Cap fog 2, p.12
Cap Fog 2, page 12
‘I don’t,’ the small Texan affirmed. ‘Way you’re meaning it, that is.’
‘Well, that being a fact, my boys’re right mortified they got whupped so easy by you,’ Laker explained. ‘Could be, sometime when I wasn’t on hand to keep a watch over ’em, one or t’other’d get liquored and try to set it to rights. And, well’s I’ve taught ’em, ain’t neither’s’s up to a long country mile good enough to do it.’
‘Gracias,’ Clint replied, knowing he was receiving something of an accolade.
‘It’s the living, breathing truth,’ Laker stated. ‘Fact being, way you handle yourself when you’re riled puts me in mind of somebody I saw a couple of times when I was some younger. Only I don’t reckon, ’spite of what I’ve been told, you could be any kin to him. Without meaning no offence to you, there’s no dark meat in that family.’
‘Which family would that be?’ Blood inquired, when his companion did not speak.
‘The Hardins, Fogs and Blazes, over to Rio Hondo County,’ Turk answered, watching the small Texan and not the poser of the question.
‘That takes in a considerable amount of folks,’ Clint pointed out, with no particular interest as far as could be discerned from his demeanor. ‘Which one of them are you thinking about?’
‘Colonel Dusty Fog,’ 51 the elderly hardcase answered.
‘And I put you-all in mind of him?’ the small Texan scoffed. ‘Way I’ve heard all my life, he was close to seven foot tall, at least a yard wide and blond haired to boot.’
‘That’s what I’ve allus been told, too,’ Blood supported. ‘And, ‘though I’m some too young to’ve ever seen Colonel Dusty, I’ve run across his son’s’s sheriff of Rio Hondo County an’ he’s a real big son-of-a-bitch without no argument.’
‘Could be my old mind’s going back on me then,’ Laker conceded amiably. ‘Only, like I said, Mr. Clint. You surely put me in mind of him when you’re riled up and getting set to move.’
‘Did you tell Mr. Brickhouse that I did?’ Clint inquired, in a nonchalant and disinterested fashion.
‘Nope,’ Laker admitted. ‘Nor Vic Torreson, neither. I just now went in to say we was leaving and to pick up our pay. Asked if, the boys being hurt too bad to take work for a spell, they’d be getting a bonus. Mr. Brickhouse allowed that’s they hadn’t got hurt doing nothing for him, they wouldn’t. Which’s fair enough according to his lights. So, it’s only fair ‘cording to mine, that I didn’t waste my time in making idle talk to him. Would it’ve worried you-all if I had?’
‘I can’t see any reason why it should,’ Clint declared. ‘Well, this isn’t getting our horses ’tended to. I’m right sorry about what happened last night, Mr. Laker.’
‘Wasn’t your fault, Mr. Clint,’ the elderly hardcase replied. ‘A man can’t blame you-all for defending yourself. There’s no hard feelings’s far’s I’m concerned and I’ll make sure my boys stay well clear of you from now on.’
‘Gracias,’ the small Texan drawled. ‘Maybe we’ll meet again along the trail.’
‘I’ll try to see it never happens,’ Laker asserted and, without offering to elaborate upon the cryptic utterance, he nodded and turned to stroll back in the direction of his vehicle.
Chapter Twelve – We Should Teach Him A Lesson
‘Fetching you from Texas doesn’t seem like it was any too smart an idea the way things have gone!’ Victor Torreson claimed, scowling across the dining-room table at Rapido Clint. ‘God-damn it, you haven’t been here for a full day yet and you’ve already cost us four good men!’
‘What the hell did you-all expect ole Rapido to do when those three sons-of-bitches jumped him last night?’ Comanche Blood demanded indignantly, before his companion could reply to the acrimonious accusation. ‘Are you saying’s how he should just’ve stood there and let ’em stomp him half, or closer, to death? Because, hombre, that’s what they were fixing to do.’
The time was shortly after one o’clock on Friday afternoon.
