Burle Willock found his guess to be correct. Making sure to divide the work evenly, Dusty kept the trio fully occupied. He did so well at it that all of them barely found time to do more than glimpse the source of their rivalry in passing from one chore to the next. At night they found themselves riding guard on the herd or sent to man the lonely picket points Dusty had set out to prevent any chance of a surprise attack. In that manner he kept them away from the campfire at those times when Barbe was near it. More than that, Dusty had taken each of the trio aside on their return to the camp and given his opinion of their conduct, intelligence and general worth. None had enjoyed the interview. However, Jacko appeared to realize that he had got no more than he deserved and might have been far worse off. The other two promised to mend their ways and seemed to be making a try at doing it. If Barbe felt like going riding again, she never mentioned it.
The work went ahead fast. After a thorough check on each horse in the remuda, a party under Billy Jack started work on replacing missing or badly worn shoes. Under old Boiler Benson’s knowing eyes, saddlery was inspected and repairs carried out. Then the cook organized the unloading of the chuck and bed-wagons, bracing each of them in its turn so that its wheels could be removed and the axles greased. On the morning of the fourth day only the de Martins’ wagon remained to be put in a condition where it could survive the hazardous crossing.
Wanting to see if they had learned their lesson, Dusty let Vern, Willock and Jacko help the photographer empty the wagon. Having Mark in charge, he felt that any trouble would be dealt with promptly. Although Vern and Willock scowled at and studiously pretended to ignore each other, they gave every appearance of having profited by the lessons of the past days.
Boxes and trunks came from the wagon, while Barbe hovered around. One of the boxes gave off a familiar clinking sound which drew interested looks from Willock and Jacko.
‘Thirsty work this, Jacko,’ Willock commented, flickering a gaze at Barbe as they spoke.
‘Sure is,’ Jacko agreed, running his tongue tip over his lips. ‘And nothing but water to take for it.’
‘You have nothing but water?’ Barbe asked.
‘Nary a thing but that ’n’ coffee,’ Willock agreed. ‘Colonel Charlie don’t allow no hard liquor on his drive.’
At that moment Mark came into sight around the end of the wagon and the conversation ended. The work went on without incident and towards evening they started to reload the wagon. While passing a box up to where Turkey stood at the tailgate, Vern heard the sound of approaching hooves. Both of them turned to look, each expecting the other to retain his hold. Instead neither did, so the box fell and burst open. It held items of feminine underclothing and a large, leather-bound book. The latter bounced and landed open at the feet of de Martin and Dusty as they walked towards Goodnight’s returning party.
‘You clumsy b—!’ Barbe began furiously, then chopped off her words as de Martin glared at her.
Bending down to help gather the scattered contents, Dusty found himself looking at several photographs in the book. All appeared to be of a wedding and in one de Martin stood at Barbe’s side. He wore a top hat and fashionable suit while she was dressed in white, with a veil over her hair and bouquet of flowers in her hands. Before Dusty could do more than glimpse the picture, Barbe snatched the book from him and slammed it shut.
‘I’ll take that!’ she said, going to place it in the box.
‘I’m sorry, Dusty,’ de Martin said. ‘But there are a few photographs which Barbe regards as embarrassing. That was a picture of our cousin’s wedding. Barbe was maid-of-honor and I was best man. It was disappointing. The rumor that the best man has the first night just isn’t true.’
‘I found that out for myself,’ Dusty admitted, watching a spluttering Vern and Turkey blushingly help Barbe pick up the remainder of the contents. They hurriedly handed over the various garments and she packed the box then let them place it in the wagon. ‘I’d best go and see what Uncle Charlie found out.’
‘May I come with you?’ de Martin asked.
‘Feel free,’ Dusty replied and called some of the men to give orders that they should take care of the new arrivals’ horses. ‘How’d it go, Uncle Charlie?’
‘No worse than we expected,’ Goodnight replied. ‘There’s been some rain up this way, but we’ll still have three days of solid dry driving to reach the Pecos. We’ll start the crossing at sun-up tomorrow.’
‘May I offer a suggestion, Charles?’ de Martin put in.
‘Go to it.’
‘If Dusty doesn’t have any further plans for us, how about letting all hands have a night’s relaxation?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I understand that Rowdy plays the fiddle and has one along. Perhaps we could have a social evening. Of course Barbe and Dawn won’t be able to partner the whole crew for dancing … ’
‘That’s easy enough settled,’ Dusty smiled. ‘We’ll put a heifer-brand on some of the boys.’
