The Floating Outfit 15 Read online

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  They were trying to cheat young Sandy McGraw. If it hadn’t been for his friends they might have succeeded in depriving him of the ranch he had inherited. But Sandy’s friends were the right people to have on your side. One was Red Blaze, who always managed to find more than his fair share of any fights in his vicinity. Another was Betty Hardin, granddaughter of Ole Devil Hardin and an expert at ju-jitsu and karate. And the third was none other than the man with the fastest draw in the west, Dusty Fog.

  Even so, the three found themselves in trouble over … McGraw’s Inheritance!

  THE FLOATING OUTFIT 15: McGRAW’S INHERITANCE

  By J. T. Edson

  First published by Transworld Publishers in 1968

  Copyright © 1968, 2017 by J. T. Edson

  First Smashwords Edition: September 2017

  Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information or storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

  This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book

  Series Editor: Ben Bridges

  Text © Piccadilly Publishing

  Published by Arrangement with the Author’s Agent.

  For Rosica Colin, With Thanks

  Part One – The Hired Gun

  Chapter One

  The men forming the majority of the Bull’s Head saloon’s customers had been gathering in San Antonio for the past three days. During the Civil War they won fame as the elite of the Texas Light Cavalry, its hard-riding, hard-fighting Company ‘C’, and now they congregated at the city of the Alamo to see a friend embark on matrimony. At noon the following day Sandy McGraw’s bachelor days ended officially and his companions from the days when he rode as company guidon carrier aimed to give him a final night to whoop and howl.

  At the bar the bridegroom-to-be, a tall, well-built young man with red hair, a good-looking face, wearing range clothes and belting a brace of 1860 Army Colts in open-topped holsters, stood by his one-time sergeant-major for a moment.

  ‘Damned if I thought you’d be fool enough to do it, Sandy,’ stated the tall, gangling, miserable-faced Billy Jack.

  ‘Which same makes the two of us,’ Sandy admitted frankly. ‘Hell, a man has to put down roots some time and Uncle Shem leaving me that spread up San Garcia way’s give me a chance of doing it.’

  ‘San Garcia country, huh?’

  ‘Sure. Know it?’

  ‘Been up that ways once. It’s not bad country. Got Gila monsters up there the size of Mississippi alligators and horned toads as big as jackrabbits. You won’t need to buy ropes, neither. Just catch a rattler and splice a honda into its tail, they come long enough for that. Say, you like hunting, don’t you?’

  ‘Yep,’ agreed the interested Sandy.

  ‘Get plenty up there. Wolves, cougar, black b’ar, grizzly,’ Billy Jack explained dismally. ‘’Course, they’ve done ate off all the elk, deer and pronghorns; but they grow plenty fat on your cattle.’

  Listening to the doleful discourse, Sandy felt better. Unless his old sergeant-major had changed since the war—which hardly seemed likely—the San Garcia country ought to make a mighty good home for a young feller aiming to settle down and raise him a family.

  ‘Allus did like fat varmints,’ Sandy grinned and nodded in the direction of a group of laughing, talking men. ‘Being married’s not done ole Red any harm.’

  ‘Plumb ruined him is all,’ replied Billy Jack. ‘Why he don’t get into no more’n two fights a week since he’s been hitched.’

  The man in question did not look too bad an advertisement for the hardships and horrors of married life. Six foot in height, with a fiery thatch of unruly hair topping a freckled, pugnaciously handsome face, Red Blaze had wide shoulders and a powerful young frame. Nor did entering the state of matrimony appear to be detrimental to his choice of clothing. A low-crowned, wide-brimmed Texas-style Stetson hat hung back on his shoulders, suspended by its storm-strap. Around his throat a tight-rolled and knotted bandana trailed long ends over the front of his blue shirt, presenting a gorgeous riot of color equaled in the room only by that about Sandy’s neck. Made of calf-skin, his vest had been specially selected from an animal with a bright deer-red and white hide and was much admired by the assembled company. Maybe Red’s levis pants looked better pressed and his Justin boots bore a better shine than in his bachelor days, but a man could be excused such affectation when paying a visit to a major city like San Antonio. Around his waist hung a well-made gunbelt, walnut-handled Army Colts riding butt-forwards in open-topped holsters designed for a fast cavalry twist-hand draw.