As Clint and Blood had finished attending to the needs of their horses, Cyrus Kenover had entered the stables accompanied by two young Mexicans. The hardcase had informed the Texans that all the horses in the Hacienda Naranja were taken outside the walls during the hours of daylight and allowed to graze. On being asked whether they wished to have their mounts included, Clint had questioned the advisability and safety of such an arrangement. He was told that, as a result of an agreement between Albert Brickhouse and Cristóbal Guevara, the local bandidos were ordered to leave the hacienda’s stock alone and the edict had been adhered to. Although the small Texan had still expressed misgivings, he had seen how small a stock of fodder was held on the premises and had yielded to his companion’s suggestion that they should let the horses go. As the Indian-dark Texan had pointed out, should somebody forget Guevara’s instructions, they could always obtain more mounts by the same means through which the four had come into their possession.
While the horses were being driven out of the hacienda by the Mexicans, with Kenover explaining that no guards were considered necessary due to the agreement, Clint and Blood had been summoned to the financier. The message was delivered by a small, middle-aged, balding fragile-looking and obsequious white man they had not seen before. Introducing himself as ‘Wildersleeve, Mr. Brickhouse’s valet’, he had stated that he did not know why his employer wished to see them.
On being escorted to the left side of the building, the Texans had found the financier standing at the firing point of an extemporized range. He was shooting a light caliber revolver, with no success, at a home-made target and requested their advice as to the reason for his failure to make a hit. Showing no hesitation, having suspected he was being put to a test, Clint had given a superlative exhibition of not only how well he could fire his Colt Government Model .45 automatic with either hand, but demonstrated the speed with which he could draw it from the shoulder holster and make a hit in the ‘kill’ area of the man-sized, man-shaped target at a distance of about seven yards. The sound of the shooting had attracted most of the guard force and, at the end of his display, the small Texan had known that they were all impressed by his skill.
With the demonstration over, having nothing else to demand their attention, Clint and Blood had spent the remainder of the morning, with Brickhouse’s permission, inspecting the hacienda and its defenses. The financier had accompanied them and, at the conclusion, he had asked for their opinion of what they had seen. Clint had said he was satisfied with the arrangements, particularly the pump in the wine cellar as this would ensure a supply of drinking water in the event of an attack developing into a lengthy siege. When Blood had commented upon the difficulty of leaving the premises, should such a situation arise, Brickhouse replied that he had no fears on that account. He did not, however, elaborate upon the reason for his confidence.
By the time the tour was completed, the Texans and the financier found that most of the white men on the premises had gathered in the dining-room for lunch. All through the meal, it had been obvious that Torreson was not in the best of moods. A comment from Earl Newton, about how Claude Bigelow would have found it impossible to eat the tender steak if he had been present, had provoked the biting remark from the New Yorker, and Blood’s equally heated response.
‘I know for sure, had it been me, I wouldn’t have let ’em do it,’ Newton declared and the other two men who had been in the dining-room the previous night and during the display of gun handling given by the small Texan that morning muttered concurrence.
‘There shouldn’t’ve been any god-damned trouble in the first place!’ Torreson objected, glancing about him in search of support.
‘I didn’t look for any,’ Clint asserted, in a voice which was quiet and yet still sounded charged with deadly menace. ‘But I’ll be damned if I’ll back away from anybody who tries to push, or ride me.’
‘Which nobody can blame you for, nor expect you to do, Rapido,’ Will Granger stated, remembering what he had witnessed on the range and realizing the time had come to show where his sympathies lay. ‘Those three got no more’n their needings and some’d say’s they got even less.’
‘Which brings up something else, Mr. Torreson,’ the small Texan said coldly. ‘What he was saying down here, you’d told Bigelow about me.’
‘I’d said something about how you come here,’ the New Yorker admitted, albeit sounding a trifle defensive and uneasy.
‘And about how tough I was?’ Clint challenged and the softly spoken words undoubtedly came into that category.
‘From what I’d seen, you are tough!’
‘I’m not gainsaying that. But anybody with more brains than a louse would have known saying it to a stupid, glory-hunting knothead like Bigelow—particularly where a feller my size is concerned—was sure to set him trying to prove different And I reckon you’ve got more brains than a louse, Mr. Torreson.’
‘What’s that mean?’
‘Was I a suspicious man, I’d reckon you was counting on that hot-head trying to take me when you told him.’
