The Devil Gun (15 page)

While Marsden might be a Yankee, Billy Jack had received Dusty’s orders to let Marsden command the party and the lean non-com needed no more than that. Swiftly but thoroughly Billy Jack and Kiowa roped their prisoners’ hands and feet. With that done, Kiowa grinned at Liz.

‘How’s about showing us how you got these jaspers watching you, when we get back to the regiment, ma’am?’ he asked.

‘I thought you saw just now,’ she answered, trying to think if she had ever seen the impassive man smile before.

‘I did, only a feller can allus learn if he sees a thing done enough.’

‘Sure can,’ Billy Jack chuckled. ‘Let’s hitch up the wagon and pull out.’

‘Say,’ Kiowa drawled as they led the team horses into position. ‘These rifles will sure come in handy for our infantry.’

‘They sure will,’ Billy Jack agreed.

Suddenly Marsden realised what the words meant. If the Texans took the arms wagon back to Arkansas, the rifles would be used against the Union Army, probably to kill members of his regiment. A grim, tight expression came to his face.

‘We’ll throw the rifles and ammunition over that cliff into the lake,’ he said. ‘There’s nearly thirty foot of water under it Sergeant Ysabel said as we passed it. The Indians will never recover them from there.’

An angry objection rose to both Texans’ lips, but died unsaid. For the first time in days they remembered that Marsden served the Union. Yet they also knew what his presence meant to the people of Texas. Billy Jack and Kiowa exchanged glances, then the sergeant-major nodded.

‘We owe you that much, Mr. Marsden,’ he said.

‘How about the prisoners?’ Marsden asked, to conceal his gratitude and relief.

‘We’ll turn them loose. With the guns gone, they’ll know what to expect if the Indians lay hands on them,’ Kiowa replied. ‘Wonder how Cap’n Dusty’s doing?’

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

In many ways the Ager Coffee Mill Gun was a fine weapon, far superior to the Barnes or Ripley guns which preceded it and better, more reliable than the Billinghurst Requa or Vandenburg Volley gun. The model in Castle and Silverman’s possession stood on a light artillery mount, but lacked the protective shield fitted to some models as defence for the gunners against return fire by the enemy. Single-barrelled, .58-in, calibre, it derived its name from the resemblance its operating parts bore to the coffee-grinding mills of the day.

Standing to the left of the gun, Lieutenant Silverman fed another handful of loaded chargers into the hopper-shaped magazine on top of the gun. The sallow-faced, large-nosed stocky lieutenant made sure each charger went in correctly, for both he and his partner in the scheme knew they must not let the Indians see the gun jam.

Captain Castle, at the gun’s right side, twirled its cranking handle at less than the fastest possible speed. Far from a source of supply, he wanted to conserve powder, shot and chargers as much as possible. While the guns fired slowly, it still exceeded anything the Indians had ever seen. Mutters of awe rose all around the halfcircle of watching chiefs and braves as the gun continued to crash, spewing its used chargers around the tall, slim, lean-faced captain’s feet.

At last Castle stopped turning the handle, although several rounds still remained in the hopper. By the time he had turned towards the Indians, he found their usual impassive masks looking at him and he read nothing on their faces. Running a tongue tip over his lips in a nervous manner, Castle turned his gaze to the two civilians who stood on his right. Tall, gaunt, clad in the garb of a circuit-riding preacher, the Deacon’s sombre features showed as little expression as the Indians’. He stood with legs braced apart, an eight gauge, twin barrelled shotgun held down before him in both hands. Next to the Deacon lounged a lean, long-haired, dirty, mean-faced man in smoke-blackened buckskins, but the gunbelt around his waist and the holstered Army Colt were clean and cared-for.

An elderly, stocky, powerfully built Comanche chief growled out a question and Cracker turned to Castle.

‘Long Walker says the Devil Gun eats much powder and shot. Can you get more?’

Bending down, Castle lifted one of the used chargers and held it for the chief—one of the most powerful and influential present—to see. The charger proved to be a steel tube with a place in its bottom to accommodate a percussion cap. Taking the powder flask and moulded lead bullet from Silverman’s reluctant hand—the lieutenant hoped to heighten his prestige by demonstrating how to load the charger, but Castle did not intend to allow anyone to share his glory. The captain showed the Indian how easily the Devil Gun’s appetite could be appeased.

‘Tell the chief that we will have powder, lead and fresh charges brought as we need them,’ Castle ordered Cracker. ‘We have enough for an attack upon both Fort Worth and Dallas, after we have proved our claims for the gun on some smaller objective.’

While Cracker interpreted, Castle stood thinking of his great scheme. Once the Indians rose, there would be no stopping them and they would wipe out the hated rebels. That ought to bring the Texans fighting in the Confederate Army home with a rush, but they would not arrive in one party and the Indians ought to be able to swamp, then exterminate each body of men as it returned. That loss of man-power would so weaken the South that it must surrender. Castle wished there was some way the Indians could be turned loose though all the Southern States so as to leave none of the rebels alive.

