.44 Caliber Man (8 page)

On his return
to Texas, the crippling of Ole Devil Hardin— by a horse the Schells
captured—put Dusty Fog as segundo of the great OD Connected ranch.
^ix
He had recently returned from
completing a mission of some importance in Mexico and was once more
plunged into the business of rebuilding the ranch. Many tales were
told of his courage, chivalry and ability. In addition to being
lightning fast on the draw, he could shoot with considerable
accuracy from either hand and stood second to no man when it came
to rough-house brawling.
^x

Two men stood
on the porch, illuminated by the light from the open door. One was
at least six foot three in height, a golden blond giant with an
almost classically handsome face. In his right hand, he held a
white Stetson, its band decorated by silver conchas. All his
clothes, although functional and cowhand style, had been made to
measure. A green silk bandana trailed over his tan-colored shirt,
the latter cut to set off his great spread of shoulders and
tapering waist. Everything about him hinted at enormous strength.
Around his middle hung a wide leather gunbelt, two ivory handled
Army Colts in carefully designed holsters rode on it. Such a rig
would allow very fast withdrawal of the guns.

Compared with
his companion, the other man seemed hardly worth a second glance.
From his curly dusty blond hair to the high-heeled boots on his
feet he stood no more than five foot six. Good looking, it was not
in the eye-catching way of the blond giant. Although his calfskin
vest, blue shirt and levis pants were of the best quality, he
contrived to make them look like somebody’s cast-offs. Not even the
excellently made gun-belt and twin bone-handled Army Colts riding
butt forward in its holsters made the small man more noticeable.
Yet, if one chose to look closely, there was a strength,
intelligence and power in his face. The clothes concealed rather
than revealed the small man’s well-developed physique.

It was to the
second man, the insignificant-seeming young cowhand, that Jeanie
addressed her welcome.

‘
Come in, Cap’n Dusty. And you, friend.’

‘
Howdy, Jeanie, Ma,’ Dusty Fog greeted, entering the cabin
followed by his companion. This’s Mark Counter.’

In the near
future Mark Counter became known for his enormous strength and
ability as a rough-house fighter. His taste in clothes dictated
what the well-dressed Texas cowhand would wear. However, that
evening in Fort Sawyer neither Jeanie nor Ma had heard of him.

Son of a Big
Bend rancher, Mark had joined Dusty and the Kid during the former’s
mission into Mexico. Instead of returning to his home when the
mission ended, he decided to become a member of the OD Connected.
Not just a ranch hand, but as one of the floating outfit; a small
select group who travelled the back ranges, or handled work away
from the spread.

‘
My pleasure, ma’am,’ Mark said with old-time
courtesy.

‘
We were real sorry to hear about Trader, Ma,’ Dusty went on.
‘Uncle Devil sends his respects.’

‘
Thank you, Dusty,’ Ma replied. ‘Rest your feet. Have you
fed?’

‘
Colonel at the post gave us supper,’ Dusty told her. ‘We’d
brought in a herd of beef he needed to feed the Tejas.’

‘
They need feeding,’ Ma commented, watching the men sit at the
table.

‘
I was right pleased when Lon told me you were on the stage,
Jeanie,’ Dusty remarked. ‘Figured you could take us to Ma. It got
better when I found out you’re staying in town. We need fifty
horses for the OD Connected and Double B remudas. Can you get them
for us, Ma?’

‘
I reckon so. How soon do you want them?’

‘
As quick as you can,’ Dusty told her. ‘Spreads’re going to
need more horses if this idea of Uncle Charlie Goodnight’s comes
off.’

‘
What idea’s that?’ Jeanie asked, for Colonel Charles Goodnight
stood at the peak of the cattle industry.

‘
Him and Oliver Loving’s been driving cattle to Fort Sumner,
over to New Mexico,’ Dusty explained. ‘Well, he figures to take
three thousand head later this year—’

‘
Three thousand!’ Jeanie gasped.

‘
The Army’ll buy them to feed the Apaches on the reservations,’
Mark told her. ‘But that’s only part of it.’

‘
Sure,’ Dusty agreed. ‘If that many can be handled, we figure
to try driving them to the railroad in Kansas.’

