The Floating Outfit 52 Read online

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  Their fame spread like wildfire through the West—a band of Texans who rode and fought together like brothers in the name of justice.

  There was Mark Counter, the soft-spoken young giant whose dandy appearance belied a strength few men could match. Red Blaze, the young hothead, who when the chips were down was as cool and deadly as any other. The Ysabel Kid, part Comanche, part French Creole, and all fighting man. Waco, the orphan boy, completely fearless and bent on proving himself in the eyes of his friends. And finally the small, insignificant-looking man who was their undisputed leader … Dusty Fog, the Rio Hondo gun-wizard, the fastest draw in Texas.

  Those who had crossed them and lived to tell the tale were few. One thing was certain—they would never again underestimate a man who rode with the Floating Outfit.

  THE FLOATING OUTFIT 52: THE HARD RIDERS

  By J. T. Edson

  First published by Brown Watson Publishers in 1962

  Copyright © 1962, 2020 by J. T. Edson

  This electronic edition published October 2020

  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.

  You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by means (electronic, digital, optical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book / Text © Piccadilly Publishing

  Visit www.piccadillypublishing.org to read more about our books

  Series Editor: Ben Bridges

  Published by Arrangement with the Author’s Agent.

  CONTENTS

  Publisher’s Note

  Part One – The Schoolteacher

  Part Two – Cousin Red’s Big Chance

  Part Three – Comanche Blood

  Part Four – A Lady Known As Belle

  Part Five – The Hired Butcher

  About J.T. Edson

  The Floating Outfit Series

  Publisher’s Note:

  As with other books in this series, the author uses characters’ native dialect to bring that person to life. Whether they speak French, Irish, American English or English itself, he uses vernacular language to impart this.

  Therefore when Scottish characters use words such as “richt” instead of “right”; “laird” for “lord”; “oopstairs” for “upstairs”; “haim” for “home”; “ain” for “own”; “gude sores” for “good sirs” and “wha” for who” plus many other phrases, please bear in mind that these are not spelling/OCR mistakes.

  For my old friend Tony Skellet, the ‘fat postman with the moustache’.

  Part One – The Schoolteacher

  ‘Four-to-one on the local gal to win. If you don’t bet, you won’t win. Four-to-one says Maggie Bollinger wins the fight.’

  The pallid-faced gambling man’s voice cut over the excited yells of the men who crowded Bull Keleney’s Longhorn Saloon in Gratton, Texas. The call of the gambler attracted attention and the spectators of the fight forced their way up to lay their money on the table and accept the odds offered to them. They were betting that, local patriotism aside, Maggie Bollinger didn’t win the bare-fist boxing match they were watching.

  Time was called and the two women on the roped off square in the center of the room advanced to toe the line. Fists raised in the accepted manner, they circled each other. The taller of the two was a buxom, black-haired woman, good-looking in a large, generous way. Even an eye that was swelling and showed signs of making a beautiful shiner, and a bloody nose, could not distract from her looks. She was Maggie Bollinger, the local girl, wife of Gratton’s blacksmith. Her opponent was shorter, a heavily-built, coarse-looking blonde professional fist-fighter called Russian Olga, brought in by town-boss Keleney for the entertainment of his workers.

  The men watching the fight admitted it was something worth seeing. Not only were they seeing a real good fight by any standards; but the two contestants, being women, and dressed in tights and sleeveless, tight blouses, made it something even more worth watching. Keleney’s workers felt they were getting their money’s worth—and almost every man there worked in one way or another for Keleney.

  The town of Gratton was almost owned by Keleney. He liked to keep his employees, whether at his factory—which supplied clothes for a greater part of Texas—or in the other businesses he owned, happy and contented. A happy and contented man was less likely to ask awkward questions about pay and working hours. This fight was only one of the many things he had arranged for the entertainment of his workers, but it was proving to be the most popular.

