The Rushers (14 page)

Swiftly Dusty performed the border shift, tossing the revolver from his right hand to the left. He caught up the sabre with his right hand just in time to deflect the lance blow of a charging brave. In the same move, from the parry, Dusty flicked out the blade in a classic thrust. He saw the point go home into the body of the Sioux, heard the man scream. The lance fell from lifeless hands as the Indian went down.

With a wild yell the second brave bounded forward, war axe raised and the mounted Sioux came riding back, his pony picking up speed. Dusty swung to face the new menace, throwing the dead Indian from his sabre point. Then Dusty twisted aside avoiding the axe blow, he cut sideways across the Sioux’s body, laying it open like slitting a melon.

Almost too late Dusty saw the riding Sioux hurling down on him. The brave left his saddle, knife in hand. Dusty did not have time to avoid the rush. He drove up the sabre and the brave’s belly hit the point, his weight forcing him down on to it. Dusty was forced to his knees by the weight, he felt the sabre sinking deeper, then something burned his right shoulder like a red-hot iron. The brave, in his death throes, had ripped down his knife, laying a long gash along Dusty’s upper arm. He knew the wound, while painful, was not serious and that he could fight on. He felt the sabre dragged from his hand by the weight of the dead Sioux and knew he could not get it from flesh.

By this time Crazy Bear was almost on Dusty. The people in the Fort gave a moan as they saw the small Texan facing the Sioux war chief without a weapon in his hands. Mark Counter and the Ysabel Kid exchanged glances. They knew Dusty was not so helpless as he appeared. Yet they did not know if even his knowledge of karate and ju-jitsu could save him from the knife-wielding Sioux. One thing they did know, if they offered to help Gilbey would carry out his orders. The young lieutenant stood behind his company, face set hard, revolver in his hands as he obeyed orders when his every instinct craved to turn and see what was happening.

Dusty knew the danger but he also saw a chance of living. The Sioux tribesman was not a skilled knife-fighter, not in the style of the Apache or the Comanche. For one thing he did not hold his knife the same way. He gripped the hilt so the blade extended below his hand, allowing only two really effective strokes, a downwards cut aimed at behind the shoulder or the side of the neck, or a cross rip at the ribs or stomach. Both were good in their own way, but only against a man who fought in the same manner.

Springing forward Crazy Bear lifted the knife and started it down for a neck slash, relying on his extra size and strength to drive the blade of the knife deep into the small Texan’s body.

Letting his Colt fall from his left hand Dusty side-stepped and brought up both arms to block the down-coming arm. At the same moment he stepped in closer. He moved in so quickly that Crazy Bear had no chance to escape. The left hand clamped on the Sioux’s wrist, the right arm bent around behind Crazy Bear’s elbow and pushed it up until it was almost parallel to the ground. Then Dusty gripped the top of the trapped wrist with the fingers of his right hand, making the elbow lock complete. By keeping Crazy Bear bent backwards and held away from him, Dusty had the chief off balance and unable to either attack or get at the knife with his other hand.

Drawing back his right foot Dusty lashed it out against the Indian’s shin, at the same moment he released his hold. Crazy Bear went down but came up fast, even though he’d lost his knife and limped badly. With a snarl of rage he sprang forward meaning to grapple with Dusty, for he was noted as a wrestler among his people. Only this time he met a man who had knowledge of fighting which went beyond mere wrestling. Dusty did not try to avoid the chief, he came in fast, landing on his left foot and bringing up the right karate kick which smashed under the man’s breastbone.

In the time he’d been learning karate from his uncle’s servant, Dusty learned the kicking tricks but he’d never used one of them with all his strength before. He saw the agony on Crazy Bear’s face as the Indian reeled back then went down. He also thought he’d heard something snap when the foot smashed home but he could never be sure. Crazy Bear landed flat on his back, his body arched and blood gushed from his mouth. He would never rise again.

Not a sound came for at least a minute as everybody stared at the scene before them. Few could believe their eyes as they looked at the line of dead and wounded warriors which stretched from where the Sioux sat to around Dusty.

