Entering the bar-room of the Logan Hotel, Dusty found its only occupants to be a slim, cold-eyed gambler seated at a table on the side facing the door and a bulky, surly-featured hard-case in cowhand clothing lounging at each end of the counter. They were the two men who had accompanied the hunter into the building. If he had recommended either man to the de Brioudes, the hunter possessed mighty poor judgment or some ulterior motive for doing it. No matter how they dressed, Dusty doubted if the pair had ever worked cattle on a ranch. However, it was none of Dusty’s affair.
‘Howdy,’ Dusty greeted, crossing to the center of the bar. ‘Isn’t anybody serving, gents?’
‘It sure as hell don’t look that way,’ the man at the right side answered.
If Mark Counter or Tam Breda had been present, they would have identified all three men. While Dusty had heard Mark mention Stagge, Coxin and Royce, he failed to identify them from his amigo’s brief, unflattering descriptions. The absence of Laura and the small man deprived Dusty of clues that might otherwise have helped him.
‘You don’t need no barkeep anyways,’ Coxin declared, from Dusty’s left and eyed him with disdain. ‘They don’t serve no hard liquor to frying-sized half-portions like you.’
‘Milk’d be more your needings, short stuff,’ Royce scoffed.
‘They do say milk never hurt anybody, mister,’ Dusty remarked quietly.
‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ Royce demanded, advancing along the bar in a threatening manner.
Despite sensing the two hard-cases’ hostility, Dusty made no attempt to leave the room. His every instinct told him that they were on the prod and determined to make trouble for somebody. Experience with their kind in the Army and since the end of the War had taught him that backing down would solve nothing. Revising his opinion, Dusty classified them as small-town loafers and bullies. Probably their arrival at the same time as the hunter had been no more than coincidence, for seeking regular employment rarely fitted into such men’s ways.
Deprived of drinks by the bartender’s absence, the pair most likely wanted somebody on whom they could work out their spite. Probably they had figured the gambling man to be too tough a proposition. It would be in keeping with their sort’s habits to pick on a small, unoffending and apparently harmless young stranger. If that was the case, Dusty reckoned they had made a mighty poor choice by selecting him as their victim.
‘I didn’t come in here looking for fuss,’ Dusty warned gently, swinging so that he placed his back to the bar. ‘So let’s forget the whole thing.’
Dusty spoke in a tone of voice that the enlisted men of Company ‘C’ and the OD Connected’s cowhands had come to know and respect as a danger signal. When he used it, wise men hunted for the storm-shelters or made good and certain that they respected his wishes.
Failing to identify Dusty, so not knowing his ways, Coxin and Royce continued to move in his direction. While Royce held the small Texan’s attention from the right, Coxin glided closer as silently as he could manage. Aware of his companion’s ability in a roughhouse brawl, Royce was content to keep back and let Coxin make the opening attack.
Lulled into a sense of false security by Dusty’s small size and general air of unpreparedness, Coxin took a step away from the bar and shot out his hands. He clamped a hold on the front of Dusty’s shirt and left bicep, preparing to swing him bodily into the center of the room. To Coxin, there seemed no way in which his victim could avoid what he planned. Ignorance concerning the ‘Victim’, especially of one aspect, was about to cost the hard case dearly.
Down in the Rio Hondo, a short Oriental man worked as Ole Devil Hardin’s personal servant. Tommy Okasi claimed to be Nipponese and possessed devastatingly effective methods of barehanded fighting. To Dusty, smallest male member of the Hardin, Fog and Blaze clan, the little servant had passed on a thorough working knowledge of ju-jitsu and karate. Those techniques, hardly known at that time outside the Japanese Empire, had helped Dusty to earn his reputation for defeating larger, heavier and stronger men.
Allowing Coxin to reach him ‘undetected’ and take hold, Dusty based his line of action on what the other planned to do. Blending his movements with the hard case’s lifting pull, Dusty twisted his hips and torso to the left. At the same moment he swung his free hand up and around so that it passed above his assailant’s arms. Extending his right arm, Dusty kept his hand open and fingers outstretched but together. The manner in which he struck at Coxin might have looked strange, awkward even, to Occidental eyes, but proved to be most effective. Dusty had learned from Tommy Okasi that the extended fingers, heel or edge of the hand could serve just as well as the knuckles when wielded correctly.
