by J. T. Edson
‘Speak, Strike,’ he whispered.
Throwing up its head, the dog cut loose with its deep bark and bounced forward a couple of steps towards the hidden men’
‘Hey, easy there!’ yelped a voice. ‘We saw your fire and just come over.’
‘Come on in then,’ Scobie answered, having once more reached for his gun as if just becoming aware of the man’s presence. The hounds let out a clamor and began to move forward. ‘Leave it, you bunch!’ he yelled and they returned to their interrupted feeding.
Keeping a wary eye on the dogs, Packer and Spice walked from the bushes and across the clearing.
‘You got quick eyes and ears, friend,’ Packer stated. ‘We only just now walked up.’
‘The dog here let me know you were coming,’ Scobie replied, realizing that the other merely tried to make him believe they had only just arrived. ‘Don’t often see men afoot out here.’
‘Saw your fire and figured it’d be best to make sure who it was camped here first,’ Packer explained. ‘It might have been some of the Wild Bunch.’
‘Would that have worried you?’ Scobie asked dryly.
‘It’d worry any honest man,’ Spice answered.
Which, although Scobie accepted the statement at its face value, did not entirely answer his question. He studied the two men and recognized their type just as easily as Zimmerman had in the saloon. Certainly they did not come into Skerrit’s class if they should be hired killers. Maybe they even told the truth. Not every long-riding outlaw in Wyoming belonged to the Wild Bunch. Even within the loose bonds of the notorious association feuds ran rampant and some of its members could not tolerate others. Caution became a way of life among outlaws and the stealthy scouting of the camp might have been merely to learn if enemies used it – but the presence of the girl offered another reason for the newcomers’ actions. Even while talking, both men darted glances about the camp.
‘I can’t offer you any food,’ Scobie told them. ‘Wasn’t hungry and didn’t aim to waste time cooking for myself. There’s coffee in the pot happen you’d like some of it.’
‘That’s good and neighborly of you, friend,’ Packer said. ‘We’ll just go collect our horses.’
A whining yelp came from the wagon, drawing the two men’s eyes in that direction and causing their hands to drift towards their guns.
‘It’s just one of my bitches,’ Scobie told them. ‘She’s about ready to whelp down.’
‘Oh!’ grunted Packer. ‘Let’s go get the horses, Spice.’
In file darkness of the wagon, Pauline listened to the men and heard nothing suspicious. Then her attention was drawn to where the bitch lay on the mattress. At first Vixen lay relaxed, then she gave a grunt and the mattress rustled to the sudden constriction of her limbs. From the sounds, Pauline knew that Vixen’s labors had begun and the girl wondered what she ought to do. When the whining yelp sounded, the girl knew she could not delay much longer. A further straining on Vixen’s part warned Pauline she must not wait. Passing the bitch, Pauline swung over the tailgate with the aid of the rear canopy support and landed in plain view of the two men from Braddock.
‘Scobie, it’s Vixen’s time,’ she began.
Taken all in all, the bitch picked a bad time to give birth. If she had held off just five more minutes, the two men would have been out of the clearing and did not intend to return. Satisfied that Scobie traveled alone, due to their not realizing just how soon the Rottweiler detected their presence, the men intended to return to Braddock with their negative report. Although dressed in the shirt and Levis, Pauline still retained her saloon make-up and hair piled on top of her head in the current fashion. So the men recognized her and knew what they must do.
‘Strike!’ Scobie snapped, dropping his coffee-cup and sending his hand to the Remington’s butt.
Although the dog obeyed the unspoken order, snarling and hurling towards the two men, it had some distance to cover and Scobie knew could not arrive in time to save his life. Despite his frivolous nature, Spice could draw a gun with fair speed; fast enough for the circumstances at any rate. Out came Scobie’s Remington, his rifle lying just too far away to be of use, its hammer cocking and trigger depressing as the barrel lined. Packer’s Colt had cleared leather when a .50 caliber bullet ripped into his head and threw him backwards. Under the circumstances, Scobie did not dare do other than shoot for an immediate kill.
At that moment Scobie almost wished that he could trade his prized Remington for a Colt Peacemaker, which might be lighter in size and power but possessed six bullets instead of one. While his solitary bullet wiped out Packer’s threat to his life, it still left the Remington empty and Spice’s Colt already started to line in Scobie’s direction.
