The Ysabel Kid by J. T. Edson

Author:J. T. Edson [Edson, J. T.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Western
Publisher: Corgi
Published: 2013-08-27T16:00:00+00:00

Mark handrolled two smokes, passing one to the Kid and lighting it. He was looking at the Indian dark face and at last asked, “Are you taking rifles to Juarez?”

“Sure.”

“You know a lot of Confederate boys are fighting for the French?”—there was a hard note in Mark’s voice.

“Sure.”

“And you’re still taking them?”

“Yep. Cap’n Dusty Fog of the Texas Light Cavalry is with me.”

Mark’s face showed its disbelief. He knew the reputation of Dusty Fog and could not see that loyal son of Dixie doing any such thing. Mark pulled out the second chair and sat down facing the Kid, his face showing nothing of his feelings. “I can’t help you get loose now, boy. Not with you bringing those guns. They’re better than anything we’ve got. I’ll see the French don’t mistreat you but I’ll take you to Saltillo.”

For a time the two men stayed silent, each occupied with his thoughts. The door opened and Bardot came in followed by the sergeant. The French officer came over and examined the Kid’s bonds carefully, then sniffed and straightened up. He jerked his head and the sergeant left the room.

“Monsieur, Counter, I will leave you to guard the prisoner and to make sure he does not escape. I will give instructions to fire upon anyone who comes out.”

“Thanks, and when do we eat?”

“I will send soupe and coffee across when we make it. Until then you will confine yourself to this hut. I have given orders for a double guard on the horse lines and they have orders to shoot anyone who moves in the street after dark.”

“Sounds like you don’t trust somebody,” the Kid remarked.

Bardot’s hand drew back but Mark came to his feet in a lithe move, facing the other man. “If you want to hit somebody try me. I’m not tied.”

The Frenchman turned on his heel and left the jacal, slamming the door after him. The Ysabel Kid grinned at Mark. “Looks like we’re both prisoners.”

“Man’d say you were right,” Mark agreed. “General Bushrod won’t be any too pleased when he hears.”

The Kid relapsed into silence for a time, still watching Mark. Then he got more comfortable in the chair and remarked, “You look a lonely man.”

“Feel it. I never knew just how lonseome until I saw you ride in there on that old range saddle.”

Mark wasn’t looking at the Kid. His eyes were on the wall but he was seeing the great rolling Big Bend range country and his father Rance Counter’s great R over C ranch. To his ears came the sound of the range, the creaking of saddle leather, the grunting of cowhorses as they worked and the beat of the feet of cattle interspersed with the wild yell of the cowhand. He was tired of this vagrant army life, homesick and wanted to be done with the sort of warfare the French engaged in as they tried to bring the Mexicans to their knees. What he wanted was to head back north, cross the Rio Grande into Texas and feel a comfortable old kak saddle between his knees as he rode the range.

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