The Floating Outfit 51

by J. T. Edson

  The Home of Great Western Fiction!

  ‘Ole Devil’ Hardin might be stuck in a wheelchair after being crippled in a riding accident, but that wasn’t going to stop him from being a major force in Texas. And to help him, he had his ‘hands and feet’—five of his floating outfit, the elite of an excellent crew. Fast with their guns, possessing special skills to help with any situation, they were a force to be reckoned with.

  One of the five looked so insignificant that people wondered why he belonged to the elite five—but when the chips were down and danger threatened, they soon found out.

  Trail boss, town taming lawman, cowhand second to none, his name was … Dusty Fog!

  OLE DEVIL’S HANDS AND FEET

  THE FLOATING OUTFIT 51

  By J. T. Edson

  First published by Corgi Books in 1983

  Copyright © 1983, 2020 by J. T. Edson

  Published by Arrangement with the Author’s Agent

  This electronic edition published September 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.

  You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by means (electronic, digital, optical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book / Text © Piccadilly Publishing

  Visit www.piccadillypublishing.org to read more about our books

  Series Editor: Ben Bridges

  .

  Publisher’s Note:

  Dear Reader,

  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 Chris & Stewart Molloy, of the Sussex Punch, Milton Keynes, in spite of their Carvery having played havoc with my waist-line.

  Author’s Note

  We realize that, in our present ‘permissive’ society, we could include the actual profanities used by various people who appear herein. However, we do not concede that a spurious pretense at creating ‘realism’ is a valid reason to do so.

  As we do not conform to the current ‘trendy’ pandering to exponents of the metric system, we will continue to employ pounds, ounces, miles, yards, feet and inches where weights and distances are concerned unless we are referring to the calibers of such firearms as are already gauged in millimeters instead of fractions of an inch.

  Part One, ‘Small Man From Polveroso City, Texas’, appeared in the first issue of the regrettably short lived British WESTERN Magazine. We are grateful to the publishers for allowing it to be included in this volume for the benefit of those readers who have not yet seen it.

  One version of Part Two, ‘The Invisible Winchester’ was included in the first Wagon Wheel Western edition of SAGEBRUSH SLEUTH, but was subsequently deleted.

  However, we have been informed by Alvin Dustine ‘Cap’ Fog that the source from which we produced this story was incorrect in some details. With his kind permission, we are now reissuing it with the appropriate amendments.

  J.T. EDSON

  Part One – Small Man From Polveroso City, Texas

  What do you make of that, honey-bunch?’ Margo Defayne inquired, frowning in puzzlement. ‘They’re taking the westbound train.’

  ‘They must have a buyer out West,’ Frederick ‘Honest Fred’ Defayne replied. Then, seeing two men at the other end of the platform approaching the people to whom his wife had referred, he went on. ‘Only they might not get a chance to deliver. Could be this’s the end of the line for the Duke and Duchess.’

  ‘It’s what they deserve if it is, the “mother-something” Limey bastards!’ asserted the buxom red head, her pretty—if too heavily made up—face and tone registering satisfaction mingled with righteous indignation. ‘Cutting the ground from under our feet like they did with the Zebra!’

  Although the couple’s accent was indicative of a less than affluent, and poorly educated upbringing in New England, their appearances implied they had now considerably improved their circumstances. However, as far as their choice of attire was concerned, coming into the possession of increased wealth had not been accompanied by the development of what was accepted as good taste. They were dressed after the fashion much favored by some members of the theatrical profession, albeit not those belonging to the higher echelons of the ‘legitimate’ stage. Their clothes were rather more in the style of the kind who provided suitably gamey and unrefined entertainment in better class saloons, dance halls and beer gardens on both sides of the Mississippi River.

  Of medium height and in her mid-thirties, Margo had on a purple dress which clashed with her fiery hair, but emphasized her Junoesque proportions, a feather boa and a large hat profusely decorated by artificial flowers. A few years older and bulky in build, her husband was clad in a pearl-gray derby hat, a loud check suit, a salmon pink shirt with an attachable white celluloid collar, a necktie of a hue which made the rest of his attire seem almost drab, and Hersome gaiter boots. Despite a heavy black moustache, his ruddy features suggested a jovial bonhomie. The expression was very much a part of his stock in trade, as was his wife’s generally amiable expression, when they were engaged upon the various forms of illegal enterprises which formed their livelihood.

  As was implied by the titles and derogatory comment uttered by the Defaynes with regards to their birthright the man and woman being discussed were British and, apparently, of a higher social status than the couple from New England. Also in their mid-thirties, exuding an aura of gentility, both were tall, slender, and “by far the most elegantly clad of the people awaiting the arrival of the west-bound train at the railroad depot in Kansas City, Kansas.