The small Texan stood swaying on his feet. His right arm was soaked with blood and his shirt sleeve torn, he noticed it for the first time as he bent to take up the revolver and thrust it into his holster. Dusty felt sick, physically and mentally sick at what he’d been forced to do. Since he was fifteen he’d seen death and known what it was to kill men, but never had he killed man after man as he’d just been forced to do.

A young warrior who had been an admirer of Crazy Bear let out a yell and jumped his horse forward, meaning to charge down and avenge his chief. Before the horse took three strides he was dead. Eagle Catcher’s Henry came off his arm and crashed, the young brave slid over the flank of his horse and down. Then releasing the lever and trigger of the rifle, holding it at arm’s length with the left hand Eagle Catcher rode down the slope.

‘Don’t anybody shoot!’ Sucataw warned. ‘He’s showing he comes in peace.’

Standing with his feet braced apart Dusty watched the old chief riding down the open ground towards him. He heard the mutter of approval when Eagle Catcher shot the brave who tried to attack and knew he’d won. Crazy Bear’s death proved the war medicine must be bad and the young warrior had no right to go against it. So Dusty waited to hear what the old chief wanted.

Halting his horse Eagle Catcher looked down at Dusty and spoke in English. ‘What of the four women, Captain?’

‘I don’t know what happened to them. The woman who had them last night says they escaped and went back to your people. One of my scouts killed the man who took them.’

‘I saw his body. It is in my heart that Crazy Bear did this thing to make war between my people and yours.’

‘And you sent him and the bad hat leaders to prove the medicine,’ Dusty went on. ‘Reckon you hoped enough of them would go under to draw their sting.’

‘I did. I do not want war with the white man. You have kept the treaty and I can talk peace to the braves after what they’ve seen.’

Saying that the old chief turned and yelled an order. Men came forward to collect the bodies. They exchanged some startled comments as they lifted Crazy Bear and saw the look of agony upon his face. Not one of them offered to speak or even look at Dusty and they turned to head back to their people. The warriors turned their horses to ride away from the Fort.

Slowly Dusty turned on his heel. His arm throbbed painfully and he felt very tired. He only distantly heard the cheers of the people in the Fort and through the mist which seemed to be swirling around him saw Mark, the Kid, Magoon and Joanna running towards him. He made the gates of the Fort on his feet, ignoring the girl’s gasping requests that he had his arm bandaged. There was one thing more he must do before he could rest.

‘Mr. Gilbey, take patrol and escort Eagle Catcher’s warriors to the Belle Pourche. I don’t want them meeting up with Mr. Jarrow and him trying to take them on single-handed when there’s no need to fight.’

Then the world seemed to spin around and Dusty went down in a crumpled heap at the gates of the Fort. Mark bent and picked up his friend, carrying him through the excited crowd toward the officers’ quarters.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

It seemed strange to be wearing civilian clothes again after almost five weeks constantly in uniform, Dusty thought as he stood before the desk at which he’d become used to sitting and giving his orders. Now Colonel Stathern, commanding officer of the 15th Cavalry, sat at the desk and the major who would take official control of Fort Tucker stood at his side.

‘You won’t reconsider about the offer, Captain Fog?’ asked Stathern, leaning back and looking at the small man in cowhand dress who stood before him. He might have wondered how so small and insignificant a man could take charge of United States cavalry and make them obey his will, but he’d seen Dusty in uniform and could tell a born leader when he saw one. ‘Stay in the army as captain, with brevet rank of major. I’ll need a new battalion commander in a few months, and it’s your post for the asking.’

‘No, thank you, sir,’ Dusty replied. ‘I’m a cowhand and I reckon that’s enough for me. I rode in command of a company in the war but then I rode with them. If I took your offer I’d be tied to a desk like I’ve been here. It’s not the same.’

Colonel Stathern had arrived at Fort Tucker the previous afternoon, bringing a new commanding officer and his escort. For the first time the officers of the Fort discovered they’d been taking orders from an impostor for the past few weeks and all three could hardly believe their ears when told. Not one of them could have even started to believe Dusty did not hold an official rank.

