The Floating Outift 36 Page 9

  ‘That went right by me,’ O’Day admitted.

  ‘Some of the tribes let the second, third and fourth braves to touch an enemy count lesser shares in the coup,’ Dusty elaborated.

  ‘They do say Osages let ’most anybody who wants to share the coup, whether they was around to touch the body or not,’ Waco grinned. ‘Could be they just don’t like Osages.’

  ‘The Comanches figure that they’ve got so many enemies, they don’t need to share coups,’ Dusty drawled. ‘All the other tribes called them the Tshaoh, the Enemy People and, most times, that’s what they used to be.’

  ‘You gentlemen appear to know a lot about Indians,’ O’Day praised.

  ‘All we know, Comanch’ taught us,’ Dusty answered. ‘His mother was the daughter of a Pehnane Comanche war lodge’s chief. Which’s just about as high as a man can get in the tribe.’

  ‘I thought your friend was a half—’ O’Day began, then, as frowns came to the Texans’ brows, revised his words. ‘Part Indian.’

  ‘He’s all white to us, mister!’ Waco growled.

  ‘No offence intended and I hope none’s been taken,’ O’Day apologized and, with the air of wanting to change the subject, continued, ‘Is a brave’s statement that he has counted coup always accepted?’

  ‘If there’s any doubt on it and he’s challenged, the band’s medicine man or woman can have him swear to it on the sacred sun oath,’ Dusty answered. ‘No Comanche will dare to lie after he’s taken it.’

  ‘Do their medicine people have that much of a hold on them?’

  ‘Their religion has, anyways. They take their beliefs a damned sight more serious than most white folks take God.’

  ‘But they must believe in magic if Simm— Giselle’s husband could take a hold of them with tricks.’

  ‘Only if it’s some kind of trick they’ve never seen and don’t know how to pull,’ Dusty corrected. ‘Their medicine men and women have been pulling things out of the air and the like since afore Columbus landed. No sir, don’t sell Simmy Lampart short. I didn’t see him do it, but that sawing-his-wife-in-half trick must’ve been something special to fool the Kweharehnuhs’ medicine woman.’

  Something had been said which Waco instinctively knew had significance beyond the general trend of the conversation. He scowled and tried to recall just what it had been. Before he could do so, an interruption came which drove it temporarily out of his thoughts.

  While the men had been talking, Giselle had allowed her mount to drink and had then led it away from the water. Emma was kneeling on the edge of the stream and bathing her face. Nobody was looking at the small brunette as she turned the animal’s head to the southeast and swung into the saddle. If she had given more thought to her actions, she might have met with greater success in her desertion. Instead of walking slowly away, she gave her mount’s ribs a sharp kick which made it grunt and bound forward.

  ‘What the—?’ Waco spat out, spinning around with hands fanning to the butts of his Army Colts.

  Also alerted by the sudden thunder of hooves, Dusty and O’Day turned with equal speed. They too sent their hands towards weapons. Crossing his body, Dusty’s palms enfolded the grips of his Peacemakers. All in a single, incredibly swift blur of movement, the matched Colts left their holsters and the hammers clicked to full cock. Although O’Day matched the small Texan’s speed in turning, his long barreled revolver had not cleared leather by the time Dusty was standing ready to shoot.

  Shuffling hurriedly on her knees, Emma clawed to free the Navy Colt from her waistband. Anger flickered across her face as she saw, not an attacking Kweharehnuh warrior, but Giselle Lampart galloping away as fast as the borrowed horse would carry her.

  ‘Stop the crazy bitch!’ Emma screeched, furious at the thought of Giselle—who was vital to her plans for enrichment—behaving in such a stupid manner.

  That proved to be a piece of needless advice. Waco reacted to the desertion without the need for prompting. Twirling the Colts on his trigger-fingers, he caused them to return to their holsters with the minimum of effort on his part. Then he caught hold of the tobiano’s saddlehorn and swung himself on to its back. Reaching forward, he jerked free and drew back the hackamore which was fixed to the bridle’s bosal.

  The horse Waco sat belonged to his work mount 21 when back at the ranch and it had been trained with careful patience. So it responded to his command of, ‘Back’, despite the lack of bit and reins to augment the single word. Instantly it started to retreat from the water’s edge; chin tucked in, neck well flexed, hind legs moving in long, confident strides and forefeet taking deliberate steps. Waco sat with relaxed, easy balance, his vertebrae perpendicular for greater control of his horse’s movements.