  In the eight rounds of the fight so far, Maggie Bollinger had shown that, although strong and hard-hitting, she was no match for the more skilled professional fighter. On the face of it, four-to-one that Maggie Bollinger won the fight sounded like a very rash bet. It looked even more so as Olga smashed a right into Maggie’s ribs and folded her over, straightened her out with a left, and knocked her down with a right cross.

  Tour-to-one that Maggie wins,’ the gambler called again as Cy Bollinger helped his wife back to her corner.

  The men who hadn’t bet their limit on the result crowded forward to do so then, being even more sure that Maggie would lose. The factory workers could well afford to do so, for this was the day on which Bull Keleney had paid his men a bonus. The lucky recipients were crowded round the gambler’s table and thrusting their money into his eager hands, receiving in exchange a slip of paper with the amount of the wager written on it.

  In the ring, Cy Bollinger and another man tried to copy the expert seconding Olga was receiving from the two women who were part of the troupe she worked for. Maggie was breathing hard and glaring at the other woman. When time was called, she left her corner with a rush, swinging both fists. Olga met her with some caution—for she’d learned, early in the fight, that the bigger woman’s clumsy swings were packed with dynamite and powered by muscles many a man would have been pleased to own.

  Toe-to-toe the two women slugged at each other, gasping for breath and giving grunts or squeals as the other’s fists slammed home. The crowd yelled its approval at each blow landed, every man watching eagerly. From local pride, they would have liked to see Maggie win the fight; but they were betting on the other woman—and so were delighted when Maggie was knocked down again to end the tenth round.

  From a place of honor at the end of the bar, Bull Keleney stood and watched everything with obvious approval. He stood there, thumbs hooked into his expensive brocade vest, a big, burly man who showed arrogance in every inch of his hard, flashy-dressed form.

  Bull Keleney looked more like the owner of a saloon or a honky-tonk in a trail-end town, than the director of a clothing factory. His black hair was slicked down with bay rum and parted in the center. His face was flushed and coarse-looking with the brocade vest. His boots were square-toed, but had been broken and, under it, his drooping handlebar moustache covered a mouth which was hard and grim. His clothes were more suited to a saloon-keeper than to a business man. His suit was a loud check, his shirt a salmon pink, which clashed with the brocade vest. His boots were square-toed, but had a shine to them that almost mirrored the scene around him. All in all, Keleney looked hard, tough, arrogant and well in keeping with his boast that he owned this town and a most successful business, although he could neither read nor write.

  Keleney moved from the bar, watched by the two gun-hung men who were alwa
ys at his call. He moved among the crowd, slapping a man on the shoulder here, throwing back his head and roaring with laughter at a joke or remark there. The next round started and he added his bellows of encouragement to the other men’s as he laid a hundred dollar bet with the gambler that Maggie would not win. He was also the loudest in his yells as Maggie knocked the other woman down with a haymaker which would have laid low many a man.

  At times like this the men who toiled for his enrichment forgot their long hours and the poor conditions under which they worked. He might not pay them as well as other places did, but few other bosses gave a bonus every second month or so and arranged such pleasant entertainment for them. Also few other bosses would walk and joke with their men, while Keleney was never too full of his success to come among them. At times like this, Keleney was a prince of good fellows, enjoying every moment of the fight and sharing the entertainment to its fullest.

  Yet, to at least two men in the crowd, Keleney did not shine as either a great man or a great sport. It was by one of these Keleney halted and stood watching the two women toe the line again and start slugging.

  ‘Not betting, Sam?’ he asked.

  Sam Williams, owner of the town’s leather shop—one of the few private enterprises left in the town—shook his head. Even with his dislike of Keleney, Sam accepted a cigar from the other and lit it. Then he shook his head.

  ‘Nope—I ain’t betting.’

  They stood silent, watching the fight. Olga sank a left into Maggie’s middle and drove a brutal right into the side of her neck, knocking the bigger woman into the ropes. Maggie hung there, looking dazed, as Olga came in to attack her.