‘I don’t follow you,’ de Martin said.
‘It’s the way we have out here, usually being short on women for dances and such,’ Goodnight explained. ‘So some of the fellers have a white rag tied around their left arms and dance “lady” fashion.’
‘Not many of them object to being heifer-branded, seeing’s how they get to sit with the ladies,’ Dusty went on. ‘Although they most times wind up looking at the bar most unladylike.’
‘That won’t happen tonight,’ Goodnight stated. ‘They can fun all they like, but there’ll be no drinking.’
‘With Rowdy keeping his medicine bottle locked up tight in the wagon, they won’t have anything to drink,’ Dusty replied. ‘I’ll fix things up, if it’s all right with you, Uncle Charlie.’
‘Go to it,’ the rancher authorized. ‘Ask Miss Barbe and Dawn to lend you a hand while you’re at it.’
News of the proposed evening’s entertainment was greeted with considerable enthusiasm by the trail crew. Dusty warned them that night herding would continue, but agreed to leave off the pickets. Knowing that the cattle came first, the cowhands raised no objections. Especially when they discovered that he had organized a rota which allowed everybody to spend as much time as possible at the festivities.
Due to the shortage of ‘for real’ lady partners—heifer brands formed a poor substitute—Dawn was excused taking her turn on the night herd. Following the rangeland custom, she and Barbe were permitted to select the men who wore the heifer brands. Although Dusty did not care for the girls picking Vera and Willock, they produced a mighty good argument in favor of their choice. That way neither cowhand could partner Barbe, removing a cause of friction between them. So Dusty gave in, it being the ladies’ prerogative to select their own company.
Certainly the dance began with reasonable decorum. Barbe wore the dress in which she had presented herself on the night she arrived and Dawn produced a gingham frock brought along to use on reaching Fort Sumner. The music was supplied by Rowdy on his battered violin, Turkey playing a Jew’s harp and Swede Ahlen giving backing with a blow-fiddle. xx Perhaps the sounds they emitted would not have been acceptable in a fancy Eastern hotel, but the uncritical audience buckled down to dancing with vim if not grace.
After a few dances, somebody called on the Kid for a song. Once he had obliged with such of Juan Ortega’s story as was fit for mixed company, other members of the crew responded with their party-pieces. Everything was going smoothly and in such good spirits that Dusty relaxed. It seemed that Vern and Willock had forgotten the fight. Certainly they made the most of their ‘heifer-brand’ positions, by allowing their ‘partners’ to bring them cups of coffee or the minor luxuries Rowdy had been able to produce at such short notice for the ‘guests’. Even Heenan appeared to be joining in the fun for Dusty saw him handing a cup of coffee to Willock in an interval between the dance sets.
‘And I tell you there ain’t nobody can lick Swede Ahlen at Injun-wrestling!’ Solly Sodak of the Lazy F announced in a loud voice during a lull in the noise and brought every eye his way.
‘Mark there can,’ objected Red Blaze, having been involved with the cowhand in a discussion for some minutes. ‘Which I’ve got five whole dollars to prove it.’
‘How about that, Swede,’ called Sodak. ‘Are you going to help me get rich at ole Red’s expense?’
Once brought up, the subject aroused much interest and demanded settlement. Never averse to putting his skill and strength on display, Ahlen suggested that he and Mark should satisfy the bettors promptly.
Producing his sturdy chopping-block and muttering dire warnings of what would happen if it be damaged in any way, Rowdy set it in position by the fire. Taking up their places on either side of the block, each of the contestants rested his right elbow on the chopping surface and gripped the other’s raised right hand. Appointed judge, Rowdy waited until the audience had formed around the block and gave the order to start.
‘I’ve got ten dollars’s says it lasts for more than twenty minutes,’ a man said and another took the bet.
Certainly all knew that they faced a lengthy session of Indian-wrestling, for the contestants were evenly matched. Mark’s slight advantage in strength was counter-balanced by Ahlen’s extra experience. Excitement filled the audience as the seconds ticked away and they were oblivious of anything but the two men at the chopping block. Straining in their efforts to force down the opposing hand, Mark and Ahten put all their considerable strength into beating the other.
Shortly after the contest began, Willock became aware that Barbe was not in the crowd. Looking around, he saw her going towards the de Martins’ wagon and edged back to follow her.
