Free The Devil Gun by J. T. Edson

as any from a Union force. He hefted the sabre, noting its razor-sharp edge, and found he did not care for its balance.
    ‘A fine blade, sir,’ he said, returning the sabre to its sheath.
    ‘The Haiman Brothers made it for me,’ Dusty replied. ‘A thirty-two-inch blade instead of thirty-six, and a shade lighter than the artillery sabre.’
    Now it had been pointed out to him, Marsden saw the difference in length between the two sabres.
    ‘Do you find yourselves at any disadvantage using it against arms of the conventional length, sir?’ he asked, and regretted the question as soon as the word left his mouth. A small man in a large man’s world might resent any comment or hint at his lack of size.
    ‘Nope,’ Dusty replied with a grin. ‘It only means that I have to get closer to the other feller than he gets to me.’
    Apparently Dusty took no offence. Suddenly Marsden realised that Dusty Fog accepted his lack of inches and, very sensibly, made no attempt to carry the full-length cavalry sabre in an effort to hide his small size. Looking first at the sabre, then at Dusty, Marsden wondered how well the small Texan could handle the weapon. Before he could go into the matter, Marsden saw Dusty’s striker, a cheery young Negro arrive with water.
    ‘All right, mister,’ Dusty said. ‘Let’s wash, go have a meal, then we’ll get everything ready for pulling out in the morning.’

CHAPTER SIX
    MR. MARSDEN PICKS A HORSE
    ‘Like I said,’ groaned Billy Jack as Dusty finished telling him of their latest assignment, ‘trouble.’
    ‘Sure,’ agreed Dusty. ‘We’ll need the pick of the horses. I want a real good mount for Mr. Marsden.’
    The mournful pose left Billy Jack and he nodded, then continued with his preparations.
    ‘Carbines?’ he asked.
    During his meal at the officers’ mess Dusty had given some thought to the matter of armament. On such a ride every ounce of weight counted and he balanced the value of taking along carbines and ammunition, giving his party weapons with a longer range than their Colts, against the extra loading of the horses.
    ‘Just sidearms,’ he answered. ‘We’re not fighting unless we’re forced. Fifty cartridges, powder flask and twenty round ball per man.’
    ‘Huh, huh,’ grunted Billy Jack. ‘Packhosses?’
    ‘Two, carry food for the mounts and jerked meat. We’re travelling light.’
    ‘Like to take my old rifle along, Cap’n,’ Ysabel put in.
    Dusty studied the big Sharps for a moment. Men like Ysabel felt lost without a rifle handy, regarding it almost as a part of their own body. Knowing the independent nature of Ysabel’s kind, Dusty took the request as quite a compliment. Not that he intended to allow that to sway him in any way. His party might find use for a rifle and Ysabel was the best man to handle it.
    ‘Take it, Sergeant,’ he authorised. ‘No more than fifty rounds though.’
    ‘Yep,’ agreed Ysabel. ‘Won’t need no cartridges for my belt gun. I allus use loose powder and round ball.’
    ‘I’ll leave it to you,’ Dusty answered.
    ‘Jerked meat, coffee, sugar do for food?’ asked Kiowa.
    ‘That and anything we can pick up on the way,’ Dusty replied.
    Watching the others, Marsden realised that all knew their business and had ridden on many missions of a dangerous nature. The questions and orders were merely routine, for each man knew his part.
    ‘Let’s go and see about your horse, Mr. Marsden,’ Dusty suggested. ‘Billy Jack, head down and tell Sergeant Granger I want him to put the remuda in the big corral.’
    ‘Yo!’ replied the gangling non-corn and was about to depart when Dusty joined him and said something in a voice too low for the others to catch. ‘I’ll tend to it, Cap’n Dusty.’
    ‘Leave the food side to you, Kiowa,’ Dusty went on and the sergeant left on Billy Jack’s heels.
    ‘Need me for anything, Cap’n?’ asked Ysabel.
    ‘Come down to the corral with us,’ Dusty suggested. ‘If you’re ready,