The Floating Outfit 9 Read online

  ‘I’ll see that the word’s passed around, Dustine,’ he promised. ‘Likely there’ll be a few hot-heads who won’t want to go along, but I’ll do what I can to keep them in check.’

  ‘Uncle Devil’s not to be brought into it,’ Dusty warned.

  ‘He won’t be,’ Hardin promised.

  ‘We’ll do everything we can,’ Dusty stated.

  ‘That goes without saying, boy. Good luck to you,’ Hardin replied. ‘I can’t say I cotton on to this idea of wearing hoods, but it’s the only way.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘You can make them all right?’

  ‘If you can get us what we need to do it.’

  ‘There’s nothing hard about that,’ Hardin assured him. ‘I’ll have all you want at my place comes nightfall. Say, you sure rough-handled Spargo’s boys.’

  ‘Are they hunting for me?’ Dusty asked.

  ‘Not scouting the country or anything. I reckon they figure that you’ve gone and won’t be back. Mind you though, I’d’ve thought they’d make more effort to get you.’

  ‘Likely Spargo doesn’t want his men off on a manhunt when there’ll be work for them to do around here,’ Dusty guessed.

  ‘I won’t take up any more time,’ Hardin said, moving towards the rear of the wagon. ‘You’ll have work to do.’

  ‘Sure, Uncle Joel. I’ll let you know how things’re going.’ Returning to the gate of the wagon, Hardin swung over it and to the ground. ‘Sorry, young feller,’ he told Stone in a carrying voice that differed from the whispered conversation inside. ‘Them hides’re all right, but not what I want.’

  ‘It’s your loss,’ Stone replied.

  ‘Try the soldiers out to the Fort,’ Hardin suggested. ‘They’re allus needing rawhide.’

  ‘We’ll likely do that,’ Stone said, mounting his horse and looking at Chow. ‘Let’s get moving.’

  Satisfied that arrangements would be made to warn the citizens of the surrounding counties, Dusty hoped to avert clashes between them and the State Police. He remained out of sight until well clear of the town, then joined Chow on the wagon box and they headed for where the rest of the party had hid out.

  During the rest of the day they remained at the original campsite and made their plans. Peaceful Gunn and Johnny Raybold, the former snedding his usual pose, stated that they possessed sufficient local knowledge to do all Dusty needed. Using a bared and leveled piece of ground, the two men produced stick-scratched maps which told their companions much of the three counties’ geography. Then Johnny suggested a possible hideout for the chuck wagon and remuda while the men made their raids.

  According to Belle, the eviction parties intended to work outwards from Fort Andrew. Situated close to where the town of Ravenna would one day grow, the Fort stood in a comparatively central position for the three counties and could throw support to the State Police in either direction should it be required. Dusty intended to see that it should.

  With the chuckwagon and remuda hidden, Dusty aimed to split the party into two groups. The floating outfit, Johnny, Doc and Rusty would form one, while Stone commanded the other. Complaining bitterly, Chow found himself allocated the task of keeping camp instead of riding with his boss.

  Early that evening, on the pretence of visiting the neighboring ranches, Hardin rode out of town. He stopped at his ruined home long enough to leave sheets, scissors, needles and thread which the Kid collected. With typical cowhand versatility, the floating outfit and Wedge produced their own hoods. Wishing to avoid any connection with the Ku Klux Klan, Dusty had the hoods made in dome shape and large enough to be worn over a Stetson. He also suggested that they hung loosely and no longer than to the elbow. That way there would be no impediment to such vital movements as drawing and shooting a revolver.

  By midnight, at the cost of some pricked fingers and much cursing, every member of the raiding parties possessed a serviceable hood. Belle met Dusty at the barn, having slipped away from town, and gave the latest news. After hearing his proposed plans, she gave her approval and arranged a rendezvous near the Fort to which she would be returning.

  ‘I’ll be living in the hotel outside the stockade,’ she said. ‘There’s a small town grown up around the Fort, so nobody will think anything of that.’

  ‘We’ll find some way to get word to you and fix a place to meet,’ Dusty promised.

