The Floating Outfit 51

by J. T. Edson

  ‘That we have,’ Magoon admitted. ‘Word got out quicker than we counted on, or wanted, so there’s a powerful lot of fellers come here interested in hearing what ole Ten Bears’s got to say.’

  ‘Ten Bears,’ the blond youngster repeated, coming as close as he ever did to inadvertently showing surprise. ‘Would that be the same Ten Bears as’s paraivo of the Kweharehnuh Comanch’?’

  ‘The very self same one!’ the sergeant major confirmed, being aware that ‘paraivo’ meant senior ‘old man’, or ‘peace’ chief—as opposed to a fighting leader—of the Kweharehnuh, Antelope, band of the Comanche nation. ‘And wasn’t it hisself’s come in not a week gone saying’s he wanted to make peace talk.’

  ‘Whee-dogie!’ Waco ejaculated. ‘Don’t that just get you kissed off the cushion?’

  ‘It’s no wonder you’ve got a whole slew of callers,’ Doc asserted. ‘Hey though, Ten Bears coming in right now’s like’ to get you thinking he’s been reading the same newspapers that I have.’

  ‘Why’d that be, amigo?’ the blond asked.

  ‘When I was coming through, some feller was writing in the Ulvalde Clarion saying’s how it was time the State Legislature and Congress got around to having the Kweharehnuh run out of the Palo Duro country,’ the slender Texan explained. ‘And how Ten Bears, as their “big chief”, should be strung up for having personally done meanness to ’n’ killed off his poor white-haired old grand-momma along the Trinity back in Sixty-One.’

  ‘There’s some who’d say’s he’d got call to be riled,’ Waco commented, in a way which drew the eyes of his companions to him.

  ‘Most anybody would be, given such circumstances,’ Doc conceded. ‘Which, seems like, somebody else had been. Another feller was saying the exact same thing in the San Angelo Standard when I got there.’

  ‘His name wouldn’t’ve been “Brandon”, would it?’ the blond said, apparently in an off-hand fashion.

  ‘Neither him, nor the jasper over to Ulvalde,’ the slender Texan replied and, although sure he could guess the answer, queried, ‘Why?’

  ‘’Cause a jasper giving the name “Ezekiel Brandon” wrote practically the same letter in the Clinton Echo just before I pulled out,’ Waco claimed. ‘Could be’s they was all three of them kin.’

  ‘It could be at that,’ Magoon put in, showing what was equally apparent cynicism to anybody who knew him, or were as skilful at playing poker as the two young Texans. ‘Trouble being, to the best of my recollection, the Trinity River’s just a teensy few hundred miles further east than the Kweharehnuh ever raided. Why, there’s even some’s might reckon thereabouts wasn’t even Comanch’ stomping grounds at all, but Kiowa.’

  ‘Heavens to Betsy!’ Waco gasped, apparently struck by a thought he could hardly credit being true. ‘Do you mean’s how all those three hombres might be blaming the wrong feller deliberate’, for shame?’

  ‘Lands sakes, a-mercy!’ Doc went on, so seriously he too might not have believed such a thing was possible. ‘Whatever’d make even you think a thing like that, amigo?’

  ‘Well now,’ the blond drawled. ‘I’m not gainsaying there is an Ezekiel Brandon in Clinton County, only he was away on vacation when the letter was shoved under the Echo’s front door. When I read it and asked, the editor allowed he’d never thought of good ole Ezekiel being out of town and only put it in because there was some space left over and the Brandon Feed Barn was a regular advertiser.’

  ‘Now was I as suspicious-natured as some I could name, but won’t ,’ the slender cowhand declared, the direction in which he gazed pointedly offering a clue as to the identity of at least one. ‘I could get around to thinking’s that was just a lil mite suspicious.’

  ‘Such a mean and untrusting thing wouldn’t never have occurred to me,’ Waco claimed, exuding a conscious virtue which appeared genuine even though neither of his companions believed this to be the case. ‘Anyways, even if it was ole Ten Bears who did meanness to and killed off all them different fellers’ poor white-haired grand-mommas along the Trinity back to Sixty-One, stringing him up now he’s come in ready to make peace talk don’t strike a half smart Texas boy like me’s showing right good sense. Doing it’ll mean the only way to fetch the rest of the Kweharehnuh out of the Palo Duro, like’s being asked, will be at the point of a gun. Which, going by all I’ve heard and seen of Comanch’ they won’t take kind’ to such even being tried.’

  ‘I’ll say “amen” to that!’ the burly sergeant major declared fervently. ‘Only them’s never saw war whoops riled up and on the rampage would want anything doing’s might start it up, even if it’d stop with the Kweharehnuh, or just them and the other Comanch’ bands. Which we all know it won’t.’

  ‘No more than water’ll stop running down a slope, nor the rest going when a few steers in a trail herd starts to stampede,’ the blond agreed. ‘Now me, I could go until I die, get my wings and head for heaven, without seeing more fuss with Indians of any kind, much less having it from every kind as’d happen should the Kweharehnuh take the war path.’

