by J. T. Edson
However, being completely self-centered, Dell was less concerned with the likelihood of losing his post than the possible reaction of the man with whom he had been talking if he was no longer able to offer the chance of acquiring further information. While they had never met face-to-face as far as the secretary was aware, it was obvious the other had obtained knowledge of a very unsavory incident in his past that he had believed was well concealed. What was more, he felt certain that the threat to expose his misdeeds in Fort Worth would be carried out.
Then another, even more chilling thought struck Dell. Should the man in the other room learn the identity of the young Texan and suspect the truth, he would not hesitate before taking steps to ensure that Dell could not tell the governor about the reason for their clandestine meetings.
Having arrived at the last and most frightening conclusion by the time he reached the street, the secretary decided that flight was the only answer to his deadly predicament. However, he realized that he must return to Governor Anderson’s mansion before he could commence his escape. Because he did not trust the owner of the room he rented in town—an elderly widow with a penchant for going through her lodgers’ personal property in their absence—there were certain items locked in his desk that he had no desire to leave behind. In fact, some of them were of a nature that would serve as an inducement for his sponsors to supply financial assistance to help him get away even if they could not intercede on his behalf with the man to whom he had been ordered to report.
If Dell had looked into the barroom before taking his departure, he might have become even more alarmed. Instead, being aware that the redhead was strolling toward the batwing doors, he hurried off in the direction from which he had come without a backward glance.
As soon as the red-haired Texan left the saloon, the door at which he had knocked opened a trifle. However, even if he had glanced to his rear, he would not have learned anything about the identity of the occupant. The man with whom Dell had spoken remained inside and made sure he could not be seen by anyone in the barroom. Acting in response to a softly spoken command of “Pampa, get in here!” the tallest of the six hard cases—whose name came from the town seat of Gray County in northern Texas, where he claimed to have his origins—rose and went swiftly in obedience to the summons.
“Do any of you know who that red-topped young jasper was?” Pampa asked on rejoining his companions after being absent for about a minute.
“Sure,” replied the shortest of the Americans wearing range clothes, looking surprised. “He’s one of the Blaze twins who ride for Dusty Fog down to the OD Connected in Rio Hondo County, but I couldn’t say which of ’em he might be.”
“The hell you say!” Pampa growled. After striding to a window on the front of the building and conducting an examination of the street, he went back into the room at the rear instead of rejoining his companions. On emerging, he crossed to the table and said, “I’ve got a chore to handle and so have you. The boss and me figure that lavender boy he’s had spying on the governor’ll be running scared, happen he reckons he’s been followed here, which I reckon he did, the way he acted just afore he left. That being, he’d be right easy to be made to talk. So I’m going to make sure he can’t. For all he made out he’d come here looking for a card game and was going down to the Iron Mistress, the Blaze kid’s watching the front from an alley across the street. Happen he comes after me, you’ve got to stop him should he come nosing around in here again, or goes ‘round the back.”
“The hell you say!” barked the shortest of the men, showing an alarm that at least two of the others duplicated. “I told you who he is.”
“You told me,” Pampa admitted, putting on his hat and looking disdainful. “So what difference does that make?”
“There wasn’t nothing said about us going up against that OD Connected bunch when you took us on,” the supplier of the information reminded sullenly.
“You’ve been hired to go up against anybody’s I tell you to,” Pampa declared.
“We’re not locking horns with that crowd,” the shortest man asserted, and the rest of the group mumbled concurrence. “You don’t hear so much about him these days as you used to a few years back, but, by all accounts, Dusty Fog’s still a man to stand aside from when he gets riled, and there’s others in the crew, ’specially the Ysabel Kid, who’s even worse.”
“And there’s nothing more like’ to get them riled than for us to make wolf bait of one of Dusty Fog’s kin,” supported the second tallest of the hard cases, having nodded vehemently when the second name was mentioned. “Which we’re not getting paid anywheres near enough for us to do something that stupid.”
“And I didn’t say nothing about you making wolf bait of him,” Pampa pointed out coldly. “Fact being, the boss said for me to tell you he didn’t want no killing. All you have to do is stop him nosing around here, following me, or going ‘round the back afore the boss’s got clear. Should any of ’em come off, make it look like he got caught up by accident in a private fistfight, or was attacked and rolled for his pay, which looked to be a fair sum when he was waving it around in here, should he go ‘round the back. There’s five of you to just the one of him, so you should be able to do that.”
Chapter Three – Get the Hell Out of It, John!
Arising out of the belief that he was far too intelligent and shrewd for his treachery while acting as Governor Andersen’s secretary to be suspected, Edmund Dell had been amused to hear Mrs. Freddie Fog claim that there was no chance of the conversation taking place in the office at the mansion becoming known to anybody other than herself, her husband, and their host. Therefore, he had fallen into a trap that she had laid.
