The Floating Outfit 42: Buffalo Are Coming! Read online

  ‘It will be satisfying, I’ll admit,’ Roddy conceded, breaking into Johnson’s train of thought. However, contemplating the fate awaiting the men hired to drive the herd, another point occurred to him. ‘But what about those other two peckerwood bastards who were brought into it?’

  ‘Hell, yes!’ Morrell ejaculated. ‘Once they start telling people about us having the bison moved, somebody is sure to guess the rest of it when news of the prophesy begins to get out.’

  ‘Captain Fog gave his word that they wouldn’t talk about it,’ the New Englander pointed out.

  ‘And, of course,’ Morrell sneered, ‘you believe he’ll keep it!’

  ‘I do,’ Johnson replied definitely, satisfied the scheme would be too far advanced to be stopped by the time Dusty Fog realized what was happening.

  ‘Well, I don’t,’ Roddy declared and, after the other young Easterner had muttered concurrence, went on, ‘Nor am I willing to jeopardize what we’re doing by giving them a chance to expose us.’

  ‘And what do you intend to do about it?’ the New Englander challenged.

  ‘They can’t talk if they’re dead,’ the fair haired Easterner said cryptically.

  ‘So you aim to kill them?’ Johnson suggested, his tone derisive.

  ‘Not personally,’ Roddy admitted. ‘But finding somebody who’ll be willing to do it for money will be easy in a town like this.’

  ‘Why not go and look for a feller from a circus who’ll have his pet elephant stamp them to death?’ the New Englander growled. ‘Because you’ve as much chance of doing it as you have of finding anybody out there who’ll be willing to even think of going after Dusty Fog and the Ysabel Kid the way you want.’

  Four – Somebody’s Shot Lon!

  ‘I tell you, Doc,’ said the blond youngster, whose only known name was Waco, interrupting the story being told by the Ysabel Kid while strolling along the adequately illuminated sidewalk towards the brightly lit front of the Fair Lady Saloon. They were accompanied by the exceptionally handsome blond giant, Mark Counter, and a friend belonging to the Wedge trail crew. Having been attending to the well being of their horses, they were on their way to join Freddie Woods and Dusty Fog for supper and an evening’s entertainment. ‘When those greasers around the cockpit got a look at that runty ’n’ scrawny lil ole barnyard rooster’s Lon dumped out of his sack, you was like’ to’ve heard ’em laughing all the way to the Kansas line, did the wind be blowing right. Which they laughed even louder when one of ’em put in what he claimed to be the champion fighting cock of the whole world, including Texas.’

  ‘Well now, boy, I can’t gainsay’s they was laughing more than a mite,’ conceded the Indian-dark and black clad Texan, with the air of one who considered an injustice was being done and must be put to rights. ‘But you can’t gainsay neither’s how good ole Tornado didn’t right soon show ’em what he was made of.’

  ‘Was I a gambling man, which nobody’s ever known me to be,’ Marvin Eldridge ‘Doc’ Leroy claimed, his voice redolent of suspicion as he looked from the Kid to Waco and back. ‘I’d just bet you’re going to tell me’s how your bird whipped every god-damned feather off the champion.’

  About the same height and build as the Kid, with an equal suggestion of being far from puny, the clothing worn by the speaker was also that of a working cowhand from Texas. Except when a situation required such an attitude, his good looking features implied a much more studious and serious nature than was the case. Although they were pallid, this was due to his skin having a resistance to becoming tanned rather than through leading a sedentary life which kept him indoors most of the time. His hair was black, as was his neatly trimmed moustache. To allow unimpeded access to the ivory butt of the Colt Civilian Model Peacemaker revolver in the fast draw holster of his well designed gunbelt, the right side of the loose fitting jacket he had on was stitched back. In his left hand was the kind of small black leather bag in which medical practitioners carried their instruments and other items needed in their professional capacity when away from the surgery.