  ‘Four to one looks like a right foolish bet to me, Sam,’ Keleney remarked.

  ‘Real rash.’ Sam’s tones were mildly sardonic. ‘Allowed them gamblers of your’n would have more sense.’

  ‘My gamblers?’ Keleney kept his attention on Olga, who was smashing hard fists into Maggie’s ribs as the other woman tried to cover her face by crouching and holding her arms up round her face. ‘They aren’t my gamblers. Came here when they heard about the fight. I get a rake-off from their take, win or lose. I thought you’d want to take some of their money—it’d help you out some at the bank.’

  ‘Might at that,’ Sam answered. ‘But my pappy allus used to tell me never to bet on a deal that didn’t look like it was going to pay off for the gambling men. Reckoned it was a fool bet, no matter how good the chance looked of winning.’

  ‘Smart man, your pappy!’ Keneley’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

  ‘Sure, smart as a teacher.’

  Keleney turned and walked away, and Sam watched him go. The tall, leathery old-timer scowled; he suddenly realized, mentioning teachers, that the local school-teacher had not come to the saloon yet. Sam and the school-teacher got on well; and the young man had arranged to meet Sam here after he’d finished some work at the school.

  Then Sam missed the saloon’s two bouncers and he was worried by their absence—for Moe and Lanny were usually here on hand for nights like this. Ordinarily, Sam would have taken no notice of their being missing, but with the school-teacher not being on hand the old-timer was worried. The teacher was no friend of Keleney; in fact, the town-boss always ridiculed book learning. There had been five other teachers before this one—and Sam wondered how much Keleney knew about their departure, their having been chased off by the unruly behavior of the pupils.

  For some reason, the last teacher caught on with the wild Bollinger triplets, and the other boys, so had no trouble with them. He resisted all attempts by Keleney to draw him into arguments about education, and settled down well. That hadn’t met with Keleney’s approval—and Sam did not like the idea of the teacher not being there; nor of the bouncers missing this fight.

  The round had ended and another started before Sam made his decision to go to the school and see if his young friend was safe. But Sam delayed, watching the fight, forgetting the teacher as he saw Maggie being knocked around the ring by the more skilful Olga.

  The batwing doors opened and Sam looked across the room to see who was coming in. Two big, hulking men entered and shambled across towards the bar. They were Keleney’s bouncers, Lanny and Moe—as tough a pair of hombres as could be found in Texas. Sam watched them head for Keleney, then a yell from the crowd brought his attention back to the ring again. Maggie Bollinger lay half in, half out of the ring, her sturdy legs waving feebly in the air.

  Olga stood, hands on hips, and looked down at Maggie. Then she turned and went back to her corner. It looked as if the fight was all over as Bollinger and the two seconds helped Maggie back to her corner and sat her on the stool. While one fanned her, the other wiped her face with a wet cloth.

  Sam Williams watched the two bouncers more than what was happening in the ring. They crossed the room to their boss and were now standing with him at the bar. Keleney nodded to something Moe, the taller of the pair, had said, then turned and signaled to the bar-tender, who handed him a drink. With this in his hand, Keleney went to the ring and handed it to Olga as she lounged in her corner. The blonde took her drink, grinned at Keleney and tossed it back with one gulp. Then she relaxed, a confident grin on her face.

  The gambler was still offering to take bets that Maggie would win the fight, even though she hung there in the corner, dazed and groggy-looking. Sam Williams, gambler at heart and usually willing to make a wager, held off from betting. His eyes flickered round, watching every move made and reading which he could from it. He saw that the crowd were hitting the ‘Old Scalp-Lifter’ harder than normal, due to the excitement of the fight, and were not over-bright as a result. Sam himself had kept his drinking within bounds, so was sober enough to read the signs and remember other occasions in the town when an almost-certain bet had been offered, accepted and come off the wrong way.

