by J. T. Edson
‘What I’ve already told you happened,’ the New Englander replied, his manner warning he would not tolerate further questioning on the subject. Even though he would soon be quit of his associates and their evil scheme, he had no intention of leaving them in possession of facts which could incriminate him in arson and murder. ‘You just want to be thankful that everything turned out the way it did. I told you from the beginning that going after men like them could only end in disaster.’
‘It all turned out fine in the end,’ Roddy asserted sullenly, and was relieved to see his companion returning.
If Johnson had been watching Morrell, instead of having his attention held by the other young man, he might have had his suspicions aroused. Having collected three tin cups from the lowered tailgate of the chuck wagon, Morrell had gone to where his bedroll lay underneath the other vehicle. Opening it, he extricated two bottles from amongst the blankets. Having checked their labels carefully, he poured some of the contents from one into two of the cups. However, looking around to ensure he was not being observed by the New Englander, he used the other for the third. Concealing the second bottle and leaving the first in plain view, he returned to the fire. Handing the third cup to the New Englander, on it being accepted without the slightest hesitation, he gave a quick nod while passing one of the others to his companion.
‘To the buffalo!’ Roddy toasted, lifting his cup in the traditional fashion.
‘The buffalo!’ Johnson responded and, despite his dislike for the two young men, drained the draught he was given to the last drop.
Noticing the eagerness with which his associates were watching him, the New Englander read something disturbing in their expressions. Even as he realized they were looking at him in a malicious and triumphant satisfaction, he felt a churning and nauseating sensation assailing him. Snarling an incoherent profanity, he reached for the revolver which—like all the other Easterners, including the pair before him—he had taken to carrying in a holster about his waist. Before he could draw it, his legs buckled and he collapsed on to his hands and knees.
Sixteen – Save My Buffalo
‘I’ve been waiting for this,’ Francis Morrell claimed, stepping forward to kick Walter Johnson in the ribs and topple him on to his back.
‘You didn’t think we ever intended to leave you alive, did you?’ Kevin Roddy supplemented, walking around so he could drive his boot viciously against the body of the stricken New Englander whose reaction to the poison ingested while drinking the toast might have struck him and his companion as being very different from that of the previous victims. They too had collapsed, but without the convulsions wracking Johnson. ‘No lousy jail-bait is going to have a chance to blackmail us when it’s over.’
‘Now if that isn’t just like a stinking Yankee soft-shell, or any other kind most likely,’ commented a coldly menacing masculine voice with a Texas accent. ‘Kicking and abusing a man when he’s down, hurting bad ’n’ can’t fight back.’
‘Happen he was stood ’n’ could fight back,’ came a reply which, while similar in timbre and accent, was feminine. ‘They wouldn’t dare chance doing it!’
Spinning around, Roddy and Morrell stared as if unable to believe the evidence of their eyes. Although they had heard not so much as a sound to suggest somebody else was nearby, the speakers were walking side by side past the end of the chuck wagon.
Under different circumstances, any normal man would have found the sight of Annie Singing Bear well worth looking at. As an aid to avoiding unwanted interest during the hurried journey from the Palo Duro country, she had followed her usual procedure when travelling amongst white people. Her hair was concealed beneath a black Stetson with a Texas style crown. However, the snugly fitting tartan shirt and old Levi’s pants which had replaced her Indian attire left no more doubts regarding her gender than had the clothing she wore on the night of Prophet’s meeting in Hell. The weapon belt was about her midsection, but she was not carrying the Winchester carbine. Instead, she had the short war bow strung ready for use in her left hand and a quiver holding several arrows was suspended across her back with the flights rising over her right shoulder.
Having no interest in women at any time, even when possessed of well displayed curvaceous bodies, the two Easterners were even less interested at that moment. However, their interest in the male newcomer was not over whether he might be susceptible to their sexual inclinations. As he was clad in his usual all black attire, they recognized the Ysabel Kid. Even if his words had not already done so, the expression on his Indian dark face—which no longer had the slightest suggestion of innocence, babyish or otherwise—would have warned that his arrival at the night camp boded no good for them.
