The Devil Gun (14 page)

Knowing Billy Jack’s skill in such matters, Dusty left him to his work and joined Kiowa at the fire. With the horses cared for, Liz knelt at the fire preparing a meal for the men. She listened to the conversation out of simple curiosity, not because she sought some information useful in spoiling Dusty’s arrangements.

‘Saw some Indian sign down to the south,’ Kiowa remarked. ‘Couple of sizeable bunches headed north-west. Then we come across a bunch of young Kaddo bucks and hid out from ‘em. That’s why we came in so late.’

‘Those Kaddos headed right for the council grounds?’ asked Dusty.

‘Reckon so,’ admitted the lean sergeant. ‘We called it right, Cap’n.’

‘Looks that way. Say, where’s Jill and Jack Marsden?’

‘Need you ask,’ smiled Liz.

‘Reckon not,’ Dusty admitted with a grin. ‘Only I hope they don’t stop out there spooning too long. We’ve some fast moving to do to make up for the delay.’

Next day the party pushed on at a fast pace, riding and walking to such purpose that they made all of forty miles. Nor did they slow down the following day. The party crossed the Elm Fork of the Trinity just below its junction with the Denton and passed over the Trinity’s West Fork so as to make camp on the southern tip of Lake Bridgeport. That night first the girls, then the men, grabbed a chance to swim in the lake, wash off the travel dirt and try to soak away the ache of hard travel. Dawn found them moving across what today is Jack County. Having found Indian sign, fresh and headed west, Dusty now kept Ysabel out ahead as scout and Kiowa brought up the rear. The rest of the party kept together, still travelling fast but now using caution and even more alert for trouble. Dusty no longer feared trouble from the Yankees, but he knew the Indians would be a far more serious menace than any Union soldiers.

‘What are those?’ Liz asked, pointing to several circling black dots in the noonday sky, as she walked at Dusty’s side and led her mare.

‘Turkey buzzards,’ he answered. ‘Hovering over an Indian kill, maybe.’ For all his light tone, Dusty gave the turkey vultures another glance before directing his gaze towards Ysabel. Seeing the sergeant halt, turn and wave, Dusty went on. ‘Mount up. Keep back a piece, you girls.’

Leaving the other two men to guard the girls, Dusty urged his horse to a faster pace and joined Ysabel on top of a rolling fold of land. A low hiss of anger left Dusty’s lips at what he saw below on the other side of the slope. Side by side, Dusty and Ysabel rode down the slope towards what had once been a peaceful, neat little cabin. When Dusty told Liz that the circling turkey vultures could be hovering over an Indian’s kill, he meant a buffalo, elk, or maybe a longhorn butchered for meat. What lay before him was not so innocent.

By the corral lay the naked, mutilated shape of what had been a burly white man, the mangled flesh giving no hint as to which of the many holes and gashes killed him. Not far away the gutted body of a large dog sprawled in death.

‘Why the hell do they have to carve a man up like that?’ Dusty growled. ‘I wonder who he was.’

‘Dutchy Ritter, Cap’n,’ Ysabel replied. ‘I know his dawg. He was a horse-trader with a wife and two kids.’

‘When did it happen?’

‘Towards evening yesterday, I’d say. Don’t get it though, Dutchy allus got on with the Comanches and this’s Comanche country.’

Dusty did not reply. Riding to the house, he swung from his saddle and walked to the shattered door. Only by an effort could he force himself to enter the building, for he guessed what he would find inside. Through necessity Dusty had become accustomed to seeing death, but he was pale under his tan as he returned to the open again. He expected the sight in the room to be bad, but not quite that bad.

By the time Dusty emerged, the remainder of the party had come up. Liz, face set and pale, eyes fighting to avoid looking again at the grisly things by the corral, dismounted and walked towards the house.

‘Is this Indian work?’ she asked, her voice hoarse and strained.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Dusty replied.

‘Was he alone?’

‘No.’

