by J. T. Edson
The Home of Great Western Fiction!
Things looked bad for the KH. They were the only outfit in the Azul Rio basin that hadn’t joined Lanton’s cattle syndicate, and the ruthless boss of the S Star was bent on making things difficult for the rival spread. And Lanton wasn’t particular about how he achieved his ends.
The S Star hired killers were having things all their own way until three Texans rode into town. Their leader’s name was Dusty Fog ...
THE FLOATING OUTFIT 44: RIO GUNS
By J. T. Edson
First published by Brown Watson Publishers in 1968
Copyright © 1968, 2020 by J. T. Edson
First Digital Edition: February 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.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information or storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.
This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book
Series Editor: Ben Bridges
Text © Piccadilly Publishing
Published by Arrangement with the Author’s Agent.
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 Bob Molloy, My Oldest Fan
One – Azul Rio Town
Rene Hamilton looked through the window of the stage coach at the town of Azul Rio, New Mexico, and wrinkled her nose with distaste. The adobe and wood-built structures lining the street were not what she would call home. Until very recently home to her meant an oak paneled Tudor house in the hunting county of England’s Leicestershire. This town, even though it was, according to her friend and travelling companion, Gloria Knight, the county seat, did not impress her.
Still it was to be her home now. Her father was partner in a ranch in the Azul Rio basin. She was joining him after the death of her mother in England and was going to live out here. Gloria, sitting by her side, had met her in New York and traveled with her overland, first by train, then stagecoach.
They made a contrasting couple as they sat side by side on the hard and bumpy seat of the coach. Rene was a tall, willowy blonde, her hair taken back in severe style, her beautiful face pale and aloof. She was wearing a black riding habit which would have looked far more in place at a fox hunt meet in Leicestershire than out here on the wild plains of New Mexico.
If Rene did not look to belong out West, Gloria certainly did. She was a product of the range country and the Azul Rio basin was her home. Except for the last few years at school in Atlanta she’d been in the West all her life. She was not as tall as Rene, her red hair fluffy and loose. There was not the classic beauty of Rene about her face, but it was a warm, friendly and pretty face. Her rich, full curves strained against the old, tartan shirtwaist and brown Levis she wore. On her feet, the Levis cuffs hanging over them, were a pair of high-heeled, fancy stitched boots.
The coach came to a last jolting halt before the Wells Fargo office. The guard vaulted down and opened the door, holding out his hand to help Rene. Around the front of the office, awaiting the mail, was a crowd of local citizens. Gloria swung down smiling; these were all acquaintances and the women would want to discuss the latest fashions from the east with her.
Then the warm and welcoming smile died. The women looked at her, nodded greetings and turned away quickly. The crowd did not even wait for the mail but moved away.
‘What the hell?’ Gloria muttered half to herself. She could never break herself of the habit of talking to herself when she was worried.
Rene glanced at Gloria, a smile coming to her face. From the first they’d got on very well together. Gloria was different now she was in the West. In New York she’d been shy, quiet and indecisive, but once they’d reached Dodge City she became happy, confident and completely at home.
Looking around, Rene could not see anyone who might be her father; she’d not seen him since she was eight and wondered if he had changed.
‘Will papa send retainers to help us?’ she asked.
Gloria turned her attention back to her friend, smiling back even though she was worried by their reception. ‘Well I thought pappy and Uncle Mike might be here to meet us, or send some of the crew along. But don’t you go calling a cowhand a retainer, he just wouldn’t appreciate it.’
At that moment a tall, wide shouldered young man rode towards them, his big black horse moving easily under him. Gloria looked him over with interest for she was Texas born and Texas men always interested her. He was looking at them and making right for them.
The man was handsome, his face tanned, his black moustache trimmed just enough to be tidy without being too fussy. From the expensive black Stetson on his head, through his tidy looking range clothes, down to his boots with the Kelly spurs on the heels he was Texan. A cowhand who took good care of his clothes and bought good clothes in the first place. It was the mark of a top hand.
Gloria glanced at the clothes, then at the gunbelt around the man’s waist. It was a rig she’d heard about but never seen before. The holster hung on a longer flap than was usual, the walnut butted Colt Cavalry Peacemaker’s seven and a half inch barrel showing its foresight through the open bottom. The holster was cut so the trigger of the gun was left clear for a purpose. This was what was known as a half-breed rig, the user did not even draw his gun for the first shot, merely swiveled back the butt of the gun and fired while still in leather. It was a rig which was not much used, but if a man used it he was good.
The young man swung down from his horse, removed his hat and came up to the girls. ‘Would you be the ladies for the KH?’
‘Why sure,’ Gloria agreed.
She knew her guess was right. The man was Texas, yet his soft, even drawl was deeper south than the Lone Star State. One did not need a printed sign to know he’d learned his trade in Texas, not when he rode a double girthed saddle and his leatherwork was decorated with a star motif. Yet she was even more sure he was deeper south than that.