  Blonde, beautiful, if of an imperious demeanor, Sarah ‘Duchess’ Grimston wore a well tailored black two-piece traveling costume, a plain white silk blouse and a Wavelean hat. While simple in line, to eyes which could read the signs, the garments were made of expensive materials and her hands were concealed in a muff made from the skin of a sea otter. Also light haired and conveying a suggestion of aristocratic origins which accounted for their sobriquets, her husband, Albert ‘Duke’, was dressed in a deerstalker hat, a tweed Norfolk jacket, corduroy trousers, calf high brown leather gaiters and untanned walking boots. He was carrying a brown leather portmanteau in his left hand and his right grasped a stout walking stick. As they were not accompanied by a porter, the former was apparently their only baggage.

  Their appearance of gentility and elegance notwithstanding, the Grimstons were in much the same line of illicit business as the Defaynes. In fact, they had come to Kansas City with what had proved to be the same purpose in mind. However, judging from what the thwarted American couple could see, it seemed the English pair might have cause to regret the hitherto successful outcome of their illegal activities on the previous evening.

  Defayne’s remark about the possible fate of the Grimstons had been provoked by his identification of the two men, closely followed by a large somberly dressed woman, who were walking purposefully towards them. The
pair were detectives of the Kansas City Police Department. Despite his frequent disparaging comments regarding the intelligence of peace officers west of the Mississippi River, Honest Fred was willing to admit—albeit grudgingly—that they were as competent in their duties as any he had met in the East. Their presence at the railroad depot, accompanied by a woman he recognized as one of the matrons who dealt with female prisoners, had caused him to arrive at his conclusion. Out of consideration for his intentions where the English couple were concerned, he was waiting with mixed emotions to see what happened.

  If the Grimstons were aware of the approaching trio’s official status, they showed no sign of being alarmed by it. For all that, the watching New Englanders suspected they might be equally well informed about the advancing threat. Either the sight of the detectives, or something else, caused Sarah to be so preoccupied she bumped into a passenger who was standing alone on the platform. Muttering what was probably an apology, she returned her right hand to the muff from which it had apparently been jolted by the impact. Having done so, she continued to walk with her husband until they were halted by the detectives. There was an overt display of badges of office and a brief conversation the Defaynes were too far away to hear, but could guess at what was being said. Then, having made what was clearly a protest and an explanation that they were meaning to leave on the west-bound train, the Britishers allowed themselves to be escorted to the building from which the peace officers had emerged.

  ‘What do you reckon, honey-bunch?’ Margo asked, after the party had disappeared.

  ‘They don’t have it with ’em,’ Defayne assessed.

  ‘It looked that way,’ the red head admitted. ‘Or it could be they’ve got it so well hidden they’re sure it won’t be found.’

  ‘If it isn’t found, they’re going to wish they hadn’t cut in on our game!’ Defayne growled, then shrugged. ‘Anyways, there’s nothing we can do except wait and see what happens.’

  Neither Margo nor Defayne had paid the slightest attention to the man with whom Sarah Grimston had collided. Apart from their desire to discover what fate had in store for the British couple, their disinterest where he was concerned was understandable. Despite the manner in which he was dressed, if it had not been for his momentary contact with the Duchess, they would not have thought him worth more than a cursory glance. From their point of view, nothing about him suggested he might prove a suitable candidate for their predatory intentions.

  Not more than five foot six in height, giving the impression of being, at most, in his early twenties, the man’s tanned features were no more than moderately handsome and far from eye-catching. A low crowned, wide brimmed, black J.B. Stetson hat was tilted back to display recently cut dusty blond hair. Knotted about his throat, the ends of a tightly rolled scarlet silk bandanna trailed down the front of an open necked dark green shirt. Older than the rest of his attire, the brown jacket he had on was somewhat baggy. Hanging outside a pair of high heeled, sharp toed tan colored boots, more suitable for riding than walking, the legs of his new Levi’s pants were turned up to form cuffs almost three inches in depth. With the exception of the hat and boots, his garments looked to have been purchased recently. For all that, he contrived to give them the appearance of being somebody else’s castoffs. In his right hand, he held a small and battered portmanteau. However, although a person clad in such a fashion depicted in the periodicals of the day would have been illustrated sporting a gunbelt with one, or two, revolvers in open topped holsters, he had no such gunbelt and gave no other indication of being armed.

  Such attire was common enough around those towns further west in Kansas which served as shipping points on the railroad for the numerous herds of half wild longhorn cattle driven north from Texas. It was, in fact, practically, de rigueur for the cowhands who brought them. However, Kansas City was now only rarely visited by members of that hard-riding, hard-working, hard-drinking and hard-playing fraternity. Yet, for all the notoriety they had acquired as a result of the many lurid stories about their wild behavior when paid off at the end of a trail drive, this particular denizen of the Lone Star State was of such a diminutive and insignificant appearance, he went practically unnoticed by most of the people around him.

  Most, but not all!

  Three men standing just beyond the entrance to the platform were studying the small Texan with considerable interest. All were clad in the kind of suits, shirts, neckties and footwear worn by clerks, bank tellers, or office workers of other kinds. Tall, slim, good looking in a sullen fashion, two had a very strong family resemblance. Unlike their companion, who was several years older and wore a derby hat, they wore tan Stetsons with ‘Montana peak’ crowns.

