Trigger Fast (6 page)

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* Told in QUIET TOWN

CHAPTER SIX

HOLDING his big white stallion to a mile devouring trot the Ysabel Kid rode north. He found and now followed the signs of last year’s drives with no difficulty for the sign lay plain for a man to see.

Ahead lay the fence. The Kid saw it and a frown came to his brow. Like Dusty and Mark he hated fences of any kind, probably more so than his friends for they would grudgingly admit some fences had their uses. To the Kid any kind of fence was an anathema. The free-ranging blood of his forefathers, all breeds which never took to being fettered and walled in, revolted against the sight of anything which might bring an end to the open range.

Touching the white’s flanks the Kid swung to one side, heading down the stream which marked the boundary of Double K and which carried the barbed wire on the bank he rode along. Likely Double K had men watching the fence and he did not want to be delayed in obeying Dusty’s orders while he made war.

The wire ended at a point where the stream made a sharp curve and formed the end of the narrows. After scanning the area the Kid allowed Nigger to wade into and through the water. At the other side he set his course across the narrows, in the correct direction, with the ease of a sailor using a compass to navigate his ship. All the range ahead of him looked good, plenty of grass, enough water, and dotted with small woods in which the cattle might shelter during bad weather. A man who owned such a spread should have no need to jump his neighbours’ land for more grazing.

Caution had always been a by-word for the Kid. A man didn’t live as he’d lived during his formative years
¹
without developing the instincts and caution of a lobo wolf. Not even in times of peace and on the safe ranges of the OD Connected did the Ysabel Kid ride blindly and blithely along. Always there was caution, always his eyes and ears stayed alert for any slight warning sound or flickering sight which might herald the coming of danger.

So the two men who appeared on a rim half a mile off to his right did not take the Kid by surprise. He heard one of them yell, saw them set spurs to work and send their horses forward at a gallop. As yet he did not speed up the big white stallion. Nigger could allow the men to come in much closer before he need increase his pace any. The Kid knew his horse could easily leave behind the mounts of the Double K men, happen he felt like it. One word would see the white running away from the pursuers, leaving them behind as if they had lead weights lashed to their legs.

‘Couldn’t catch up even if they wanted to, ole Nigger hoss,’ drawled the Kid. Which same they want to, and are trying to.’

After dispensing this rather left-handed cowboy logic the Kid relaxed in his saddle. When the two men passed behind a clump of bushes out of sight for a few moments he bent and drew his rifle from the saddleboot. With the old ‘yellowboy’ in his hands he knew he could handle the two men and prevent their coming close enough to bother him.

There had been a time, just after the War, when the Kid’s handling of the pursuit would have been far different. Then he would have found cover and used his old Mississippi rifle (he did not own a Winchester Model of 1866 ‘yellowboy’ rifle in those days) to down one of the following pair for sure and probably both if the other did not take the hint. Those days ended on the Brownsville trail when he met the man who turned him from a border smuggler into a useful member of society. It had been Dusty Fog who prevented the Kid sliding into worse forms of law-breaking than the running of contraband and gave him a slightly higher idea of the value of human life. So the Kid contented himself in having the rifle ready. If the men became too intrusive he could easily take steps to discourage them, but he aimed to let them make the first move.

For a mile the Kid rode at the same pace and the men, knowing the futility of trying to close with him and his fast moving horse, clung to his trail like a pair of buzzards watching a trail herd for weak steers dropping out. Only the Kid was no weak steer, he didn’t aim to get caught or to drop out.

A woman’s scream shattered the air, coming from a small
bosque
, a clump of trees to the Kid’s right. He brought the big white stallion to a halt, looking in the direction of the sound. It might be a trick to lure him close, to hold him for the two following men, only that scream sounded a whole lot too good for pretence. Then his ears caught another sound, low, menacing, one which set Nigger fiddle-footing nervously. The hunting snarl of an angry cougar.

Without a thought of the following gunmen, the Kid headed his big white horse forward fast, making for the
bosque
. Once more the scream rang out, than he saw, among the trees, what caused the terror.

The young woman stood back up against a tree, her face pale, her mouth open for another scream. On top of a rock, facing her, crouched for a spring, with its tail lashing back and forwards, was a big, old, tom cougar. To one side, reins tangled in a blue-berry bush, fighting wildly to get free, eyes rolling in terror, a fine looking bay horse raised enough noise to effectively cover the sound of the approaching white stallion and its rider.

Only rarely would a cougar, even one as big as the old tom, chance attacking a human being without the incentive of real hunger and the human being bad hurt, or without being cornered. Probably the cougar had its eye on horse-flesh, it’s favourite food, and would have ignored the young woman. However fear carries its own distinctive scent and the cougar caught it, knowing the human being feared it. So the big tom changed its mind, decided to take the woman as being an even easier kill than the horse.

