The Floating Outfit 42: Buffalo Are Coming! Read online

  Making the most of his association with Dusty Fog, Johnson had continued to keep in touch with the investigation. Replies to the queries had come from Lieutenant Edward Ballinger and the New York Police Department. Their sources of information had confirmed the use of Bohemians as hired assassins by various Mid-European countries, but nobody had heard of any being employed in the United States. Despite this, he had soon become convinced that the true motive was not suspected.

  While taking the precaution of watching for developments which might place him in jeopardy from Dusty Fog or the local law, the New Englander had seen the scheme going forward smoothly in other directions. As he had promised Stone Hart, the young men brought by Geoffrey Crayne were vastly more satisfactory in character and behavior than Roddy and Morrell. None of the twelve were aware of what was really intended. Instead, they were genuinely interested in the possibility of transferring to an area of safety a sufficiently large breeding stock to save the buffalo from extinction

  Good relations had been established early, when the Easterners had come so willingly to the assistance of the four Wedge hands in the Buffalo House Saloon. It was strengthened when Crayne, claiming he had struck the first blow to start the fight, insisted that he and his group paid more than their fair share to cover the cost of the damages. With this matter settled, no charges had been made against any of the combatants and all had parted, after a cheery celebration, on the best of terms.

  The first and most vital problem which had required solving had been to locate sufficient buffalo to meet the needs of the scheme. However, as Stone Hart had promised, this had proved a far from insoluble proposition. While hunting was already decimating the formerly enormous herds, once away from the railroad and people following in its wake, there were still a good number of them left. Under the command of Johnny Raybold, in his capacity of scout, members of the Wedge had set off westwards to find what was needed.

  Before the redhead had sent Doc Leroy and Rusty Willis to report that a suitable herd had been discovered and was being kept under observation, the trail crew from the OD Connected had set off for Texas without changing their belief that their attempted ambush was at the instigation of enemies who lived in Europe and sought revenge for a scheme thwarted by members of the floating outfit in the United States some time before. However, while this point of view was shared by Beauregard, Johnson was not sorry to leave Mulrooney as it reduced the danger of his surviving associates saying something which might lead to the truth being discovered.

  Apart from the Easterners improving their horsemanship, hardening riding muscles to stand the strain of long hours spent in the saddle, learning the ways of the Texas pattern rigs they were using, and how to live on the trail, the journey to the vicinity of the herd had been uneventful. Having shown the least aptitude in all matters, Roddy and Morrell had concurred—albeit with bad grace—when Johnson assigned them to carrying out the menial duties of cook’s ‘louse’. Wanting to avoid arousing interest, the party had kept clear of all human habitation when away from Mulrooney and, at last, were ready to find out whether making the drive was possible.

  Eleven – We’re Heading for Texas

  Known as a ‘bed’ wagon, the mobile accommodation allocated to Walter Johnson had none of the specialized additions fitted to the purpose-built vehicles which were the close to sacrosanct domain of Chow Willicka and Joseph Henry Abrahams. While it would serve as an improvised ambulance, should anybody sustain injuries which precluded riding a horse, its primary function was to transport hobbles, a rope for making a temporary corral, a keg of ‘good enoughs’—readymade horseshoes of various sizes to serve as replacements for any lost away from the services of a blacksmith—other kinds of general gear and, hence the name, the bed rolls of the crew. [3] However, one item generally carried would not be needed and was missing. This was the branding iron with which a conventional trial crew made good losses, or added to the size of the herd they would be selling, by applying their mark of ownership upon any ‘mavericks’ encountered along the way. [4]

  As he peered through the open flaps of the bed wagon’s canopy, after having knuckled open his gummy eyelids, the sight which greeted the New Englander’s gaze was probably being duplicated many times between the Rio Grande border of Texas and the railroad towns in Kansas. While the words being bellowed by the cooks and the means employed to supplement the disturbance would differ somewhat, the response from the men they were arousing was likely to be much the same. Unable to continue sleeping, they soon began to extricate themselves from the shelter offered by blankets and thick patchwork quilts, known as ‘suggans’, wrapped in waterproof tarpaulin. On rising, clad in whatever style of nightwear was favored—most undressing being restricted to the removal of hat, bandana, vest, shirt, pants and boots— some of them extended and flexed their limbs to loosen stiffened muscles. Others favored either scratching at stomachs, or running fingers through their hair to massage the scalp. However, no matter what the physical response might be, all joined in heaping verbal abuse against the far from distressed or concerned cause of the disturbance to their rest. It was only when not being addressed in such a seemingly hostile fashion that an experienced range country cook became worried. The omission served as a warning, which he had better heed, that his culinary efforts were neither being enjoyed nor appreciated by the other members of the crew.

  Thinking of his hopes for the future, Johnson found one aspect of the scene particularly satisfying!