‘Your pappy sent me along to collect you. Ole Brazos was driving the buggy but one of the team threw a shoe and he’s stopped off at the blacksmith’s to get it fixed.’
‘Why didn’t pappy send along two of the old boys to fetch us?’ Gloria asked. Brazos was one of her old friends but she did not know this man. ‘You’re new around here, aren’t you?’
‘I’m not old around any place, ma’am.’ The young man’s eyes were on Rene as he replied. ‘The name’s Smith.’
‘Just Smith?’ Gloria inquired, amused by Rene trying to remain aloof and disinterested in the true British fashion.
‘Yes’m. How’d you guess?’
Gloria glanced at the man, he was smiling and she realized there was more to the words than first met the eye. ‘Guess what?’
‘That I’m Just Smith.’
‘You look like you might be Just Smith. Rene, this here’s Just Smith from Texas, although I’d bet it was lil old G’o’gia afore that.’
Rene looked at the young man for a moment, then held out her hand to
him as Gloria finished the introductions. The man was one of her father’s employees apparently, although his manner was not that of a hired hand. However, she knew conditions were different in America and she was willing to conform to the ways of the land. Gloria accepted the man so it must be all right to unbend. He certainly looked presentable enough and there was nothing but politeness in the way he shook hands with her.
‘You called it right, Miss Gloria,’ Just Smith went on to Gloria. Tm from Texas, but it was Georgia before that.’
Rene could see the young man was more interested in her than in Gloria and felt vaguely uneasy. Gloria was also uneasy but for a different reason. That name, Just Smith, it struck a chord somewhere but she could not just remember where she’d heard it before. She knew he was from the Deep South and not from a poor family either. There were many of these southern boys moved as a result of a shooting scrape too many and were now among the top names of the gunfighting fraternity. Glancing down Gloria saw the way his hand hung negligently near the butt of his gun. That was no pose taken for their benefit, he stood that way naturally. ‘Why didn’t pappy send along two of the old boys?’
‘Three years is a fair time. Most of them retired, there’s only Brazos left of the old crew.’
That figured when she came to think about. KH’s old hands would have become stove-up and too old for the hard, exacting work of cattle herding, and retired. If all the crew were of the same standard as Just Smith there would be no need to worry about the future of the ranch.
Just seemed anxious to change the subject. He glanced around, along the length of Azul Rio’s main street then turned to the girls again. ‘I reckon you could use a meal before we leave for the ranch.’
‘I certainly could,’ Rene spoke for the first time, as she too looked along the street. It appeared to be made up of businesses only, stores, a couple of saloons, the county offices and jail spreading on either side of the trail. Opposite the stage station was a white, adobe building with a wooden sign above the door, reading, ‘Henery’s Eating House and Bathrooms.’
‘Is there a restaurant in town?’
‘Henery’s place there,’ Just answered. ‘It might not look up to New York standards but the food’s good.’
Rene was not sure of the propriety of eating with a hired man but did not argue. The fresh air and the bumpy ride had given her an appetite far beyond any she could ever remember. If eating with Just Smith would get her a meal she did not mind. Somehow she guessed his social graces would not embarrass her, for like Gloria, she guessed his background was far more than a hired man.
‘Lead on, Mr. Smith,’ she said.
‘Why sure, ma’am. One thing though.’ Just watched the girl for any sign of disapproval, ready to stop if he saw it. ‘Out here if you call a man mister after you’ve been introduced it means you don’t like him. I’m Just to my friends.’
‘Very well then, Just. I’m Rene.’
Gloria watched the other two start off across the street, a smile playing on her lips. Rene was catching on fast and would make the grade out here. She followed them, glancing at the three horses which stood at the hitching rail. They were horses to catch the eye, a paint, a blood-bay and a white. Not one of them stood less than seventeen hands, each had a low horned, double cinched saddle, with a bedroll strapped to the cantle, a rope fastened to the horn and a Winchester in the saddle boot.
‘They’d make a real mount for a man,’ Just remarked, stopping to look the horses over. ‘I reckon I’d best tie this old hoss of mine away from them, that white looks mean enough to eat it.’
While Just was taking his horse further along the trail, the two girls studied this trio of magnificent animals. Rene was a fine horsewoman and could see the breeding in the horses. Gloria was looking as one who knew the west. She guessed the three horses belonged to Texas men but did not go around to look at the brands. Such curiosity was against Western ethics.
Just tied his horse then came back to the girls. He pushed open the batwing doors of the Eating House and allowed the girls to enter first. Gloria looked around the room, she’d been here many times before. It was not changed since her last visit, the same dozen or so tables, each with a clean cloth and four chairs. The same paintings on the walls and the same two doors at the right side of the room, marked ‘Gent’s’ and ‘Ladies Bathroom.’ Opposite the main doors, at the other end of the room was a door leading to the kitchen. Henery, the owner of the eating house, came through this as they entered.