Listening to Dusty’s flat, cold, one-word reply, Liz knew something far worse than the horror at the corral lay in the building. Much as she wanted to turn and run, Liz knew she must see the inside of the cabin. Setting her teeth grimly, she walked by Dusty and before he realised what she meant to do had passed through the door. A low cry left her lips at what she saw. The two children, a boy and a girl, were bad enough, their small bodies battered and mutilated—but the worse horror hung half in, half out of the bed. In life it had been a pretty woman and carrying an unborn child. The face was unmarked. A hideous gash laid the throat open to the bone. Yet there was even more. The woman’s belly had been ripped open and the unborn child’s body trailed on to the floor by her side.

‘This’s what they’ll turn loose all through Texas,’ Dusty said quietly.

For a moment Liz stood staring around her. Then she gave a low moan, turned and collapsed sobbing into Dusty’s arms. The cabin seemed to be whirling around, heaving up and down before Liz’s eyes and everything went black.

Blue sky greeted her when she recovered. Jill knelt at her side and the rebel girl’s face showed concern. To one side Dusty stood talking with Ysabel, and Liz caught the words.

‘So it was Kaddo work,’ he said.

‘Sure. Young bucks headed for the council and took a chance to gather some loot,’ Ysabel agreed. ‘I didn’t figure Comanches’d jump Dutchy, he got on with ‘em.’

‘I should have stopped Liz going in there,’ Dusty stated.

‘Should have,’ agreed Ysabel. ‘Only now she knows what Castle’s scheme’ll mean.’

‘Yes,’ Dusty said flatly. ‘Now she knows. Let’s go help the others with the burying.’

oooOooo

* Underground Railroad: Organisation for smuggling freed slaves to Northern States.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

‘We’re too late, Cap’n,’ Sam Ysabel told Dusty quietly. ‘They’ve beaten us to it. Arrived this morning.’

Sitting to one side of the small Texan, Liz listened to the words with a cold chill of apprehension. She had talked little since the finding of the ravaged ranch and her face showed haggard lines not entirely due to fatigue. Watching Dusty, she wondered what he would—or could—do in view of Ysabel’s news. They had reached the upper tip of Lake Sheppard and made a hidden camp in the pine woods just below where the Brazos flowed into the lake. On arrival, Dusty sent Ysabel out on a scout of the area, from which the sergeant had just returned and brought the worst possible news.

Liz wondered how Dusty must feel, having ridden so far, planned so well, and to find that he came on the scene just a few hours too late. It must be a bitter blow. Yet she could see no chance of preventing Castle’s scheme. Four men and two girls—yes, two, for she intended to give all her help to stopping the uprising—could do nothing against a large camp of Indians who had the backing of an Ager Coffee Mill gun.

‘How much do you know?’ Dusty asked.

‘Caught me a Kaddo buck as he was out hunting,’ Ysabel answered. ‘He got around to talking after a spell. The big council’s fixed for tonight. Then the Yankees’ll be showing off their Devil Gun, which’s what they’re calling the Ager.’

‘Is it much of a camp?’ asked Billy Jack, mirroring Liz’s thoughts.

‘I’d put it at around fifty each of Comanches, Kaddos and Kiowas. Few Wacos, smidgin of Attacapas from the coast, and I’d swear to there being some White Mountain Apaches out of New Mexico.’

‘But how did they all get to hear of the council?’ Liz put in.

‘Now that’s a right smart question, ma’am,’ Ysabel answered. ‘I’ve lived among the Comanches, am a member of the Dog Soldier Lodge, but I don’t start to pretend I can explain half the things I’ve seen Injun medicine-men do.’

‘The meeting’s set for tonight, you say, Sam,’ Dusty said.

‘Yep. The chiefs have seen the rifles and only want showing how the Devil Gun works.’

‘The arms wagon is in the camp?’

‘Nope. The Deacon’s not that loco, Cap’n. He’s got it stashed down in the woods on top of the big bend the river makes afore it forks apart. Meeting’s right down at the bottom of the bend’s loop.’

‘Many men with the wagon, Sam?’ Marsden inquired as he sat at Jill’s side.