Just as it seemed that nothing could save Scobie, a shot crashed from the darkness of the trees to the left of where the men emerged. Spice jerked, spun around and his revolver fell from limp fingers. Instantly the hounds came up, baying and heading towards the unseen shooter.
‘Hold them back, mister!’ called a voice with a Texas drawl in its tone.
‘Leave him, you dogs!’ Scobie shouted, and all but the younger Plott halted. ‘Whip!’ Scobie roared. ‘Leave!’ Firm discipline had its effect and the dog slid to a halt. Then Scobie turned to see what Strike might be doing. The Rottweiler stood over Spice, but did not offer to touch him, ‘Come ahead, friend,’ Scobie offered.
Drawing back the Remington’s hammer to full cock, Scobie ejected the empty case, took a bullet from his belt loops and slid it into the chamber. While doing so, he looked to his rescuer. With a smoking Winchester Model 1876 rifle in his hands, the tall, blond Texan from the saloon strolled forward.
‘Howdy,’ he greeted. ‘Figured you might need some help, so I cut in. That jasper in Zimmerman’s called it right about your hand gun.’
‘So did I,’ Scobie said, glancing at Packer’s sprawled-out, lifeless body.
‘You’d best give me a match so we can see to Vixen,’ the girl put in before Scobie could request information as to the Texan’s timely arrival.
‘Happen something’s wrong, I’ll tend to this pair for you,’ drawled the Texan.
‘Let’s go then – say, I never asked your name.’
‘I wondered when you’d get round to it,’ smiled the girl. ‘It’s Pauline.’
‘Mine’s Scobie—’
‘I’d never have guessed,’ interrupted Pauline. ‘Do you want her to whelp down in the wagon?’
‘Under it’d be best.’
Lowering the tailgate, Pauline climbed into the wagon and lit the lantern. Before Scobie could move, the girl knelt at Vixen’s side and examined the bitch.
‘She’s not broke water yet,’ Pauline said. ‘But the spasms are coming. I’ll warm some milk while you get her out of here.’
‘Open one of the cans,’ Scobie answered.
‘I’m sorry I yelled and came out like I did, but I hadn’t heard anything to make me think those pair were after me. Anyway, we couldn’t leave Vixen in the dark.’
‘You weren’t to know,’ Scobie comforted her.
‘If I’d only waited – but Vixen couldn’t wait.’
Carefully Scobie lifted the bitch and she lay relaxed, trustingly in his arms. Almost before he had raised Vixen a foot, Pauline whipped away the mattress and carried it from the wagon. By the time Scobie reached the ground, he found that the girl had the mattress in place under the wagon ready for him to place his burden down on to it. While doing so, Scobie noticed the young Texan knelt alongside one of the bodies in an attitude of having just searched it. Pauline did not give Scobie a chance to raise the matter.
‘Have you anything to drape around the sides?’ she asked. ‘She doesn’t want the wind blowing in on her.’
‘I’ve a tarp in the wagon,’ Scobie replied. ‘That’ll do.’
Leaving the girl, Scobie went to the rear of the wagon. The Texan joined him as he entered.
‘They’ve nothing on them to say who they
might be,’ the young man drawled. ‘Can I help you now?’
A vague feeling that he ought to recognize the other kept creeping over Scobie, yet he could not place the Texan. Hard, tough, self-reliant, a shade too well dressed, the young man might be saint,’ [iv] or member of the Wild Bunch; nothing about his appearance gave any hint.
Not that Scobie wasted time in idle conjecture, being more concerned with his bitch’s welfare. Rousting out the roll of tarpaulin, he and the Texan fixed it like a wall around three sides of the wagon, leaving only the area facing the fire open.
While the men worked, Pauline emptied milk into a pan, added water from the stream and warmed the mixture over the fire. Taking the warm liquid to where Vixen lay, the girl allowed the bitch to drink.
‘That ought to start something,’ she said, rising and putting the pan aside.
So it proved. After a short time and another spasm, the water broke and soon the first puppy slid into view. Although a maiden bitch on her first delivery, Vixen knew enough to open the birth-bag, lick the puppy clean and bite off the umbilical cord from the pup’s navel.
