked by her teeth or fingernails, they followed. However, they were still not within reaching distance when she came to a halt near the edge of the trail.

  Hearing the commotion which told him the main attack was being launched, the taller brave rested his bow against a bush. While he was removing the quiver of arrows, he discovered his companion had reached the same conclusion. However, much to his annoyance, he realized that Steals Food was able to put it into effect more quickly.

  Noticing the third of their party was coming in their direction, instead of continuing to make for the white people beyond the woodland, the younger and shorter brave realized there could be a further threat to his desire to reach the intended victim first. Sticking the head of the lance he was carrying into the ground, he continued his advance without waiting for Long Wolf to discard the archery equipment or bothering to draw the Green River hunting knife out of the sheath at the right or the tomahawk from the two loops of rawhide on the left side of his weapon belt. However, his eagerness and a belief that it would not make any difference to the result caused him to be less cautious than he had been taught was advisable when stalking an intended victim. He felt certain that, even if the paleface woman had not become absorbed by seeing what was happening to her friends, she would never hear the slight noise he was making as he advanced with hands reaching to grab her.

  Steals Food was only partially correct in his assumption!

  Although the approach had been quiet, there was just sufficient noise to warn the intended victim!

  Nevertheless, swinging around, Becky Ingraham was only just in time to prevent the stalk achieving complete success!

  Despite the shock of finding herself confronted at such close quarters by an Indian brave whose face was decorated and rendered even more hideous with what she had heard described as ‘war paint’, the girl was almost numbed into terrified paralysis!

  However, feeling the greasy fingers closing upon her throat and seeing two more warriors approaching, Becky regained control of her wits fast!

  Catching Steals Food by the wrists, one of which was decorated by a bracelet of Indian manufacture, the girl had reason to feel gratitude for the way in which she was attired. Her freedom of movement would have been seriously hampered by conventional outer garments and underclothing. As it was, neither the skirt nor the tights offered the slightest impediment. Rising through the flap, her sturdy right leg was completely at liberty to deliver a powerful kick. Passing beneath his raised arms, the top of her foot struck her assailant’s ribs with enough force to make him release his hold. Nor was he allowed to regain it. Knotting her left fist as her leg descended, she delivered a punch to his jaw which sent him sprawling headlong into a bush.

  Surprised by the obvious ease with which the paleface victim had escaped from his companion, Long Wolf nevertheless continued to approach without offering to arm himself. However, his expectation that she would run away proved incorrect. Instead of doing so, Becky employed the method which had sent Vernon Clay backwards over a desk and either kil
led or rendered him unconscious. Despite knowing what the previous effect could have been, she had no compunctions over repeating it.

  Bending at the waist, the girl darted towards her second assailant like a bighorn sheep ram meeting the challenge of a rival. Taken unawares by such a tactic, Long Wolf could not avoid receiving the top of her head against his chest. Powered by her sturdily curvaceous body, the impact threw him backwards. Almost completely winded, he was unable to retain his balance and sprawled on to his back. However, carried onwards by her impetus, his attacker could not halt. As her lightly shod feet trampled over him, he grabbed and caught her by the left ankle. He failed to retain the grip, but it was held for long enough to achieve some success.

  Finding herself being tripped, but not held on to by the hand which caused it, Becky reacted as she had frequently done under similar conditions in wrestling bouts. Going down, she threw herself into a forward roll. What was more, she was travelling with sufficient momentum to allow her to complete it by regaining her feet and resume control over her motions. This was most fortunate, for she came upright in the path of the third Kiowa as he was charging recklessly forward.

  Having seen what happened to his companions as he was approaching, Chases Antelope did not lay aside the lance he was carrying. However, wanting to take the girl alive, neither did he strike with the steel head. Instead, he slowed his pace and swung the weapon upwards to chest level in front of him. His intention was to knock her over by shoving with the sturdy ten-foot long wooden stave. However, assisted by the training she had received over the past two years, she was able to ensure this attempt too came to nothing.