‘Come on, boys,’ she said. ‘Let’s let Captain Fog have a meal, shall we?’

  Her words had the desired effect in that they broke up the meeting. The ranchers realized that Dusty had not yet managed to get a meal and so split up to return to their wives or their ranch crews.

  ‘Thanks, Candy,’ Dusty said with a grin.

  ‘Why thank me, I haven’t had a chance to speak to you all afternoon. Come on, I’ll get you some food.’

  The Four Flying M hands happened to pass Dusty’s party on their way to the remuda. All were young men, hardworking, loyal to their brand, but tended to be a mite wild and irresponsible, so Dusty decided a warning would not be out of place.

  ‘Hey, you Flying M’s,’ he called.

  ‘Sure, Cap’n?’

  ‘Don’t make too much noise coming back. There’ll be folks asleep.’

  ‘And cows, too,’ Mark went on, ‘and you know how they get happen they’re woken up in the night.’

  ‘We’ll be good and quiet,’ promised the spokesman for the quartet. Won’t we, boys?’

  ‘Way our money’s fixed, we’ll have to be,’ grinned another. ‘Unless Miss Candy’ll give us credit.’

  ‘You know my motto, boys,’ the girl answered. ‘In the Lord I trust, mortals pay cash.’

  All four laughed, knowing that Candy would loan them some money if they needed it urgently. She would not loan them any just so they could have a few extra drinks in town.

  The words had carried to where Lawyer Scales stood with the Naylors and a couple of town businessmen. A calculating glint came into his eyes as he looked in the direction of the four departing cowhands.

  ‘I think I’ll be getting back to town,’ he said, giving a yawn. ‘All this fresh air’s no good for city boys like me.’

  While she wondered what was taking Scales away in such a hurry, Laura Naylor raised no objections. Watching Scales walk away, Laura wondered why he was so eager to help her persuade her husband to sell the ranch. The lawyer had visited her that morning and yet had not made any suggestions about how she could get her husband to sell out and take her back East.

  Collecting his horse, Scales rode back to town in the wake of the four Flying M hands. At his home, he entered his bedroom, made sure that the window’s curtains were drawn together and that nobody could see inside, then unlocked and opened a trunk he took from under his bed.

  Back at the camp, the Ysabel Kid discovered that he had no tobacco; which promptly persuaded Dusty, Mark and Waco that they had also run out.

  ‘Huh, white-eye brothers plenty mean with-um makings,’ grunted the Kid in his best Comanche Dog Soldier voice. ‘You-all mean you’d let poor lil ole me ride all that way into town to buy some?’

  ‘We sure would,’ agreed three voices.

  ‘Just to make up for them all being so mean to you, Lon,’ Candy put in, ‘you can escort me in.’

  ‘Gee, thanks, Candy. you-all restored my faith in the white-eye brother.’

  ‘Me, a brother.’

  ‘Lon’s lived a sheltered life,’ Mark drawled. ‘I’ll go check the night herd and see everything’s all right, Dusty.’

  ‘And you go collect the lady’s buggy, boy,’ the Kid drawled, ‘while I get my old Thunder hoss.’

  ‘I’ll do that,’ Waco agreed, wondering if he would ever grow old enough to stop being the ‘boy’ to the three men he would have died for and deciding, as he always did, that he had no objection to the name as long as they used it. ‘Want for me to fetch Candy’s buggy along too?’

  For a moment Candy did not catch the drift of Waco’s remark; and when she did he was out of throwing range. Turning to Dusty, she laughed merrily.

  That’s quite a boy,’ she said. ‘I wish you were riding in with me, Dustine.’

  ‘So do I, Candy. But I have to stay on out here and take care of things. But you just wait until after the roundup—’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘Just you wait and see.’

  Which was all Candy could get out of him on the matter. She looked at Dusty for a moment, then smiled. Unless she was sadly mistaken, it would be worth waiting for.

  The Kid escorted Candy across the range, following the trail into town. At one point they had to pass through a small wood, but it was silent and deserted after being cleaned out by the roundup crew that afternoon. The girl spent most of the ride asking questions and learning about Dusty Fog.