  ‘Are you sure that’s him?’ demanded Rudolph Chufnell, looking past his slightly younger brother at the third member of their party.

  ‘He’s the only beef-head who’s been to see Greenslade in weeks,’ Bertram Sutcliffe replied irritably, using the derogatory term for a Texan and having the kind of nature which resented any suggestion that his judgment could be in doubt. ‘And the old bastard had him in the private office as soon’s the letter he’d brought was taken in.’

  ‘But we were told that Dusty Fog himself had been asked to fetch the documents!’ Aaron Chufnell protested, his Mid-West tones expressing an equal irascibility. ‘Didn’t you hear his name?’

  ‘He never gave it,’ Sutcliffe answered sullenly, yet a trifle defensively. ‘All he did was give old Ramsgate the letter and said to tell Counselor Greenslade’s he comes from Polveroso City, Texas. But it was enough to get him fetched in straight away, so maybe he’s Dusty Fog.’

  ‘Him?’ Rudolph challenged derisively, jerking a thumb with obvious contempt in the direction of the man they were discussing. ‘Just take a look at him, god damn it!’

  ‘Yes!’ Aaron supported. ‘Even if only part of the things you hear about Dusty Fog are true, could a short-grown son of a bitch like that be him.’

  ‘You have heard about him, haven’t you?’ Rudolph inquired, his manner suspicious.

  ‘I’ve heard about him!’ Sutcliffe confirmed with a scowl, despite silently conceding there was considerable merit in the point made by the younger of the twins. Instead of mentioning that he had been puzzled in a similar fashion, on seeing how quickly his employer received the visitor, he continued, ‘So Fog couldn’t come himself for some reason or another and he’s sent somebody else!’

  ‘If he couldn’t have come himself, he’d have sent either Mark Counter, the Ysabel Kid, or at least that youngster they call “Waco”,’ Aaron countered, being determined to get full value for the money paid to their companion. ‘And, going by everything I’ve heard, that runt couldn’t be any one of them, any more than he’s Dusty Fog!’ There was good reason for the brothers to reject the suggestion made by Sutcliffe!

  Neither Rudolph nor Aaron had ever done anything to help their recently dead Uncle Cyrus, or even shown the slightest interest in his affairs while he was alive, but they had had high hopes of inheriting the fortune he had amassed. Much to their consternation, as they had believed they were his only kin, they discovered there might be somebody with a better claim to the old man’s wealth. Shortly before he had died, having felt remorse over the daughter he had disowned because she married against his wishes, he had sought to rectify the situation. She was already dead, but he had hired the Pinkerton National Detective Agency to locate her only daughter. Showing their usual efficiency, the ‘Pink-Eyes’ had done so and, as instructed, proof of her identity had been forwarded to Lawyer Horatio Greenslade in Kansas City.

  Being in need of money, the brothers had been disinclined to just stand back and watch the fortune slip through their grasp. They had found a willing ally in Wilfred Stiggins, a book-keeper in their uncle’s company who had need to cover his peculations. It was he who had learned that, under the terms of the will, there was a deadline set for the production of documents verifying the bona fides of the other claimant. Having had illicit deali
ngs with Sutcliffe in the past, Stiggins had also suggested the means by which the presentation of the proof might be prevented. On being contacted, never averse to turning a dishonest dollar, the lawyer’s clerk had stated his willingness to help provided the price for his services met with his approval.

  The plan, proposed by Sutcliffe on the arrival of the brothers in Kansas City, had appeared so simple they felt it hardly justified the far from inconsiderable amount he demanded as payment. He had claimed the documents would either be sent by mail, or delivered by hand. In the former case, one of his duties was to dispatch the letter and he would see it never reached the post office. Should the latter alternative eventuate, the missive would probably be carried by the aged senior clerk, Oswald Ramsgate, and the brothers would have little difficulty in relieving him of it prior to his reaching his destination.

  Unfortunately, neither contingency had occurred!

  Shortly after they reached Kansas City, the brothers had received disturbing news from Stiggins. Either because he was suspicious over their sudden departure, or as a result of natural caution, their late uncle’s business manager had arranged for a nephew of an old friend—General Jackson Baines ‘Ole Devil’ Hardin, C.S.A.—who had brought a herd of OD Connected cattle from Rio Hondo County, Texas, to Newton to collect and ensure the safe arrival of the documents.

  The identity of the possible collector had been the cause of grave concern!

  While Rudolph and Aaron had never seen Dusty Fog, they were all too aware of his already close to legendary reputation. Being native-born Kansans, they had always pretended to discount the stories of his prowess in certain fields as no more than the bragging of his compatriots from Texas. For all that, at the bottom of their hearts, they did not doubt there was more than a little truth told about his many exploits. If the stakes had been lower and their need for money less urgent—among other things, they were being pressed for payment of gambling debts by men growing increasingly insistent that it must be forthcoming—he was a person with whom they would have avoided tangling. As it was, being aware that they had no other choice if they wished to retain their health, they were determined to prevent the delivery regardless of who was carrying the documents.