As was the case with Dusty Fog, despite frequent suggestions that they should do so, Freddie had always declined to take any active part in the political life of Texas. Nevertheless, they contrived to keep in touch with many things that were taking place in and around the state capital. It had not gone unnoticed by them that, while none were of a serious nature, certain confidential matters detrimental to supporters of the governor had been brought to public notice since he took office. Having faith in the integrity of Matthew Anderson, they had still concluded that this leakage of information stemmed from somebody in his entourage. Learning of the pressure that caused him to retain Dell as his secretary, they had believed they would find the latter was responsible.
On receiving a letter sent by the governor’s wife— which they learned later was dispatched without Dell’s knowledge—asking them ostensibly to attend a reception at the State Capitol Building, and being aware of how gravely Anderson regarded the matter of the so-called Texas fever, Freddie and Dusty had concluded that he wished to discuss it with them without this becoming known to anybody else. Having already started in motion a scheme of their own to try to find a solution to the problem, the Fogs were pleased at being granted the opportunity to gain official support for one of its more delicate aspects from Anderson.
In addition to the main issue taking them there, before setting out for Austin, Freddie and Dusty had concocted a ruse that they hoped might lead to the exposure of the one responsible for betraying confidential subjects. With this in mind, they had brought three men from the OD Connected ranch who they believed would help bring about the unmasking of the traitor. In part, the assignments were a reward for the hard work recently performed around the spread by their identical twin nephews, Charles “Charlie” and Henry “Hank” Blaze. The third member of the group was chosen because it was deemed that he might be even less noticeable than either of the brothers and, unless he came into contact with somebody who knew the true state of affairs, was unlikely to be associated with them during the work that might need to be carried out.
In accordance with the plan, only Hank accompanied his aunt and uncle all the way to the mansion. As it was his task to try to follow anybody who left on horseback or by some kind of vehicle after the meeting with the governor, he had come on horseback instea
d of sharing the four-passenger surrey. While Dell was correct in assuming that the redhead had been invited indoors for refreshments by the butler, he had contrived to keep watch on the front of the building. Seeing the secretary depart on foot, he had decided that no action was required on his part and remained at his point of vantage in case somebody else should leave.
Charlie had not been assigned the task of carrying out the following on foot if it should be needed, because he was the older brother by some fifteen minutes. Because he and his sibling shared the typical cowhand aversion to moving around except on the back of a horse, they had spun a coin to decide who took the duty. In accordance with Freddie’s instructions, to lessen the chance of his resemblance to Hank being observed by whoever he found himself following, he had changed into his “go to town” attire before leaving the hotel at which the rest of the party from the OD Connected were staying.
Either the precaution had paid off or, more likely, Dell had been too absorbed to notice that he was being followed. Nevertheless, Charlie concluded that the physical resemblance between himself and Hank did not go undetected when he confronted the secretary in the saloon. Nor had his attempt to discover with whom Dell had been speaking in the back room achieved any result other than to strengthen his supposition that news of the meeting between his relatives and the governor had been reported to whoever was beyond the hatch in the wall. Judging by the menacing attitude of the half-dozen hard cases seated near the second door that it would be extremely unwise to try to take the matter further at that time, he had sought to convey the impression of being nothing more than a slightly drunk young cowhand in search of a game of poker. Much to his relief, Dell had not said anything to clarity the matter and he was left unhindered to go on with his assignment.
Despite Charlie’s having been instructed to follow anybody who left the mansion and find out where they were going, he had decided not to report back to his aunt and uncle immediately. Instead, showing the kind of initiative Freddie and Dusty had always encouraged, he concluded that he would be better employed by trying to discover whom Dell had come to visit at the saloon. His instincts suggested that the visit was connected with the meeting his aunt and uncle were having with the governor, and he felt sure they would be interested in knowing to whom the information was passed. Therefore, he had crossed the street and was keeping watch from an alley.
Seeing the tallest hard case leave the building and set off in a way suggesting that he did not wish to be detected by the secretary, the young Texan concluded that a change of plan was required. Letting out a grunt of annoyance, he stepped forward. Glancing in each direction along the almost deserted street, he crossed and made his way along the alley separating the saloon from its neighbor. A quick look around the end of the building failed to locate anybody in the immediate vicinity. However, as he started to walk forward with the intention of looking through the window of the room into which he had been unable to gain admittance, the rear door opened. Three of the other white hard cases and the Mexican emerged. As they walked forward in a loose arrowhead formation, the Mexican holding a cigarette in his left hand, advanced more quickly than his companions and patted his pockets with the right.
“Hey, amigo,” the Mexican said, turning in Charlie’s direction. “Do you have a match, por favor?”
“Why, sure,” the redhead admitted amiably, and made as if to reach into his trousers’ right pocket.