  The fact that the gambler was offering odds on this fight had at first made Sam worry. A professional gambling man made his living from working out the chance of a certain happening coming off. In the early stages of the fight, fooled by Maggie’s extra size and weight, the man might have offered even money or even two-to-one that the bigger woman won. Now, with Maggie hardly able to stand as time was called, it did not seem right that a gambler should think that she was any kind of betting chance, except to lose.

  The women were in the ring center again. Maggie staggered, and Olga jabbed a right into her face, then clipped her with a left just under the eye. Maggie stumbled back, weakly trying to keep her fists up. Olga was grinning as she came forward. Then she stopped, a surprised expression on her face, and rubbed a hand across her eyes, shaking her head. Maggie swung a wild punch that rocked the smaller woman on her heels. Then Olga hit back, but this time there appeared to be no steam behind the punch.

  The crowd yelled for Olga to fight back as Maggie drove a right full into her face with the full weight of her body behind it. The punch landed on Olga’s bruised face again. The blonde head snapped back and Olga crashed on to her back with a thud that jarred the ring.

  To Sam Williams the pattern was forming again, the same old pattern which he had seen so many times before. He did not know much about fist-fighting, but he did know that Olga would never have stopped like that had she been all right. There was something wrong with the blonde. He waited impatiently for time to be called, for he knew the fight was all but over.

  On the shout of ‘Time’ from the ring-side, it was Olga who tottered out as if she could barely stand. Once she stumbled, and the crowd groaned. Then they brightened as she recovered her balance again. However, on the line, she just stood there, eyes glazed, mouth hanging open and arms dangling by her sides.

  Maggie Bollinger staggered forward, halted and faced Olga. Weakly, she rubbed the trickle of blood that flowed from her lip. The crowd were wild now, yelling for Olga to do something. Maggie drew in a deep breath and swung her right fist in a looping, roundhouse punch that smashed into the side of Olga’s jaw like a double-bitted axe
driving into a cottonwood. Every ounce of Maggie’s powerful body was behind the blow, and Olga went back across the ring. She hit the ropes hard, bending them until she went right over.

  There was a startled silence from the crowd as Olga’s fat, bruised body hit the floor. The silence could almost be felt as her manager, a rat-faced dude, bent over her, pulled back one eye-lid and looked at the pupil. Then he straightened up, shrugged and shook his head.

  ‘Hard luck, boys!’ Keleney bellowed heartily. ‘You should have knowed Maggie Bollinger was match for any gal. Belly up—the drinks are on the house!’

  For once, Sam Williams did not join the rush for the bar. He crossed the room to where Olga’s seconds were pulling her to her feet, to get her out of the bar. The manager pushed by Sam before he could get a closer look at the woman, but Sam knew there was no fake about her being knocked out; that punch would have put down a strong man. So, as there was no chance of seeing more, Sam joined the crowd at the bar.

  The crowd thinned down again as groups gathered to discuss the fight. The Bollingers, Hall, the storekeeper and a few more men were at the bar with Keleney. As Sam approached, he heard Keleney’s bull-throated bellow of laughter as Hall bemoaned his losses.

  ‘Hell, George, you should’ve knowed Maggie here was match for any gal,’ Keleney boomed.

  Maggie Bollinger managed a grin, having thrown off the worst of her tired and dazed feeling. ‘She wasn’t easy,’ she remarked.

  ‘You played the waiting game, Maggie,’ Keleney answered, handing her a drink. ‘Then, when you’d got Olga all set up, you let her have it.’

  Another of the group mentioned a woman fist-fighter he’d seen in Hays with a medicine show. Her name was Madame Fiona, and she claimed to be the woman fist-fighting champion of the world. Sam, unwillingly, was drawn into the argument, for he knew the owner of the medicine show. Keleney looked round the crowd in the saloon and tried to make a rough estimate of the business this fight had pulled in for him. He knew that it was one of the best attractions he had seen. With this in mind, he looked at Maggie Bollinger.