Bringing his brass-framed Winchester to his shoulder the Kid sighted and fired all in one incredibly swift move. The cougar had caught some sound Nigger made and swung its head to investigate the new menace. Even before its cat-quick reactions could carry it in a long bound to safety at one side, the cougar took lead. The Winchester spat out, throwing back echoes from the surrounding trees, the cougar gave out with a startled squalling wail, sprang from the rock, back arched in pain and hurling at the young woman.

Moving so fast the lever looked almost like a blur the Ysabel Kid threw two more shots into the cougar, spinning it around in the air and dropping it in a lifeless heap almost at her feet. The young woman stared down, trying to back further into the tree trunk, not knowing she need no longer fear the animal.

‘You all right, ma’am?’ asked the Kid, coming down from Nigger, landing before the girl and holding his rifle ready.

For a long moment she did not reply. She stood with her face against the trees, not sobbing or making any sound, just frozen rigid with the reaction of her narrow escape. Then with an almost physical effort, she seemed to get control of herself and turned towards him.

‘Yes, thank you,’ she said in an accent which sounded alien and strange to the Kid’s ears. ‘I’m afraid I was rather foolish. Mr. Dune told me there were mountain lions in this area, but I’d always heard they don’t attack human beings.’

‘Don’t often,’ replied the Kid, knowing she wanted to talk, to shake the last of her fear away. ‘This’n most likely was hungry and figured you’d make an easier meal than the hoss.’

Holding the ‘yellowboy’ in his right hand and sweeping off the black Stetson with his left, the Kid looked at the girl his timely arrival saved. Without a doubt she was one of the most beautiful young women he had ever seen. Maybe a mite taller than a man’d want, but not so tall as to appear gawky and awkward. She had hair as black as his own, neat and tidily cared for. Her face would draw admiring glances in any company and she’d come second to none in the beauty stakes. Her eyes, now the fear left them, looked warm, yet not bold. She wore a black eastern riding habit of a kind he had never seen before. A top hat sat on her head and a veil trailed down from the brim to fasten on to her jacket belt. Her outfit did nothing to hide the fact that she was a very shapely young woman.

She dusted herself off, knocking the leaves from her dress. ‘He took me by surprise, my horse took fright and tossed me off. You came just in time. Thank you.’

‘It wasn’t nothing,’ replied the Kid, feeling just a shade uncomfortable in her presence.

‘I can’t remember ever having seen you around the ranch,’ she went on. ‘Of course Papa and I only arrived two days ago and I haven’t met all the sta — cowhands yet. Mr. Dune warned me about the cougar, but I wanted to see one close up.’

‘Likely this old tom,’ replied the Kid with a grin, stirring the dead cougar with his toe, ‘wanted to see a real live gal close up, too.’

For an instant a slight frown came to the young woman’s face, then it was replaced by a smile. When the Ysabel Kid grinned in that manner he looked about fourteen years old and as innocent as a pew-full of choirboys who had put tintacks on the organ player’s chair. No woman, especially one as young as this, could resist such a smile. She smiled also, it made her look even more beautiful.

The Kid looked to the young woman. From the way she talked she must be the Double K’s new boss’s daughter. He decided to ask if this was correct, then try and explain the dangers of putting fences around property, especially across what had always been an open trail.

Only he did not get a chance. The big white stallion swung its head in the direction they’d come, letting out a warning snort. It stood with ears pricked and nostrils working, looking for all the world like a wild animal. Reading the warning, the Kid turned fast, but he did not try to raise his rifle for he stood under the guns of the two men who followed him across the range.

‘Just stay right where you are, cownurse!’ one ordered.

The Kid stood fast, only he didn’t let his rifle fall. He kept it in his hand, muzzle pointing to the ground, but ready for use. Then the girl stepped forward, coming between the Kid and the two men. She brought a worried look to two faces for the men could not shoot without endangering her life.

‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘The young man saved my life, prevented a mountain lion from attacking me.’

Still the two men did not lower their weapons, nor relax. The taller made a gesture towards the Kid.

‘He’s not one of our riders, Miss Keller,’ he said.

‘Aren’t you?’ she asked, turned towards the Kid. ‘I suppose you’re trespassing really, but we can overlook it this time. Put away your guns, please.’

For all her strange sounding accent she made it clear that when she gave an order she expected it to be obeyed. The Kid watched the men and the girl, thinking how her tone sounded like Dusty’s cousin, Betty Hardin, the voice of a self-willed young woman who was full used to being obeyed. Her last words had been directed to the two men.