  In the days when he rode as first lieutenant of Company ‘C’, Red Blaze gained a reputation for being hot-headed and with a penchant for becoming involved in fights. Not that he was a trouble-maker, but fights seemed to come his way with the persistence of iron filings being drawn to a magnet. Nothing in his career since the end of the war, including his marriage over in Arizona, i showed a change in his ways. Maybe Red acted a mite more subdued, but he still managed to find more than his fair share of any fuss going in his vicinity.

  Before Sandy could raise any further comment on Red Blaze’s changed state due to matrimony, another of the guests joined the conversation.

  ‘Billy Jack keeping you-all happied up, Sandy?’

  The speaker had been Sandy’s commanding officer and was the man claimed by many to be the best fighting cavalry leader produced by either side during the war. In fact his handling of Company ‘C’ on the Arkansas battlefront gave the Yankees a foretaste of the kind of fighting they would later meet when dealing with the hostile Indians of the West.

  Among a crowd where the average height was six foot, the speaker could easily have passed unnoticed. Five foot six at most, he seemed small and insignificant. Dressed in good-quality range clothes, he gave them the appearance of cast-aside hand-downs and not even the matched bone-handled 1860 Army Colts riding butt-forwards in well-tooled cross-draw holsters made him more noticeable. Yet not one of the men around him gave thought to his lack of inches; nor did they overlook him. His name was Dusty Fog.

  Although small, Dusty did not look puny. He had width to his shoulders that hinted at the strength of a pocket Hercules. Dusty blond hair showed from under his thrust-back black J. B. Stetson hat. Handsome, though not eye-catchingly so, his face showed humor, strength of will, intelligence, all hinting at the true man beneath the small exterior. No man who saw Dusty Fog in a dangerous situation ever thought of him in mere feet and inches again.

  With the end of the war Dusty prepared to forget his distinguished career as a soldier, despite General Grant’s offer that he be transferred to the Union Army retaining rank and seniority, ii in favor of helping to retrieve the great OD Connected ranch from five years of neglect due to shortage of manpower. Things did not work out the way he planned. Sent on a mission of vital importance to the peace of the United States, he went into strife-torn Mexico and returned successful, bringing back two good friends with whom, together with Red Blaze, he planned to form a floating outfit for the ranch. Although a floating outfit was normally a group of cowhands who worked as a kind of mobile ranch crew on the spread’s farthest ranges, Dusty and his companions found themselves employed more and more to help friends of their boss out of difficulties.

  During the years between the disbanding of the Texas Light Cavalry and the night of Sandy McGraw’s bachelor pa
rty Dusty Fog built up quite a name for himself as cowhand of the top grade, trail boss equal to the best, peace officer of high ability and, aided by a knowledge of Oriental fighting methods gained from Ole Devil Hardin’s Japanese servant, fist-fighter par excellence. Mainly, however, Texans spoke of his amazing skill and inimitable speed when using that pair of Army Colts, claiming him to be the fastest and most accurate of all the pistolero experts war or reconstruction produced in the Lone Star State.

  All in all, Sandy felt pleased that his old commander found time to attend the wedding. After helping to persuade the majority of the Comanche bands to give up their old way of life, sign a peace treaty and move on to reservations, Dusty took time out to accompany Red as a wedding guest. Neither of the other members of the floating outfit managed to come along, Mark Counter having ridden off to help protect a wounded uncle from a bunch of vicious killers, iii and the Ysabel Kid having stopped on at Fort Sorrel to handle the final details of resettling the Pehnane band of the Comanche on their new home.

  ‘He sure was, Cap’n,’ Sandy grinned in answer to Dusty’s question. ‘Been telling me what a fine piece of land I’ve got.’

  ‘It’s good range, or so I’ve heard,’ Dusty admitted. ‘Have you got everything fixed for going there?’