  With the exception of Kevin Roddy and Francis Morrell, apart from their accents, the New Englander could discern little difference between the Easterners and the Texans. Nor, he reminded himself, would this state of affairs change too drastically when the men leaving their beds and cursing the cooks had completed their, of necessity, primitive ablutions and donned whatever clothing had been removed the previous night. Although his fellow conspirators had declined to do so, the men sent by the Society for the Preservation of the American Bison had discarded the riding attire they brought from home as unsuitable for the work they would be doing and had fitted themselves with Western style clothing. They had also supplemented the firearms each had purchased before leaving the East with a gunbelt, but had accepted the advice they received and refrained from going armed whilst in Mulrooney.

  Satisfied his dupes would pass as genuine cowhands well enough to avoid adding to speculations as to what they were doing, after they had parted company from the Wedge, Johnson stood up. Collecting a towel and dropping from the lowered tailgate of the wagon, clad in the long flannel nightshirt and carpet slippers which had been the subject of numerous jocular comments from the Texans when he had first appeared wearing them, he joined the line waiting to wash in the tub of warm water supplied for that purpose by the cooks. Having done so, leaving a shave until a more convenient time in the evening, he returned to his sleeping quarters to dress in the open necked tartan shirt, light-weight off-white jacket, tan Stetson with its crown in the style of Texans, Eastern riding breeches and boots which he had selected as attire suitable to his years and pose as a businessman turned rancher from beyond the Mississippi River.

  Like the other Easterners, even Roddy and Morrell, the New Englander had adopted the precaution of upturning and shaking his boots before donning them in the morning as had been advocated by the Texans. He had been informed this was currently less essential than it could be in hotter, more arid, regions where scorpions and even rattlesnakes sometimes sought warmth and shelter in discarded footwear during the chill of the night. Knowing they were going into an area where such an eventuality might occur, although as yet he had not divulged this information even to the trail boss, he had considered it advisable to cultivate a habit which could save him from being bitten by a poisonous creature. Doc Leroy was not accompanying the party. On arriving in Mulrooney to report that the buffalo had been found, he had received news of an urgent private business which required him to return to Texas without delay. Therefore, in the absence of such
competent medical assistance as would otherwise have been available for at least some of the journey, Johnson had decided that taking precautionary measures assumed an added importance.

  With his dressing completed, Johnson once again left the wagon. Strolling to where the two crews were mingling as they collected their breakfast, he looked for Stone Hart. Failing to locate the trail boss, he listened to a conversation which—with slight variations—had become an accepted part of every morning’s activities.

  ‘And what culinary delights await us beneath the covers this fine morning, would you say, Senator Raybold?’ Geoffrey Crayne inquired, having firmly established his acceptance by the others—albeit with the thinly concealed disapproval of Roddy and Morrell—as the prospective trail boss when the time came to separate from the Wedge. ‘Could it mayhap be a compote of fresh peaches and strawberries in whipped cream, baked French toast with marmalade sauce, rolled bacon strips and eggs a la Rossini?’

  ‘Not again, surely, Congressman Crayne?’ the red haired scout replied, his tone and demeanor registering ennui. Having taken more than one vacation in major Eastern cities at the conclusion of trail drives, he had sampled all the delicacies to which the Bostonian had referred. ‘Why can’t the chef give us good ole boys something real special like whistle-berries, fried sowbelly, cackle fruit and gun wadding bread for a change?’

  ‘By George, Senator, I do believe he has,’ Crayne exclaimed, his surprise as well simulated as the behavior of the Texan had been. He ran a most appreciative gaze over open pans containing pinto beans, sizzling bacon—in slabs rather than daintily rolled strips—and fried eggs which were awaiting the hungry crews. ‘And with the added treat of Arbuckle’s specially imported, super fine ground coffee and sourdough biscuits no less. Now that is what I call a treat for the gods and it’s far too good for these peasants around us.’

  ‘Howdy, Mr. Johnson,’ Waggles Harrison greeted, coming up while the cheerful conversation was taking place. ‘Looks like we’ve got a good day for moving out.’

  ‘So it does, sir, so it does,’ the New Englander agreed, allowing the plate he was holding to receive a liberal helping of eggs, bacon and beans. While collecting a tin cup filled with steaming coffee, a knife and a fork, he glanced around once more. Everybody appears to be in most excellent spirits, but I don’t see Captain Hart anywhere.’

  ‘Told me last night’s how he aimed to go and look over the buffalo,’ the segundo of the Wedge replied, also gathering breakfast. Accompanying Johnson towards the bed wagon, he went on, ‘And here he comes from doing it right now.’

  ‘Good morning, Mr. Johnson, Waggles,’ Stone Hart drawled, joining the two men by the tailgate of the vehicle after having collected a well laden plate and cup of coffee from the serving tables.

  ‘And a good morning to you, sir,’ the New Englander replied. ‘You put us all to shame by your diligence before breakfast. Is all well with our herd?’

  ‘They’re still around and I’ll take you out to them when we’ve eaten,’ the trail boss answered. ‘Only I wouldn’t go so far as to say they were our herd just yet a-whiles. Could be they’ll have themselves a few notions of their own when we try to head them up and move them out. ’

  ‘Talking of which,’ Waggles put in. ‘I don’t want to sound all nosey and pushy-like, but I reckon it’ll be some easier happen we know which way you want them fool critters headed afore we even start trying to do it.’