‘I reckon we’d best leave her to it,’ Scobie said.
‘You won’t get any arguments from me,’ replied the Texan, looking just a mite peaked.
‘I’ll stay by her,’ Pauline told the men and they walked to the fire.
‘You sure came at the right time, friend,’ Scobie remarked, determined to learn how the other came to be in the trees at the opportune moment.
‘Still don’t recognize me, huh?’ smiled the Texan.
‘Should I?’
‘It was all of three years back and I’ve grown some since then. When you last saw me, I was wrangling hosses on Waco’s spread in Utah.’
Seven – A Hard Man to Convince
Thinking back to his visit to Utah, Scobie Dale tried to place the boy. Memory stirred; of a tall, gangling towhead who looked all legs and knob-bones. He trailed Waco around like a hound-dog and drank in every word the one-time Arizona Ranger and then sheriff of Two Forks County said. Three years had been a fair time, long enough for the other to change into a well-made, capable-looking young man. Yet that did not explain why the former wrangler of the BM ranch would be up in Wyoming and on hand at just the right moment.
‘Remember me?’ grinned the young man when Scobie did not speak.
‘Flax Fannon, isn’t it?’ Scobie asked.
‘As ever there was,’ agreed the Texan.
‘Why’d you leave the BM and quit working for Waco?’
‘I’m still working for him.’
‘You’re a long ways from home,’ Scobie remarked, glancing at the girl and bitch to make sure they were all right. ‘Waco send you out for something?’
‘Sure.’
While not a man to force confidences from a chance acquaintance, Scobie was determined to get to the bottom of the matter^
‘Are you here on cattle business?’ he asked.
‘Nope. I’m working for Waco.’
‘He’s a rancher,’ Scobie pointed out.
Tie’s also the best damned lawman in the West,’ Flax replied.
‘And you’re working for him?’
‘I’m his deputy.’
‘With a badge and all?’
A grin crept to Flax Fannon’s face. ‘Waco always allowed you played them real close the vest. Nope, I’ve no badge along, or any other thing to prove I’m telling the truth.’
‘That’s not like Waco’s way of working,’ Scobie said.
‘He never had a chore like this to handle before,’ Flax replied.
‘What’s the chore?’
‘To clean up Wyoming and close the Outlaw Trail.’
Despite himself, Scobie could not hold down a low whistle at the words. Of course the new Governor had gained his office by campaigning to stamp out lawlessness in Wyoming, but nobody expected him to do much about it once he received his appointment. It seemed that the Governor took his campaign promises more seriously than most politicians.
‘So the Governor called Waco in,’ Scobie almost whispered.
‘He needed the best,’ Flax replied simply. ‘Why’d Skerrit go after the girl, Scobie?’
‘Did he go after her?’ commented the hound dog man.
‘You are careful,’ drawled Flax. ‘I’ve told you enough already to get me killed twice over should you mention it to maybe a quarter of the folks in Wyoming. I came up here without a badge or anything to say who I am for a damned good reason. Should anybody get the chance to search me, they won’t find anything to show I’m a deputy U.S. marshal. I reckon you can figure out why I wouldn’t want it to get out.’
‘I reckon I can,’ agreed Scobie, but did not offer to explain.
‘You’re a hard man to convince, Mister Dale,’ Flax said, his voice changing and a harder note entering it.
As Scobie knew, a Texan only used the word ‘mister’ to an acquaintance when he disliked the other. So the hound dog man made his decision. After all if Flax Fannon told the truth, he could be of the greatest help to Pauline. There seemed no valid reason why the young Texan should invent such a story. Should Flax be another killer on the girl’s trail, then he likely knew about her already. And if he worked for Schuster, he would not have prevented the second man shooting Scobie.
‘I’m just naturally cautious,’ Scobie answered. ‘So Skerrit was after the girl. I’m not likely to start shouting it around, now am I?’
‘Reckon not,’ admitted the Texan, sounding mollified. ‘I figured something to be bad wrong when she wouldn’t go with Skerrit, and was getting set to cut in when you arrived. Saw her light out of there like the devil was after her, but I thought I’d best stick around to watch your back.’