‘The two Yankees, Deacon, his right bower, Cracker and three more. Reckon the Deacon’ll take Cracker along when he goes with the Yankees to the Council, seeing’s how he don’t speak Spanish, and Spanish’s the only language that they all understand.’

‘Leaves three with the wagon then,’ Billy Jack stated. ‘At least we’ll stop ‘em getting the rifles, Cap’n Dusty.’

‘And the Injuns’d still ride. More so to get them back. Especially when they see what that Ager’ll do,’ Kiowa informed him.

‘If we could only get into that council—’ Dusty began.

‘We can,’ Ysabel replied. ‘Least I can. I’m a member of the Dog Soldier lodge and can go to any council called for the tribe.’

‘Even in your army uniform?’ asked Dusty.

‘Got my medicine boot for the Sharps, with that it don’t matter how I dress. Long Walker’s there and he’s my friend. If I know him, he don’t want this war. He’s an old-time Comanche and won’t hold with riding alongside Kaddos, much less with Wacos or them coast Attacapas. With him there, I can walk into that council.’

‘Can you take me in with you?’

For a long moment Ysabel did not reply. Then he nodded his head. ‘There’s one way. If you and I were blood brothers, I could take you along.’

‘Then you’d best make me your blood brother,’ Dusty said.

‘Have you a plan, sir?’ Marsden asked, watching Dusty intently.

‘Call it a fool notion, mister,’ Dusty replied. ‘I’ve learned a few things about Indians during this journey. Enough to take a chance on spoiling the Devil Gun’s medicine.’

Although a painful death awaited him if anything went wrong with Dusty’s plan, Billy Jack did not hesitate to ask, ‘How many of us’re going, sir?’

‘Only Sam and I,’ Dusty answered, and stifled the low rumble of objection with a gesture. ‘Mr. Marsden, you’ll take Billy Jack and Kiowa tonight and either bring away that arms wagon, or destroy it. Either way, it must not fall into the Indian’s hands.’

‘And the girls, sir?’ Marsden said.

‘They will remain here, hidden,’ Dusty ordered, and looked at Liz as she made a start at protesting. ‘No arguments, Miss Chamberlain. Neither of you are trained or suited for the work ahead. I want you to remain here with the pack animals. If we haven’t returned at dawn, or if you hear anything to suggest that we won’t be coming back, strike out to the south along the river. Ride as you’ve learned during the journey and when you find white folks start to spread the word of what’s happened up here.’

‘Very good, Captain,’ Liz replied.

‘We’ll get through, if we can,’ Jill promised, trying to hold concern out of her voice as she clung to Marsden’s hand.

‘Best show us how the land lies around the wagon, Sam,’ Kiowa suggested.

Squatting on his heels by the fire, Ysabel used his bowie knife’s point to clear a patch of earth on which he drew a rough, but fairly accurate map of the arms wagon’s location. Using his knowledge of such matters as a guide, he pointed out the easiest route by which to make an advance towards the clearing in which the wagon stood and mentioned the snags one might expect.

‘Only thing I can see’s going to be whether Mr. Marsden and Billy Jack can move quiet enough through the woods in the dark,’ he concluded. ‘Them boys guarding the wagon know Injuns and won’t be sleeping on the job.’

‘How about it, Mr. Marsden?’ Dusty asked.

‘I’ve hunted deer, sir.’

‘Deer don’t shoot back and take your scalp, mister,’ Ysabel remarked, but his voice stayed friendly. ‘You’ll have to move
real
quiet through the woods so’s to get up close—’

‘And then cross about twenty yards of open ground to reach the men,’ Dusty interrupted, bringing up a point the other overlooked. ‘They’ll have to be taken quietly. I don’t want the Indians at the council alerting.’

‘There’s no chance of waiting until the guards sleep, sir?’ asked Marsden. ‘They might all go to sleep at the same time.’

‘In Injun country?’ Ysabel grunted. ‘I tell you, mister, these fellers know the game. They’re still alive and they’ve been in hostile country most of their growing lives.’

Silence dropped on the men for a moment as they began to examine the difficulties of the situation.

‘I could get to the edge of the clearing without ‘em hearing me,’ Kiowa stated. ‘But it’s moving in on them that’ll make the fuss.’