‘
If it can be done, it’ll be the answer to where we can sell
our beef,’ Mark went on soberly. ‘Sure it’ll be hard, but a herd
that size’ll pay for the taking.’

‘
Handling the herd’s going to call for four to six horses a
man,’ Dusty said. ‘So we’ll need more of them.’

‘
We’ll get them for you,’ Ma promised. ‘The Kid allows he’s
working for you, Dusty.’

‘
He is,’ the small Texan grinned. ‘He met up with us at the
post. Was coming here, but he saw Arnie Hogan riding out of town
with a Mexican and figured to look around. Where’s Kenny
at?’

‘
He went to the hotel,’ Ma replied. ‘I allowed he’d best go
side that Scotch feller who was on the stage if the Flores boys
come calling.’

‘
We saw that feller’s name on the register at the hotel when we
went for rooms,’ Mark said, ‘Happen he’s kin to Major Angus
Farquharson who ran my company in Sheldon’s Cavalry, I’d say he can
look after himself.’

~*~

In the Black
Bear Saloon, Colin Farquharson looked like he was to be given a
chance to prove Mark’s words.

Every instinct
Colin possessed warned him of danger. He felt sure that the
incident had gone farther than a quarrel following a senseless,
tasteless and unfunny piece of horseplay. A sideways glance at
Kenny’s set, grim face, taken with the menacing behavior of the
four men facing them and the attitude of the watching crowd
confirmed his suspicions. Angus Farquharson had often mentioned the
quick tempers of the Texans and commented on their way of settling
arguments with roaring guns.

‘
Let’s go, Colin,’ Kenny said quietly after delivering his
warning.

For all the
even manner in which he spoke, Kenny knew the danger. While
competent with his Colt, he lacked the flashing, deadly speed of a
top gun fighter. Maybe he stood a chance of taking one of the four
with him, but he was sure to be killed. Guessing what Branch had in
mind, Kenny knew that backing down offered no answer. Branch’s
bunch would continue to goad Colin until the Scot resisted. When
that happened, Kenny would again be drawn into conflict. So Kenny
figured that the affair had best be settled straight away.

‘
You know how it is, Kenny boy,’ Branch said mockingly. ‘If we
let him go without showing us now, we’d be laughed out of town. So
we can’t let him go.’

A double
clicking sound reached Branch’s ears. While not as famous as it
would become, he recognized it as the noise made by a Henry rifle’s
loading mechanism at work. Branch and his companions looked into
the bar mirror and discovered that another player sat in the game.
Or stood in on it. A tall, slim, baby-faced youngster, dressed all
in black, propped open the batwing doors, handling a short
repeating rifle with casual competence.

‘
You want to bet you can’t?’ asked the Ysabel Kid.

With that, he
strolled across the room. He carried the Winchester in his right
hand, with his forefinger inside the trigger guard and the other
three curled through the lever, the barrel resting on his right
shoulder.

Watching the
Kid come towards him, Colin was reminded of a caged leopard he had
once seen. There was the same latent, controlled deadly ease of
movement, the warning that he could explode into blindingly fast
movement. From the Kid, Colin turned his eyes to his tormentors.
All but Branch showed uneasiness as the black-dressed youngster
came to a halt at Colin’s left side.

‘
Who asked you to bill in?’ Branch demanded
belligerently.

‘
Easy, Spring!’ Moore whispered urgently. ‘That’s the Ysabel
Kid.’

Instantly a
change came over Branch. While he had not recognized the Kid, he
was fully aware of the other’s reputation. Stacking up against
Kenny Schell and the unarmed Scot suddenly lost all its attraction,
when to do so also meant taking on the Ysabel Kid. So a weak grin
twisted at his lips.

‘
Hell, we were only kidding,’ Branch declared. The boys just
wanted to know what the feller wears under his skirt.’

‘
He killed Adàn Flores for trying to find out,’ the Kid
replied. ‘So if you bunch’ve a mind to see, come ahead.’

Having flung
down his challenge, the Kid stood in relaxed readiness to meet any
attempt to take it up. So did Kenny, his hand hovering to scoop the
Army Colt from its holster at the first hostile move.

None came.
Instead Branch shrugged and said, ‘We’ll forget it if he feels that
strong about it. Come on, boys. Let’s go drink someplace where they
ain’t so all-fired touchy.’