They scowled, clearly not liking the idea, but holstering their guns for all of that. Their duty was to patrol the range and discourage stray drifters from crossing. Neither had seen Tring’s discomforted bunch returning from the abortive raid on Lasalle’s place and did not know anything about the Kid’s part in it. They did know that they should have stopped him getting this far in. They should also most definitely have never allowed him to get so close to Norma Keller, only daughter of the new owner of the Double K. However Norma had given orders and they were instructed to obey her.

Norma turned to the Kid and looked him over with some interest. Once more he felt like a bashful schoolboy — then he remembered, in the early days he felt just the same when Betty Hardin looked at him.

‘What are you doing on my father’s land?’ she asked coolly.

‘Just passing through, ma’am, headed north to Bent’s Ford, that’s over the Indian Nation line a piece.’

‘I know!’ she answered. ‘Do you make a habit of riding across other people’s property?’

For a moment anger flickered in the Kid’s eyes. Then he remembered that the girl was English, likely they did things a mite different over there. Only now she was in Texas and would need to change some of her ideas. He held down his angry reply and said:

‘This here’s always been open range country, ma’am. In Texas folks don’t stop a stranger from crossing their land as long as he does no damage and makes no grief for the owners.’

‘I see,’ replied the girl, and her entire tone had changed. ‘Of course one must remember this is a new — I’m sorry if I snapped. Never let it be said the Keller family failed to conform with the local custom. Would you care to come to the ranch and allow father to thank you in a more suitable manner?’

For an instant the two men looked relieved, but the Kid shook his head.

‘Thank you, no, ma’am,’ he replied. ‘I’ve got to make Bent’s Ford as soon as I can. Got me a riding chore out from there and I can’t miss it. Say, whyn’t you have these boys here skin out that ole cougar, or tote it back to your place and have it done. It’ll make a dandy footrug and you’ll likely have a story to tell folks about it.’

‘Why yes, that’s a good idea,’ she answered and turned to the men. Will you attend to it, please?’

The word ‘please’ might be there, but the Kid got the idea the girl aimed to have her orders carried out for all of being polite. He knew he could now ride on without needing to bother about the two men. He held his rifle in both hands, ready to handle any refusal, or try at holding him, but the men turned to walk towards the cougar.

Quickly the Kid swung afork his big stallion. He booted the rifle, removed his hat once more and gave Norma an elegant salute.

‘
Adios
, ma’am,’ he said, watching the two men.

‘Good-bye,’ she answered, looking at the white with appreciation showing in her eyes for she knew a good horse when she saw one. ‘If you are ever in this part of the country again drop in and see us. My father would be pleased to meet you.’

‘I’ll do just that, ma’am,’ the Kid replied, setting his hat on his head.

Turning his horse the Kid rode out of the
bosque
and headed north once more, making for Bent’s Ford. He knew neither of the men would follow him now, they would be too busy with the cougar. However the Double K might have more riders on it, men who also aimed to keep strangers away. He allowed Nigger to make a better pace and did not relax, not even after he left the narrows and passed over the Texas line into the Indian Nations.

Norma Keller watched the two men as they profanely tried to load the cougar on to one of their horses, a horse which showed a marked reluctance at having anything at all to do with such a creature. Then she went to her own horse and calmed it down feeling annoyed that she had not cared for the animal earlier. Not until she managed to quieten the horse and freed it did her eyes go back to the men. By now they had managed to get the cougar’s body across the back of the horse and lashed it into place.

A smile flickered across her face as she thought of the innocent looking boy whose arrival saved her life. He looked quite friendly and so young to handle a rifle so well. The three holes in the cougar’s body (she smiled as she found herself no longer using the term mountain lion) could be covered by the palm of her hand and any one would have proved fatal. She hoped the holes could be covered and somebody could tan and cure the skin for her.

The smile stayed as she thought of the way that the youngster spoke. She made a mental note to remember this was not the East Riding of Yorkshire, but a new country with different ways. In England no worker would have dared address her on such terms of equality and she found the sensation stimulating. Norma Keller was no snob. The upper-class to which she belonged rarely were snobs, that was the privilege of the newly-rich, the intellectuals who felt unsure of their position in life. She felt no snobbish class-distinction against the Kid, nor any annoyance at the way in which he addressed her. He spoke politely, yet without in any way being subservient. She wondered who he was, where he came from, what his position in life might be. Then she smiled still more. It would be highly unlikely that she ever met the boy again. Or was he such a boy? He seemed to be ageless. She wished she might get to know him better. He seemed to be so much better natured and pleasant than the rather sullen men hired by Mr. Mallick while she and her father travelled from their home in England, the home they would never return to again.

‘All set, Miss Keller,’ growled one of the men.

‘Good,’ she replied, allowing him to help her mount to the side-saddle she used. ‘Let’s get that creature home before it stiffens and can’t be skinned.’