Laughter, advice—mostly impractical or impossible—and offers of further bets flashed noisily among the spectators. So great was the racket that it drowned out the sounds of cursing, shouting and scuffling from behind the de Martin wagon. Dusty as first to become aware of the trouble, although up to that point he had not noticed certain absentees from the crowd.
Suddenly Willock reeled into sight from behind the wagon. Catching his balance, he drove out a blow at the head of Vern as the youngster followed him. Running into Willock’s fist, Vern went backwards and sat down hard.
‘Don’t shoot him!’ Barbe screamed, appearing beyond the two cowhands.
Spitting out a curse and mouthful of blood, Vern stabbed his hand towards his side. Already moving in to attack, Willock skidded to a halt, drew and fired. Vern rocked backwards as lead ripped into his chest and sprawled on to the ground.
Dusty went through the crowd as if it did not exist. At the sound of the shot, Mark and Ahlen released each other. The rest of the crowd forgot the contest, bets, everything except what met their eyes as they faced the de Martins’ wagon. A concerted rush followed on the small Texan’s heels. Faster than the rest, Dawn reached her brother almost as soon as Dusty. She went to her knees at Vern’s side, staring at the wound and reading its serious nature.
Tense and watchful, yet without making a hostile movement, Dusty faced Willock. Every sense the small Texan possessed warned him of danger. After shooting the youngster, Willock had re-cocked his revolver. Now he stood on spread-apart legs, with an over-casually balanced stance that, taken with the loose-lipped, slobbering grin on his face, screamed a deadly warning to one experienced in such signs. For all that, Dusty could not believe Willock was drunk no matter how he looked or acted. Silence fell on the crowd behind Dusty as they waited for him to make a move.
‘What happened?’ Dusty asked quietly.
‘The fodder-forker pushed his luck too far is what,’ Willock replied, his voice slightly slurred but tuned to sound tough and mean.
‘Vern’s dead!’ Dawn gasped, looking at the two men.
‘So he was going for his gun and I stopped him!’ Willock growled. ‘That’s—’
‘He’s not wearing a gun!’ Red Blaze put in, having moved forward to kneel at Dawn’s side. ‘His holster’s empty.’
Angry comments rumbled up at the words. Looking over his shoulder, Dusty saw Narth moving forward with the Swinging G cowhands flanking him. At the same time, Jacko and two other Mineral Wells men came together. Dusty was suddenly aware that all but Ahlen of the older Mineral Wells men were riding the night herd. That deprived him of what might have been a restraining influence. Dusty’s sense of danger increased. There was trouble in the air, a peril to the success of the herd as serious as any Hayden’s hired guns might have caused. One wrong word or move might easily explode the whole camp into blazing gunplay.
‘If that’s right—!’ Narth began grimly.
‘I’ll handle it,’ Goodnight interrupted, joining Dusty. ‘Put the gun up, Burle, and let’s talk this out.’
‘What’s to talk about?’ the cowhand demanded truculently. ‘I pulled on him when Miss Barbe yelled. How was I to know he didn’t have a gun?’
‘Easily enough,’ de Martin commented, walking to his sister’s side from the rear of the wagon. ‘You’d seen Vern loan me his gun so that I didn’t go unarmed into the bushes.’
‘Why you—’ Narth spat out, right hand dropping to his Colt’s butt.
Fingers like steel grasped Narth’s fist, crushing it in a powerful grip and preventing him from drawing the gun. Twisting his head, the cowhand looked into Mark Counter’s face and heard the other’s soft-spoken warning.
‘Leave it be, amigo. Colonel Charlie’ll see the right’s done.’
Slowly Dawn raised her head. No tears came, but her face held lines of grief and anger. Lifting her eyes to Goodnight’s, she said in a bitter voice, ‘What’re you going to do about it, Colonel? He murdered my brother.’
Again the low rumble of comment rose. Every man in the camp knew of the last grim article in the contract they had signed before leaving the Swinging G. Looking back, Dusty saw two separate groups starting to form. About half of the men, Goodnight’s hands included, moved to where Narth stood by Mark. The second party consisted of Willock’s cronies and looked to Ahlen for guidance. As the accused cowhand’s segundo, Jacko and the others wanted to know where the big blond stood in the affair.
So did Dusty, come to that, and he asked, ‘How about it, Swede?’
‘We can take him—’ Austin began.