  ‘Near enough. I have to be there by the tenth to pay off Uncle Shem’s last year’s taxes and the place’s mine.’

  ‘Taxes?’

  ‘Five hundred dollars, payable afore noon on the tenth or the place goes up for public auction.’

  ‘Can you manage it?’

  ‘Easy enough, Cap’n. Sarah and me’s fixing to leave here day after tomorrow and that’ll give us plenty of time to reach San Garcia afore the tenth.’

  ‘If you need anything—’ Dusty began.

  ‘Nope,’ Sandy replied. ‘Thanks anyways, Cap’n. Sarah and me’ll get by. We saved enough to pay off the taxes and leave some to live on until the spread starts to keep us.’

  ‘Sure. But Uncle Devil says for you to let us know happen you need help.’

  That was typical of Ole Devil Hardin. The late Commanding General of the Confederate Army of Arkansas did not forget the men whose courage and loyalty helped him hold back the superior, in arms and numbers, Federal forces in the Bear State. Crippled in an attempt to ride the huge paint stallion Dusty Fog later tamed and used as his personal mount, Ole Devil could not make the trip to San Antonio. So he sent his ranch’s segundo, his granddaughter and a member of his floating outfit to act as his representatives. He also offered any assistance that the newly wedded couple might need during the early days of the married life.

  ‘Hey Cap’n Dusty!’ called one of the crowd. ‘You’re not drinking.’

  ‘I’m doing what I call drinking,’ Dusty answered with a grin and caught the bartender’s eye. ‘Fill them up again, Stormy.’

  ‘Yo!’ came the old cavalry reply.

  There might be bigger, more lavish saloons in San Antonio, but the Bull’s Head belonged to Stormy Weather, who once wore three stripes in Company ‘C’ and by virtue of that offered an ideal venue for Sandy McGraw’s last fling as a bachelor. Working fast, Stormy refilled glasses and then settled back to watch his wartime companions enjoying themselves.

  All around stood men with a common bond of dangers shared, gathered together for a celebration and indulging in the kind of small talk one might expect on such an occasion. After disbanding, the members of Company ‘C’ spread across Texas in search of a new life and meeting like this set off a chain of reminiscence, prompted inquiries as to the whereabouts of absent friends, spawned tall stories or caused old battles to be refought. To one side the cattle industry was being discussed; various comments being passed on the subject of prices, predators, diseases and all the other aspects which meant the success or failure of Texas’ major business. By the saloon’s battered piano, some of the party raised their voices in song which sometimes was in key with the jangling notes.

  Leaning his elbow on the bar, Red Blaze took everything in and a feeling of content wore down the nagging twinge of conscience which bothered him. While helping hunt down a stock-killing cougar on the OD Connected, his wife took a fall from her horse. Born and raised on a ranch, Sue Blaze landed without serious injury but managed to twist her ankle badly. Red wanted to stay with her, for the injury prevented Sue from walking, but she insisted that he attended the wedding. Knowing she would be in good hands, Red reluctantly agreed to make the trip. For all that, he felt just a touch disturbed at the thought of leaving Sue behind.

  ‘Hey, Red,’ said a man. ‘You hear about Sam Jackley? He’s driving a stage for Wells Fargo up Houston way now.’

  ‘He always was a good driver,’ Red answered, coming out of his reverie.

  ‘Sure. Well, seems like this old gal come up just afore he was pulling out on his run and she’d got just about the meanest, orneriest hound-dawg a man ever did see with her. Naturally Sam tells her she’s not taking that fool dawg on his stage. Anyways, they argues back and forwards a piece until Sam gets the mail aboard and takes up the ribbons. “All right!” the old gal shouts. “You know what you can do with your stage,” and Sam says right back, “Sure, ma’am. And happen you can do it with your old hound-dawg, you can get on for the ride.”’

  Red chuckled and the man ambled on to try his story out upon some other member of the party. Sipping at his drink, Red listened to snatches of conversation taking place around him.

  ‘Mind that time we charged the Yankee Napoleons on the Snake Ford of the Ouachita, when the Arkansas Rifles were given them false orders to take it?’

