Dusty Fog's Civil War 12 Read online

  ‘They don’t look like your kin,’ declared one of the black-haired pair and looked at the other. ‘Do they, Mick?’

  ‘Not all that much, Joe,’ Mick replied.

  ‘She’s a niece on my wife’s side,’ Ysabel rumbled.

  ‘Was you pair in the Reb army?’ demanded Joe belligerently.

  ‘The War’s over, sailor,’ Belle put in, studiously avoiding looking at the ginger-haired man.

  ‘And we won it,’ the stoker pointed out. ‘Anyways, it’s too early for a pretty gal like you to be going home.’

  ‘It sure is, Cully,’ grinned Mick. ‘And she shouldn’t be going home with no kin-folks neither.’

  Swiftly Belle looked around the room. Its other occupants showed signs of resentment or concern. They were middle-aged couples, reasonably prosperous-looking and not the kind to become involved in anything as unseemly as the behavior of the sailors. Knowing there would be no help from that source, Belle hoped to be able to avert trouble.

  At which point Belle became aware of the ginger man’s eyes on her. Moving around his companions, he halted close to the girl and was studying her with extra interest. To add to Belle’s discomfort, she recollected that she had not troubled to don a wig, or any other form of disguise, before crossing from Matamoros. So, apart from being dry, she looked much the same as she had when the sailor had last seen her.

  ‘That’s truly true, Mick,’ the stoker said. ‘And being so, we can’t let you do it, gal.’

  ‘Who’d you reckon she should go home with, hombre?’ asked the Kid in a mild, gentle tone that would have shrieked warnings to anybody who knew him.

  ‘Us, beef-head. Us!’ Cully answered. ‘So you can push off and leave us see her safe to port.’

  ‘Why I do declare I’m honored, gentlemen,’ Belle gushed before either of the Ysabels could speak. ‘But there’d be four of you-all and only the one of lil me. I just couldn’t be attentive to more than one of you-all. It wouldn’t be proper.’ Apparently that point had not struck the four sailors. Finding the girl willing to accept the company of one of them came as a surprise and raised difficulties. Some of the quartet’s hostility was diverted from the Ysabels and to each other as they wondered who should take precedence with the girl. Nor did Belle help matters. Glancing from face to face, she seemed to exude a welcome and promise to each of the sailors and made the recipient feel that he was the one she favored.

  Catching his father’s eye, the Kid sank into a casual-seeming slouch on the chair. Both of them knew that the sailors were looking for trouble, so they prepared to deal with it. A quick inclination of Ysabel’s head told the Kid how he aimed to make his play should the need arise. Slowly, so as to arouse no suspicion, Ysabel placed the palms of his hands under the edge of the table. Drawing no more attention to himself, the Kid duplicated his father’s move. Then they waited, tense as coil-springs under pressure, watching for the first hostile word or gesture from the other four.

  For her part, Belle also studied the sailors. She hoped that she had prevented a clash between them and the Ysabels. During her assignment with them, she had seen her companions in action and knew that they had small regard for the sanctity of human life. While she did not doubt the two Texans’ ability to protect themselves, she knew that doing so might lead them into very serious trouble. Just let one of the sailors be killed, no matter how much provocation had been heaped on the Ysabels, and a military court would show them no mercy. With that in mind, Belle went on with her attempt at setting the quartet at each other’s throats.

  ‘If you gentlemen just tell me which of you I’ll have the honor to be escorted home by,’ Belle went on, uncomfortably aware of the ginger-haired sailor’s scrutiny, ‘I’m right sure my kinsfolk won’t—’

  ‘Hey!’ yelped the ginger man, stabbing a finger in Belle’s direction. ‘I’ve seen you afore.’

  ‘Don’t try that one, Carrots!’ Cully the stoker, growled. ‘The gal’s going with me.’

  ‘She never said so,’ protested Mick indignantly. ‘I reckon she ‘

  Stabbing forward his left hand, Carrots placed it on Belle’s right shoulder and started to turn her towards him. Before his companions, or the Ysabels, could object, he leaned forward to stare directly into the girl’s face.