Business was slack this morning, only two of the tables being occupied. At the far table, next to the kitchen door, sat two obvious dudes. At another, two Texans sat face-to-face with each other. They would be the owners of two of those horses out front. Then from the door marked ‘Gent’s Bathroom’ came the sound of a man singing ‘Barbara Allen’ in a pleasing tenor. The words of the song interspersed with splashes and gurgles. He would be the third Texas man.
Henery advanced towards the newcomers, his fat face beaming. Gloria smiled back. It was good to see an old friend again. He looked, as always, like a fat cherub, but Gloria knew he’d broken up three attempted hold-ups here. The last time he’d left two of the would-be robbers dead on the floor.
Henery came to a halt, then for an instant the smile died as he recognized Gloria. It came back again fast but she’d caught the worried glance he exchanged with Just Smith. There was something wrong, she could feel it in the air.
‘Why Miss Gloria, this is an unexpected surprise,’ Henery greeted, he bowed over her but did not appear to be completely at ease.
‘Howdy Henery, I’m pleased to be back. Meet my friend, Rene Hamilton. She’s come to stay.’
Once more Henery inclined his head. His bearing was more in keeping with the headwaiter of some fashionable cafe in the East. He looked at the blonde girl, then at Gloria, and once more that worried expression flitted across his face.
Rene was satisfied with the cleanliness of the place and looked for a menu on the table. The problem of ordering was taken out of her hands by Gloria who spoke with the air of one who knew the menu off by heart.
‘We’ll take son-of-a-gun stew followed by black-in-a-blanket, then coffee. Three times.’
Henery turned and departed without another word and Rene looked at the two smiling faces facing her. ‘Whatever is that you ordered?’
It was Just who explained. ‘Son-of-a-gun stew’s made from the choice pieces of calf. Cook throws all he’s got on hand into the pot with them and boils the lot until you can’t tell what anything is. The other is a dessert made out of dough and currants.’
Gloria sat back listening to Just as he went on to tell Rene about Western food. Her attention went to the two young Texas men sitting two tables away, finishing their meal. The one with his back to her was very tall; even seated she could tell that. His hair was a rich, golden blond and curly. His shoulders were wide, straining the expensive tan shirt which was obviously tailored for him. He tapered down from the great spread of shoulders to a slim waist and brown Levis trousers. Around his throat was knotted a tight rolled scarlet silk bandanna and about his waist a wide, hand-carved buscadero gunbelt. It was a gunfighter’s belt, the ivory butted Colt Cavalry Peacemakers showing their trigger guards from the cutaway lips of the holsters.
The second man, facing Gloria, was smaller, not more than five foot six at most. Like his friend, his expensive JB Stetson hat hung on the back of his chair, low crowned, wide brimmed and Texas style. His hair was a dusty blond color, curly and looking as if it had just been washed. His face was young looking and handsome at first glance. Gloria gave it only a glance for alongside the other man he was insignificant and would hardly be noticeable. Yet for all of that, had Gloria looked closer, she would have seen it was a strong, intelligent and powerful face. The grey eyes flickered at Gloria, meeting hers for a moment, then returned to his friend once more. She glanced at the tight rolled blue bandanna round his neck and the dark blue shirt. He did not appear to be the ki
nd who would own such a fine horse as any of that trio out there.
Henery returned with a tray, balancing it with a casual grace and ease which told of long practice. He set out the food before the girls and Just laid out the knives and forks, then withdrew once more. In the bathroom the singer changed to another song and the splashes ended. Rene looked down at the well filled plate and took up her knife and fork. Before she realized what she was doing she’d eaten all the stew and looked up at the smiling faces of her friends.
The ride must have given me an appetite,’ she remarked, looking at her empty plate.
The dessert followed and Rene ate with a will. The ride in the stage was enough to give anyone an appetite. Then with the coffee on the table she saw Just Smith sitting back in his chair and said, ‘You may smoke if you wish, Just.’
Taking out his makings Just rolled a smoke with deft fingers. Gloria decided now would be as good a time as any to get to know what was happening here in Azul Rio. The welcome at the stage station and Henery’s worry were enough to tell her all was not well.
‘Have you worked for the KH long, Just?’ she asked.
‘Three months or so now. Came in for the spring roundup and stayed on after it was over.’
‘What kind of work do you do, Just?’ Rene put in before Gloria could frame her next question.
‘Ride herd, anything that comes up. I could show you a lot easier than tell about it. When we get out to KH I’ll take you out and show you, if you would like that.’
‘I certainly would.’ There was eagerness in Rene’s voice which brought a smile to Gloria’s lips. It was good to see her relax and unbend; she would get on all right out West now.
The doors of the Eating House swung open and a small, dirty and ragged Mexican boy entered. He stood hesitantly at the door for a moment, then crossed the room. Hat in hand he stood before the table looking from one to the other, finally he bowed to the table in general and spoke in a rapid flow of Spanish. Gloria listened, finding her Spanish still as good as ever. The smile died from her lips as the little boy spoke, she sat erect and her eyes went to Just Smith.