‘What we need is a diversion,’ Marsden put in.

Liz had sat listening to the talk, her brain working furiously in an attempt to help out with the problem. An idea came to her and she looked at Jill for a moment before speaking.

‘Perhaps Jill and I could cause the diversion you need,’ she said and explained her idea.

‘It might work,’ Dusty admitted.

‘Won’t it be too dangerous for—the girls, sir?’ Marsden asked.

‘Mister, they’re living in danger,’ Dusty answered. ‘But it’s going to take some slick timing to bring it off. And there’s another thing—’ At this point his words trailed off and he sat for a few seconds thinking out the idea which came. ‘There’s one way we could play it,’ he finally remarked.

None of the three men guarding the arms wagons cared for the thought of sitting within two miles of a sizeable Indian camp while in possession of such desirable loot as three hundred Sharps rifles, with ammunition, percussion caps and Maynard tape primers to feed the said weapons. True the various tribes gathered for a peaceful council, but some of the younger bucks might take it into their heads that the top of the big bend of the river did not count as sacred ground and so could be raided with impunity.

So the trio stayed alert, ears strained to catch any deviation from the normal night noises. While the men might lack formal schooling, and their morals left much to be desired, all knew one thing very well; how to stay alive in hostile country. The normal night noises did not disturb them, but a fresh sound came to their ears and brought them to their feet at the small fire on which their coffee pot stood.

‘Hosses,’ announced the lean, bearded man. ‘Coming this way.’

‘Only two of ‘em,’ remarked the short, stocky man.

A moment later all three heard the faint click of steel striking rock, although less keen ears would have failed to catch the sound.

‘Shod hooves,’ growled the third of the guards.

No Indian ever rode a shod horse. Even should he take a white man’s horse as loot, the Indian ripped off the valuable metal shoes for his own use.

‘Get out of sight!’ snapped the bearded man. ‘Hit the wagon, Smokey. You go in the bushes, Will.’

Neither questioned the bearded man’s right to give orders. Turning, the short man hurried across the clearing and took cover in the bushes on the very edge of the area illuminated by the fire. Moving just as fast, the third man went to the rear of the wagon, swung himself up and disappeared inside. The bearded man threw a glance at the Volcanic rifle which rested against his saddle, then he looked towards the picketed team and saddle horses at one side of the clearing. Finally he sank on his haunches at the fire, drawing his Navy Colt and resting it on his knees.

Nearer came the horses, following the rough trail made by the Deacon on previous trading visits to the bend of the river. If the riders aimed to sneak up on the camp, they showed poor judgment or mighty poor faith in the guards’ abilities. Making no attempt to ride quietly, the newcomers came closer, although still out of sight.

‘Hello the fire!’ called a female voice.

‘Who is it?’ a second woman’s voice went on.

A few seconds later the man found himself gazing at a pair of dishevelled, pretty girls who rode slumped wearily in their saddles. His eyes took in Jill’s torn shirt and the fact that she needed one hand to hold the cloth together. From there he gazed with frank interest at Liz, whose blouse had lost a sleeve and hung ripped open down its side, while her skirt was torn from hem almost to hip and showed an expanse of bare white leg as she rode astride.

‘Th—Thank God!’ Liz gasped. ‘You’re white men. We’ve been lost for hours until we saw your fire.’

Rising, the man eyed the girls suspiciously and made no attempt to holster his gun. ‘Where’d you come from?’ he asked.

‘We were travelling to Fort Worth with a party from the Indian Nations,’ Jill answered. ‘Only we lost them last night.’

‘Get down,’ the man growled.

Instinctively he knew something to be wrong, although he could not quite put his finger on it. Certainly the girls looked weary, untidy and scared enough to have been lost for some time. Maybe—

At that point he lost interest in the matter. Liz started to swing her leg over the saddle and dismount, but the torn hem of her skirt caught on the horn and hung there. A squeal of embarrassment left her lips as she lowered her foot to the ground and found her leg exposed to view.