  ‘It’s her, damn it!’ Carrots screeched. ‘She’s the Rebel Spy. I saw her—’

  Chapter Two – If You’ve Made Me Lose Them

  As soon as Carrots laid hands on her, Belle reached for the parasol with her right hand and her left slipped her reticule’s strings free from the back of her chair. Hearing his words, she started to rise. While doing so, she propelled the parasol upwards sharply. Driving towards the sailor’s chin, the silver knob at the end of the handle rammed with considerable force against his prominent Adam’s apple. Just too late to prevent him from making his denunciation, the pain of the impact chopped off the rest of Carrots’ words. With hands rising to clutch at the stricken area, he released the girl’s shoulder and stumbled back a few paces. Freed from Carrot’s restraint, Belle continued to stand up.

  Seeing Belle launch her attack, the Ysabel family went into action. Shoving back with his knees, the Kid sent his chair skidding away from beneath him. Then he lunged erect and heaved at his edge of the table. Timing his moves to coincide with his son’s, Sam Ysabel also rose. Lifting the table between them, they hurled it at the remaining three sailors.

  Turning edgeways to the floor and spraying the utensils and crockery it had supported from its top, the table struck Cully and Joe, hurling them back. Although he was no less surprised by the sudden turn of events, Mick managed to throw himself towards the wall and avoided being hit by the Ysabels’ missile. Doing so proved to be a mistake. In fact he might have wished that he had stood his ground and taken his punishment like a man.

  Noticing that Mick had not been driven to the rear with his companions, Ysabel swung in his direction. Up lashed the big Texan’s left leg. Years of wearing no other covering than moccasins had hardened Ysabel’s feet to a considerable degree and made them effective weapons. Caught in the groin by the kick, Mick let out a screech of pain, folded over and collapsed. Almost before his victim had landed, Ysabel was snatching his hat from the chair’s back and ramming it on to his head.

  ‘Get out of here—!’ Belle yelled, turning to do so.

  While in full agreement with the girl’s suggestion, Sam Ysabel and the Kid knew that carrying it out would not be an easy matter. The table might have forced Cully and Joe to withdraw for long enough to give Ysabel time to render Mick hors de combat, but it had in no way incapacitated the other two sailors. They and Carrots were still capable of disputing the three Southerners’ departure.

  Pitching the table out of his way, Cully bellowed in fury and hurled himself at Ysabel. Stoking the boilers of a coal-burning warship was not a task to be performed by weaklings and Cully was noted in the U.S. Navy for his strength. He used it in a fight to smash down all resistance by sheer force. Looking as huge and dangerous as a charging buffalo bull, he rushed towards the Texan with ham-like hands reaching out to seize and crush.

  Being a more cautious man than Cully, even when drunk, Joe was content to let the stoker avenge the attack on his brother. The Kid had sprung into the center of the room after throwing over the table and looked a safer subject for reprisals than his father. Clenching his fists, Joe went towards the Indian-dark youngster. While approaching, the sailor saw a change come over his intended victim. Up to that moment, the Kid had looked like a very young and harmless boy. Suddenly all the babyish innocence left his face, being replaced by the cold, savage, slit-eyed expression of a Pehnahterkʉh Dog Soldier waiting to take on an enemy. Flashing across, the Kid’s right hand closed about the hilt of the bowie knife and started to slide the eleven-and-a-half-inch-long, two-and-a-half-inch-wide, clip-pointed blade from its sheath.

  Few people who knew the Ysabel Kid would have given Joe a life expectancy exceeding the time he took to come within str
iking distance of the other’s black-sleeved right arm.

  Seeing Belle darting in his direction and transferring the reticule into her parasol-filled right hand, Carrots tore his thoughts from his half-strangled condition. As the girl swerved to go by him, he shot out his hands to catch her by the right wrist and bicep. Having received one taste of the parasol’s handle, he had no wish to repeat the dose. With the girl’s right arm immobilized, he felt sure that she was helpless. Bringing her to a halt at arms’ length in front of him, he started to imagine the commendation and promotion that would come his way as a reward for capturing the Rebel Spy.