  On arriving at the Juno Saloon, Candy left the Kid while she went to her rooms and changed into her working clothes. There was a small crowd of customers, mostly townsmen, although with a few cowhands from the southern ranches below the Comanche range. At the bar, the Kid looked around the room and saw the four Flying M hands playing poker with a dude. There was something vaguely familiar about the dude, yet the Kid could not remember having seen the man around town since his arrival on Saturday. Not that one would easily forget the dude. He wore a loud check suit, a white shirt and fancy bow tie of Eastern style and had gloves on his hands. A gray derby hat perched on a head of shaggy black hair and the man’s spectacles, moustache and bushy beard prevented much of his face showing.

  ‘Who’s the jasper with the fancy suit?’ the Kid asked the bartender who brought him a glass of beer.

  ‘Never saw him afore, looks like a drummer of some sort to me. He come in, bought a drink and then went over to join the Flying M in a card game.’

  ‘Reckon he’s a card-shark?’

  ‘If he is, he’ll sure be picking slim there,’ grinned the bartender. ‘I gave Rocky five bucks on his gun, which same made him rich man of the party.’

  ‘Looks like Rocky’s hit a lucky streak then,’ the Kid replied, watching the spokesman for the quartet rake in a handful of dollar bills from the pot.

  At that moment Rocky became aware of the Kid’s presence and turned in his chair to wave and yell.

  ‘Hey, Kid! Come on over and take a drink.’

  Leaving the bar, the Kid crossed to the Flying M’s table and accepted a glass of whisky from Rocky. There was not much money on the table and all the Kid could see looked to be one dollar bills. If the dude was a card-shark, he did not seem likely to make eating money out of the cowhands. While sipping at his drink, the Kid studied the dude again, sure he had seen the man before and wondering where. Rocky introduced the man as a clothing drummer, salesman, and by his first name. Watching the dude riffle the deck of cards, the Kid saw none of the feather-fingered skill of a professional gambler. Nor, when the man started dealing, did the Kid see any sign of him handling the deck in the manner of a professional cheat.

  ‘Sitting in, Kid?’ Rocky asked.

  ‘Game’s too high for me,’ answered the Kid, glancing to where Candy came down the stairs. ‘See you later, boys.’

  ‘Don’t do nothing we wouldn’t,’ grinned one of the cowhands.

  Which same gives you plenty of scope,’ Rocky went on. Turning, the Kid joined Candy at the bar. At the table the dude finished dealing and cards were raised. The betting became brisk and the hand offered the largest pot of the night. There must have been over thirty dollars in it, almost a month’s pay for a cowhand, when the dude called Rocky’s final bet.

  ‘Three lil kings,’ grinned the cowhand.

  ‘Licks me,’ replied the dude and shoved back his chair. ‘That’s all for me tonight, boys. I’ve got an early start in the morning.’

  ‘How’s about taking a drink afore you go?’ Rocky asked, conscious of his duty as the game’s big winner.

  ‘Not tonight, thanks.’

  ‘Shucks, the night’s young, ain’t it, boys?’

  The night might be,’ grinned the drummer in a disarming tone, ‘but I’m not any more. You fellers don’t let me spoil your fun none.’

  ‘Come on, Rocky,’ whooped one of the Flying M hands. ‘We got some drinking to catch up on.’

  Led by Rocky, the Flying M hands headed for the bar, their faces flushed with delight at having won enough money to pay for a celebration. The drummer rose and walked across the room, passing through the batwing doors and out of sight.

  ‘It looks like Rocky and the others made a kill,’ Candy remarked to the Kid.

  ‘Sure, and you’re going to get most of it over the bar.’

  ‘Yes,’ the girl admitted, not sounding any too pleased at the thought of having some extra trade. ‘Put money in Rocky’s pocket, and it burns holes until he spends it.’

  ‘He’s a cowhand,’ replied the Kid.

  ‘He’s a noisy young cuss when he’s liquored up,’ Candy answered. ‘I’ll go collect the cards, everybody else seems to be busy.’

  Crossing the room, Candy started to gather up the discarded cards. In doing so she turned over the drummer’s losing hand and glanced down at it. A frown came to her face and she placed the five cards on the bottom of the deck, then walked back to the bar where the four cowhands had gathered around the Kid.

