‘Dusty Fog!’
Two startled voices repeated the name as the officer and sergeant exchanged glances. Then they swung mutually disbelieving gazes in the small Texan’s direction, subjecting him to a long, hard scrutiny.
‘What I’d heard,’ the sergeant declared, ‘was that you was with Governor Howard meeting some other ranchers down to San Antone, Cap’n Fog.’
‘That’s just what the Texas State Gazette said,’ Dusty admitted, feeling no annoyance at the soldiers’ reactions. Few people could reconcile his appearance with his reputation, until they had come to know him. ‘What the Ysabel Kid, Waco and I’ve been doing, it helped that everybody thought that’s where we were at.’
To assist in the deception they had practiced upon the citizens of Hell, Dusty had arranged for a story to appear in the Texas State Gazette and other newspapers. It had told of protests by various ranchers at a beef contract awarded to the OD Connected, and how the Governor had called the affected parties to a meeting in San Antonio de Bexar in the hope of averting a range war. He had sent Mark Counter, 15 another member of the floating outfit, to the town posing as himself. Six foot three in height, magnificently built, blond haired and exceptionally handsome, Mark had the kind of physical attributes most people expected of a man with Dusty Fog’s reputation. The blond giant had been mistaken for Dusty enough times to give the subterfuge a chance of working.
‘And where were you?’ Kitson wanted to know.
‘You said that Paddy Magoon’s your friend, sergeant,’ Dusty remarked, without answering the question.
‘He was,’ the non-com growled bitterly. ‘I should have a hundred dollars for every drink we’ve took together.’
‘Knowing him like you must,’ Dusty went on. ‘Do you think he’d sell out the Army and take up with a bunch of owlhoots who were fixing to kill and rob other soldiers?’
‘I’d’ve staked my life he wouldn’t,’ the sergeant declared. ‘Like I said, he was a damned good friend.’
‘He won’t be when he hears that you aim to toss me in the pokey for not having killed him,’ Dusty grinned. ‘Because that’s just the kind of mean lie I aim to tell him.’
‘Tell—?’ repeated the sergeant. ‘You mean he’s still alive?’
‘He is, unless he’s been killed off by eating civilian cooking down to the OD Connected,’ Dusty confirmed. ‘Because that’s where Paddy, Colonel Stegg and the rest of our “victims” are right now.’
‘You’re saying that there’s no truth in the stories about y—the robbery and killings?’ Kitson demanded.
‘No more than in the ones about Wyatt Earp being a fine, honest, upstanding Kansas lawman,’ Dusty agreed. ‘It was all done for a purpose.’
‘The editors of all those newspapers deliberately lied?’
‘Most of them just copied what the editor of the Texas State Gazette printed, mister.’
‘But he agreed to lie?’ Kitson insisted.
‘He was asked by the Governor if he’d do it,’ Dusty explained and grinned. ‘On top of which, he rode in my Company during the War and figured he’d best do me a lil favor.’
‘And what was it all in aid of?’ Kitson asked, but he still kept his Colt in his hand.
‘To help us stay alive while we were carrying out a confidential assignment for Governor Howard and the United States Cavalry,’ Dusty replied. ‘I can’t tell you more than it took us into the Palo Duro—’
‘That’s Kweharehnuh country!’ the lieutenant ejaculated, looking at the body of the nearest Comanche.
‘Like you say,’ Dusty drawled. ‘That’s Kweharehnuh country. I can’t tell you any more about what we were doing, though. And I can’t come out with anything to prove I’m speaking the truth. We couldn’t carry anything that might show who we really are.’
All the time they had been speaking, Kitson was studying Dusty carefully. The lieutenant had noticed that the small Texan’s gray eyes met his without flinching and how he answered every question instantly. There was nothing evasive or furtive in his demeanor that hinted he might not be speaking the truth.
Yet could that short, insignificant-looking Texas cowhand really be the almost legendary Dusty Fog?
Kitson knew of Dusty’s Civil War reputation, as a courageous, gallant and capable cavalry leader. There had been other stories told since peace had come, impressive enough individually or as a whole. They had not concerned the deeds of a small, almost inconspicuous man.