  ‘There’s one good thing,’ the girl went on. ‘Captain Robbins of the State Police was killed and so far there’s not a replacement to handle the Lamar County evictions. You’ll only have to worry about Fannin and Grayson for the first few days.’

  On arrival at the new location, Dusty saw his companions settled in. Accompanied by Johnny Raybold and dressed in a change from his normal black clothing, the Kid rode into the small town close to the sheltering walls of Fort Andrew. Acting like cowhands on their way south from completing a trail drive, they loafed around town all day until Belle found an opportunity to contact them. Johnny suggested the site for a rendezvous, a small, deserted cabin something over a mile outside town. Belle agreed that it might fit her needs and promised to meet Dusty there with such information as came up. Leaving the alley down which the meeting took place, it being after sundown and dark enough for their purposes, the two cowhands rejoined their companions.

  After midnight that same night, Dusty met Belle at the cabin. It proved to be a small, one room structure with a V-roof. While a stout beam ran across the center of the cabin, no further work had been done to make an upstairs room under the roof. However, the lack of development did not bother Dusty or Belle. Lying some short way from the main trail and hidden behind a screen of trees, it offered a fine meeting place.

  Accompanying the girl to town, Dusty took possession of a case containing almost fifteen thousand dollars. Unless he missed his guess, the money came from a stolen State Police payroll and he regarded the use it would be put to as poetic justice.

  On Saturday night Belle brought news that the eviction parties would be starting the following day. She gave Dusty a list of their calls, wished him the best of luck and promised to visit the cabin each night in case he should need anything or she have further news.

  ~*~

  Backed by eight Negro officers, Bede Dalkins of the State Police headed for the Rendal ranch’s house. Ranch might be something of an aggrandizement by South- or even Mid-Texas standards. Rendal ran a small beef and milk herd, grew crops and made a reasonable living. It being Sunday morning, Dalkins figured to take Rendal by surprise. The rancher had a name for being able to handle his end in a fight, so Dalkins meant to take no chances. On arrival, his men fanned into line before the house and he raised his voice.

  ‘Rendal. Come on out here!’

  The rancher walked out. Significant to anybody who knew him, he did not wear or carry a gun. If the State Police thought anything of the remarkable lapse, they put it down to the day being Sunday, when Rendal expected no trouble.

  ‘Howdy,’ greeted Rendal.

  ‘Been checking up and learned you owe five hundred and eighty-seven dollars back taxes, Rendal,’ Dalkins declared. ‘We’ve come to collect it or serve eviction papers on you.’

  Behind Dalkins, the Negro officers tensed and fingered their carbines. At the first hostile movement they intended to start shooting. However Rendal just stood with thumbs hooked into his waistband.

  ‘Which is it,’ Dalkins demanded, ‘pay, or get out?’

  ‘Got sort of used to the old place,’ Rendal answered evenly. ‘I’ll pay.’

  Amazement prevented any of the posse from shooting Rendal in the pretence that they thought he reached into his pants pocket for a weapon. With bugged out eyes, they watched him count off the necessary money from a roll of notes.

  ‘Where in hell did you get this?’ Dalkins growled.

  ‘Sold off some cattle to a herd going north,’ the rancher replied blandly. ‘Do I get a receipt for it?’

  ‘Sure!’ Dalkins spat out.

  Before l
eaving on the eviction tour, each party had received an official receipt book. When questions were raised, their leaders wished to be able to claim that everything had been legal and above board. Not that Dalkins expected to use any, the counties involved being less fortunate in the matter of raising large herds of cattle than their southern contemporaries. Yet Rendal had paid and Dalkins knew he could do no other than hand over a receipt.

  Two hooded men walked from the house after the posse passed out of sight. Turning, Rendal handed over the remainder of his bankroll and grinned as the smaller man pocketed it.

  ‘I’d like to thank you boys,’ he said. ‘Just got this place starting to pay, but I couldn’t’ve raised those back taxes. I sure felt scared, standing there without a gun, even knowing you pair stood inside ready to cover me.’

  ‘Likely,’ Dusty answered, his voice muffled under the hood. ‘Only without a gun, they’d think twice afore throwing down on you. Keep that receipt safe and start saving to pay it back.’