  ‘I sure showed him,’ Rocky was saying as Candy came up. ‘Three lil ole kings of mine licked him good.’

  ‘Three kings?’ Candy asked.

  ‘Sure, Miss Candy, ma’am. All of ’em but the lil king of clubs. Say, would you-all do us the honor of having a drink?’

  ‘Not right now, Rocky, thanks. I’ve got some work to do. Aren’t you boys due back at camp soon?’

  ‘Us, ma’am?’ grinned Rocky. ‘Shuckens, no. Ain’t got a thing to do afore morning and we got money in our pocket. This’s our night to howl.’

  ‘Looks that way,’ Candy smiled and turned to the Kid. ‘Can I see you, Kid?’

  ‘Just look under the hat, I’m there someplace,’ he replied and left the Flying M boys pouring out drinks. ‘You-all look a mite worried, Candy.’

  ‘How’d that drummer who lost the money strike you, Kid—and don’t say he never laid a hand on you.’

  ‘Shucks, now you went and spoiled it for me. How’d you mean, strike me?’

  ‘Did he look like he knew how to play poker?’ Candy asked.

  ‘Why sure. He looked that way from what I saw.’

  ‘Rocky won the last pot with three kings, didn’t he?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Three kings don’t lick a straight.’

  ‘So they tell me,’ drawled the Kid, then looked at the deck of cards in Candy’s hands.

  Slowly Candy turned over the deck and exposed the bottom five cards; they were seven and eight of clubs, nine of hearts, ten of diamonds and jack of spades.

  ‘You mean that was his hand?’ asked the Kid.

  ‘My, don’t tell me you thought that out all by yourself?’ she answered.

  ‘Pale-face squaw got-um more lip than a muley cow,’ the Kid grunted. ‘Say, where’d that dude be likely to stop in town?’

  ‘Mrs. Tappley takes in roomers, that would be the most likely place,’ Candy replied. ‘What’s wrong, Kid?’

  ‘I’ve got a suspicious mind.’

  ‘It comes of being a border smuggler.’

  ‘I treat that remark with the contempt it deserves, ma’am,’ the Kid told Candy severely, doffed his hat in a gallant flourish and left the saloon.

  First he called at Mrs. Tappley’s home but the lady disclaimed all knowledge of the drummer. She did suggest a couple of other places where the man might be staying and the Kid visited them, then called in at the livery barn and finally went to the Wells Fargo office where he found one of the clerks still working.

  On his return to the Juno, the Kid found that the Flying M boys were well on their way to getting drunk and making plenty of noise with it. Candy crossed the room and joined the Kid.

  ‘Well?’ she said.

  ‘That feller’s not in town and never came, way I’ve heard it,’ replied the Kid. ‘He’s not staying any place in town, didn’t come in on a stage or a hoss. I checked at both the livery barn and the stage office.’

  ‘But we saw him,’ Candy objected.

  ‘Why sure. I know that’s tolerable powerful likker you serve, Candy, but it only affects a man after he’s drunk it.’

  ‘He couldn’t have walked in. Maybe he came by small wagon and left it outside the town limits.’

  ‘Maybe, but I don’t buy it. Say, what’re those Flying M boys like when they’re in likker?’

  ‘Noisy,’ Candy replied. ‘Harmless, thoughtless and real noisy. They’re getting that way now.’

  ‘Like whooping things up, huh?’

  ‘Listen to them.’

  ‘I am listening,’ drawled the Kid.

  ‘Are you going to stop them?’ asked Candy, watching Rocky pour out drinks for his friends and four of her girls.

  ‘Reckon I could?’

  ‘My boys would help you.’

  The Kid shook his head. Having more than a little experience of the working of cowhand mentality, he knew that any attempt at stopping the four youngsters enjoying themselves must lead to trouble. There was a better way to handle the matter, happen he remembered the lay of the land correctly. ‘I’m headed back to camp, Candy,’ he said.

  ‘But what about them?’ she asked.

  ‘Let ’em have their fling.’

  ‘And if they go back to camp raising their usual fuss?’