Fresher in the lieutenant’s mind was the memory of how swiftly Dusty had moved when presented with the opportunity to evade arrest. Or of how the Texan had behaved following his taking of the chance. He had come into possession of a weapon with which to shoot Kitson if he had been so minded. Instead, at some considerable danger to himself, he had been content merely to disarm the officer. That had hardly been the act of a cold-blooded killer in a desperate bid for freedom.
During the conversation, Kitson had repeatedly found himself forgetting that he addressed a small, none-too-noticeable Texas cowhand. Instead he had begun to regard Dusty as a real big man with an air of command and leadership in his voice and attitude. The small Texan spoke with the accent of a well-educated Southerner; but that in itself was not a definite sign of innocence. Too many of them had been driven into a life of crime by the injustices of the Reconstruction period.
Kitson was a career officer and as such had developed the ability to judge men’s characters with some accuracy. Continuing his scrutiny of the small Texan, he reached a conclusion. Unlikely as it seemed, he believed that he had been hearing the truth.
‘It’s a strange story,’ Kitson declared, after a lengthy pause for thought. ‘If you was “Ed Caxton”, you’d have thought up something a whole heap more likely than that.’
‘Why didn’t you tell us this from the start?’ the sergeant wanted to know.
‘Would you have listened if I’d tried right then?’ Dusty countered.
‘Probably we wouldn’t,’ Kitson conceded and finally replaced his Peacemaker in the high-riding cavalry twist-hand holster. ‘I’ll accept your story, Captain Fog, but I hope you’ll not take offence if I talk to your two men?’
‘Feel free,’ Dusty offered. ‘Only I reckon it can wait until we’ve got these folks settled down a mite.’
‘Hey now!’ the sergeant put in, ogling Belle Starr as she and Emma, having dragged aside the dead Comanche, tried to calm Giselle down. ‘Who’s she? That’s no calico queen.’
‘You’re right, soldier,’ Dusty agreed, then decided to become evasive. ‘I reckon you’ve heard of Belle Boyd?’
‘The Rebel Spy?’ the non-com ejaculated. ‘I’ll say I have. Is that her?’
‘Belle’s been helping us on the assignment,’ Dusty stated truthfully, without directly confirming or denying the sergeant’s question. He saw a way out of a difficulty, providing the soldiers accepted the lady outlaw’s borrowed identity. ‘Only her part’s not finished yet.’
‘If there’s anything I can do to help Miss Boyd—’ Kitson began.
‘There just might be at that,’ Dusty drawled. ‘Right now, though, those other folk could use our help.’
‘They can,’ the officer admitted and his eyes flickered to the dead soldiers. ‘Damn it to hell! I’ve lost two of my men.’
‘It happens, mister,’ the small Texan replied gently. ‘But a good officer never stops feeling bad when it does. If you want to tend to them, Waco and I’ll do what we can for the women.’
In addition to wanting to help the lieutenant get over the loss of the two men, Dusty had no wish for him to make too close a scrutiny of the women. If he did, he might draw the correct conclusions from Belle’s and Emma’s bruised and fight-marked faces.
Leaving the soldiers, Dusty went to help Red rise. The girl was shaking with mingled emotions, but calmed down when he assured her everything was going to be all right.
‘Wh—What about them?’ Red inquired in a whisper, nodding to Kitson and the sergeant. ‘Aren’t they going to arrest you?’
‘Nope,’ Dusty replied. ‘I’ve got everything straightened out. Just keep quiet and Emma will tell you everything.’
Escorting the saloon girl to join the other women, Dusty had not time to do more than ask if anything could be done for Hubert and the other casualties when the Kid returned. The dark Texan led Kitson’s and another of the cavalrymen’s horses.
‘They’ve gone, Dusty, and aren’t likely to be coming back,’ the Kid announced. ‘How come the blue-bellies don’t have you hawg-tied?’
‘I’ve told them who we are,’ Dusty replied.
‘They believe it?’
