Dusty Fog matched Waco’s summation concerning Break O’Day’s presence in their vicinity. So, without being too obvious about it, he studied every detail of the man’s appearance.
First item of interest, the gunbelt was the rig of a fast man with a Colt. If O’Day could use it to its full potential, he would be a man to be reckoned with in a corpse-and-cartridge affair. Of good quality, his clothes and boots showed signs of hard travelling; but they were otherwise newly purchased.
Turning his attention to O’Day’s face, Dusty found it more interesting than his clothing or armament and rig. Good looking, tanned, it had an almost unnatural smoothness. Either he had shaved recently, or had a very slow beard, for his cheeks, top lip and chin were devoid of hair. His eyes looked strangely sunken for such a fresh, healthy face and their brows seemed almost artificially bristly. Deep brown in color, the eyes were cold, yet strangely compelling in the intensity of their scrutiny. His voice had a slight, educated East Coast accent. It came out with a clarity that suggested it had been trained for being heard distinctly at a fair distance.
Having caught both O’Day’s horses without any difficulty, Waco rejoined his companions. Dusty’s quick examination of the animals told him that they were good stock, selected for their respective duties. Although somewhat older than the man’s clothing, both riding and packsaddles had cost good money and were fairly new. From the look of it, the coiled rope strapped to the saddlehorn had never been used.
‘We’d best get moving, Mr. O’Day,’ Dusty suggested. ‘That buck’s likely gone to fetch help.’
‘The way he was coming for me, I didn’t think he’d need it,’ O’Day replied cheerfully. ‘I don’t know what he shouted to you, but it sounded like one hell—if the ladies will pardon the term—of a mean cuss-word.’
‘You could say that,’ the small Texan drawled, seeing no point in enlightening the man as to what the brave had said. ‘Let’s move. Maybe you’d best stick with us for a spell, mister.’
‘I’ll be obliged for the opportunity of company,’ the man declared. ‘Unless my presence will discommode the ladies.’
‘If that means do we mind having you along, the answer’s no,’ Emma put in, her eyes raking O’Day from head to toe in just as thorough but more noticeable scrutiny than Dusty had given the man. ‘Say. Haven’t I met you somewhere?’
‘I would hardly have forgotten so charming and beautiful a lady as yourself, ma’am,’ O’Day replied, with a flourishing bow, and turned to take his reins from Waco. ‘My thanks to you, young feller.’
‘Twarn’t nothing,’ Waco drawled. ‘You-all wanting for me to take a point, Brother Matt?’
‘Go to it,’ the small Texan replied, pleased that the youngster had not forgotten to revert to using their assumed names. ‘And don’t you ride with your eyes closed, boy.’
‘I only do that when I’m asleep,’ Waco grinned. ‘Look after my big brother, Miss Emma.’
The blonde made no reply, but sat her horse and continued to stare at O’Day with puzzled, suspicious wariness.
‘This’ll be your first trip to Hell, Mr. O’Day?’ Emma inquired, after the man had mounted and the party started moving.
‘Does my destination show so plainly?’ the man countered.
‘I’d say “yes” to that, way you took on when those Kweharehnuh bucks showed,’ the Kid put in. ‘Way you waved and all, you acted like they was your rich old uncles.’
‘If I only had some,’ O’Day sighed, then nodded to Emma. ‘But you’re right enough, dear lady. I’m going to Hell for health reasons. A hanging always makes me feel ill, especially when it’s to be my own. But my remark might shock you and your delightful companion.’
Although O’Day had aimed part of his speech in her direction, Giselle did not respond. Yet, like Emma, she had been paying a great deal of attention to the man’s appearance, actions and words. A puzzled, almost nervous expression played across the little brunette’s face. Seeing the man’s eyes turning towards her, she deliberately swung her head away. It was left to Emma to answer O’Day’s politely put comment.
‘Neither of us’ve been shocked since we found out for the first time that boys have things that girls don’t,’ the blonde assured him. ‘And there’s a lot of folks in Hell feel like you do about hangings.’
‘You know of Hell?’ O’Day inquired.