‘H—How d—did y—?’ Morrell croaked.
‘Wh—Why h—have you c—come?’ Roddy supplemented in the same breath.
‘Cause we’ve found out what you lousy soft-shell bastards’re trying to do,’ the Kid replied. ‘So we’ve come to stop you!’
Which, although it did not answer the question asked by Roddy, was true enough!
When Dusty Fog had been told by the Kid what had taken place at Hell and the conclusions the Kid and Annie had formed, he had been able to confirm the most important part of the matter. Having met Waco after concluding the urgent private business which had caused his return to Texas, Doc Leroy had been at Fort Sorrel when the other members of the floating outfit arrived. Instead of going in search of his own outfit, he had accompanied them to the Palo Duro country. While he was able to confirm that the Wedge had been hired to drive a herd of buffalo, he had parted company with them long before their destination was made known to the rest of the crew. However, putting to use their considerable knowledge of trail driving, the small Texan and Mark Counter had calculated the most likely route for the buffalo to be brought to fulfill the ‘prophesy’ made by the new medicine man of the Kweharehnuh.
Knowing Stone Hart would not participate in such an endeavor, or even take the herd where it might be seen by hostile Indians, Dusty had deduced why the young Easterners had been brought in to handle the animals. Concluding that, in the interests of maintaining secrecy the trail found by Colonel Charles Goodnight would be used, he had reasoned that a prominent geographical location would be chosen for the transfer of duties from Texans to Easterners, and he decided the junction of the Canadian River and Rita Blanco Creek was the most likely plane.
Gambling upon his judgment, Dusty had set off with his companions to verify it. Riding relay, they had made the best time possible on the way. Calling at Amarillo to obtain fresh mounts, they had had a fortunate meeting. Having gone there after parting company with the herd, Stone Hart and the Wedge were only too willing to reinforce the floating outfit. Locating the buffalo and finding them being watched over by night herders, Johnny Raybold had realized, just in time to avoid letting his presence be known, that the herders were strangers. Signaling for the Kid and Annie to join him, using the call of a whippoorwill repeated in a pre-arranged sequence, they had decided to reconnoiter the night camp and find out was happening before taking any action against the newcomers. This decision had been confirmed by Dusty and Stone, the main body having been intercepted before they were close enough for whoever was at the camp to hear him.
Making their approach through the woodland on foot, while Johnny went to check on something else, the first sight of the camp had caused Is-A-Man and the Kid to wonder whether the scout for the Wedge had been wrong with regards to the night herders. However, the peaceful appearance which led to their doubts was proved to be false when they saw the result of the toast drunk by the only three men still on their feet.
‘St—Stop us?’ Roddy croaked.
‘Right here!’ confirmed the Kid.
‘Soames!’ Morrell close to shrieked, gazing wildly into the darkness, wishing that the policy of making camp sufficiently far from the buffalo to prevent them hearing any commotion, had not been followed that night. ‘Go and ge—!’
&nbs
p; ‘Happen he’s the feller’s was riding night hawk on the remuda,’ the black clad Texan drawled, having heard the call of a whippoorwill from the direction in which the Easterner was looking. ‘He’s been took good care of already.’
‘Kill them!’ Roddy screeched as a realization of what had been said struck him and, with his companion duplicating the action, he grabbed for his holstered revolver.
It was a fatal mistake!
Although, like the other young Easterners, Roddy and Morrell had received instruction from the Texans since leaving Mulrooney and had practiced drawing their weapons, they had acquired only moderate proficiency. Which meant they were most ill advised to make such an attempt to deal with Is-A-Man and the Ysabel Kid. Neither was exceptionally fast with a gun, as such things were judged west of the Mississippi River. However, Is-A-Man and the Kid did not attempt to meet the threat by using firearms.