  ‘To them?’ Rendal yelped.

  ‘To the next elected Texas Government,’ corrected Dusty. ‘See you around.’

  With that he and Rusty collected their waiting horses and joined up with the rest of the party who had been strategically concealed about the place.

  ‘Redruth’s the next,’ Dusty said. ‘Reckon you can get us there, Johnny?’

  ‘Happen you OD Connected yahoos don’t slow the Wedge down I can,’ replied the redhead. ‘Let’s go.’

  Feeling puzzled, Dalkins led his men along the winding trail to the Redruth ranch. Behind him, the Negroes muttered among themselves. Then one of them rode to their leader’s side.

  ‘That’s one place we don’t get,’ the Negro said sullenly. ‘I’d got my eye on it too.’

  Like most of their white superiors, the Negro members of the State Police were keeping their sights on the main chance. Knowing something of the plan, each colored officer intended to take over one of the ranches and use ‘the folks from back East’ to work it. Seeing one likely place slip through their fingers aroused the suspicions which always lurked at the bottom of their association with the white members of their organization.

  ‘Maybe we should go back and run him off,’ suggested another Negro when Dalkins did not reply.

  ‘There’ll be time for that later,’ Dalkins answered. ‘We’ll go on to see Redruth. Since he bust his leg, he’ll not be likely to have money enough to pay.’

  Still muttering among themselves, the Negroes followed his lead. On arrival at the Redruth place, they saw the owner standing outside, unarmed and supporting himself on a crutch. Like Rendal, he showed no sign of concern when told about the back taxes.

  ‘Figured that’s what brought you,’ he said. ‘Make out a receipt while I count her off for you.’

  ‘Maybe you’d best start by telling us where you got the money,’ Dalkins snarled, staring at the roll of bills the rancher held.

  ‘Sold a bunch of cattle to a herd going north,’ Redruth replied. ‘Care to see the bill-of-sale?’

  That’s enough talk, Massa Dalkins,’ put in the Negro’s spokesman. ‘I say we should oughta—’

  The words trailed off as a man stepped from the open doorway of the house. Small in build, dressed in ordinary range clothes, only two things about him seemed worthy of note; First, he wore a gunbelt with matched white-handled Colts butt forward in fast-draw holsters. Second, he wore a white hood which hid his features and hung to elbow level. On appearance his hands crossed in a sight-defying flicker, producing, cocking and lining the matched Colts in a split second.

  Take the money and stay alive,’ he said.

  ‘What the—!’ Dalkins began, conscious that one Colt lined squarely at his chest while the other moved in an arc along the men at his left.

  ‘You never had better advice, hombre,’ declared a voice from the right end of the building.

  Turning his head, Dalkins saw another hooded figure, armed and watchful, to his flank. Then he became aware that an unspecified number of further men covered his party.

  ‘So that’s the game, is it?’ he snarled, although the sound came out more as a whine. ‘You make us hand over a receipt and run us off.’

  ‘Now there’s a novel thought,’ drawled the small man at the door. ‘For shame on you, putting evil ideas in our heads. We just happened to be here and don’t aim to stop you peace officer gents carrying out your rightful and legal duty for the Sovereign State of Texas.’

  ‘Just happened to be here, hoods and all!’ Dalkins spat out.

  ‘If the hood’s bothering you, I’ll take it off,’ Dusty offered, raising his left hand, still holding the Colt, towards the top of his head. ‘’Course then we’ll have to shoot you all. The Sons of Texas Liberty’re sworn not to reveal who they are and you wouldn’t want us to go back on our solemn-took oath. Still if you want the hood off—’

  Around Dalkins the Negroes moved restlessly. So far the dreaded Ku Klux Klan had not made an appearance in Texas, although word of its fight against ‘liberal’ oppression had reached the Lone Star State. Highly colored tales of carpetbagger officials, black or white, being flogged, shot or hanged came too often to be all fabrication. So the majority of the State Police lived in dread of the day when the Klan came into being among the bone-tough fighting men of Texas. From all appearances that day had come.