  Having spent considerably longer than he had intended discussing a newly developed medical technique with the well informed local doctor, after assisting in a difficult delivery of a baby, the Wedge trail hand had gone to a livery stable where many of the visiting Texans left their horses. On his arrival, he discovered that the other members of his crew had already finished their chores and departed. Therefore, his medical activities of the afternoon having caused him to miss seeing them at the Fair Lady Saloon, he had been delighted to find the three members of the OD Connected ranch’s already almost legendary floating outfit on the premises. Not only were Mark and the Kid friends of long standing, having served as peace officers with him early in their acquaintance, but learning they had many interests in common, he had come to enjoy Waco’s company just as much.

  With their respective tasks completed, impelled by the loyalty and pride which the majority of Texas’ cowhands felt towards their employers, Doc had announced that the Wedge crew had already been hired to handle another trail drive. Asked by the blond youngster who ‘on God’s good earth would be danged fool enough to take on such a no-account bunch’, he had countered by pointing out he said it was the Wedge and not the OD Connected selected for the chore. When Mark had inquired where they would be going, knowing the question did not spring from a desire to obtain information which might be used in an attempt to cut them out, he had had to admit Stone Hart had neither disclosed their destination nor even who had hired them.

  Despite having guessed there was a connection between the hiring of the Wedge and the conversation with the three Easterners in which he and Dusty had been called to participate on entering the Fair Lady Saloon, the Kid had kept the thought to himself. From the looks they had directed his way, he surmised that the blond giant and Waco suspected the two events were related in some way. However, as the small Texan had explained why he and the Kid were not at liberty to divulge what had taken place when asked to join the trail boss, neither had attempted to satisfy his curiosity by asking further questions.

  Leaving the livery stable and making a leisurely way through the busy main business section of the town towards the Fair Lady Saloon, the four friends had talked about some of the things they had done since last being in each other’s company. When the Kid had started to describe how he had become involved in a cockfight held at a small town near the Rio Grande, Waco could not resist the temptation to intervene.

  With their destination coming into view on the opposite side of the street, the Wedge trail hand had injected his comment. Knowing the black dressed Texan, he was convinced the explanation would be far from ordinary and well worth hearing.

  ‘Well, no,’ the Kid confessed, after a dramatic momentary pause. His manner implied a somewhat defensive defiance as he continued, ‘Being raised allus to speak up truthful’ true, I don’t reckon’s how I can rightly come straight on out and say’s ole Tornado won.’

  ‘He for certain sure didn’t win,’ Waco confirmed.

  ‘Maybe he didn’t, but he didn’t lose neither,’ the Indian-dark Texan countered and, although he refrained from adding the words, ‘so there’, audibly, they were suggested by his manner.

  ‘I don’t want to sound all nosey like,’ Doc asserted, genuinely interested in getting to the bottom of the mystery. ‘But, seeing’s how he didn’t win and he didn’t lose neither, would I be wrong in saying they must’ve gone to a draw and stand off?’

  ‘Well, no, not exactly,’ the blond youngster answered. ‘Comes down to being pushed to a real sharp point, I wouldn’t want to go so far’s to say it went to a draw ’n’ standoff neither.’

  ‘I’ll be switched if this hasn’t got me kissed off against the cushion!’ the Wedge hand declared, swinging a gaze filled with puzzlement from Waco to the Kid and back before turning to Mark for enlightenment. ‘If that bird’s I’m starting to wish I’d never heard about didn’t win, lose, or draw, what the Sam Hill did he do?
’

  ‘Don’t look at me,’ the blond giant requested, his deep voice having the timbre indicative of a good education. ‘I know this pair a whole heap too well to’ve gotten mixed up in their fool doings, so I stayed well clear of them.’

  ‘There’s some, ’specially me, who’d say you showed real good sense!’ Doc claimed and once more studied the black clad Texan and youngster. ‘I just know I’m going to hate myself for asking, but maybe one of you pair would like to tell me about it?’

  ‘Why I’d count it a honor ’n’ privilege to do just that,’ the Kid obliged. ‘Ole Tornado’s one mighty smart bird, as birds go. Which, he took one look at them sharp ’n’ long steel spikes’s was fastened to the champion fighting cock’s legs and he lit a shuck out of there like the Devil chased by holy water.’

