Norton, Andre - Anthology (37 page)

 
          
 
He grew amorphously aware of the herd. The
cattle were nervous, they rolled their eyes and lowed and pawed the ground. A
small band of Hokas galloped around them, swearing, waving their hats, trying
to get the animals going in the right path.

 
          
 
"I'm an ol' cowhand, from thuh Rio
Grande!" bawled Alex.

 
          
 
"Not so loud!" snapped a Tex-Hoka.
"These critters are spooky enough as it is."

 
          
 
"You wanna get 'em goin', don-cha?"
answered Alex. "We gotta get going. The greenskins are coming.
Simple to get going.
Like this. See?"

 
          
 
He drew his six-shooter, fired into the air,
and let out the loudest screech he had in him.
"Yahoo!"

 
          
 
"Yo' crazy fool!"

 
          
 
"Yahoo!"
Alex plunged toward the herd, shooting and shouting. "Ride 'em, cowboy!
Git along, little dogies! Yippee!"

 
          
 
The herd, of course, stampeded.

 
          
 
Like a red tide, it suddenly broke past the
thin Hoka line. The riders scattered, there was death in those thousands of
hoofs, their universe was filled with roaring and rushing and thunder. The
earth shook!

 
          
 
"Yahoo!" caroled Alexander Jones. He
rode behind the long-horns, still shooting.
"Git along,
git along!
Hi-yo, Silver!"

 
          
 
"Oh, my God," groaned Slick.
"Oh, my God!
The tumble-weed-headed idiot's got 'em
stampeded straight toward the Injuns —"

 
          
 
"After 'em!" shouted a
Hopalong-Hoka. "Mebbe we can still turn the herd! We cain't let the Injuns
git all that beef!"

 
          
 
"An' we'll have a little necktie party
too," said a Lone Rider-Hoka. "I'll bet that thar Alexanderjones is
a
Injun spy planted to do this very job."

 
          
 
The cowboys spurred their mounts. A Hoka brain
had no room for two thoughts at once. If they were trying to head off a
stampede, the fact that they were riding full tilt toward an overwhelming enemy
simply did not occur to them.

 
          
 
"Whoopee-ti-yi-yo-o-o-o!" warbled
Alex, somewhere in the storm of dust.

 
          
 
Caught by the peculiar time-sense of
intoxication, he seemed almost at once to burst over a long low hill. And
beyond were the Slissii.

 
          
 
The reptile warriors went afoot, not being
built for riding —but they could outrun a Hoka pony. Their tyrannosaurian forms
were naked, save for war paint and feathers such as primitives throughout the
galaxy wear, but they were armed with guns as well as lances, bows, and axes.
Their host formed a great compact mass, tightly disciplined to the rhythm of
the thudding signal drums. There were thousands of them . . . and a hundred cowboys,
at most, galloped blindly toward their ranks.

 
          
 
Alex saw none of this. Being behind the
stampede, he didn't see it hit the Injun army.

           
 
Nobody really did. The catastrophe was just
too big.

 
          
 
When the Hokas arrived on the scene, the
Injuns—such of them as had not simply been mashed flat—were scattered over the
entire visible prairie. Slick wondered if they would ever stop running.

 
          
 
"At 'em, boys!" he yelled. "Go
mop 'em up!"

 
          
 
The Hoka band sped forward. A few small Injun
groups sounded their war-hisses and tried to rally for a stand, but it was too
late, they were too demoralized, the Hokas cut them down. Others were chased as
they fled, lassoed and hog-tied by wildly cheering teddy bears.

 
          
 
Presently Tex rode up to Slick. Dragging
behind his pony at a lariat's end was a huge Injun, still struggling and
cursing. "I think I got their chief," he reported.

 
          
 
The town gambler nodded happily. "Yep,
you have. He's wearin' a high chief's paint. Swell! With him for a hostage, we
can make t'other Injuns talk turkey—not that they're gonna bother this hyar
country for a long time to come."

 
          
 
As a matter of fact, Canyon Gulch has entered
the military textbooks with Cannae, Waterloo, and Xfisthgung as an example of
total and crushing victory.

 
          
 
Slowly, the Hokas began to gather about Alex.
The old utter awe shone in their eyes.

 
          
 
"He done it," whispered Monty.
"All the time he was playin' dumb, he knew a way to stop the Injuns—"

 
          
 
"Yo' mean, make 'em bite the dust,"
corrected Slick solemnly.

 
          
 
"Bite the dust," agreed Monty.
"He done it single handed! Gents, I reckon we should'a knowed better'n to
go mis-trustin' o'
a ..
.
human
!"

 
          
 
Alex swayed in the saddle. A violent sickness
gathered itself within him. And he reflected that he had caused a stampede,
lost an entire herd of cattle,
sacrificed
all Hoka
faith in the Terrestrial race for all time to come. If the natives hanged him,
he thought grayly, it was no more than he deserved.

 
          
 
He opened his eyes and looked into Slick's
adoring face.

 
          
 
"Yo' saved us," said the little
Hoka. He reached out and took the sheriff's badge off Alex's tunic. Then,
gravely, he handed over his Derringer and playing cards. "Yo' saved us
all, human. So, as long as
yo're
here, yo're the town
gambler o' Canyon Gulch."

 
          
 
Alex blinked. He looked around. He saw the
assembled Hokas, and the captive Slissii, and the trampled field of ruin . . .
why, why—they had won!

 
          
 
Now he could get to the Draco. With human
assistance, the Hoka race could soon force a permanent peace settlement on
their ancient foes. And Ensign Alexander Braith-waite Jones was a hero.

 
          
 
"Saved you?" he muttered. His tongue
still wasn't under very close control. "Oh.
Saved you.
Yes, I did, didn't I?
Saved you.
Nice of me." He
waved a hand. "No, no. Don't mention it. Noblesse
oblige,
and all that sort of thing."

 
          
 
An acute pain in his unaccustomed gluteal
muscles spoiled the effect. He groaned. "I'm walking back to town. I won't
be able to sit down for a week as it is!"

 
          
 
And the rescuer of Canyon Gulch dismounted,
missed the stirrup, and fell flat on his face.

 
          
 
"Yo' know," murmured someone
thoughtfully, "maybe that's the way humans get off their hosses. Maybe we
should all—"