Although done with great accuracy, Dusty’s attack was not preformed at anything like his best speed. He needed Coxin to realize at which point he was aiming his hand. Becoming aware of the target as Dusty’s fingertips raked across his eyes, Coxin started to draw back his face. Pain and an instinctive desire to protect his sight caused the hard case to tilt his torso and snap his head hurriedly to the rear.
Having brought about the required reaction, Dusty clenched his fist and bent his right arm. Again he did not use his knuckles. Instead, he hurled his arm so that the point of its elbow rammed with considerable force into Coxin’s solar plexus. A startled, agonized croak burst from the hard case as the blow landed and he opened his hands. As he struck, Dusty had already started to swing his left shoulder away and wrench his arm from Coxin’s grasp. Liberated, he carried his left hand, folded into a fist, until it rested against his near hip.
Dusty’s response and its result had come almost as much of a surprise to Royce as it had to its recipient. Clenching his hard fists, Royce advanced at a better pace in the hope of taking Dusty while the small Texan was still occupied by Coxin. Royce’s hope met with disillusionment.
Alert for danger from the second man, Dusty threw a quick glance across his left shoulder. Quick, maybe, but telling him all he needed to know. Grasping and clutching at his body where the elbow had impacted, Coxin staggered backwards sufficiently for Dusty to have room to maneuver. Figuring to take advantage of his extra reach, Royce hurled a punch while still at arm’s length from the small Texan. Dusty bent his right knee slightly and took his full weight on that foot. Drawing his other leg up, he inclined his body away from Royce and hurled his left foot to the rear. Carried on by the impetus of his blow, Royce took the high heel of Dusty’s boot full in the pit of the stomach.
From delivering the snap kick, which halted Royce in his tracks, Dusty dropped his left foot to the floor and used it as a pivot to turn on his second attacker. Royce had not even had time to lower his right arm from its abortive punch. Stabbing out his left hand, Dusty shoved Royce’s fist aside. Using his pivot to add force to it, Dusty whipped his right arm around and delivered an open-palm slap to the side of Royce’s head. The power behind the blow spun the burly hard case towards the center of the room.
Thrusting himself away from the confines of the bar, Dusty moved towards the door and halted facing the hard-cases. He threw a look at the gambler, finding the other sat staring as if unwilling to believe the evidence of his eyes. Then Dusty gave his attention to Coxin and Royce.
‘All right,’ the small Texan growled. ‘I don’t want trouble, but it’s here if you figure on making it.’
Rubbing his stomach and left cheek, Royce edged across the floor to halt at Coxin’s side. Gold, angry, savage eyes glared at Dusty. Then the hard-cases became aware that a change was apparently taking place in the appearance of their would-be victim. No longer did he seem small or insignificant. Somehow he gave the impression of possessing the size and heft to tower over them both.
Shocked by the amazing metamorphosis, the hard-cases exchanged startled and nervous glances.
‘Take him!’ Coxin yelped and grabbed for the butt of his holstered revolver.
Hearing his companion’s words, Royce also commenced his draw. The speed and determination with which they acted left Dusty no alternative. Bullies they might be, but either possessed sufficient skill and speed to prevent him from dealing with them by other means than the use of his revolvers.
Crossing so fast that the watching Stagge could barely follow their movements, Dusty’s fingers closed about the bone handles of the matched Army Colts. The guns left leather as if possessed by wills of their own. All in an incredibly swift motion, the barrels turned outwards, the triggers were carried to the rear by Dusty’s forefingers and his thumbs drew the hammers to full cock. Then flame lashed from the muzzles and the twin detonations merged as one single sound.
Struck in the chest while his gun was just clearing its holster’s lip, Coxin pitched backwards. At almost the same instant, a .44 bullet ripped into the center of Royce’s forehead. He twirled around once, collided with the front of the bar and tumbled face-first to the floor.
Shocked motionless by what he had just seen, Stagge began to push back his chair. Hearing its legs scrape on the floor, Dusty swung the barrel of his right hand Colt in the gambler’s direction. With the muzzle pointing directly at the center of his fancy vest, Stagge halted his movements.
‘I don’t know how you fit in this,’ Dusty warned. ‘So just sit again and put your hands flat on the tab—’
Snarling out his agonized, wordless fury, Coxin supported his weight on the bar. Despite suffering from a mortal wound, he lifted his revolver in Dusty’s direction. His pain-creased eyes flickered at Stagge and his mouth opened as if to ask for assistance in dealing with the man who had shot him.