  ‘Happen you get wings and head for heaven when you die,’ Doc scoffed, despite having identical sentiments on the subject of avoiding Indian hostilities. ‘You’ll surely spoil it for all those good Christian folks’s have worked hard and lived right ’n’ proper to get there.’

  ‘It’d make me wish’s how I’d been a miserable sinner, a-drinking and carousing all his life,’ Magoon supported, ’stead of living sober ’n’ upright, doing good deeds.’ Regardless of the levity which none could resist injecting into the conversation, the two young Texans and the older, more experienced sergeant major could visualize the implications behind what they were discussing!

  All three were aware that, even if there was not being waged a deliberate campaign to arouse public support and bring about the forcible expulsion of the Kweharehnuh, hardly anybody throughout the Lone Star State would be left unmoved by the possibilities which the unexpected arrival of Chief Ten Bears at Fort Sorrel suggested.

  In general, the trio considered the reaction would prove favorable!

  Unlike the other bands of the Nemenuh, feeling confident in the security offered by their stronghold in the wild Palo Duro country, the Kweharehnuh had declined when offered the opportunity to sign a peace treaty and be transferred to a reservation. ix Instead, while considerably restricted in the amount of space available for their wanderings, they had returned to their hunting grounds and retained much of their traditional free-ranging way of life. Apart from having reached an agreement which permitted a bunch of badly wanted fugitives from justice to build a town deep in their territory, they had generally sought to avoid any contact with people who did not belong to their race. Even after the removal of the community of outlaws, in which Waco had played a part, x they had continued with their policy of keeping to themselves and making no trouble beyond the bounds of their terrain.

  Nevertheless, to anybody who knew Indians, there had always been two major possibilities of conflict arising!

  Trespass by white people upon the domain of the Kweharehnuh, whether by accident or design, could cause the required incident!

  Just as certainly, so could braves deciding life was growing too tame and electing to resume riding the war trail which had once brought acclaim to the participants as a result of coups being counted and loot gathered to be shared with those less fortunate!

  With such considerations in mind, many older residents of Texas and other long serving members of the United States’ Army within the boundaries of the State, in addition to the trio, would welcome the suggestion of peaceful negotiations from Chief Ten Bears. They believed such talks were infinitely preferable to trying to coerce the Kweharehnuh into quitting the Palo Duro country. Their memories were all too vivid regarding the days of Indian hostilities, when the Comanche in particular laid waste to the land and took many lives. Should their domain be subjected to armed invasion, the Antelope braves would not restrict themselves to merely fighting an
d were certain to strike at civilians as well as the military sent against them.

  What was more, the same group of knowledgeable public opinion had long been aware of an ever present danger from another source posed by the Kweharehnuh remaining at liberty. With them to serve as a reminder, there would always be the temptation for warriors languishing in boredom on reservations to consider that a return to the old way of life was desirable and take to the war path to bring this about. However, if the Antelope band should come in and join them, especially as a result of suggestions by the paraivo rather than the white men, the risk would be reduced.

  The Texans and the soldier also appreciated that, while probably approving of the reasons which had brought Ten Bears to Fort Sorrel, another section of the community were likely to be considering the situation in a far less altruistic fashion even if they were not actually involved in the campaign they had been discussing. Raising cattle in large numbers, particularly free-ranging and, at best, only semi-domesticated longhorns, required a great deal of grazing land. In spite of the enormous acreage already offered by Texas, this was growing increasingly difficult to obtain. However, with the Palo Duro country no longer closed by the Kweharehnuh band—who had summarily evicted the previous, less warlike dwellers therein—a further area of considerable size would become available for ranching. Therefore, speculators—many of whom were not native born Texans, the very lucrative cattle raising business having attracted investment from outside the State—could be counted upon to keep an eye upon the developments.

  ‘Anyways, amigo,’ Doc remarked, before Waco could protest against the insinuations that he was an unsuitable candidate for heaven. ‘Now we know why Dusty was asked to fetch you varmints from the OD Connected out here.’

  ‘Why’d that be?’ the blond youngster asked.

  ‘’Cause Ten Bears asked for you to be on hand,’ the slender cowhand explained. ‘Could be, him not knowing any better, he figured you-all would be good folks to have siding him.’

  ‘And he’d be rightful right about that,’ Waco asserted, with well done false modesty. ‘Only Dusty, Mark ’n’ Lon was already headed here afore he came in.’

  ‘Hell, yes!’ Doc conceded, impressed as always by the way in which—the levity notwithstanding—his young companion would draw correct conclusions from what he saw or heard. ‘Why were they sent for, Paddy?’

  ‘I wouldn’t be knowing the all of it me-self,’ Magoon admitted. ‘But I’d be saying it’s something big, seeing’s how General Philo Handiman his own self’s come hotfooted all the way from Washington, D.C., to take a hand in it.’

  ‘General Handiman!’ Waco ejaculated. ‘But he’s the big augur of—!’