  For all his bulk, Sam Ysabel could move with surprising speed. Springing forward as if meaning to meet Cully head-on, Ysabel swerved aside at the last moment. Powerful hands clamped hold of Cully’s left wrist. Taking a firm grip, Ysabel heaved the stoker onwards. Narrowly missing a collision with Joe, Cully felt himself hauled around in a half circle. Combined with the stoker’s own momentum, Ysabel’s pull built up an uncontrollable speed. Then Ysabel released his hold. On being turned loose, Cully could not prevent himself plunging across the room. A waiter flung himself hurriedly from the stoker’s path. Ahead was a window, but Cully could neither stop himself nor swerve aside. Barely managing to do more than throw up his hands to protect his face, Cully went through the window. Crashing to the sidewalk, he rolled across it to drop on to the street.

  Hearing the shattering crash of breaking glass, an infantry patrol farther along the street halted and did a rapid about face to see what caused it. Being assigned to the duty of policing the town, the lieutenant in command knew that he must investigate. He had seen the four sailors before they had entered the hotel and marked them as potential trouble-causers. Having also noted the size and brawn of Cully in particular, he wanted his men as fresh as possible while dealing with the quartet. So he led them back over the hundred or so yards separating them from the building at a quick march instead of on the double.

  Despite having her right arm held, Belle was far from helpless. Balancing on her right leg, she shot her left foot behind her. The heel of her boot spiked on to Carrots’ kneecap, driven by a powerful set of leg muscles. Pain ripped through the lean man. Letting go of the girl’s arm, he hopped back and tried to support his injured knee with his hands. Unfortunately for him, he did not retreat sufficiently far before doing so. Spinning around, Belle used her turning momentum to add force to her knotted left fist. It swung, not in the manner of a frightened girl, but with trained purpose. Hard knuckles met Carrots’ jaw with a sharp click. Off balance, he spun around and went head-first into the wall. Bouncing back, he flopped as limp as a rag-doll to the floor.

  With his knife half drawn, the Kid recalled his father’s orders. Few people in Texas had ever regarded smuggling, as carried out by the Ysabel family, as a serious crime. Even the U.S. military authorities had tended to ignore it before the War and, provided they received their share of the goods, would most likely continue to do so. However, Ysabel knew that no such tolerance could be expected if a Yankee serviceman should be killed. So he had repeatedly warned his son that weapons must only be used as a last resort if they were forced to lock horns with their erstwhile enemies.

  Restraining his first impulse to produce and make use of the bowie knife, the Kid returned it to the sheath and took his hand from the hilt. Already Joe was closing in and his right fist lashed savagely at the young Texan’s head.

  Deprived of his favorite close-quarters’ weapon, the Kid was still far from being easy meat. While the Comanches preferred more direct, permanent ways of dealing with an enemy, they had not been unmindful of the possibility that an attack might come at a time when no weapon was available. So they had developed various bare-hand fighting tricks to meet such situations. The Kid had received a thorough training in Nemenuh wrestling techniques.

  Throwing up his left hand inside Joe’s advancing right arm, the Kid deftly prevented the punch from reaching his head and caught the other’s wrist. At the same time, the Kid started to pivot to his left. His right arm rose, working in concert with the other movements, passing beneath Joe’s right armpit and behind the sailor’s bicep. Continuing to turn and sinking into a kneeling position on his bent right leg, the Kid heaved on the trapped arm. Feeling his feet leave the floor and body rise into the air, Joe let out a startled wail. Released as he passed above the Kid’s shoulder, Joe smashed down hard on his back.

  After liberating herself and felling Carrots, Belle swung ready to lend her companions assistance. She gripped the parasol in both hands. Designed for her work, its innocent exterior concealed a powerful steel-spring billy of considerable strength and effectiveness. Seeing that her help would not be needed, she left the parasol intact.

  ‘Come on!’ she yelled, turning in the direction of the door. Although the other guests were on their feet, none tried to interfere with the trio as they ran from the room. The Kid had retrieved his hat before leaving and donned it as he followed his father and Belle from the hotel.

  ‘Hey you!’ yelled the patrol commander. ‘Halt right there!’

  ‘Like hell!’ Ysabel growled, glancing at the unconscious stoker. ‘Cross over and go down between Orley’s saloon and that undertaker’s parlor, Miss Belle. We’ll lose ’em easy enough in the back streets.’