  A grin split the Kid’s face, making him look very young and as innocent as a church-pew full-loaded with choirboys.

  ‘Happen they do,’ he said, ‘I’ll put a Comanche curse on them.’

  Candy frowned as she watched the Kid walk from the saloon. If it had been anybody but one of Dusty’s three amigos she might have followed him and tried to make him take some positive action. Should Rocky and his friends return to the camp in their usual rowdy way, they might easily spook the gathered cattle and scatter them across the range. Not that they would do so intentionally, but when they had a belly-full of Old Stump Blaster they just did not think of what their actions might bring about. Yet the Kid knew the danger as well as, if not even better, than Candy and she could not understand his casual attitude.

  Turning back to the bar, Candy caught the attention of her bartender and he walked along to join her. Her questions about the identity of the drummer met with no result; the bartender said he had never seen the man before and could not guess where the drummer came from. A puzzled and worried Candy stood watching the Flying M quartet continue their celebration. Not until all the money they had won went over the bar top did they leave the saloon. Candy stood at the door and watched the whooping, yelling quartet ride out of town. If they reached the herd still making so much noise, and she did not doubt but that they would, the four cowhands could spoil all Dusty’s work and make endless trouble for their boss. The other ranchers would not take. Rocky and his friends’ actions lightly should a day’s hard work go for nothing through the drunken folly of the Flying M hands.

  Making almost enough racket to wake the dead, and holding their horses to a fast lope, Rocky and his three amigos rode into the wood about a mile from town and a good three miles from their camp.

  ‘Bet they’re all asleep back to camp,’ one of the quartet whooped.

  ‘We’ll waken ’em when we get there,’ Rocky answered. ‘Yahoo! When we don’t sleep nobody sleeps.’

  ‘Scatter ’em, Flyi—!’ began the youngster at Rocky’s right.

  The words ended as Rocky suddenly jerked backwards over the cantle of his saddle. Before the speaker could wonder at the phenomenon, something caught his chest and hooked him back off his horse. The other two cowhands, following close on the first pair’s heels, were too drunk to react quickly and the rope stretched across the trail at just the right height stopped their forward progress, although it did not stop their horses, sweeping the cowhands from their saddles. All four crashed down in a surprised, cursing heap and their horses went tearing off along the path through the trees.

  Standing at one end of the rope, the Ysabel Kid jerked it free of the tree to which it was tied. He bounded on silent feet across the path some ten feet ahead of the still yelling, cursing hands. The black clothing merged with the darkness of the path and the Kid reached the other side unseen. Quickly he freed the other end of his rope, having put it in place when he heard the noise of the approaching party. Coiling the rope as he went, the Kid glided off through the trees. His big white stallion stood like a statue, waiting for him and he went afork it in a single bound. The four Flying M horses were slowing down on the open land beyond the wood when the Kid caught up with them. Collecting their reins, he led the four horses across the range towards the roundup camp.

  ‘What happened?’ asked the Flying M’s night hawk as the Kid rode up.

  The Kid told what had happened in town and the night hawk, a leathery old-timer who had committed most of the cowhand follies himself in his time, gave a chuckle as he listened. He could see the danger Rocky’s quartet presented to the herd and reckoned they deserved a lesson.

  ‘I’ll go back and watch ’em in,’ the Kid drawled, ‘only they won’t know I’m doing it.’

  There were dangers to men on foot and the Kid did not want Rocky’s party to sustain any injury through his setting them afoot.

  ‘Sure. I’ll take their saddles into camp for ’em. Allus allow they strayed in, the hosses I mean,’ grinned the night hawk. ‘Boy, I bets young Rocky and the others don’t feel like going celebrating again for a spell after walking back from town. Bet they’re all sobered up when they get here, too.’

  Chapter Nine—Start Shooting as Soon as You Like

  THE NIGHT HAWK’S prediction proved to be correct. Around two o’clock in the morning a disgruntled, sober and silent quartet of cowboys hobbled into camp. Cowhand boots had never been designed for long-distance walking and all four young men’s feet ached as they reached the camp. Not one of the quartet had any idea how they came to lose their horses and all swore they would never touch another drink as long as they lived.

 

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