‘Open your mouth again!’ Dusty blazed, swinging towards the speaker. ‘And I’ll close it with my boot. Mark, take Austin, Spat and Eddie to the night herd. Eph, Ross, go help Will Trinka on the remuda.’
‘Get to it!’ Goodnight went on, knowing what Dusty wanted to do.
Slowly, showing their reluctance, the Swinging G men turned to obey. Usually Eph Horn and Ross Phares would not be sent to assist the nighthawk with the horses but Dusty wanted to give Ahlen proof that he would deal fairly with Willock and not rely on the hands loyal to Goodnight to enforce his demands.
Swiftly Dusty looked around. Kneeling at her brother’s side, Dawn was silent. It seemed that she had realized what her words might cause, for she never took her eyes from Goodnight’s face although she said no more. From her, Dusty turned his attention to the de Martins. They and Heenan once more stood clear of the two factions. Considering what had happened, Barbe seemed remarkably calm. She watched the scene before her with an almost detached interest.
Diverting his thoughts from the girls, Dusty studied the trail hands. His dismissal of the Swinging G men had lessened the tension slightly. Yet everything depended on how Swede Ahlen answered Dusty’s question. If he stood by the Articles of Agreement, Willock’s supporters would go along. If not, the small Texan did not care to think of the result. Swede Ahlen held several lives and the safety of the whole trail drive in his big hands. Should he go back on his word about the contract, Josh Narth would want to dispense his own justice. While Willock’s cronies might stand for Goodnight or Dusty dealing with the situation, they certainly would not permit another trail hand to do so.
After what seemed an age, although it followed on the heels of Dusty giving his orders to Mark, Ahlen spoke.
‘Put up the gun, Burle. We’re going to hold a hearing on the killing.’
‘The hell you are!’ Willock spat back, making no attempt to comply. ‘What chance do I have? You’ve seen how all that bunch stand together.’
Ahlen stiffened slightly, looking at the cowhand’s face and moving to stand between Dusty and Goodnight. ‘He’s liquored up. Watch him. He’s dangerous when he’s wet.’
Hearing the words, Dusty and Goodnight let out low breaths of annoyance. Under the Articles of Agreement, no liquor could be carried by the trail hands. Yet Willock showed every sign of being drunk and, according to his foreman, was a bad hombre when in that condition. Which altered nothing in the basic issue. It only made the situation more dangerously explosive.
‘All ri—’ Goodnight began, making as if to step forward.
‘Keep back, all of you!’ Willock snarled, his Colt making an arc that took in the three men before him. ‘I’m full to my guts with this drive and I’m quitting. Who’s coming with me?’
‘Nobody,’ Goodnight said quietly. ‘And you’re not going either.’
‘Who’ll stop me?’ snarled Willock.
‘I will,’ Goodnight answered.
‘No, Uncle Charlie,’ Dusty put in gently. ‘The segundo handles the men. I let this start, so it’s for me to see it through.’
There was another, unmentioned point. Without its trail boss, the herd could not get through. So Dusty figured if anybody was going to be shot, he could be better spared than his uncle.
‘I’ll kill the first to move!’ Willock snarled.
‘Then you’ll have to do it,’ Dusty replied and took a step forward.
‘You’ll have to drop us both,’ Ahlen warned, advancing in line with Dusty. ‘Don’t be loco, Burle. Leather it. You know Colonel Charlie’ll give you a fair hearing.’
Backing off before the steady advance of the two men, Willock looked from one to the other. Drunk he might be, but not sufficiently for his condition to have driven all sense and thought from his head. Swede Ahlen had never professed to be a gunfighter, but possessed the gritty determination to push through anything he started. Yet, more menacing to Willock at that moment was the big blond man ranged at his segundo’s side. A quick glance warned Willock that he could not expect help from his cronies. Even Jacko stood silent and clearly willing to accept Ahlen’s assurance that justice would be done.
Sweat ran down Willock’s face and indecision played on it. Watching him, Dusty knew that he might go either way. If he should be drunk, impossible as it seemed, he could either surrender or make a rat-like fight against what he regarded as a trap.
For each pace the two men advanced, Willock retreated a stride. To Dusty it seemed that the barrel of the cowhand’s Colt started to dip. At that moment a shot rang out. Lead ripped into Willock’s head, spinning him around and tumbling him lifeless almost at the small Texan’s feet.
Smoke curled up from the revolver in Heenan’s hand and he said, ‘I thought he was fixing to start throwing lead.’