They rode back through the
bosque
and out at the far side. Norma threw her eyes over the range, searching for some sign of her rescuer, but seeing none. So she rode with the two men, comparing them with him and not to their advantage. There was so much she wanted to know about this new land, so much they might have taught her, but they seemed sullen and uncommunicative.

For a mile or so they rode in silence, then she saw a rider top a rim and head towards them, a man who looked familiar.

‘That’s Mr. Dune, isn’t it?’ she asked.

‘Yeah,’ grunted the taller man. ‘That Dune all right.’

Norma frowned for she did not approve of employees referring in such a manner to their foreman. However she made no comment for Norma had already seen a different standard of behaviour seemed common in this new land she and her father picked for their home.

Coming up at a gallop Dune brought his horse to a sliding halt, eager to impress Norma with his riding skill. He was something of a range-country dandy and fashion-plate, dressed to the height of cowhand fashion. Although only a medium-sized man Buck Dune fancied himself as quite a lady-killer, a gallant with a string of conquests which covered the length and breadth of the west.

Since the girl’s arrival at the ranch Dune had tried to bear down on her with the full force of his charm and personality. Her father had money, more money than Dune could ever recollect seeing at one time and Dune was more than willing to find acceptance into the Keller family circle. Only the charm which attracted girls in the better class saloons, dancehalls and cat-houses; plus a few women not from that class but who should have shown better sense; failed where Norma Keller was concerned. Towards him the girl displayed a cool attitude. She always answered his greetings, asked questions and listened with interest to his answers but always with calm detachment, oblivious to his swarthy good looks, his neatly trimmed moustache, or the faint scent of bay rum which always clung to him. She treated him as a valued employee and made it plain that was how things would remain.

This morning the girl’s flat refusal to allow him to act as her guide when she went riding left him feeling as awkward and shambling as a barefooted yokel boy. It had been an unusual feeling and he still did not know if he liked it or not

‘Howdy, Miss Keller,’ he greeted, removing his hat in a graceful gesture guaranteed to prove his genteel upbringing. Then his eyes went to the cougar’s body. Where did you get that cat?’

‘I had an adventure,’ she replied, smiling and forgetting that he warned her of the presence of cougars on the range. She did not notice his surprise at seeing the one her rescuer had killed. ‘A young man shot it when it tried to attack me.’

Dune threw a glance at the two gunmen. He had clean forgotten warning the girl about the danger of mountain lions. It had been no more than an excuse to get Norma to accept his offer of guidance and company. Now it seemed she had really met up with a cougar and he lost the chance of acting as a gallant heroic rescuer.

He forgot that matter in something more urgent. His eyes stayed on the two gunmen but he remembered just in time not to say too much before the girl. If the young man was no more than a drifting cowhand it would not be too bad, for he would be unlikely to return.

‘You’d best get it right back to the spread and skin it out,’ he said, hoping the men would read his words right.

It seemed they did, for the one toting the cougar started his horse forward, Norma at his side. The other man held his mount back, reading the message in Dune’s eyes.

‘Who was he?’ growled Dune after the girl had ridden away.

‘Some kid on a damned great white hoss,’ replied the other man. ‘It sure could move. We saw it from half a mile back and hadn’t gone two hundred yards afore we knew there wasn’t a chance in hell of us catching up to him.’

An explosive snorted curse left Dune’s lips. He let the veneer of charm fall from him and showed what he really was, a killer without moral or scruple. Tring’s bunch had returned to the spread, most of them toting shotgun lead and cursing about it, although all might have accounted themselves lucky the gun carried no worse than birdshot which did no more than pierce their hides.

They gave livid and profane descriptions of the trio of men who, according to them, jumped them, held them under guns and pinned down helpless. Dune found the descriptions tallied with three men he had heard much of, although had never met up with. He remembered the Ysabel Kid, the descriptions he’d heard of that tall, dangerous young man. The descriptions often contained references to the Kid’s horse, a seventeen-hand white stallion which could run like the wind.

‘A tall, young looking, dark faced kid, dressed all in black?’ he asked savagely. ‘Got him a Dragoon Colt and a bowie knife.’

‘That’s him.’

‘And that’s the Ysabel Kid!’ snarled Dune, spitting the words out like they burned his mouth. ‘Which way’d he go?’

‘Said he was headed for Bent’s Ford.’

‘Reckon he was?’

‘That’s what he said. Was headed north all right when we put him up.’

The two men sat their horses for a moment. Dune dropped a hand to the butt of the Tranter revolver holstered at his side. If the Ysabel Kid was headed for Bent’s Ford he was going for some good purpose. Dusty Fog wouldn’t send off his left bower
²
at such a time without good cause. And the Kid had seen Norma Keller. He had seen far too much to be left alive.