‘
Mister,’ the Kid put in, stopping Branch in mid-turn. ‘Should
anything happen to these two gents, accidental-like, I’ll come
looking for you—and I fight real dirty.’

‘
We’ll mind it,’ Branch promised and stamped from the saloon
followed by his men. None of them offered to as much as look back,
for fear that the Kid might regard doing so as a hostile
act.

On the street,
the Trimbles and Moore took turns in describing the Kid’s ancestry
and possible fate using the most lurid terms they could lay tongue
to. All the time, however, they walked at a fair clip away from the
Black Bear Saloon.

‘
What’re we going to do now, Sprig?’ Moore inquired.

‘
What can we do?’ Branch replied. ‘You boys want to lay for ’em
as they come out?’

‘
Naw!’ Eric Trimble stated emphatically.

‘
Folks might call it murder,’ Sam went on. ‘We could get Kenny
on his lonesome—’

‘
You figure the Kid didn’t mean what he said?’ Moore inquired
derisively. ‘If you do, lay for Kenny. But don’t ask me to go
along.’

‘
Huh!’ Branch snorted. ‘What’re we worrying over? The Army’ll
not be so eager to give them the contract with Trader
dead.’

With which
consolation, he led the way into another saloon.

After the
quartet had left, Kenny gave a long sigh and turned towards the
bar. ‘Let’s have three drinks, bar-keep,’ he said. ‘Kid, you were
as welcome as rain in a dry summer.’

‘
Likely,’ the Kid answered dryly and looked at Colin. ‘Friend,
if you’re going to keep on wearing that kilt, you’d best start to
pack a gun.’

Carefully Colin
Farquharson poured a measure of powder into the left-hand barrel of
the pistol he held. Its mate lay in the open box on the bed at his
side, along with the cased pair’s accessories. Working with smooth
precision, he rammed the charge and its wad down the barrel then
followed it with the rest of the load. He had already attended to
the other barrel, so he fitted the percussion caps in place and set
the hammers at half-cock. For a moment he sat looking at the second
pistol, then decided not to bother with it.

Hearing a knock
on the door, he crossed the room and opened it.

‘
Howdy,’ greeted Kenny Schell, entering. ‘Ma says for you to
come over and have breakfast with us.’

‘
That’s kind of her,’ Colin said, and meant it. ‘How did you
know where to find me?’

‘
Met the Kid going out,’ Kenny explained. ‘He told me that he’d
changed rooms with you last night.’

‘
So he did, although I’d never have thought a man like him
would be superstitious.’

With the
departure of Branch and his men from the Black Bear, Colin had
spent a pleasant evening at the saloon. April Hosman joined them,
then later Dusty Fog, Mark Counter and a couple of the OD Connected
cowhands arrived. There had been four Scots among the soldiers, all
highly delighted to see their native dress again. Nor did their
delight lessen when Colin admitted to having a set of bagpipes in
his baggage. Encouraged by the Scottish soldiers and his
companions, he had collected the bagpipes and entertained the
customers of the saloon to a selection of Highland tunes.

On their return
to the hotel, the Kid had asked Colin to change rooms with him
explaining that seven was a bad luck number for the Comanche,
whereas room twelve, which Colin rented, was guaranteed to give a
member of the Pehnane good fortune. Although slightly amused at
such primitive superstition, Colin had agreed to the exchange. He
did not realize that the Kid had really made the request in case of
a visit by the Flores brothers.

‘
Where’re Dusty, Mark and the Kid?’ Colin inquired as he
buckled on his belt.

‘
Over to the livery barn, tending to their hosses,’ Kenny
replied and indicated the pistol case. ‘That’s a right fancy pair
of hand-guns you’ve got. Don’t you have a revolver?’

‘
No.’

‘
It’ll likely be best for you to stick with the kind of guns
you know,’ Kenny admitted. ‘Let’s go. Ma’s waiting breakfast for us
and don’t take to being kept from her victuals in the
morning.’

The weather
being mild, Colin dispensed with jacket, vest and plaid. Appearing
in one’s shirt appeared to be socially acceptable, so he went along
with the local custom. After sliding the pistol in the loop on the
left side of his belt, with the dirk still in place at the right,
he put on his bonnet.