  Once clear of the water, the blond struck the tobiano’s near shoulder with his right spur. At the signal, its forelegs left the ground and it pivoted fast on its rear hooves. With its head pointing after the departing brunette, it was urged into motion. Like the tuivitsis earlier, the youngster built his mount’s pace up to a gallop in a very short time. Doing all he knew how to increase the speed, he guided it across the range.

  ‘Shall we go after them?’ O’Day asked, allowing his weapon to slide back into its holster.

  ‘Likely Brother Matt can handle it,’ Dusty answered and returned his guns to their holsters. ‘What the hell’s gotten into Giselle, Emma?’

  ‘She’s scared that the Indians will want her to be sawn in half when they come for their ammunition,’ the blonde guessed, glaring after the riders and stabbing the Navy Colt into her waistband. ‘With Simmy dead, there’ll be nobody who can handle the trick.’

  ‘You say that Si—her husband is dead?’ O’Day put in harshly.

  ‘He was shot by some of my people when they robbed him,’ Emma explained, using the excuse she had arranged to make on her arrival in Hell. ‘We’re just on our way back after hunting them down.’

  ‘Look there!’ Dusty gritted, pointing towards the wooded land which fringed much of the stream’s banks.

  Having no wish to let the conversation continue on the subject of Mayor Lampart’s death, the small Texan had been seeking a way to end it. Providence had presented him with the means to do so. Looking in the direction he was pointing, Emma and O’Day let out ejaculations of surprise and alarm. A stocky young Antelope brave stood on the edge of the trees, his repeater cradled on his left elbow and his whole attitude showing that he was watching the pursuit of Giselle.

  ‘Like I said,’ Dusty drawled. ‘Wolf Runner’s got us watched.’

  ‘How long as he been there?’ Emma breathed, hand creeping towards her revolver and voice showing tension.

  ‘All the time,’ Dusty answered.

  ‘What shall we do?’ O’Day demanded.

  ‘Nothing we can do, except wait for Brother Matt to fetch her back safe and sound.’

  ‘And if he doesn’t?’

  ‘Mister,’ Dusty said quietly, ‘if he doesn’t, we’re in with the water over the willows and a fast stream running.’

  ‘Huh?’ O’Day grunted.

  ‘It’s what trail drivers say when they’re in just about as bad trouble as they can find,’ Dusty explained.

  ‘You’ve been on trail drives then?’ O’Day asked.

  ‘Some,’ Dusty admitted, wondering if apprehension over their danger or some other reason had prompted the question. ‘You’ll likely see what I meant, happen Matt doesn’t bring her back.’

  ‘So will Comanche, even worse than we do,’ Emma put in bitterly. ‘That stupid, no-account little tail-peddler. She’s got cow-droppings for brains. Damn it all, without her—’

  The blonde stopped speaking, realizing that she had come close to saying too much about her plans and reasons for having persuaded Giselle to accompany her in the return to Hell.

  ‘She’s scared of something,’ Dusty answered. ‘Well, we’d best make out that we figure everything’s all right. Let’s take the horses back to the buffalo wallow and start making cam
p.’

  ‘Your brother hasn’t caught her yet,’ O’Day commented, peering across the range and laying emphasis on the second word. ‘But I’m sure he will. You are a remarkably competent family.’

  At first, Giselle maintained her lead on Waco. That did not surprise the youngster as he had already analyzed the situation and formed correct conclusions, based upon his practical knowledge of equestrian matters. Smaller and lighter than her pursuer, Giselle possessed no other advantages in her flight. She was neither such a good rider, nor so well mounted. Kept short of cash by a Congress more concerned with winning votes than expending the taxpayers’ money on defense projects, the United States’ Cavalry could not afford to purchase high quality mounts for its enlisted men. On the other hand, Waco sat a horse belonging to a ranch which selected only the best for its riders and insisted that the animals be kept in the peak of condition.

  So Waco realized that, barring accidents, it was inevitable he must overtake her.