‘Look out, cowboy!’ Stagge bellowed, swiveling his head to stare at Coxin.
Dusty had already caught a hint of Coxin’s movements from the corner of his eye. Even as Stagge began the warning, the small Texan had whipped around and dropped his right knee towards the floor. If Dusty had been a fraction of a second slower in assuming the kneeling position, he would have been killed. Coxin’s gun blasted and its bullet hissed through the air above Dusty’s head.
By the time Dusty’s knee reached the floorboards, he was ready to deal with Coxin. The ambidextrous prowess developed as a child, to draw attention away from his lack of inches, served him well, as it had on other occasions. Although his right hand Colt still covered Stagge, the left moved almost as if of its own volition. Angling upwards, the revolver bellowed in reply to Coxin’s challenge. The bullet entered the hard-case’s open mouth as his head twitched towards Stagge. Plowing on, the lead burst through Coxin’s brain and sprawled him lifeless across Royce’s body.
Half out of his chair, standing as if turned to stone, Stagge stared at the bodies by the bar. Feet thudded in the hall and voices were raised excitedly outside the building as people, attracted by the sound of the shots, ran towards it. Dragoon in hand, Colin darted into the room. Peet followed the Scot, but skidded to a halt and allowed his revolver’s barrel to sag towards the floor. All doubts as to Dusty’s identity had left him and he stared in awe at the small Texan. Bringing up the rear at a slower pace, the de Brioudes halted at the door and looked between the two men.
‘Are you all right, Dusty?’ Colin asked.
‘What happened, Captain Fog?’ de Brioude said, leaving his wife in the hall and walking forward. He laid emphasis on the last two words as if wanting to make sure that there were no doubts about who they were dealing with.
‘Cap’n Fog?’ Stagge repeated, slumping back into his chair.
The gambler’s eyes swung to the small Texan, then jerked in Peet’s direction and received a confirmatory nod.
‘I am sorry that we did not recognize you when we met, Captain Fog,’ de Brioude remarked as Stagge appeared to be on the verge of making some comment to the hunter. ‘If we had, this would not have happened. But why should those men want to attack you?’
‘A man like Cap’n Fog’s made a heap of enemies, Arnaud,’ Stagge pointed out. ‘Could be they’re two of ’em.’
‘I don’t recall having seen either of them before,’ Dusty answered. ‘Anyways, I’m obliged for the warning, mister.’
‘It was all I’d time to do,’ the gambler replied.
Beatrice had been studying the scene in the barroom with a casual, detached interest. Hearing voices and footsteps drawing near to the front doors, a sudden change came over her. Leaning against the wall, she took on an attitude of distress that contrasted vividly with her previous behavior.
Several men and women, all dressed in what would probably be their best clothes, appeared at the doors. Taking the lead, a big, buxom woman entered. There was an air of standing no nonsense about her as she stalked towards the barroom. Close on her heels was a short, leathery old timer. He looked uncomfortable in his old suit and having the neck of his shirt fastened did not appear to be a normal state of affairs. For all that, he moved with quick, alert determination.
‘What happened, ma’am?’ the old timer inquired, increasing his pace and reaching the Vicomtesse ahead of the woman.
‘Th—the—there has—been—a shooting!’ Beatrice answered brokenly, bosom heaving with emotion.
‘Land-sakes!’ the big woman intoned, showing concern as she went to Beatrice. ‘And it happened afore you, your ladyship?’
‘N—No!’ the Vicomtesse sniffed. ‘I was in the dining-room when it happened.’
‘Best take her back there, Annie,’ suggested the old timer and looked at the other people in the hall. ‘You folks stay put until I’ve seed what’s coming off.’
Although the other new arrivals belonged to the committee which had organized the reception for the de Brioudes and were the town’s most influential citizens, they obeyed the request. Hovering in the main entrance, they talked amongst themselves in quiet, heated tones.
‘Come on, your ladyship,’ Mrs. Annie Logan, owner of the hotel, said and led Beatrice back to the dining room. ‘Lord’s a-mercy! That this should’ve happened today of all days. Not that it often happens. Fact being, we’ve never had a shooting here afore.’
Still explaining that Kerrville was normally a most peaceful town, Mrs. Logan disappeared from the hall with Beatrice. Watching them go, the other citizens muttered threats against whoever had done the shooting if it should drive away the visitors. After a glance at the speakers, the old man went into the barroom. Keen eyes darted around, taking in the whole scene, then came to rest on Dusty.