‘We live there,’ Emma replied. ‘Happen you’re so minded, you can ride along with us, Mr.—’
‘O’Day, but I hope that you will all call me “Break”. It’s a foolish name, but my father was something of a wit. He used to call himself “End”.’
‘That should have been a whole barrel-full of laughs,’ Emma said dryly.
‘You’d best go help Brother Matt, Comanch’,’ Dusty suggested.
‘Yo!’ assented the Kid and set the blue roan to travelling at a faster gait towards where Waco was riding ahead of the others.
‘I was assured that the Indians could be trusted up this way,’ O’Day commented as the Kid took his departure.
‘They can, most times,’ Dusty answered. ‘Up closer to town, anyways.’
‘Where the look-outs can see them?’
‘Huh huh. I thought you’d not been to Hell before?’
‘I haven’t. But my informant was pretty thorough,’ O’Day answered and looked at Dusty in a calculating manner. ‘You may remember him, Dipper Dixon. One of Joey Pinter’s gang.’
‘I can’t recall any such name,’ Dusty stated.
‘He wasn’t in your class, Mr. Caxton,’ O’Day praised. ‘You are Ed Caxton, aren’t you?’
‘So they tell me,’ Dusty admitted. ‘But I don’t mind this Dixon hombre.’
‘He was a nothing,’ O’Day sniffed. ‘All he did was tell me about Hell and that you’d killed Joey Pinter.’
‘Pinter had notions along that way about me,’ Dusty explained. ‘He died of a case of slow. Are his boys on the way back?’
‘I shouldn’t think so. They told me that Hell’s an expensive town and none of them struck me as having enough brains to pull off a worthwhile robbery,’ O’Day replied, then he turned his gaze to Emma. ‘Is there something wrong with me, Miss—?’
‘Name’s Emma Nene,’ the blonde introduced. ‘I don’t know what it is, but there’s something about you seems mighty familiar.’
‘I’ve heard it said that everybody reminds somebody else of an old friend,’ O’Day commented. ‘Perhaps I look like a friend from your past?’
‘No, you don’t look like anybody I’ve ever known,’ Emma declared. ‘Who does he remind you of, Giselle?’
‘N— Nobody!’ the brunette answered, still avoiding meeting O’Day’s eyes.
‘Nobody, dear lady?’ the man inquired, a faint hint of mockery in his soft and polite tone. ‘I thought perhaps that I might recall some long-forgotten memory. A lover perhaps—?’
‘N— No!’ Giselle ejaculated and there was fear on her face. ‘I— I’m a married woman.’
‘Your husband is to be congratulated,’ O’Day told her. ‘But I’m crushed. I felt sure that I must remind you of somebody. Oh well. I must be wrong. Surely you ladies can’t be going to Hell?’
‘We live there, both of us,’ Emma replied. ‘I own the saloon and Giselle’s husband’s the mayor.’
‘Then I could hardly be riding into town in better company,’ O’Day answered, ‘with you as my escort—’
‘D— Ed!’ Emma ejaculated. ‘Look at Comanche and Matt!’
The two young Texans had turned their horses and were galloping back. Seeing that he had caught the others’ attention, the Kid pointed towards their left. Swinging their gaze in the required direction, the women, Dusty and O’Day received a shock. Some twenty or more Kweharehnnh warriors sat their horses on a ridge slightly over a quarter of a mile away.
‘Whee doggie!’ Dusty breathed and hefted his Winchester carbine so that the Indians could see it. ‘Show them your rifle, mister.’
‘Shoot?’ O’Day inquired as he did as Dusty had said.
‘Just show them we’ve got repeaters, first off,’ Dusty corrected.
‘Now what?’ Emma demanded, with surprising calm.
‘’Less we’re lucky,’ Dusty answered. ‘Some of us are about to get killed.’
‘Let’s fight!’ O’Day demanded.
‘Only if they force us to it,’ Dusty replied. ‘We’ll make a run for it. If that pack horse won’t come along, turn it loose.’
‘All I own in the world’s on it!’ O’Day protested.
‘It’ll not be a little mite of use to you after you’re dead and scalped,’ Emma pointed out. ‘Say when you want us to run, D— Ed.’