  ‘And Tom’s ole woman done figured to give him a pleasant surprise seeing’s he’d just come back off the trail. So she gets on her fanciest nightgown, puts some perfume and face-fixings on and goes into the bedroom. “Darling,” she says. “It’s your wife.” Well, sir, ole Tom jumps out of bed and yells, “For the Lord’s sake hide me, pronto! ”’

  ‘If you go to Abilene, watch that bastard Hickok. Man, he’d shoot you in the head as soon as look at you, or maybe sooner.’

  ‘Cap’n Dusty sure made Wyatt Earp sing low when he took that Rocking H trail herd to Dodge after Earp said it hadn’t to go there.’ iv

  ‘I wouldn’t say Benny picked the smartest gal in town. Fact being there’s times Why, he done took home a turkey he’d shot and at dinner next day he says, “What’d you stuff this old bird with, gal.” And she says, “Stuff it? I didn’t know it was hollow.”’

  ‘And I says it was Kiowa riding scout that day—’

  ‘A rancher riding home one night,

  Did find his house without a light,

  And as he lit a match to go to bed,

  A sudden thought came to his head.’

  Clearly the choice of song by the group around the piano did not please a bunch standing at the other end of the bar, for they cut loose in opposition.

  ‘Once there was a maiden a-sweeping with a broom,

  Had to undo her apron’s strings to give her belly room,

  Her father looked upon her and whispered in her ear,

  “Oh tell me what you’ve got beneath your apron.”’

  ‘It’s sure a pity Mark and the Kid couldn’t make it, Red,’ Stormy Weather commented after serving the customers. ‘This looks like their kind of fun.’

  ‘It sure does,’ Red grinned. ‘Now iffen we could only have somebody come in that we didn’t like—’

  ‘No, thank you ’most to death. I’ve just got this place started and don’t want its fixings busting.’

  ‘I mind the time when you was the first one to start the fussing, Stormy,’ Red pointed out.

  ‘That was afore I bought my own place,’ Weather replied and turned to look along the counter. ‘All right, all right. You won’t die of thirst afore I reach you. Or if you do, you’ll be the wettest thirsty jasper in this room.’

  Watching the saloonkeeper move off to attend to business, Red finished his drink and set the glass down. List
ening to the noise around him, he felt at peace with the world. Sandy’s bachelor party appeared to be going fine. Of course a real good fist fight would sure spark it up and make for a memorable night, but Stormy Weather had just started the saloon going and must not have his capital eaten up repairing damage caused by a brawl.

  ‘Maybe I ought to ask him who takes most of his trade and go down there to see what’s doing,’ Red mused with a grin.

  ‘Whooee! Wouldn’t that Sue-gal of mine rake my hide happen I did and wound up in jail.’

  Reluctantly Red put aside thoughts of enjoying a real rough-house, relegating it along with other bachelor pursuits to those unfortunates who had not yet embraced the benefits of matrimony. Of course if somebody came in looking for fuss …

  Thrusting himself away from the bar, Red passed among the crowd and made a leisurely way across the room. By the time he reached the building’s front entrance he felt the need for a breath of fresh air; for the room’s atmosphere had grown heavy with tobacco-smoke, due to the larger than capacity crowd present. Pushing open the batwing doors, he stepped through and on to the sidewalk.

  Idly glancing across the street, Red saw a couple of men standing in the alley between the two business premises—both closed and darkened for the night—opposite the saloon. At first he figured them to be no more than a couple of loafers attracted by the sound of revelry and wondering how they might join it. Then his instincts screamed out a warning. Red had taken a few drinks, but not enough to dull his perceptions or spoil his faculties. So he saw and understood the significant manner in which one of the pair stood. Nor did he need to observe the dull metallic glint stretching from the man’s hand to realize his own position.

  An instant before flame spurted from the raised hand of the man across the street, Red went forward in a rolling dive which carried him through the patch of light thrown by the batwing doors and off the sidewalk. Lead made its eerie ‘splat!’ sound as it burst through the air above Red, where his body had been so short a time before. Then he landed in the welcome blackness provided by the angle of the raised sidewalk.