From the moment of his arrival Stathern was aware of the high morale of the battalion. They moved and dressed like crack troops, men with pride of achievement to boost them high in their own esteem. He had been disturbed when he heard the news of van Druten’s death from Jim Halter, more than disturbed when he heard a civilian, even one with so brilliant a Civil War record as cavalry commander, intended to take over a Fort and hold it together. He refused to allow Halter’s return to Fort Tucker with any message until he had sent a telegraph message to General Phil Sheridan asking for advice. Sheridan’s reply came quickly enough. Go immediately to Fort Tucker, look into the state of it. If he felt that Captain Fog had maintained the Fort in anything like good order offer him a commission and brevet rank to try and persuade him to stay in the army. Next year the big push against the Sioux would commence and first-class fighting men such as Dusty Fog might make all the difference between victory and defeat.

The colonel did not need to wait until morning to make his decision. He saw enough from the start to let him know he could make the offer to Dusty with a clear conscience. He knew it still more when he read the reports, talked with the three officers, the sergeant-major and sergeants, then Joanna Lingley. From the praise all gave Dusty and the way they spoke of the small Texan, Stathern knew he could make the offer and would be pleased to have Dusty in his regiment.

Only Dusty did not accept the offer. He had done his duty as he saw it, held the Fort together and kept the peace until a new commanding officer arrived. Now he could ride back to the Rio Hondo country of Texas where his uncle would be waiting to blister his hide for wasting time. Dusty also insisted he and his friends left the following morning as they’d wasted more than enough time since selling their cattle.

Now the Colonel only talked of the subject to hold Dusty for a few moments longer while the battalion prepared a surprise for him. From the desk drawer Stathern took out a cash box which he opened.

‘You held rank as captain for four, no five weeks, that’s a month and a quarter’s pay, two hundred dollars, plus five week’s command pay at ten dollars a week,’ he said. ‘I’ve been authorized to pay you this by General Sheridan so I don’t want any arguments. Your two pards have been accepted as army scouts for the same period of time and have been paid accordingly.’

‘You’ll do what I asked about Sergeant Kallan, sir?’ Dusty asked as he took up the money and signed a receipt for it.

‘I’ll mark him killed in action and put that his wife was killed in the Indian attack on Shacktown. I don’t suppose you can shed any more light on how Lewis came to die?’

‘I’ve the Kid’s word that he didn’t kill Lewis, sir. The Sioux got him, we found his body. I shared the money and a percentage of the gold dust we took from his safe among the people who left everything at Shacktown, then sent them east. Like I said, I sent a burial detail under flag of truce, which Eagle Catcher honoured, to bury the party who crossed the Belle Pourche. You’ll have no more trouble around this neck of the woods for a spell.’

He turned to go but Stathern asked, ‘Is your shoulder all right?’

Dusty nodded. ‘Healing. It was more messy and painful than dangerous. I can use the arm and that’s all that matters. Well, I’ll be going, sir. We’ve a lot of miles to ride afore we hit the OD Connected and I want to cover some of them today.’

Stathern came to his feet holding out his hand to Dusty. ‘It’s been good knowing you, Captain Fog. If you’re ever thinking of changing your mind and joining the army again I’ll always be more than willing to have you in my regiment.’

‘I’ll bear that in mind, sir,’ Dusty replied, shaking hands.

All the time they’d been talking Dusty was aware of noise outside, the sound of men falling in for morning muster. It came almost as a shock to remember they no longer were under his command and he would not be stepping out to inspect them.

The two officers escorted him to the door and the major opened it. Outside, on the porch, rigid at a brace and with hands held in the salute stood Gilbey, Magoon and Hogan. Yet they wore their best uniforms and carried sabres as well as their pistols, dressed for a review parade.

‘Battalion ready for your inspection, sir,’ Gilbey said.

Dusty felt embarrassed at getting in the way of the new post commander for whom the parade had been arranged. He was about to step aside but could not get by the colonel or the major who stood behind him.

‘Well, Captain Fog,’ Stathern said. ‘Your battalion’s waiting, sir. Take a final review.’

THE END

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