‘Leave us hear what ole Comanch’ says first,’ Dusty advised. ‘Emma-gal, keep us between you and the Indians.’
‘You can count on me for that,’ the blonde declared.
‘Well?’ Dusty said as the Kid and Waco brought their horses to a rump-sliding halt. ‘What’s their play now, L—Comanch’—?’
‘I’m damned if I know,’ the Kid admitted, knowing that the tension must really be hitting at Dusty for him almost to make a slip in the use of the name. ‘I thought I knew all about Comanches, but this-here’s got me licked to hell and back the long way.’
‘How do you mean?’ O’Day inquired, fingering his rifle nervously.
‘It’s what them bunch up there’s doing,’ the Kid answered.
‘But they’re not doing anything,’ O’Day pointed out.
‘That’s what’s worrying me,’ the Kid told him soberly. ‘They’ve just been a-sitting and a-watching up there when they should’ve come down and at us so fast we’d’ve thought the hawgs’d jumped us.’
‘Perhaps our having Winchesters scared them,’ O’Day suggested. ‘They’ll have learned what repeaters can do, I’d say.’
‘Should have, mister,’ Waco drawled, watching the braves with undeviating attention, ‘seeing’s now how every last mother’s son of ’em’s toting either a Henry, Winchester or Spencer.’
‘Know what I reckon, Ed?’ asked the Kid, indicating the interest that the braves were displaying in one member of his party.
‘Do tell,’ Dusty requested.
‘They’re not fixing to jump us right now. Nor so long as it looks like we’re taking Giselle back to Hell.’
‘Could be, Comanch’. There’s that tuivitsi who got away from us. He recognized her and that’s him sitting next to the war-bonnet chief.’
‘Shows a man could allus learn given the right teacher,’ grinned the Kid. ‘You couldn’t see that good when we first joined up together.’
‘Why thank you ’most to death,’ Dusty growled. ‘Now tell me something that’s going to help us out of this tight.’
‘Keep your trust in the Lord, brother,’ the Kid obliged raising his gaze piously in the manner of a hell-fire-and-damnation circuit-riding preacher. ‘If he’d be willing to look favorable on a bunch of miserable sinners like us.’ Red hazel eyes swung towards O’Day, who was displaying growing alarm. ‘Leaving you out, friend. Happen you’re not a miserable sinner like the rest of us.’
‘Right now I’m wishing that I’d led a better, cleaner life,’ the man answered. ‘I want to go to the town of Hell, not the other one.’
‘Given time, you’ll likely make both of ’em,’ the Kid remarked. ‘Only not right now.’
‘Why not, Lon?’ Waco asked and could have cheerfully bitten off his tongue after his mistake on the last word.
‘’Less I miss my guess,’ the Kid drawled and swung from his saddle. ‘Those boys aren’t looking for no war. They just want to see Giselle safe to home.’
‘Why are they so interested in the lady’s well-being?’ O’Day wanted to know. ‘Charming and gracious as she undoubtedly is, I’m sure that the Indians wouldn’t appreciate her sterling qualities.’
‘They want her for something or other,’ the Kid answered, carefully easing a piece of his property from the folds of his bedroll. ‘Question being, what’d it be they want her for?’
‘Could go up and ask ’em,’ Waco suggested, having identified the item in the dark Texan’s hand.
‘Happen I’d’ve figured that out in an hour or two,’ drawled the Kid. ‘But, seeing’s how you licked me to it, I lose and’ll have to be the one who does it.’
‘You allus was a good loser, Comanch’,’ Waco praised.
‘That’s just another name for a dad-blasted fool,’ answered the Kid.
With that, the Kid opened out the item. It proved to be a buckskin cylinder with a heavy fringe on its lower edge and covered with decorative symbols colored red, white and blue. Sliding his Winchester into the mouth of the tube, he vaulted afork his saddle and looked at Dusty.
‘Happen they’re not in a talking mood, head out towards Hell. ’Bout a mile on, there’s a buffalo wallow you can fort up in—if you can reach it.’
‘What’s that on Mr. Blood’s rifle?’ O’Day inquired as the Kid rode slowly towards the Kweharehnuh.