‘Sure, but they still wanted to jail you when I let on what your right name is.’
‘I’m not surprised, company I keep,’ the Kid sniffed and became serious. ‘How much did you tell?’
‘Who we are, where we’ve been, but nothing about Hell,’ Dusty answered. ‘I don’t reckon you’ll need to tell him more than that. Unless either of them asks who Belle is—’
‘And then?’ the Kid prompted.
‘Make them think she’s Belle Boyd.’
‘You mean lie to ’em?’
‘Let the white half do it, if the Comanche in you won’t,’ Dusty suggested. ‘Or sort of make out she’s the Rebel Spy without coming flat-footed and saying it’s so. That should ease what passes for your conscience.’
‘Count on it,’ grinned the Kid, although he was not entirely sure what a conscience might be. ‘I’ll go give the shave-tail his hoss back. That ought to put me in good with him.’
‘It’s long gone time when you was in good with somebody,’ Dusty grunted. ‘Something bothering you, Lon?’
‘Sure. I’m thinking about why those Kweharehnuh jumped us.’
‘After loot, way you’ve always talked about things like this.’
‘Not this time. They lit out without taking a hoss, and I saw one tehnap drop Hubert’s handgun without being shot nor bothered by us.’
‘So what do you reckon?’ Dusty demanded.
‘It’s just a notion, mind,’ the Kid replied quietly. ‘But I think they came to take Giselle there back to Hell.’
‘You’ve got more than a notion on it,’ Dusty guessed.
‘Plenty more,’ the Kid confirmed. ‘I saw enough—the shave-tail’s headed this way.’
‘Go and get in good with him,’ Dusty ordered. ‘And mind what I told you to tell him.’
Leaving the Kid to hand over the horses and answer Kitson’s questions, Dusty turned his attention to the women. Belle and Emma had taken Giselle to sit by the wagon and left Red to care for her. They looked from Dusty to the soldiers and back.
‘I was hoping to see you get arrested, Dusty,’ Belle smiled. ‘Isn’t that shave-tail going to?’
‘Nope,’ Dusty answered. ‘Neither you nor me, Miss Boyd.’
‘Boyd?’ Belle repeated, then a flicker of understanding crossed her face. ‘You’ve told them that I’m the Rebel Spy?’
‘Would I lie?’ Dusty grinned. ‘Let’s just say that I’ve planted that same notion in his head.’
‘And how about us, E ... Dus ... Captain Fog?’ Emma demanded.
‘Try saying “Dusty”,’ the small Texan suggested. ‘You’ll be all right. Maybe you won’t be headed direct to Denver, but Lieutenant Kitson will see you safe to the nearest town.’
‘What about you?’ Emma asked and nodded to the wagon. ‘And it?’
‘I’ll give you ladies your cut before we split up,’ Dusty promised. ‘And see that you get to wherever you want to go without anybody knowing you’ve come from Hell.’
‘But where are you going?’ Emma insisted
‘Back there,’ Dusty replied. ‘If what Lon’s told me is right, I have to get back to Hell as soon as I can.’
‘Why, Dusty?’ Belle gasped.
‘They’re not going to stand up and cheer when you get there,’ Emma warned, but there was a calculating glint in her eyes as she studied the small Texan.
‘Maybe they will,’ Dusty said quietly. ‘For the same reason that Simmy Lampart liked having me around.’
‘Because you’re good with your guns,’ Belle guessed, then stiffened slightly. ‘Dusty! You think the Kweharehnuh are going to jump the town?’
‘It’s likely,’ Dusty admitted.
‘We all knew that would happen before we left,’ Emma sniffed and there was a hint of suspicion in her tone for which neither Dusty nor Belle could account. ‘Why’re you bothered about it so suddenly?’
‘Because I hoped we’d see you safe and get to Wichita Falls, then telegraph for the Army to move in before it happened,’ Dusty explained. ‘Only, if Lon’s calling the play correct, things’re due to pop wide open before they could get to Hell and fetch the folks out.’