  ‘You mean he just up and ran away?’ Doc asked, although certain there was much more to the story than that.

  ‘He did not just “up and run away”!’ the Kid denied indignantly.

  ‘It surely sounds to me that he didn’t do nothing else but up and run away,’ the Wedge hand insisted. ‘But, knowing you, I don’t reckon it’ll be any place in a long country mile of that simple.’

  ‘It for surely wasn't that simple,’ the Indian dark Texan claimed. ‘Like I said, ole Tornado’s a right smart bird, as birds go. So, same’s I told all them greasers when they started reckoning’s how he’d turned tail ’n’ run, soon’s he saw he was being put up against a world champion fighting cock’s’d been given the edge by toting a couple of knives, he concluded to head for home and fetch some for hisself.’

  ‘Like you said!’ Doc growled, his voice redolent of disgust, although he was needing all his considerable skill as a poker player to prevent the amusement he was feeling from showing. ‘Ole Tornado’s a right smart bird, as birds go. Which, the further he goes and sooner, the better place the world’ll be—and he should take you pair of knob-heads with him.’

  ‘That wasn’t nicer Waco claimed in an aggrieved tone. ‘But, was we to tell him’s he’s uncouth, I’m willing to bet he’d say he’s just as couth as we are, or maybe even couther.’

  ‘Whee dogie!’ the Wedge trail hand ejaculated, staring with what might have been admiration at the younger blond. ‘Where did you learn five-dollars-a-throw words like “uncouth”, “couth” and “couther”?’

  ‘Miz Freddie told me’s I was uncouth one time,’ Waco replied. ‘And, way she looked at me when she said it, being real fast ’bout things like that, comes four-five days’d gone by, I got around to figuring maybe it wasn’t what some folks’s call ni—!’

  The flow of levity was brought to an abrupt close!

  A rifle cracked from the mouth of an alley separating the Fair Lady Saloon from its neighbor on the left!

  Muzzle flash glowed red, pointing in the direction of the five Texans!

  About to step from the sidewalk to cross the street, as the black hat was torn from it by a bullet, the Kid’s head was jerked sideways!

  Even though this was long before an age when a certain very vocal political philosophy would seek to elevate homosexuality to being the most praiseworthy of human attributes, the attractive little blonde entering the elegant sitting-room on the second floor of the Fair Lady Saloon found nothing surprising or even to be objected to in the sight of Mulrooney’s mayor and most respected citizen being engaged in a passionate embrace with the segundo and trail boss of one of the largest ranches in Texas.

  Having come from England with ‘Freddie Woods’—the summer name selected by the Right Honorable Winifred Amelia Besgrove-Woodstole when electing to make her new home in the United States of America— Barbara ‘Babsy’ Smith knew and fully approved of her close relationship with Dusty Fog.

  The sale of the OD Connected ranch’s herd had been concluded without difficulty, in spite of the Wedge having reached Mulrooney first, before the visit paid by the small Texan and his three amigos to the Fair Lady Saloon that afternoon. Nevertheless, there had been other matters demanding Dusty’s attention. In addition to having paid off the cowhands who had been his trail crew, he had had to make courtesy calls upon Town Marshal Kail Beauregard—who had succeeded him in that official capacity—and various other civic dignitaries with whom he had become acquainted and on good terms with during the hectic days when he and his companions of Ole Devil Hardin’s floating outfit were responsible for enforcing the law in the town. With so many urgent matters demanding his attention he had, for once, accepted an offer from Waco to attend to the big paint stallion which was his favorite horse, instead of attending to him personally. Under normal circumstances, he would not have allowed any other person to take care of an animal he had selected to be in his working mount.

  With his various affairs brought to a satisfactory conclusion shortly after sun-down, the small Texan had been at liberty to turn his attention to personal matters!