‘Thanks,’ said Scobie and meant it.
‘Zimmerman had Skerrit took into the backroom after you left and I waited in the bar, figured to trap him when he came to. Only he didn’t leave by the front way and the next thing I knew was you’d shot him dead.’
‘I reckon he was after the gal, not me.’
‘That’s how I read it. Anyway Zimmerman came back from the shooting and looked the room over. I thought he aimed to come to me, but he hired this pair of jaspers instead.’
‘Are you sure of that?’ asked Scobie.
They’re just a pair of no-accounts. Spent most of the night nursing one schooner of beer, which meant they were mighty close to the blanket. He had them took into the office and when they came out gave them a box of rifle shells, a bottle of whiskey and some money. Which same Zimmerman’s not a generous man, so he had hired them to do something.’
That figures,’ drawled Scobie, watching the Texan with interest.
‘So I reckoned it might be worth my going along to see what he wanted done,’ Flax continued. ‘They went and fed first, then took their horses. Following them was easy enough, so easy I wondered if I might have been wrong. Then they stopped, back there on the rim where they could see your fire. Left the hosses and came in on foot. I followed them, You must have heard them and hid the gal—’
‘That’s what I did.’
‘Almost fooled me as well as them,’ grinned Flax. ‘That big critter’s well-trained way he acted like he didn’t know anybody was watching until you gave him the word.’
‘I always reckon if you’re keeping a dog, he might as well be trained right.’
‘That’s the living truth. I movedin one foot, hid away and watched what they did. It was the girl they came after.’
‘You’ve never been righter.’
‘Scobie!’ Pauline called. ‘We’ve got trouble!’
Swinging away from Flax, Scobie hurried to the girl’s side and dropped to his knees. One glance told him that something was wrong and he could guess at the nature of the difficulties even without the closer examination he made.
‘There’s one stuck in the passage,’ he said.
‘That’s what I thought,’ Pauline replied. ‘Have you any antelope grease?’
‘All right, Vixen,’ Pauline crooned, gently rubbing the straining bitch’s head. ‘Just lie easy there, we’ll soon put you to rights.’
Watched by the two men, Pauline dipped her fingers into the can and coated them in antelope grease. Asking Scobie to hold the bitch’s head, she waited until he obeyed before making a move. Carefully inserting her first two fingers into the bitch’s passage, Pauline felt at the tiny shape which met them. A look of relief came to her face.
‘It’s the right way round,’ she breathed.
Moving with care, she hooked her fingers behind the pup’s ears So that she gripped the head. Then she gently pulled at it. At first nothing happened, but the pull, aided by Vixen’s muscular spasm, freed the pup and it slid out. Weakly, but with relief, Vixen wagged her tail a couple of times and then started the work of cleaning the pup.
‘I’ll fetch her another hot drink,’ Pauline said, straightening up. ‘My, that’s a big pup.’
‘Likely takes after his pappy,’ Scobie replied, wondering where the girl gained her knowledge of handling a whelping bitch.
‘You can leave her to me again,’ Pauline stated. That’s two so far, let’s hope the rest come easy.’
‘You handled that one all right,’ complimented Scobie.
‘Thanks,’ the girl said dryly. ‘Don’t get underfoot, this’s no place for the men-folk.’
‘I fetch a mean can of antelope grease,’ Scobie reminded her.
‘Oh sure,’ she admitted in a tone which implied that might be the extent of his assistance, then smiled. ‘How are you on fetching coffee?’
‘I can do that, too,’ Scobie told her and did so.
‘Now if he’ll get from under-foot, Vixen,’ Pauline said, having cleaned her hands, given the bitch a warm drink and taken the coffee-cup, ‘we women can get on with our chores.’
‘Give me dog-hounds every time,’ sniffed Scobie.
‘If it wasn’t for us gals, there wouldn’t be any dog-hounds, or fool men to chase after them,’ Pauline replied calmly.
Grinning, Scobie walked back to the fire. That girl had sand to burn and knew how to string words together. She would make some man a good wife and be a damned sight better off than working in a saloon. At which point he saw Flax Fannon’s face and noticed that the young Texan had retreated to the fire.