Satisfied that his intentions were not suspected, the Mexican allowed the cigarette to slip from his fingers and lunged forward. Aware of what he was meaning to do, the three white hard cases also speeded up their advance. Far from being taken unawares, Charlie proved that he had anticipated something of the kind and responded to the threat with commendable speed. Changing its direction and knotting it into a fist, showing the kind of skill and precision that implied he was well trained in fist-fighting, Charlie shot his right hand forward. Its rock-hard knuckles met the Mexican’s nose with considerable force, snapping back his head and bringing blood from his nostrils as he reeled away from his intended victim. At the same time, his enormously roweled spurs became entangled and caused him to lose his balance. He went down onto his rump and, the impact of his arrival driving all the remaining breath from his lungs, remained seated in a bewildered condition.
Nor did the first of the white hard cases fare much better. Instead of relying on his fistic prowess this time, Charlie, bending at the waist so the hands reaching for him passed harmlessly above him, waited until the man ran up against him and tilted forward. Then, putting the strength of his wiry body into a surging heave, he straightened up to cause his would-be assailant to turn a half-somersault over his back. However, a blow from the second white man struck him on the side of the face and sent him staggering. Keeping his balance and coming to a halt, he blocked a blow from the third hard case and counterpunched with the kind of ability and power he had shown from the beginning. Even as his blow sent its recipient stumbling away, he remembered that there was another member of the party from the table to be accounted for.
The recollection came a moment too late.
Having remained just inside the saloon while his companions emerged, still feeling misgivings over the orders they had received from Pampa and wanting to disassociate himself should the others go too far in their attack upon the well-connected young Texan, the shortest member of the group was startled to see their efforts meeting so little success. However, concluding that he must take some kind of action unless he wished his refraining to be reported by his companions as being responsible for the failure of the attack, he felt he could turn things in their favor. Darting through the back door, he arrived quickly enough to smash his interlocked hands against the back of the redhead’s neck before his presence could be detected.
Taken unawares by the violent assault from his rear, Charlie was driven forward. Going down to alight on hands and knees before he could regain his equilibrium, he realized that he was in a most serious predicament. Although neither the Mexican nor the first white attacker had returned to the fray, the latter was starting to get up. What was more, the other two hard cases were coming toward him, and he knew he could not assume a more suitable position for defense—or take a more positive means of protecting himself—quickly enough to allow him to fend off the forthcoming attack.
When the group had left the saloon, the street behind the building had been deserted except for their intended victim. However, as Charlie was being knocked down and his white assailants moved in to continue their attack, a figure came around the corner of a building at the other side. If the attackers had noticed him, they probably would have dismissed him as being of no importance.
Not much over five feet five, with a slim build, the new arrival was clad in a brown three-piece suit, white shirt, black necktie, and Hersome gaiter boots. In his right hand he was carrying what appeared to be a straight and stout walking stick made of well-polished bamboo. Despite his Occidental attire, his features were those of an Oriental—and one getting along in years.
His hair was not hanging down in a pigtail, but he could have been following the habit many Chinamen thought advisable to adopt because of the unwanted attentions a pigtail frequently attracted in the Western world, and tucked it under the black derby hat he was wearing.
On seeing what was happening, the small Oriental began to act in an unusual manner. Faced with such a situation, and having no desire to become involved in what most of the participants would consider a private matter, a Chinaman of that age—or even one much younger—would in almost every case either have gone back in the direction from which he had come or hurried past with eyes averted. Instead of taking either course, the newcomer gave a shout in his native tongue and advanced even more rapidly.
“Get the hell out of it, John!” snarled the attacker who had landed the first blow on Charlie, employing the form of address frequently given an unknown Chinaman.
When the order was ignored, the man let out a
profanity and, leaving his companions to continue moving in on the redhead, turned his attention to the Oriental. Taking into account that height, weight, and age were all in his favor—and that he had never seen a Chinaman show any kind of aggressive tendencies—he did not believe he would have any difficulty in driving off the imprudent intruder, and he was enough of a bully to revel in the opportunity. However, he soon discovered that he was in error in that assumption.
Going into a lunge that a French Creole fencing master would have admired, the Oriental sent the metal tip of the sturdy bamboo stick digging into the hard case’s solar plexus. Although he lacked the knowledge to appreciate the finer aspects of the attack, the white man could—and later did, to the accompaniment of much profanity—testify to its painful effectiveness. In spite of the deliverer’s comparatively small stature, the jab was hard enough to cause its recipient to let out an agonized belch, stumble to the rear—his hands grabbing at the point of impact—and begin to fold over.
Paying no further attention to his would-be attacker, the little Oriental leaped onward with a speed that seemed out of keeping with one of his years. On coming into range, he continued to wield the stout cane in a most efficacious manner. In fact, whether grasping it by one hand or both, he employed it to deliver either jabs or blows. Nor, despite the rapidity with which he moved, did they arrive too lightly to be ignored.
Spluttering curses, the white men gave their attention to the rescuer. One managed to catch hold of the cane but was compelled to release it by being kicked in the stomach. At almost the same moment the small man, seeming to have eyes in the back of his head, so quickly did he respond, blocked a punch sent his way with his left arm and retaliated by driving its elbow hard into the would-be attacker’s chest, causing an involuntary retreat of a few steps.