When dressing for her part in Dusty’s plan, Liz donned the clothing damaged in her first fight with Jill and augmented it with a pair of very daring drawers of a kind actresses, but few of Liz’s class, wore. She thought the effect might be increased by the extra exposure the drawers offered as opposed to the more ladylike long-legged variety a proper young lady wore. From the way the bearded man’s eyes bulged out, she knew she’d made a wise decision.

‘I—I’m caught up,’ she told the man pathetically.

Watching Liz, Jill could barely hold down a chuckle. Give her her due, the Yankee girl could sure act. She looked as helpless as the heroine of one of the melodramatic plays put on by travelling theatrical troupes; although they never showed their legs in so daring a manner during mixed or family shows. Certainly the bearded man had no suspicions as he started forward to help free Liz’s skirt.

Nor, it appeared, had the other two guards. In an age when a woman’s exposed calf drew gasps of indignation, or interested stares, depending on the sex of the observer, men like that trio would not hesitate to take a closer look at as much exposed female limb as Liz offered to view.

Dropping from the wagon, Smokey walked towards the girls. He failed to see why Rogers should have all the fun. So did Will, for he emerged from the bushes and started to hurry across the clearing. In his haste, Will failed to notice a dark shape rise behind him and follow on his trail with the silent, deadly purpose of a cougar stalking a whitetail deer. In one respect Will might have counted himself fortunate. While awaiting the girls’ arrival, Kiowa watched Will’s arrival in the bushes. Knife in hand, the Indian-dark sergeant stalked Will and had been on the point of silencing the other when Will left cover to lend a hand with Liz’s predicament. Silently, Kiowa glided out of the woods after Will and only the other’s preoccupation with viewing Liz’s legs prevented his normally keen senses from detecting his danger.

Although as absorbed in the view as his two friends were, Rogers could not help but feel that he missed an important detail. Not until he had almost reached Liz did he realise what was wrong. While the girls showed signs of hard travelling, their horses appeared to be fresh.

‘What the—’ he began.

At which point Billy Jack and Marsden burst into sight from either side of the trail down which the girls appeared. Guns in hand, they sprang forward, covering the startled guards.

‘Freeze, boys!’ Billy Jack requested.

Rogers let out a low snarl and his hand stabbed down at his gun. Jumping her buckskin forward, Jill swung up the hand she kept hidden from the guards. In it she held her Tranter and she put the gun to good use. Up rose her hand and, powered by a strong arm, slammed the barrel of the gun downwards on to Rogers’ head. Giving a low grunt, the man buckled at the knees and went down.

Exposed to the guns of the newcomers far more than Rogers had been, Smokey raised his hands in surrender. While a shot might alert the boss’ party at the big council, Smokey knew its bullet would end his life; and he did not feel in the mood for noble self-sacrifice right then.

Across the clearing, Will reached hipwards. He figured himself to be far enough from the soldiers to take a chance and also that they could not see his movement. Even as his fingers closed around the butt of his gun, his instincts told him that he was not alone. The feeling received confirmation when something sharp pricked his spine just at the point where the kidneys could best be reached by an exploratory knife.

‘Let’s keep it quiet,
hombre
,’ growled an Indian-savage voice in Will’s ear. ‘Just walk forward slow and easy.’

A hand removed Will’s gun, tossing it aside, and he walked forward slowly.

‘It worked,’ Liz announced proudly, freeing her dress and letting it drop into something like a respectable position.

‘Never thought it wouldn’t,’ Billy Jack replied as he advanced to disarm the other guards.

Nor had he, for he possessed great faith in the planning ability of the small man who led him. Dusty’s idea worked smoothly. To give them a chance to approach the camp undetected, Dusty told Marsden and Billy Jack to ride behind the girls and drop off the horses just before reaching the clearing. In that way they avoided a long, difficult stalk through the woods with the danger of making some noise to warn the guards. How well the plan worked showed as the Deacon’s men lost their weapons without a shot being fired or an unnecessary noise made.

‘Tie them securely, Sergeant-major,’ Marsden ordered, and wondered if the man would obey him.

‘Yo!’ Billy Jack replied.