Two knives were brought from sheaths and were sent through the air with a speed and precision which spoke of much experience. Thrown by a man who had been called Cuchilo—Knife—by the Pehnane Comanche as a tribute to his skill in wielding that particular weapon, the massive James Black bowie passed between two of Roddy’s ribs and was long enough to slash through his heart. An instant later, directed with an equal accuracy, albeit at a different portion of the human anatomy, the clip point of the J. Russell & Co. ‘Green River’ blade buried into Morrell’s throat to sever his jugular vein and windpipe. Neither Easterner had completed his draw. Nor were they able to. However, only Roddy made a sound which was proof of how well Annie had reproduced it to help fool the Indians in Hell. Morrell was limited to a croaking gurgle as, twirling helplessly around with hands rising instinctively towards the hilt of the weapon taking his life, he and his companion sprawled to the ground.
‘G—Good work, si—sir—!’
By the time that the first word was completed, Is A- Man and the Kid had turned their right hands palm outwards to reach and wrap around the butts of their Colts. Even as they were starting to lift and twist the weapons from leather, they decided there was no need to do so. Face ashy gray and haggard, Walter Johnson had forced himself into a kneeling posture. However, instead of trying to arm himself, he had his hands clasped against his stomach.
‘Doc!’ the Kid shouted, satisfied that the buffalo were too far away for the night herders to hear.
‘Yo!’ came the response distantly from beyond the woodland.
‘T—Too late for a doctor, I’m afraid,’ the New Englander assessed, easing himself until he was sitting in a huddled and clearly suffering manner. ‘I—I’m not much longer for this world and, what I’m sure my fate would be if I should live, that thought fails to distress me unduly. Are they both dead?’
‘Close’s they can be,’ the Kid confirmed, also glancing at the still twitching bodies of the two young Easterners.
‘You have my gratitude for that, sir,’ Johnson declared, a note of satisfaction underlying his hoarse voice. Then his face twisted into something close to a smile and he went on, ‘Although it’s a pity they won’t find out how I thwarted them.’
‘How’d you do that?’ the Texan inquired, rolling Roddy over to retrieve and clean the blade of the bowie knife on his clothing.
‘Th—Those fine young men who brought the buffalo here after we parted from the Wedge,’ the New Englander answered, waving a hand weakly towards the fire. ‘Th—They’re only drugged, not poisoned like I’ve been. I saw to that.’
‘Go take a look, Is-A-Man!’ the Kid requested, deciding against waiting for the better qualified assistant accompanying the party who could be heard hurrying through the woodland.
‘Sure,’ Annie assented, turning from where she had completed wiping the blood from her reclaimed Green River knife on the shirt of her victim.
‘You’re wondering why those two didn’t see through my subterfuge?’ Johnson asserted rather than inquired. ‘While willing to administer the poison, neither had the stomach for examining our victims. Nor, it seems, did any of the half-breeds in the advance party of those coming to take over the driving notice anything when loading the night herders they are replacing to be brought back here.’
‘Could be he’s speaking true, Cuchilo,’ the girl called, having raised a blanket and studied, then shaken, the unmoving man beneath it vigorously by the shoulders. ‘This feller’s still breathing, but he’s not waking up any.’
‘Nor will he for at least twelve hours,’ the New Englander claimed. ‘I intended to leave them weapons and sufficient ammunition to be able to reach safety on foot, albeit too late for them to prevent us from completing the delivery of the herd.’
‘Why’d you just drug ’em?’ the Kid inquired, instead of pointing out the objections to the scheme which he—as a Westerner—could foresee.