  On they raced through the gathering twilight—not an ideal time to be riding at a gallop over unfamiliar terrain. For all that, the woman encouraged her mount to greater efforts with cries, jabbing heels and slapping reins. Apart from an occasional soft word of praise, Waco rode in silence and concentrated on what he was doing. Controlling his speeding tobiano’s natural inclination to increase its speed until it was rocketing along blindly, he watched Giselle for any hint that she had become aware of his presence to her rear.

  None came. What did show were growing symptoms that the brunette was rapidly losing control over her horse. By that stage of the flight, however, it was getting blown and its pace was starting to flag.

  Nearer thundered Waco, edging the tobiano to the brunette’s left. That had been done deliberately. It was unlikely that Giselle would show sufficient good sense to halt, so he intended to give her no choice in the matter. Having been trained in the typical white man’s fashion, the cavalry horse had always had its rider climb on or off at the near side. If it felt its burden leaving over the right flank, its reactions might be unpredictable and dangerous to her or Waco.

  Coming level with the woman, the youngster saw her head swing in his direction. Even as she opened her mouth to either speak or scream, at the same time attempting to rein her horse away, he leaned across and coiled his right arm about her waist. Giving her no time to resist, he cued the tobiano with knee pressure so that it veered away from the other animal. In her anxiety, Giselle had inadvertently helped Waco. The cavalry horse had shown little response to her manipulation of the reins, but it angled off slightly and furthered the blond’s efforts at removing her from the saddle.

  Giselle screeched, a mixture of fear and anger, as she felt herself being dragged sideways. Luckily for them both she had sufficient understanding of the position to kick her feet free from the stirrup irons—but she did not release her grasp on the reins.

  Alarmed by the unexpected disturbance of the weight on its saddle, the cavalry horse started to shy even farther to the right. Giselle’s rump and right leg slid across the seat until she was clear of it and hung suspended from Waco’s encircling arm. Fright more than sense caused her to release the reins, but they had already snatched the horse’s head around. Disrupted by the woman’s actions, its head drawn abruptly in a new direction, the animal lost its footing. It went down and rolled over. Fortunately, the tobiano had turned just far enough to the left and galloped by without adding to the cavalry horse’s troubles by trampling upon it.

  Using what guidance he could exert with the hackamore, 22 Waco set about bringing the tobiano to a halt. Still screeching, Giselle tried to reach his face with her fingernails. Spitting out a threat to drop her, he slackened his hold a little. That brought an end to her attempts to scratch her way free. Waco steered his horse in a wide curve which ate away its galloping momentum. On reaching a walking pace, he lowered the kicking, still protesting brunette to the ground. Then he rode to where her horse had regained its feet. Dropping from his saddle, he allowed the tobiano’s hackamore to dangle free and walked up to Giselle’s mount. Although badly shaken by the fall, heavily lathered and winded, it did not appear to be seriously injured.

  Pattering footfalls came to the youngster’s ears as he straightened up from examining the horse. Turning, he found a wild-faced Giselle bearing down furiously on him. Spitting out what he took to be obscenities in some foreign language, the brunette thrust her right hand into its jacket pocket. Seeing the Colt House Pistol emerging, he did not hesitate. For all that, she had moved with such speed that he was almost too late. Leaping towards the little woman, he watched the snub-nosed revolver come clear of the pocket and line in his direction. Its hammer went back under the pressure of her thumb, causing the trigger to click out its sheath to where her forefinger was waiting to press it.

  Around lashed Waco’s left hand. He struck Giselle’s extended right wrist and deflected the House Pistol’s muzzle. Flame spiked from the short tube and the bullet it propelled could not have missed the youngster by more than an inch. The narrow escape brought an instant reaction. Even before the incident, he had never liked Giselle’s ways or morals. So he was less inclined to take her sex into consideration than he would have been with most women. Letting out a low, savage hiss, he drove his right hand in a slap which sent her spinning around and away from him. Dropping the House Pistol, she tumbled face down and lay sobbing, with both hands clutching at her cheek.

  ‘Get up!’ Waco ordered, retrieving the House Pistol and tucking it into his Levi’s pocket.

  Something in the youngster’s tone caused Giselle to obey. Crawling to her feet, she turned a tear-stained face in what she hoped would be a pleading and pathetic manner to him.

  ‘D ... Don’t take me b ... back there!’ Giselle pleaded. ‘I ... I’ll share my money with you ... you.’