  ‘I states without fear of contr-i-diction that I for one ain’t curious a-tall, sah,’ one of the Negroes stated and a rumble of agreement came from the rest.

  ‘How about you, mister?’ Dusty asked, directing his words a Dalkins.

  ‘You can’t get away with this!’ the man answered.

  ‘With what?’ countered Dusty. ‘All we want is for you to do your business and ride on.’

  ‘Are you siding this lot, Redruth?’ demanded Dalkins.

  ‘Like the man said, they’re just passing by,’ the rancher replied and held out the money.

  Scowling and muttering, Dalkins dismounted. He put away any rash thoughts of jumping the rancher for a hostage and transacted the business. Although a crafty glint came to his eyes, it died again as Dusty spoke in a manner which almost made the man believe in mind-reading.

  ‘Wouldn’t want to cast doubts about this gent’s honesty. But was I you, I’d compare the signature he puts on the receipt with this one.’

  Shock twisted Dalkins’ face as he realized that the hooded man held an official State Police report form. So he altered his decision and scrupulously ensured that his signature did not differ from normal.

  ‘I’d admire to feed you gents, but paying my back taxes puts me a mite short,’ Redruth said, pocketing the receipt.

  Angrily Dalkins turned and swung astride his horse. He swung it around and led his men away. None of them noticed a rider watching them from cover, or that he trailed along after them.

  ‘Thought you said we’d get Redruth’s place for sure,’ growled the leader of the Negroes.

  ‘I didn’t see you bunch making any moves to take on them hooded bastards,’ Dalkins answered.

  ‘My mammy allus taught me to be real respectful and do like the white folks said,’ the Negro sneered. ‘And you never said nothing about fighting ’em.’

  ‘Maybe there’s some of ’em watching the next place,’ another Negro put in.

  ‘They’ll have a long wait,’ Dalkins snarled. ‘We’re going to Dutchy Haben’s spread instead of to Ickling’s. I don’t reckon they’ll be watching over him.’

  ‘What if they is watching over him?’ insisted the Negro.

  ‘Then we’ll make ’em wish they hadn’t been. You and Shadrack reckon to be the best shots, so you two stop hid out while the rest of us ride in. Then when them hooded bastards show, you throw lead into them.’

  None of the Negroes could offer a better piece of strategy than that presented by Dalkins. So they followed him without further question. Turning off to the left of the trail which led to the Ickling ranch, the party headed in the new directi
on, feeling certain that they had outsmarted the opposition.

  From his place behind and a quarter of a mile away, the Kid watched the change of route. While new to the territory, his study of the Wedge cowhands’ maps and early training in such matters told him that they were no longer heading for the Ickling place. However Dusty had made arrangements to cover such a contingency.

  Dropping from the saddle of his big white, and darting a glance at the two Wedge horses rein-tied to the horn, the Kid studied the surrounding area. Then he removed a small pile of dry twigs from his saddlebags and stepped clear of the horses. While they travelled through rolling, wood-dotted country, he did not aim to be caught without the means of starting the necessary fire. Swiftly he piled the twigs and gathered more kindling to offer the makings of a decent blaze.

  ‘Grandpappy Long Walker never had it this easy,’ he grinned to himself, rasping a match head against the seat of his pants and applying the resulting flame to the base of his dry twigs.

  When a small fire built up, the Kid collected a blanket which hung ready on the cantle of his saddle. Then he piled green leaves on the blaze and watched the pungent smoke roll upwards. Deftly covering the smoldering mass with the blanket, he prepared to send a warning to his friends.

  ~*~

  Holding their horses to a speed that the poor mounts of the State Police posse could not equal, Dusty’s party headed in the most direct line for the Ickling ranch. They had removed their hoods to avoid adding extra noticeability should anybody see them and each led two spare horses. All the time they rode, one of them watched their rear.

  ‘That danged war-whoop’s sending up smoke, Dusty,’ Johnny announced, turning to face the front again. ‘Two puffs. They’ve turned off the trail to the left.’

  ‘Where’ll that take ’em?’ Dusty asked, reining in his big paint.