‘I knew something had been sticking in your craw ever since we pulled out,’ Belle declared. ‘And, if I’d been in better shape, I’d have seen what it was.’
‘What?’ Emma challenged.
‘Leaving those folks behind at the mercy of the Kweharehnuh,’ Belle told her. ‘Dusty doesn’t think he’s done the right thing by them.’
‘You’re worried about the kind of folks there’re in Hell?’ the blonde asked, showing even more suspicion.
‘Maybe you couldn’t understand that—’ Belle began.
‘Lon figures the Kweharehnuh who hit us just now were trying to grab Giselle and take her back with them,’ Dusty remarked, before Emma could make an angry response to the lady outlaw’s words.
‘Why Giselle?’ Emma inquired, curious enough to forget her annoyance.
‘Because she’s the one who used to help Simmy make his “medicine” to guard the ammunition,’ Dusty replied.
‘Hey!’ Belle ejaculated. ‘That war-bonnet chief said something about grabbing the white witch, but I thought he meant—’
‘Who did you think he meant?’ the blonde bristled, having already formed her own conclusion.
‘He said that, huh?’ Dusty drawled, once more pouring oil on troubled waters before anything could flare up between the women.
‘Maybe not in those exact words, but close enough to them,’ Belle answered. ‘I understand enough Comanche to get his meaning. He said for his men to grab the white witch.’
‘What use would Giselle be to them without Simmy to saw her in half?’ Emma wanted to know.
A former stage magician, Mayor Simeon Lampart had made use of his talents to impress the Comanches. To prevent thefts of his reserve ammunition, he and Giselle had made ‘medicine’ before the assembled warriors and convinced them that any interference with the supply would have fatal results. The illusion of sawing his wife in half had been Lampart’s main feature, baffling Chief Ten Bears and his medicine woman completely.
‘Maybe the folks are running a bluff, pretending that Simmy and Giselle are still around ready to hand over the ammunition on the day,’ Belle guessed. ‘Only Ten Bears is figuring on calling them.’
‘It could be,’ Dusty admitted. ‘One of the parties we saw after we pulled out could have recognized Giselle, told Ten Bears and he’s trying to get her back. Or he may think that she’s got the photographs Lampart took of him and the medicine woman.’
‘They thought he’d captured their souls when he showed them the pictures,’ Emma confirmed. ‘But why go back, E ... Dusty?’
‘Because those folks need me and the boys’ guns,’ the small Texan replied. ‘Having us there could maybe help them hold out until the Army arrives.’
‘I’ll ride with you,’ Belle offered without a moment’s hesitation. ‘You’ll be able to use another gun.’
‘We could use a battery of Williams rapid-fire cannon,’ Dusty replied. ‘But I’m not taking you along, Belle. Mark’d have my hide if I did and we all got killed.’
‘Leave me to deal with Mark Counter,’ Belle suggested, smiling a little at the small Texan’s somewhat peculiar excuse. ‘Even if we all do get wiped out by the Kweharehnuh.’
‘I wouldn’t want to put ole Mark to any trouble,’ Dusty replied. ‘Anyways, I need you to deliver the money to Governor Howard for me.’
‘Her?’ Emma snorted, suspicion right out in the open as she spoke the single, challenging word.
‘Why not “her”?’ Belle challenged.
‘I can just see Belle Starr delivering close to half a million dollars to Governor Howard,’ the blonde scoffed.
‘Are you saying I wouldn’t?’ Belle hissed, fists clenching.
‘With a price on your head—’ Emma began in a milder tone, realizing that the time was anything but right for an open, head-on clash with the lady outlaw.
‘There’s no warrant out for me in Texas,’ Belle declared. ‘Or any other place, comes to that.’
‘Innocence, Belle?’ Dusty grinned.
‘Lack of proof,’ the lady outlaw smiled back.
‘I know she’d do it for me, if she gives her word to,’ Dusty told Emma. ‘And you don’t need to worry. Before I pull out, I’ll give you girls your cut. Then you’re free to go wherever you choose.’
‘Even if I say that I want to go back to Hell with you?’ Emma asked.