At that point of his day-dream, Castle became aware of a stir among the assembled Indians and a startled gasp from Silverman. Bringing his eyes in the direction everybody stared, the Union captain let his mouth drop open at what he saw.

Two men walked from the darkness which surrounded the area lit by large fires. Not just two men, but a pair of Confederate soldiers, a captain and a sergeant, in uniform. Unlike the two Union officers, who showed a voluntary untidiness beyond that of hard travel, Dusty Fog looked smart; for Jill and Liz had worked hard all day to clean up the signs of the journey from his clothes. To show their ‘good faith’ the two Yankees attended the meeting without weapons. From what Ysabel told him. Dusty retained his gunbelt as a sign that he respected the others present and expected them to be able to trust him among them while armed.

Up lunged a Kaddo brave, lifting the Hawkens rifle from his knees. Before he could make a move, one of his companions caught his arm and pointed to the fringed, decorated buckskin boot which covered Ysabel’s rifle.

‘This one is called Ysabel!’ boomed Long Walker in a warning voice. ‘He is a member of the Dog Soldier lodge as his medicine pouch shows.’

Which meant that the big white man had a right to attend the council and anyone who objected chanced the wrath of the most feared of all the Comanche war lodges.

‘And the other?’ asked Plenty Kills, main chief of the Kiowa.

‘This one is a great war chief of his people,’ Ysabel answered in Spanish. ‘He is my blood brother, we cut wrists and mixed blood.’

And that gave Dusty the right to be present.

‘What do you want here?’ Lone Hunter of the Kaddo asked.

For the first time in his life the Deacon panicked. Knowing his fate at the hands of his fellow-Texans should his betrayal become public news, he prepared to take the easy way out, relying on the Devil Gun’s medicine to quieten any Indian-raised objections to his breach of hospitality.

‘They’re spies!’ he screeched and started to lift his shotgun. ‘Get ‘em!’

Instantly Cracker sent his right hand stabbing towards the butt of his gun. He knew Sam Ysabel could never remove the long medicine boot from the Sharps in time to take a hand, which left only that rebel captain to be handled.

An instant behind Cracker’s move, Dusty sent his hands crossing to the white handles of the matched Army Colts in a flicker of movement almost faster than the eye could follow. Three-quarters of a second later the two Colts crashed in Dusty’s grip, their shots sounding so close together that no man, not even the most quick-eared Indian present, could tell the sound apart. Caught between the eyes with a .44 bullet, the Deacon pitched over backwards, his shotgun still not raised high enough to fire. Colt still in leather, Cracker rocked, spun around and fell even as his boss went down.

A low mutter arose from the watching Indians, but interest and not anger prompted it. Every man present was a brave-heart warrior with a name for being a bone-tough fighter from soda to hock. The quickest and most effective way to gain their attention was to display superlative skill in the handling of any kind of weapon. Every man present realised they watched a master hand demonstrate his talent in the business of killing enemies.

‘This one is called Magic Hands,’ Ysabel boomed out as Dusty holstered the guns. ‘He comes to the council to listen and speak.’

Long Walker looked around the party of leading chiefs with whom he sat. First Plenty Kills, an old friend of the Comanche chief, nodded in agreement. Not to be out-done in courtesy and adherence to tradition, the other chiefs gave their complete assent to Dusty’s continued presence.

Remembering what Ysabel told him about Indian etiquette, Dusty turned to Castle and saluted.

‘Carry on speaking, sir,’ he said.

Confusion and distrust showed on Castle’s face as he received Dusty’s permission and watched the small Texan walk over to sit among the chiefs. Then he saw a way out of the predicament.

‘I can’t speak Spanish.’

‘Sergeant Ysabel will interpret for you,’ Dusty countered.

‘I said all I meant to before you came,’ Castle snarled.

‘And I heard you,’ Dusty replied. ‘With your permission, sir, I’ll speak to the council now you’re through.’

Once more a low rumble went around the assembled Indians. Tradition meant much to them and they respected a man who showed courtesy to an enemy. All would listen to Dusty the more willingly now he had shown his knowledge of their ways.

Stepping forward, Dusty looked around at the sea of impassive brown faces. After a moment’s thought to prepare himself for speaking in Spanish, he began to address the council.

‘The blue-coat chief says you should attack the settlements. You have tried before and many brave-hearts now roam the land of the spirits. He says many of our men are away, fighting with his people. That is true, but they can return soon and will come bringing many wheel guns—’

‘You have the Devil Gun!’ Castle yelled, for Ysabel had been translating Dusty’s words for the Yankee’s benefit. In doing so Castle committed a breach of council etiquette, he should have waited for Dusty to finish before speaking.

‘The Devil Gun is only one. We have many wheel guns,’ Dusty went on.

Again Castle burst in. ‘The Devil Gun is here. The grey-coats’ wheel guns are far away.’

While Ysabel turned Castle’s words into Spanish, Dusty thought up an answer.