  On his return to the saloon, Dusty was carrying his low horned and double girthed Texas-style saddle. Despite the apparent ease with which he was handling it, even discounting those items of his property attached to it, this was a considerable weight. A thirty foot long rope, of three strand Manila fibre laid extra hard for strength and smoothness, was coiled and strapped to the horn. In the boot at the left side of the skirts, butt pointing to the rear for a rapid removal when dismounting, was a Winchester Model of 1873 carbine. Fastened to the cantle was his bed roll and war bag wrapped in a sheet of waterproof tarpaulin.

  Despite custom having greatly increased while he was away, Freddie had accompanied the small Texan to her private accommodation on the second floor. While crossing to the stairs, he had looked without success for Stone Hart. Although the trail boss of the Wedge had not been on the premises, the three Easterners with whom they had talked were seated at a table by the left side front window. However, apart from Walter Johnson having nodded a greeting upon seeing him glancing in their direction, they had given no indication of being aware of his presence. This had not worried him. Having developed a dislike for Kevin Roddy and Francis Morrell, he had felt disinclined to attempt to renew their brief acquaintance and considered the sentiment to be mutual.

  Entering the suite reserved for the owner’s personal use, the small Texan had placed his property in the wardrobe of the bedroom. Freddie and he had become very close during the early days of Mulrooney’s existence as a trail end town and the relationship had grown warmer with each subsequent visit. Therefore, he was now accorded a privilege of being accommodated in her living quarters.

  After having participated in the British tradition of ‘tea’, albeit at a slightly later hour than usual, Dusty and the beautiful black haired Englishwoman remained in the sitting-room instead of going downstairs. They had talked of their various activities since last meeting. Then the conversation had turned to the future. Without having reached any decisions upon the subject uppermost in both their thoughts, they had become more romantically inclined.

  The arrival of Babsy Buckingham had interrupted the interlude!

  ‘Yes, Babsy,’ Freddie greeted, extracting herself from the arms of the small Texan without any hurry or evidence of wishing to avoid being seen in such a fashion. ‘Is anything wrong?’

  ‘Not a thing, Miss Freddie,’ replied the curvaceously, close to buxom and vivacious young woman, her accent being that of one who had by tradition been born within hearing distance of Bow Bells in London. She wore the attire of a saloon girl. However, despite being a talented singer and entertainer, she was content to serve in the capacity of lady’s maid for the black haired beauty. ‘Only Cookie wants to know when the boys’ll be getting here. She says supper’ll soon be ready and, knowing her, she’ll be proper narked if it gets spoiled because they’re late.’

  ‘I’ll go take a look out of the window to find out if they’re coming yet,’ Dusty offered. ‘I don’t have any notion what that “proper narked” might be, ’cepting I’ve a sneaking notion it doesn’t mean Cookie’ll be all pleasured up s
hould her meal get spoiled. So, if they’re not in sight, I’ll drift on over to the livery stable and chase them along on the run.’

  Starting to cross the luxuriously and tastefully fitted sitting-room, hand in hand with Freddie, the small Texan glanced at the glass fronted cabinet on the right side of the French windows. To anybody less familiar with her, it might have appeared an unusual item of furniture for her to own. It held a brace of magnificent Purdey shotguns, a heavy caliber British made Holland & Holland double barreled rifle, three Winchesters, two ivory handled Colt Civilian Model Peacemakers and boxes of ammunition for them. He knew that, although the Winchesters were not kept loaded—as to have done so continuously would have ruined the magazine springs—the shotguns, rifle and revolvers were in case of an emergency. He was also aware that she could use each type of firearm with considerable accuracy should the need arise.

  Liberating his hand from the gentle grasp of the Englishwoman, Dusty drew apart the drapes which covered the glass paneled windows. Despite there being a verandah with a wooden guard rail outside, the opposite sidewalk and buildings were in view. Sufficient light was coming from those business premises which were open for them to be able to see that the men they were looking for were approaching.

  ‘Just look at them,’ Freddie remarked. ‘Sauntering along as if they had all the time in the world.’

  ‘Why sure,’ the small Texan agreed, identifying the fourth member of the party. ‘What’ll you bet that they don’t blame Doc for delaying them, should we tell them they’re late?’