‘Why’d I do that?’ Torreson asked, conscious that everybody present was listening and watching with great interest.
‘To find out just how good I am—the easy way,’ Clint explained, lounging in what appeared to be a relaxed fashion on his chair. His cold grey eyes were fixed on the New Yorker’s face as he continued speaking, ‘Which I reckon you know real good now.’
Despite realizing that the small Texan had metaphorically thrown down a gauntlet, Torreson was disinclined to try and pick it up. Which placed him on the horns of a dilemma. He was aware that all the onlookers realized he was facing a deliberate challenge and appreciated the consequences should he decline to accept. Yet he was equally cognizant of the dangers involved if he offered defiance. He had seen how effectively Clint could handle a gun and conceded he was nowhere near as capable.
Like most criminals raised in the major cities of the East, the East, he had invariably carried his gun in his pocket or waist band so as to allow it to be disposed of without leaving behind evidence that it had been on his person. And, as the police whom he had come up against were restricted in how effectively they could use their firearms by the equipment Departmental regulations forced upon them, he had not found the need to acquire any ability in the matter of rapid drawing and shooting. Although he had taken to employing a shoulder holster since arriving in Mexico, he had not troubled to gain more than a marginal skill in its use. Certainly he could not come close to competing with the small Texan on anything like equal terms.
‘Have I told you what I’ve got planned for our entertainment tomorrow night, gentlemen?’ Brickhouse asked soothingly, when the silence which had fallen after Clint delivered his challenge had endured for over half a minute. Sharing Torreson’s views on the outcome of a confrontation, he had no desire for it to happen until a more propitious moment. Some of the men at the table had shown signs of supporting the New Yorker’s point of view and he had no desire for a rift, with the possibility of losing more of the guard force, at that time. ‘I think you will find it most enjoy—!’
‘Boss!’ Kenover yelled, dashing into the room before the financier could finish. ‘The wranglers’ve come back— without the hosses!’
‘What happened?’ Clint demanded, rising from his chair and speaking so quickly he anticipated a similar action and question from Torreson.
‘They say a couple of bandidos jumped them—!’ Kenover started, glancing from the small Texan to the New Yorker then back and, having drawn the correct conclusions with regards to what he saw, addressing the former.
‘Guevara’s men?’ Torreson snarled, throwing a look filled with resentment at Clint for having so blatantly usurped his position.
‘The wranglers allowed they were strangers,’ the messenger replied.
‘Which don’t mean much!’ Torreson announced. ‘Even if we could trust those “mother-something” greasers to squeal on their own kind, Guevara wouldn’t send anybody they’d be likely to know belonged to him. God-damn it, I’ve been expecting something like this. We should teach him a lesson!’
‘How long ago did it happen?’ Clint put in, seeing several pairs of eyes—including those of Brickhouse—turned for guidance towards him.
‘About half an hour after they’d set the remuda to grazing,’ Kenover answered, giving no indication that he was intimidated by the scowl which he received from the New Yorker. ‘They was left hawg-tied and gagged so firm they’ve only just now got loose—!’
‘Or they—!’ Torreson interrupted.
‘They’d been held firm enough, way their wrists ’n’ ankles’re cut,’ Kenover asserted. ‘What do you want us to do—boss?’
‘Go after the bastards—!’ Torreson commenced, once again realizing the words had been directed to the small Texan in spite of the honorific with which they ended.
‘Are the rest of you in agreement with that?’ Brickhouse asked, but it was just as apparent to the New Yorker and everybody else that he too was speaking to Clint.
‘I would be,’ the small Texan drawled, ‘except for one lil thing!’
‘And what might that be, sir?’ the financier wanted to know.
‘Happen that Guevara had the remuda wide-looped, which I don’t reckon anybody would be likely to do it without his “go ahead”,’ Clint obliged. ‘He’ll’ve concluded we’ll be so riled up we’ll figure on going after them. So he’ll be ready and waiting—and he’ll have picked the place he’s doing it at.’
‘That’s a most reasonable assumption,’ Brickhouse said judicially, having seen many nods of agreement from around the table.