‘This chief thinks much of the Devil Gun’s medicine. But has he showed you proof that its medicine is good?’

‘I fired the gun.’ Castle answered edging nearer to the trap Dusty set for him. ‘All men here saw its power.’

Like a flash Dusty cut back with. ‘All men heard noises. But children in their games make noises and do no harm.’

‘You’ve seen the gun work!’ Castle yelled.

‘But you have not seen it kill!’ Dusty pointed out and he walked slowly around to halt some twenty feet before the muzzle of the gun. ‘Let them kill me with their Devil Gun—if its medicine is strong enough to do so.’

Although Castle knew no Spanish, he understood Dusty’s gesture without needing Ysabel’s explanation. A quick glance around the council showed him a tense expectancy and he knew that he must accept the Texan’s challenge. On the face of it everything was in Castle’s favour. He stood at the side of the gun still, its firing handle close to his hand. All he need do was reach forward, grip and move that handle to send a bullet into Dusty’s stomach. Such a simple thing to do.

And then Castle remembered how the Deacon and Cracker came to die!

They too thought they had an easy task on their hands. Almost as if it happened again. Castle saw the way the small Texan’s hands moved to draw, shoot and kill the two renegades.

When Castle conceived his scheme, he saw himself following in the wake of the attacking Indians, using the Ager from a safe distance and taking no chances. Running risks with his valuable life did not enter his calculations. He planned to stay alive to reap the acclaim and benefits the successful end of the plan would bring. Only he would not do so if he tried to reach the gun’s firing handle.

‘It’s your turn to handle the gun, Herbie,’ he told Silverman.

Shock, fear and suspicion mingled on Silverman’s face at the words. Silverman had a mean-minded, mistrusting nature, and also a very broad streak of caution. Killing people without a chance did not worry him, but trying to kill a man who could move as quickly as Dusty did, brought a muck-sweat of apprehension to the Union lieutenant.

‘It was your idea,’ he hissed back at Castle. ‘You do it.’

A rustle of movement ran through the council as the two Yankees hesitated to display the Devil Gun’s medicine. Through it all Dusty stood still, hands at his sides, face showing complete assurance that should Castle make a move, Dusty knew he could beat it. After almost two minutes Dusty took his plan a step further. Slowly he reached down and unfastened the holsters’ pigging thongs from around his legs.

‘Perhaps the Devil Gun’s medicine does not work against armed men,’ he said.

Shocked disbelief etched itself upon Ysabel’s usually impassive face as he saw, though could hardly believe, what Dusty aimed to do. Ysabel’s agitation showed even more as he gave a low-growled warning.

‘You’ll have to go through with it if you once start, Cap’n.’

‘I aim to, Sam,’ Dusty replied and unbuckled his belt. ‘I aim to.’

With that, Dusty tossed his guns to one side and stood empty handed before the yawning muzzle of the Devil Gun. However, he gave the impression of being ready to dive after and grab his guns should Castle make a move.

Sucking in his breath, Castle took a chance. He lunged forward, reaching for the firing handle with his right hand, the left swinging the gun on its lateral traverse. Crouching slightly, Castle aimed the Ager’s barrel downwards so that it moved in line towards where Dusty’s gunbelt lay. Around turned the handle, flame spurting out—to strike nothing but earth.

Dusty had not dived for his guns—he never meant to do so. At Castle’s first movement, Dusty went forward in a rolling dive, straight towards the left side of the Ager. While Castle swung the gun towards the right, Dusty passed from its range of fire and to comparative safety.

Letting out a yell in which fear and fury mingled, Silverman sprang from his place at the loading hopper to land kneeling at Dusty’s right and grab down at the Texan’s throat with both hands. Castle, filled with concern for his safety, and mortification, plunged around the Ager and prepared to launch a vicious kick at Dusty from the other side.

Realising that he must deal with Silverman first, Dusty went into action long before Castle made his move. Even as Silverman’s hands reached his throat, Dusty’s left leg rose and its knee smashed into the Yankee’s ribs. A grunt of pain burst from Silverman and his hold relaxed slightly. Up shot Dusty’s right arm, passing between Silverman’s as it aimed towards the other’s face. Instead of clenching his fist, Dusty kept the fingers extended and held together, thumb bent across his palm in the
nukite
piercing hand of karate. The tips of his fingers stabbed hard under Silverman’s nose, catching the philtrum collection of nerve centres. Although unable to put all his power behind the blow. Dusty still brought about a rapid release of his throat and left himself free to handle Castle’s impending assault.

Rolling over on to his left side, Dusty struck around with his left arm. He used the
uraken
back-fist blow to hit and deflect Castle’s kicking leg. On the heels of the
uraken
. Dusty’s right hand stabbed forward to catch Castle’s raised ankle and heaved to unbalance the Yankee. Drawing up his left leg under him, Dusty lashed out a snap kick with his right that just missed Castle’s groin and sent him reeling away.