  ‘By cracky, Mr. Johnson, see what it is to have a right smart Segundo,’ Stone exclaimed, as he and the other Texan swung expectant gazes at the man who had hired them. ‘Now me, I’d never have thought of anything like that. Thing being though, seeing as how it has been thought of, I’d say it’s come time for you to start unsealing those “sealed orders” and let us in on the secret.’

  ‘It is , sir, it most certainly is!’ the New Englander assented with the joviality which came so naturally when required and effectively disguised his true ruthless nature. ‘And I thank you for your patience and forbearance in restraining your justifiable curiosity this long.’

  ‘I’ve never seen no sealed orders,’ Waggles commented. ‘The Cap’n and me didn’t get any when we was riding with General Hood’s Texas Brigade in the War and nobody else who-all’s hired us since’s figured we needed ’em.’

  ‘Unfortunately, sir, I’m unable to oblige you in this instance either,’ Johnson apologized. ‘You see, when I made reference to “sealed orders”, it was merely a figure of speech. They were communicated to me verbally before I came West, to be passed on when I considered the time was ripe.’

  ‘Was I asked,’ the segundo asserted, but without any suggestion of animosity. ‘I’d say the time’s so ripe now, it's like’ to fall offen the tree.’

  ‘I agree with you most wholeheartedly, sir,’ the New Englander declared. Pausing a moment, as if wishing to give an added impact to his next words, he continued, ‘Gentlemen, we’re heading for Texas!’

  ‘ Texas!’ Stone and Waggles ejaculated at the same instant and in identical tones, exchanging glances closer to surprise than either had ever exhibited before in Johnson’s presence.

  ‘Texas,’ the New Englander affirmed, not entirely displeased to have provoked so much of a reaction from two men he had hitherto found completely unemotional as far as showing their true feelings was concerned. ‘While I still am not at liberty to disclose exactly where it is located in your home State, even to you, the Society has obtained a large tract of land and, under the pretence of conducting an experiment into the feasibility of raising a breed of cattle which will yield more and better quantities of beef per head, they are already having it cleared of longhorns and predatory beasts ready for our arrival.’

  ‘That sounds like a right smart idea,’ the trail boss assessed. ‘And we can understand why the folks in your Society want the place keeping secret, even from us. But Texas covers a whole heap of ground and it’ll help us pick out which way to head for the best, so’s we can keep as few folks as possible from learning what you’re really figuring on doing, happen you can narrow it down to a mite less than the whole State.’

  ‘Your point is valid, sir,’ Johnson conceded. ‘I would like you to take us to the junction of Rita Blanca Creek and the Canadian River. Once there, we can part company and my young men will complete the deliver, then care for the buffalo until they become self-sufficient.’

  ‘We should ought to have been able to teach them all they’ll need to know by then,’ Waggles claimed. ‘’Cepting for those two Arbuckles you’ve had trailing along since we first met, they’re a pretty good bunch—for Down East Yankees.’

  ‘I’m delighted to hear it, sir,’ the New Englander replied, considering the comment about the men sent to join him at Mulrooney was justified and complimentary. He was also aware, as a result of his association with the Texans, of what was implied by the reference to Roddy and Morrel. [5] ‘And I’d like to say I picked them all—!’

  ‘Even the Arbuckles?’ the segundo queried in a tone of disbelief, darting a glance to where the pair in question were carrying out their far from demanding duties in as desultory a fashion as they dared they had been subjected to the caustic tongue of the Wedge’s cook on the first occasion he had found them slacking. ‘Chow reckons’s how he wouldn’t have taken neither the one of ’em to be even louse for his louse, happen he’d been given hand choice on it.’

  ‘Somebody must love them,’ Stone suggested dryly, ‘to have sent them along.’

  ‘Or maybe just wanted to see the back of ’em for a spell,’ Waggles offered.

  ‘The Society made the selection without consulting me,’ Johnson explained. Wanting to change the subject, as he had no desire to be questioned further about the unsatisfactory pair being chosen, he turned his gaze to the trail boss. ‘You look somewhat pensive, Captain Hart. Is something troubling you?’

  ‘No!’ Stone replied, speaking more sharply than he intended because he had been jolted by being addressed directly fr
om a train of thought he found intriguing. ‘I reckon we’d best start figuring which trail on the way will let us avoid going any nearer to folks than we have to.’

  Knowing much about the cattle business in Texas, even though as yet he did not own a spread, the trail boss was trying to envisage where a tract of land sufficiently large for the purposes of the Society had been obtained. Regardless of the enormous area within the boundaries of the State, free space was becoming increasingly hard to acquire. Despite much still being technically ‘open range’, ranchers considered portions of varying sizes—generally defined by physical features such as streams or ridges—as being their respective domains. Almost the only region of any size not considered the property of some rancher or another was the Palo Duro country. This was the territory of the Kweharehnuh Comanche. Unlike the other bands of their nation, they had not been persuaded to go on to a reservation and had so far denied the use of their land to prospective cattle raisers.

  Before Stone could produce even a theory regarding the possible location of the new home for the buffalo, he was interrupted by the question from Johnson. Nor was he allowed to return to his thoughts on the matter.