‘So you say we should just sit on our asses and let them get away with it?’ Torreson challenged, seeing his hold was slipping over even those who had shown an inclination to support him earlier in the conversation.
‘Seeing that four of those horses belonged to Comanch’ and me, that’s not what I’m saying,’ Clint corrected. ‘But neither do I see it’d be right good sense to go charging out of here like Colonel Teddy Roosevelt and the Rough Riders taking San Juan Hill. 52 You can bet they’ll have scouts out to watch for what we’re doing.’
‘Knowing greasers from way back,’ Newton put in. ‘I can say for certain sure there will be.’
‘Gracias, amigo,’ the small Texan drawled, nodding further gratitude for the confirmation of his summations. ‘So, happen there’s some way Comanch’, me and a few others can get out without being seen, we’ll take out their scouts and find out what’s what. Then we can decide how to get the remuda back.’
‘Trouble’s going to be getting out,’ Blood supplemented. ‘They’ll be watching the gates and be able to see anybody trying to be sneaky and going over the walls. There’s just no way of doing it by daylight and I wouldn’t even want to count on coming through unseen after dark, way the moon is.’
‘Could you get the horses back if there was a way out?’ Brickhouse inquired.
‘Only a fool would come right out and say, “yes”, to that, sir,’ Clint answered. ‘But I’ll promise you one thing. Happen we can get out, we’ll make a damned hard stab at doing it.’
‘Very well then,’ the financier said, after a moment during which he was clearly trying to reach a decision. ‘If there’s no other way, I—’
Whatever Brickhouse was about to propose was brought to an end by the sound of running footsteps approaching across the entrance hall.
‘Guevara and some of his bunch’re coming!’ announced Hank Wade, dashing into the room. ‘And they’re bringing what looks like our remuda with them!
‘Good heavens!’ Brickhouse gasped, which was the height of profanity for him. Despite realizing he could be acting in an impolitic manner, he could not prevent himself from continuing, ‘Now what do you make of that, Mr. Clint?’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ the small Texan confessed, aware that he was not the only person present to have noticed that the question was directed to him and not the previously acknowledged boss gun of the Hacienda Naranja. ‘But likely we’ll find out when they get here.’ Swinging his gaze around the room, he went on in a more authoritative manner. ‘Comanch’, find some place where you can keep watch with that long shooting rifle of yours. I want the Brownings manned and everybody else rodded up, but out of sight. But keep your fingers off the triggers, unless it looks like trouble. Which I’m not expecting. Move it!’
As had happened earlier, Torreson was inclined to protest the usurping of his authority. Two things kept him silent. Firstly, the rest of the men—including his former tentative adherents—were moving off to carry out the orders they had received. Secondly and of greater importance, he realized that to object would be tantamount to challenging Clint’s authority. Having seen the other’s smooth assumption of control and remembering the extraordinary speed with which the big Colt automatic pistol could be drawn and used, he had no wish to have it turned upon him. Which, he felt sure, would happen if he should have the temerity to state his point of view. Lacking the courage to take the stand his instincts demanded, he said and did nothing.
‘Let’s go and see what’s doing!’ the small Texan commanded, when all but himself, the financier, the New Yorker and the two news’ bearers had taken their hurried departure. ‘And you’d maybe leave all the talking to Mr. Brickhouse and me, Mr. Torreson, seeing how we know Mexicans a heap better than you.’
‘It would be advisable,’ the financier confirmed, showing he was flattered by the compliment and leaving no doubt where he was now placing his reliance for support. ‘Come along, gentlemen.’
Giving the scowling fugitive from New York no chance to reply, Clint and Brickhouse followed the two guards. Muttering under his breath, Torreson brought up the rear as they made their way across the patio to the main entrance. On arrival, after an interrogative glance at the small Texan—who looked around to ensure his instructions had been completed and nodded when satisfied—Brickhouse ordered the gates opened. While speaking, he thought that in similar circumstances, Torreson would have given the command instead of allowing him to do so. It was only a small matter, especially in such a potentially tense situation, but it increased his belief that the big young Texan would make a more satisfactory second in command than the man who had claimed that position without consulting him upon their arrival in Mexico.