‘Cap’n Fog, ain’t it?’
‘It is,’ Dusty confirmed.
‘Thought so,’ the old timer grunted. ‘I mind seeing you in Fort Sawyer when you, Cabrito and you, warn’t it, young feller?’ His gaze returned briefly to Colin but he continued without waiting for an answer, ‘went after the Flores boys. Must admit I was a mite surprised when I heard who you was, Cap’n, you being— Name’s Ned Franklin, I’m town constable. xvii What come off here?’
‘Those two fellers picked a fuss with me as soon as I walked in,’ Dusty explained, showing no annoyance at the implication behind Franklin’s unfinished comment. Few people could reconcile him with the legendary Dusty Fog at first sight. ‘I tried to end it without shooting, but they started to draw on me.’
‘Anybody else see it?’ Franklin inquired. ‘Which I don’t doubt—’
‘You have to ask,’ Dusty said and indicated Stagge. ‘This gent was here from the start.’
‘How about it, Mr. Nerton?’ Franklin asked.
‘It was like Cap’n Fog told you,’ Stagge replied. ‘Those two fellers came in earlier, asking the Vicomte for work. He hired them and fixed it so they could wait in the barroom until after the reception. I figured they’d got a mean look and came in to sort of keep an eye on them. Arnaud, the Vicomte, allowed I should make sure they stayed out of trouble. It all happened so fast. Cap’n Fog had hardly reached the bar before they started picking fuss with him.’
‘You know ’em, Cap’n?’ Franklin drawled.
‘I’ve never seen them before today,’ Dusty stated. ‘Way they acted, I’d say they was on the prod and looking for somebody to take out their meanness on.’
‘You was here with ’em for a spell, Mr. Nerton,’ Franklin remarked. ‘Still, they wasn’t likely to make fuss for a friend of their new boss.’
‘It’s not likely they would,’ Stagge agreed. ‘Look, I’m tolerable sorry that I couldn’t stop it—’
‘Nobody blames you, Mr. Nerton,’ Dusty assured him.
‘Nope, they don’t,’ Franklin went on. ‘Well, gents, I reckon we’d best go into the dining-room and talk things out. I’ll have them two fellers moved to the undertaker’s right now.’
‘How long’ve they been around town?’ Dusty inquired.
‘I ain’t seed ’em afore,’ the old timer declared. ‘Which means not more’n a day or so.’
While answering Dusty’s question, Franklin was ushering the other men from the room. In the hall, the various influential citizens stopped their muttering. Stepping forward, the owner of the livery barn demanded to be told who had been responsible for the shooting. A low, menacing mutter rose from the people at the doors, but died away as Franklin indicated Dusty.
‘Couple of hard-cases on the prod picked a fuss with Captain Dusty Fog here, Henry,’ Franklin explained.
‘Cap’n Fog—!’ echoed the owner of the barn. ‘You’re Captain Fog?’
‘I am,’ Dusty admitted.
‘Which it’s right lucky they picked on him,’ Franklin continued. ‘’Cording to the Count’s amigo here, they was looking for trouble and might’ve started on somebody less able to take care of hisself.’
Allowing a few seconds for his point to sink home, Franklin led the way to the dining room. Colin noticed a change come over the crowd. Much of their open hostility had gone. They still talked amongst themselves, but in a subdued and worried manner. At the door, Franklin stood aside to let the other participants enter. He then asked the undertaker, always a prominent member of a range-country community, to attend to the bodies and requested that Henry set up a hearing on the killings in his capacity as Kerrville’s justice-of-the-peace.
On entering the dining room, Dusty found Beatrice seated at the table with the lace cloth. Standing protectively alongside the Vicomtesse, Mrs. Logan glared indignantly at the men.
‘Whoever made that trouble—!’ the buxom woman began grimly.
‘Cap’n Fog here didn’t have no choice but to start shooting, Annie,’ Franklin protested, indicating the small Texan.
Chopping off her tirade, Mrs. Logan stared hard at Dusty. She had noticed the definite manner in which Franklin had named him and understood what it meant. If that insignificant cowhand was Captain Dusty Fog, he belonged to one of the most powerful and influential factions in Texas. More than that. Rumor claimed him to be Ole Devil Hardin’s favorite nephew. So he could not be abused or mean-mouthed, even if doing it might win favor from the de Brioudes. Wanting to change the subject, the hotel’s owner swung her eyes to Beatrice and found a good way of doing it.