‘They were all fine, upstanding young men and I’d grown to like them, while finding the associates forced upon me growing increasingly obnoxious,’ Johnson explained, sensing the young Texan realized—as he himself had done when seeking some means of salving an unexpected growth of conscience—that there were dangerous disadvantages to what he had done. From what he had seen and been told about Javelina and the other half-breeds, they were not involved because of a desire to help the Indians, but for profit. It was unlikely that, even if they failed to discover the victims were not dead, they would have ignored the possibility of acquiring loot. Even he had prevented the theft of that clothing, the firearms were too valuable to have been left behind. Therefore, the Easterners would have recovered and been left far from any human habitation without weapons to defend themselves. On top of that, during the long hours they remained unconscious, they might have been attacked by predators or scavengers such as turkey vultures and coyotes seeking an easy meal. Nevertheless, he had consoled himself with the thought that, no matter what happened later, he had at least tried to ensure they survived. ‘Besides, although there was an excellent reason why I was compelled to help and give the appearance of seeking to ensure a successful outcome, I never really believed the scheme would work. After its failure, there was sure to be a most thorough investigation and, knowing how much influence their various families could bring to bear to find those responsible, I had no desire to spend the rest of my life under the constant threat of being hunted down and finally brought to justice.’
‘What’s happened, Lon?’ Doc Leroy asked, reaching the area illuminated by the campfire in the forefront of the Texans.
‘Nothing you can deal with, regardless of the skill I hear you possess,’ the New Englander answered, before the Kid could speak. ‘At least, not for me. Even if an antidote exists for the poison I’ve been given, it’s highly unlikely you would have any of it with you.’
‘Take a look at him, anyway, Doc,’ Stone Hart instructed.
‘He’s right,’ the slender and pallid featured young Texan admitted, after having carried out an examination of the seated man. He spoke quietly to the trail boss and, because he took pride in his medical abilities, said a trifle sadly. ‘There’s nothing I can do for him. Fact being, he’ll soon be gone.’
‘There’s no need to whisper,’ Johnson said, without trying to rise from where Doc had eased him to lie on his back against a saddle for a pillow. ‘I know what my chances are and can only take comfort from knowing Roddy and Morrell have preceded me to Hell, as that is where I presume I will be going.’
‘Who else is behind what you were trying to do? the trail boss asked. ‘Was it that damned Society you said you represent?’
‘Not so far as I know, sir,’ the New Englander replied. ‘Although some of its members might have been involved, my impression is that the majority were no more than innocent dupes.’
‘You must know who hired you,’ Dusty Fog pointed out.
‘I don’t know, sir. The offer came through somebody I was not in a position to refuse,’ Johnson declared, then raised his right hand in a weak yet definitely prohibitive gesture. ‘Don’t ask me from whom it came. Dyi
ng I may be, but I’ve never betrayed an associate and, although I suppose they deserve it for having forced me into this sorry affair, I won’t break that rule. I will say one thing, though. When my young friends wake up, as I am now certain they will, tell them to spread the word of what happened to me around back East and I can promise you my associates will make the men behind Roddy and Morrell hard to find.’
‘We’ll do that,’ Dusty promised and, sharing his unspoken assumption that it might be preferable not to have the affair made public, Stone nodded concurrence.
‘Th—There’s another thing,’ the New Englander went on, but he was clearly finding it difficult to speak. ‘I’ve grown fond of those big, shaggy, ugly creatures I caused to be brought so far from their natural habitat—!’
‘And?’ the small Texan prompted.
‘If you possibly can, gentlemen,’ Johnson requested, making a visible effort to do so, ‘Save my buffalo from being killed!’
‘We’ll do the best we can for them!’
This time it was the trail boss of the Wedge who gave the assurance and the segundo of the OD Connected signified agreement!
‘Where’re the dudes?’ asked one of the ten men of obvious mixed birthright, gazing around as they rode into the light of the campfire.
‘Maybe to collect wood,’ Tom Javelina replied, bringing his mount to a halt and starting to dismount.
‘All three of ’em?’ growled a third half-breed, no more prepossessing in appearance than the rest of the well armed party.