  Obediently, the girl bounded from the sidewalk and sped diagonally across the street in the direction indicated by the big Texan. Wanting to shield her if the patrol started shooting, the Ysabels allowed the girl to draw ahead. Belle set a fast pace, taking a line that would keep them out of the lighted area before the saloon. While he shouted another command to halt, the Yankee officer did not order his men to open fire. Instead, they gave chase, running as fast as they could in their overcoats, accoutrements and heavy Jefferson bootees and armed with Springfield muzzle-loading rifles.

  Approaching the front of the saloon, Belle saw three men walk out. Hearing the sounds of the chase, the trio turned to investigate. A gasp burst from Belle and she skidded to a halt, staring at the men as if she could not believe the evidence of her eyes.

  ‘Tollinger!’ she gasped.

  Following the direction of Belle’s gaze, the Ysabels wondered at her reaction. They had noticed the three men, but attached no importance to them as none wore uniforms or showed other signs of official capacity.

  Dressed in town suits, with vests, white shirts and red neckties, two of the men’s appearance gave no clue as to who or what they might be. Sporting a derby hat, the taller of them was gaunt, with a sallow face that a thick-lipped, petulant mouth, hollow cheeks and sunken eyes gave a mean, arrogant expression. Bare-headed, the other had a portly build. His surly, piggish cast of features were not improved by a drooping black moustache and lank, greasy long hair.

  The third man hardly seemed likely company for the other two. Middle-sized, stocky, he was a Mexican with an evil face that carried a scar running down its left cheek and along his neck until hidden by the serape draped over his shoulders. A grey sombrero perched on the back of his head and the serape covered him to the knees, effectively concealing any weapons he might be carrying.

  Even as the word left the girl’s lips, the Kid collided with her. Staggering, she might have fallen but for Sam Ysabel. Leaping forward, he scooped Belle up under his right arm. Without breaking his stride, he continued to run towards the alley.

  Glancing at the three men in passing, the Kid recognized the Mexican and saw shock twist at the faces of the two white men. Snarling something that did not reach the Kid’s ears, the taller of the pair made as if to move forward. Catching his arm, the other dude spoke quietly but urgently in his ear. Then the Kid raced by, following his father.

  ‘Let me down!’ Belle gasped, kicking her legs and struggling in Ysabel’s grasp. ‘If you’ve made me lose them, I’ll—’

  Dropping the girl to her feet as they rounded the corner of the building, Ysabel expected her to follow him. Instead she made as if to return to the street. Grabbin
g her by the wrist, he jerked her after him. Sanity returned to Belle as she was on the point of resisting and she yielded to his pull.

  ‘Round the corner there!’ Ysabel ordered, indicating the rear end of the undertaker’s parlor. ‘Reckon you can lead ’em off, boy?’

  ‘Nothing easier,’ drawled the Kid, drawing and cocking his old Dragoon.

  Lengthening his stride, the youngster drew ahead. His black clothing soon rendered him invisible in the darkness. Looking back over her shoulder, Belle half expected to see the men from the saloon following her. Nobody had appeared so far. Changing his hold from the wrist to her bicep, Ysabel guided her around the corner. With the clumping of heavy boots drawing closer, they came to an involuntary halt.

  ‘Hell’s fires! Ysabel spat out. ‘He’s built a wall since we was last here.’

  Rising a good eight feet high, the plank wall extended from the rear of the undertaker’s premises for a disconcertingly indefinite distance, merging into the darkness without giving any sign of coming to an end. For some reason, it had been erected from a point about a yard along the building instead of at the corner. So they had failed to notice it until too late.

  Already the patrol had reached the mouth of the alley. Climbing the obstruction could not be accomplished silently enough to escape detection; nor could Belle and Ysabel retreat and follow the Kid.

  Even as the girl and the Texan became aware of their predicament, they heard the sound of a shot. Not the high-pitched crack a Springfield rifle would make, but the deep boom caused by igniting forty grains of powder in the uppermost chamber of a Dragoon Colt’s cylinder. It rang out from the direction taken by the Kid.

  ‘What!’ Belle began, starting to turn as startled exclamations rose and the patrol’s boot-thuds came to a stop.

  Instantly Ysabel’s hands gripped her shoulders, forcing her to face the wall. Another shot boomed from the Dragoon and Ysabel kept Belle motionless while drawing his own revolver.