‘Your necklace!’ Mrs. Logan shrieked, pointing. ‘It’s gone!’
Up fluttered Beatrice’s hands towards her neck and she stared at Stagge in such a pointed manner that she drew the other occupants of the room’s attention to him. Seeing the interest and even suspicion that the words had aroused, he seemed disconcerted for a moment. Then he dipped his right hand into his jacket pocket and started to draw out a diamond necklace.
‘I’ve got it, Mrs. Logan,’ Stagge explained. ‘The catch broke and the Vicomtesse asked me to take it around town and see if I could get it fixed.’ As the end of the necklace emerged, it brought out a wad of ten-dollar bills which fell to the floor. All eyes followed the money as it dropped, then lifted to Stagge’s face. He bent and gathered it up, saying, ‘The Vicomte wanted me to buy some things for him while I was out.’
‘That is correct,’ confirmed de Brioude. ‘But we thought we had better leave doing it until after we were sure the two men meant no mischief.’
Satisfied with the explanation, Franklin brought the hearing to order. Watching and listening to the old timer, Dusty felt sure that he knew his business. Despite Franklin’s proficiency as a peace officer, little could be learned about the two dead men. According to Henry, the pair had arrived soon after Tam Breda had left with the posse, paid cash to stable their horses and had slept in his hayloft. Questioned about his connection with the pair, Peet declared that they had met him on the street and asked if he thought that his boss would hire them. Against his better judgment, he had brought them to see de Brioude. Out of the kindness of his heart, the Vicomte had offered to employ them and arranged with Mrs. Logan—who had arrived to make sure that none of the other citizens were jumping the gun to meet the visitors—to let them wait in the barroom. Stagge stated that Dusty had been blameless of starting the fight and had only drawn when it was forced on him.
Wanting to get the reception started, Henry had exonerated Dusty. The hearing closed with a verdict that a couple of bullying troublemakers had picked on the wrong man for a victim and received no more than they deserved. Franklin promised that he would try to learn all he could about the pair.
Declining an invitation to attend the reception, Dusty and Colin accompanied Franklin to the livery barn. De Brioude had not concluded any deal with the Scot, but promised he would visit the Schells’ camp and do so. A search of the dead men’s property yielded no clue as to their identity or reason for being in town. So Dusty and Colin made ready to start their return journey.
‘You’re not saying much, Dusty,’ Colin remarked after they had covered about two miles in near silence.
‘I'm thinking some, though,’ the small Texan replied, but did not mention the nature of his thoughts.
What if the whole affair had been a plot to have Colin killed and obtain Mogollon for the de Brioudes?
Highly unlikely on the face of it, yet there had been aspects which did not sit right with Dusty. Take ‘Nerton’ for starters. According to what Franklin said on the way to the barn, the gambler had become friendly with de Brioude in a card game and been invited on the hunting expedition. ‘Nerton’ fitted the general description of the hired killer who had been circumvented by Tam Breda in Fort Sawyer, as had the two hard-cases.
That could be pure coincidence, for Mark’s description had not been too detailed. No matter who he might be, the de Brioudes trusted ‘Nerton’ sufficiently to give him a valuable necklace and a wad of cash money. They had produced a convincing reason for doing so, but there might be another explanation.
What if they had planned to separate Colin from the companion they had believed to be an unimportant cowhand. Then when the Scott had heard the fight or shooting from the bar-room, he would dash in and could be killed ‘in self-defense’. Before independent witnesses arrived, ‘Nerton’ would have placed the money and necklace on Colin’s person and sworn it had been paid by the de Brioudes for Mogollon.
‘But why the necklace?’ Dusty asked himself and came up with a possible answer. ‘Colin said he’d told the de Brioudes why he wanted Mogollon. So they’d claim to have thrown it in as boot to help make up to her for losing the horse. That’d make them look nice folks come the hearing. Hell! It’s loco. Even if the de Brioudes reckoned they could get away with it, “Nerton’d” know that Tam Breda wouldn’t let them no matter what the hearing decided.’
Dusty kept his theory to himself. If it should prove true, the situation would require the most delicate handling. Going by various important citizens’ reactions to the incident, the de Brioudes had made themselves very popular in Kerrville. For one reason or another, these same citizens would need a lot of convincing before they believed the couple capable of participating in such a murderous plot.