‘It’s the medicine boot of a Pehnane Comanche Door Soldier,’ Dusty explained. ‘It’s kind of a lodge symbol, like a wapiti’s tooth is to the Elks. Boot the rifles.’
‘Boot the rifles!’ O’Day yelped. ‘You mean put them away?’
‘Do like Brother Ed says, hombre,’ Waco ordered, as he obeyed. ‘White folk aren’t Injuns. They don’t hold guns at a peace treaty meeting.’
‘You mean—?’ O’Day began, but did not comply with Dusty’s demand.
‘Matt means that Comanch’s asking for a parlay and we’ve got to do things right if he’s got “yes” for an answer,’ Dusty elaborated, thrusting his carbine into its boot. ‘So put up that Winchester.’
‘You mean to trust a bunch of savages?’ O’Day growled.
‘We can’t whip them in a fight, or run fast enough to escape—especially with that important pack-horse of yours along,’ Dusty drawled. ‘So trusting them makes good sense to me. And I’m getting quite sick of seeing that rifle in your fist. Boot it, pronto.’
Any soldier who had served in the Texas Light Cavalry’s hard-riding, harder-fighting Company ‘C’ during the War, or cowhand who had worked for the OD Connected, would have identified Dusty’s tone of voice instantly. Gentle, almost caressing, it carried more menace and determination than a whole range of bellowed, blustering orders.
Suddenly, to O’Day’s amazement, the small Texan was no more. He had been replaced with what appeared to be a man who towered over the others by the sheer driving force of his personality. There had been no suggestion of bombast or open threat in the quietly spoken words, just an assurance that the speaker intended to be obeyed.
‘You’re calling the play, Mr. Caxton,’ O’Day stated and leaned over to replace his rifle in its boot. Straightening up, he managed a smile and went on, ‘But if you’re wrong and I get killed, I’ll never forgive you.’
Halting a hundred yards from his companions, the Kid set about preparing the way for what he hoped would be a peaceful parlay. Cradling the rifle encased in the medicine boot on the crook of his left arm, he held his bent right arm in front of his chest with his palm open and downwards. By moving the raised arm from left to right with a wriggling motion, he announced that he too was a member of the Nemenuh.
At some time in the distant past, a party of the People had been making a long journey in search of fresh hunting grounds. There had been disagreement amongst the travelers as to which was the best course, to advance or return to the territory they had left. Those who wished to turn back had done so and the others had referred to them as resembling a snake going into reverse along its tracks. Since then, a Comanche—no matter to which band he belonged—always used the sign of ‘the snake going backwards’ when he wished to declare the identity of his tribe to other Indians.
Having stated his connections with the Nemenuh, the Kid continued to signal other information. Taking hold of the medicine boot at the wrist of the rifle’s butt and muzzle, he raised it above his head so that the Kweharehnuh could identify its symbols. After raising and lowering the rifle three times, he removed his right hand and turned the butt forward with the barrel gripped in his left fist.
As clearly as if the Kid had shouted the words in his most fluent Comanche, the braves—or the tehnaps and the chief, for sure—had received his message.
‘I am Nemenuh. A Pehnane Dog Soldier, and I want to talk in peace.’
‘Looks like they aim to make talk,’ Waco breathed as the chief answered the Kid’s signal and the dark Texan started the blue roan moving up the slope. ‘I came close to being scared they wouldn’t.’
‘I didn’t come close,’ O’Day commented. ‘I was scared.’
Flickering a grin at the man, Waco noticed something so out of the ordinary that it intrigued him. The evening sun was still warm and O’Day was clearly feeling the strain of their situation as much as, or even more than, Dusty and the blond youngster. At least, they had the advantage of knowing that the Kid had been reasonably confident of success. Yet the man’s face showed none of the sweat which dappled both Texans’ features.
In later years, Waco would gain considerable acclaim as a very shrewd peace officer and, by his ability to observe and reason things out, be able to solve a number of puzzling crimes. 20 Even with deadly danger hovering so close, the youngster could still take an interest in the unusual. So O’Day’s absence of perspiration was a source of speculation. Either the man was a whole heap cooler and less worried than he was acting, or he could control whatever internal function caused sweat to roll. Waco wondered which, or what other unforeseen circumstance, was responsible for the phenomenon.