  ‘Like hell,’ Waco replied. ‘You start walking back where we come from. And, lady, if Lon gets killed through this, I’ll do just the same to you.’

  Chapter Nine – Mephisto’s Been Dead for Years

  ‘This’ll do us,’ Dusty Fog declared, drawing rein and nodding to where a spring bubbled up through the floor of the valley the party was crossing. ‘We’ll make camp while there’s still light to put on Scotch hobbles.’

  ‘You’re using them again?’ O’Day inquired. ‘They’re hell to take off.’

  ‘That’s why we’re doing it,’ Waco drawled, throwing a pointed glance at the sullen, drooping Giselle Lampart as she sat her horse at Emma Nene’s side.

  ‘She won’t run away again,’ the blonde promised grimly.

  ‘I thought you said we aren’t far from Hell,’ O’Day remarked as the Texans and women dismounted.

  ‘It’s maybe five miles from here,’ Dusty answered. ‘Happen you’re that way inclined, Break, you can ride on and find it.’

  ‘In the dark?’ the man queried, glancing significantly to where the sun was sinking below the western rim of the valley.

  ‘Should be able to hear what you can’t see, you go on a ways,’ Waco drawled. ‘Hell comes alive after dark and sounds like Trail Street in Mulrooney when the drives are in.’

  ‘Despite of which, you are staying here until morning,’ O’Day pointed out. ‘That means you have a very good reason, Ed.’

  ‘Good enough,’ Dusty confirmed as he loosened the girths and worked his saddle back and forwards to cool the horse’s back. ‘What with Simmy Lampart being dead, the ammunition supply destroyed and the Kweharehnuh acting sort of restless, there’ll be guards out around town. They’ll be jumpy and won’t shout, “Halt, who goes there, friend or foe?” until after they’ve thrown lead at whoever’s coming to make sure they can’t do anything but halt.’

  ‘Even if they can’t shoot good, they could get lucky,’ Waco supplemented, scowling at Giselle as if wishing that he could send her to try out the sentries’ skill or luck.

  It was sun-down on the day after Giselle’s attempted flight. Unencumbered by the wagon, Dusty
and his companions had been able to travel faster than on the escape from Hell. So his estimation of the distance separating them from their destination was fairly accurate.

  The day’s journey had passed uneventfully, yet not without anxieties for Dusty and Waco. There had been no sign of the Kweharehnuh scouting party who were holding the Ysabel Kid as a hostage against Giselle’s return to Hell. Shortly after the brunette had ridden away, a second wolf-scout had joined the first. They had talked, clearly discussing the situation, and the second tuivitsi had departed—presumably to take the news to Wolf Runner. Having waited until Waco returned with Giselle, the first wolf-scout had faded off. Since then, the small Texan and the young blond had been consumed with fears for the Kid’s safety.

  To take their thoughts from their amigo’s possible fate, Dusty and Waco had kept up a conversation with O’Day for much of the day’s journey. On their side, they had tried to discover more about the mysterious man who had been thrown into their lives. O’Day had answered asked—and unasked—questions frankly and cheerfully. From what he had told them, he qualified for entrance to Hell and he had cleared up the matter of Eastern manners and western appearance to their satisfaction. When Waco had pointed out that he could not have purchased such a well-designed gunbelt at short notice, O’Day had laughingly reminded them that it was possible to purchase such an item in the civilized and peaceful East, provided one knew where to look and what to ask for.

  For his part, O’Day had expressed a lively interest in all matters pertaining to the Comanches in general and Antelope band in particular. Although his questions had commenced on general topics, he had worked them around to the subject of the powers of the medicine men and women.

  He had also been eager to hear how Lampart had won—or tricked—his way into the Kweharehnuh’ confidence and had obtained permission to build Hell in their domain.

  Any details which the Texans had been unable to supply had come from Emma. It was the blonde who had told O’Day of another precaution Lampart had taken to protect his interests against the Indians. In addition to having convinced them that sudden death would come to any man who tried to steal his ammunition, or to molest legitimate visitors to the town, the mayor had had photographs taken of Ten Bears and the medicine woman. Believing that he had captured their souls, the spiritual and material heads of the band had been more amenable to his will and disinclined to make b trouble for him.