Free The Rushers by J. T. Edson Page B

He’d thought the Texans to be a couple of hired guns on hand to back up and keep the new officer from harm. Yet they showed a strange way of doing it as neither offered to help him, and the black-dressed one had sheathed his knife once the gun did not threaten the captain. Like Tuck, Kete did not think fast or brightly. Yet even he could add two and two to make four. The Texan knew his small amigo could handle the threat. So Kete decided to stay out and watch developments.
    They came fast and showed his wisdom in waiting. Dusty made his feet in a rapid bound as Madlarn came from the bar. Behind Dusty, Tuck had also stood up and, bottle in hand, made for Dusty’s back.
    For an instant Mark thought he’d need to lend a hand. Then he saw his help would not be required, saw also that Dusty had won over the big Irishman.
    With an angry yell Magoon hurled himself forward. His big fist drove out in a looping, power-packed smash which caught Tuck at the side of the jaw and knocked him clear from his feet, across the room and into the wall. Tuck lit down hard and did not look like he’d be getting to his feet for a spell.
    On his part Karl Madlarn found himself learning what not a few would-be hard cases found to their cost when they tangled with Dusty Fog. He had a name as a hard-case rough-house fighter but was on the muscle with little or no science to back it. Against most people Madlarn tangled with such tactics worked for they fought in the same manner and he’d his two helpers when things got rough. Now he had no helpers for Tuck couldn’t get up and Kete didn’t aim to cut in, having troubles of his own. The final point against Madlarn was that Dusty did not rely on muscle.
    Going under the punch, powerful enough to have put him down for hours had it landed, but slow and telegraphed to Dusty, the small Texan again smashed Madlarn in the middle. The big man let out a croak of agony. His hands jerked out and Dusty caught the right between his hands, pivoted so the man’s stomach rested against him then, with a bending of the knees, sent him flying over with the ju-jitsu Kata seoi, the one-side shoulder throw which looked so spectacular and landed an unprepared man down hard. The watching soldiers gasped their amazement, for they’d never seen a wrestling throw quite like it. Nor had Madlarn, although he did not air his views on the subject for some considerable time to come.
    Before the winded and dazed man had time to recover Dusty hauled him again to his feet, smashed a punch into his stomach. Madlarn’s back arched once and then went limp and he lay without a move on the floor.
    Turning to face Kete who still stood by the wall, Magoon asked, ‘The captain or me, Kete?’
    Dusty threw a glance at the big man, noting the marks left when three chevrons went. He guessed Magoon’s identity and guessed the sort of man he dealt with, or would soon be dealing with. Then he looked across the room at Kete, saw the gun on the table and wondered what story lay behind it.
    For his part Kete wanted none of either man. He might have chanced his luck with Dusty but some nagging doubt held him back and he guessed he’d be worse than a fool if he tried conclusions with the small Texan. Kete had a reputation for being a tough man, but he knew big Paddy Magoon to be tougher and nothing he’d so far seen led him to believe the small captain was any less tough than Magoon.
    ‘Not me, Magoon,’ he answered. ‘I was only fixing to help the boss.’
    The Kid looked up at Kete, a mocking smile playing on his lips.
    ‘Mister,’ he said. ‘I done wronged you considerable. I thought you hadn’t the sense of a seam-squirrel, but you have.’
    Given the right set of circumstances Kete might have objected to the words. However, the Kid was cold sober, armed and looked full capable of using those arms, so Kete passed up the chance. Studying the Indian dark face Kete knew that here was no boy but a man grown and a deadly dangerous man at