Although satisfied that the danger of an immediate attack was over, Dusty did not allow himself to become complacent or incautious. So he turned to study the terrain behind them. As he had expected, the two women were holding weapons. Emma had taken out the nickel-plated, pearl-handled 1851 Model Navy Colt which had been thrust into the waistband of her divided skirt. Gripping a compact, equally fancy Colt 1871 House Pistol with a four-shot ‘cloverleaf’ cylinder, which she had carried in the pocket of her riding jacket, Giselle was pointing the .41 caliber muzzle of its one-and-a-half inch barrel at the center of O’Day’s back.
‘Watch where you’re pointing that gun, ma’am,’ Dusty advised quickly, but gently.
Giselle’s thumb was resting on the little revolver’s hammer. If she drew it back, the unguarded trigger would emerge from its sheath ready to be pressed and make the weapon fire. Being aware of how light that particular model of Colt could be on the trigger, Dusty had felt that a warning was called for. At his words, the brunette snatched the revolver out of alignment. Her face showed guilt which appeared to go far beyond that caused by having been caught in a stupidly dangerous, but inadvertent act.
‘I have never felt happy around ladies who hold guns,’ O’Day commented, swinging around. ‘So few of them take precautions with one in their dainty hands, I’ve always found.’
‘Who are—?’ Giselle began, in a strangled, frightened tone.
‘Lon’s coming back—Brother Ed,’ Waco said and the brunette’s question went unfinished.
‘It’s all right, Ed,’ drawled the Kid, riding up. ‘They’ll not bother us—just as long as we keep going towards Hell.’
‘Why are they so friendly?’ O’Day asked. ‘The ones we met earlier weren’t.’
‘They was just a bunch of tuivitsis, young bucks, wanting to show what ornery, mean cusses they were,’ the Kid replied. ‘Seems like Doc Connolly, Happy Youseman and some of the others allowed that there’ll be an ammunition hand-out same as always, Ed. Only Ten Bears’d heard about Giselle pulling out and didn’t believe it. So he sent the braves to fetch her back. Now she’s headed that way, they allow it’s all right and we can go on.’
‘May I ask why Giselle—if a chance-met stranger may be permitted to make use of your given name, ma’am—is so important to the allocation of the ammunition?’ O’Day said, looking at Dusty.
‘She used to help her husband trick the Comanches so they wouldn’t try to steal our ammunition,’ Emma explained, for the brunette refused to answer.
‘Now I see,’ O’Day stated. ‘You must be the lady who is sawn in half. Your husband must be a very competent illusionist, Mrs. Lampart.’
‘He w—’ Giselle commenced.
‘A real good one, friend,’ Dusty put in, before the brunette could announce her widowhood. ‘They’ll not fuss any with us, huh, Comanch’?’
‘Not so long as we’re taking Giselle back,’ the Kid confirmed. ‘Seems ole Ten Bears wants to see the whole ceremony when the ammunition’s handed over.’
‘But they can’t!’ Giselle croaked, realizing what was meant. ‘With Simmy dead, nobody can work the sawing in half routine. I’m going back—’
‘You try it and we’re all dead,’ warned the Kid. ‘Ma’am, your only hope of staying alive is to make for Hell.’
‘That’s what we’ll do,’ Dusty declared. ‘Once we’re there, Giselle, we’ll figure out some way of bluffing him. Find us a place to camp, Comanch’.’
‘Keep riding a whiles, there’s a stream up ahead,’ the Kid replied. ‘Have somebody on guard all night. You won’t get attacked, but some of the tuivitsi might try their hand at raiding.’
‘That’s hoss-stealing to us civilized white folks, mister,’ Waco informed O’Day. ‘Way you talk, Comanch’, anybody’d think you wouldn’t be along with us.’
‘They’d think right,’ drawled the Kid. ‘I won’t. Wolf Runner, the chief up there, allows that I’ve got to ride with him and his boys. Just so’s he can be sure the rest of you’ll keep going to Hell.’