  ‘Aye, that he is,’ the sergeant major affirmed, despite the comment having come to a halt unconcluded. He was pleased by the way in which the blond had refrained from mentioning that General Philo Handiman was the current head of the United States’ Secret Service. However, he was also aware the reticence was not caused by a lack of trust in the discretion of the slender cowhand, but had been brought about through a realization that such information could not be divulged without authorization even to a good friend. ‘Anyways, most likely Himself’ll be telling you ail about it. He left word at the guardhouse for you fellers to be fetched to him as soon’s you got here. So, after you’ve put your hosses up, that’s what I’ll be doing.’

  ‘Hey now!’ Waco said, gesturing ahead with his empty left hand, as he and Doc Leroy were being taken to meet General Handiman. ‘Isn’t that ole Ten Bears hisself coming?’ Having arrived at the stable block allotted to the Company for which Paddy Magoon was sergeant major, while discussing the situation which had brought them to Fort Sorrel, the Texans had placed their horses in empty stalls. With the immediate needs of the animals satisfied, something no cowhand worth his salt would neglect except in the direst emergency, they had accepted the suggestion from the burly non-com that they leave behind their belongings until learning whether they were to be accommodated with the enlisted men or in ‘officers country’.

  Although their saddles had been placed in the care of an elderly corporal with the bed rolls still attached to the cantles, the young blond and his slender amigo were holding the rifles from the boots as they emerged from the building. Despite the arrangements he had made for the safekeeping of their other property, Magoon did not consider this was in any way an unspoken reflection upon the honesty of the men under his command. Being equally well informed on such matters, he knew that nobody having had the Texans’ lifelong acquaintance with firearms would leave unattended one which was loaded. This was particularly the case with a Winchester Model of 1873 which, provided there was a round in the chamber and the tubular magazine beneath the barrel was filled to capacity, could be discharged seventeen times in very rapid succession.

  The sergeant major was escorting the visitors towards the regimental headquarters, to ascertain the whereabouts of General Handiman. Even before Waco had asked the question, he too had noticed the tall, bulky, white haired and clearly elderly Indian—part of whose attire was made from the hide of pronghorn antelope peculiar to the Kweharehnuh Comanche instead of the more usual buckskin approaching across the parade ground. Although he was not clad in his full regalia, or armed in any way, he had a dignity of carriage befitting the paraivo of a proud band of warriors who still retained their liberty.

  ‘Aye, ’tis Ten Bears all right,’ Magoon confirmed, but with a frown coming to his rugged face. ‘Only he’s not supposed to be wandering about on his lonesome!’

  Having suspected such might be the case, the confirmation of his supposition caused the young blond to take his attention from Ten Bears. Two factors which had already served him well when acting as a peace officer were his inborn powers of observation, and his retentive memory. Recollecting something which had registered upon his subconscious while going to the stables, he swung his gaze towards the post sutler’s building to verify it. Sure enough, unlike the other animals awaiting their owners, the horse standing nearest to the main entrance had its reins draped over instead of being tied to the hitching rail. While this indicated a reasonably high standard of training, the fact that it allowed a hurried departure if necessary was also known to him.

  Satisfied his memory had not been at fault, Waco looked next at the building. He discovered several men were standing just inside the main entrance. Saying something which the youngster could not hear to the others, one of the group suddenly lurched through the bat wing doors. Tall and lean, he was shaggy haired, unshaven, clad in none too clean range clothing and wearing a low hanging holster carrying a Colt Civilian Model Peacemaker. The way in which he was moving suggested he could have been drinking ‘not wisely, but too well’. Teetering from the porch, he was staring fixedly at the Kweharehnuh ‘peace’ chief.

  ‘That’s the stinking son-of-a-bitch’s killed my poor ole grandmamma!’ the man bellowed in what appeared to be a whiskey-slurred voice and with an accent more Northern than Texan. Reaching for the revolver, he went on, ‘And I’m going to pay him back for doing it right now!’

  Already alert for trouble, the possibility having been suggested by his flair for deductive reasoning, Waco did not doubt the threat would be carried out. Therefore, he knew something must be done and it must be actions, not merely words. However, his instinct for such things warned him that the distance between himself and the would-be vengeance seeker was too great to permit accurate intervention with a handgun. Fortunately, he was not compelled to rely upon his holstered revolvers.

  Even as the man commenced the draw, the youngster was whipping the Winchester upwards. With his left hand closing upon the wooden fore grip, he felt grateful that he had not rendered the weapon ‘safe’ by unloading it before leaving the stable. There had been a time when he would not have thought twice before sending the bullet into the man’s head. Since those days, he had learned when it was advisable to shoot in a less fatal fashion if possible. Realizing this was such an occasi
on, he was deciding how to do so as his right hand around the wrist of the butt was guiding the metal plate to nestle against his shoulder. Aligning the sights as carefully as the urgency of the situation would allow, on squeezing the trigger, his instincts as a marksman warned he would not hit his selected target.

  Nevertheless, the shot achieved the desired effect!

  Thrust along the rifling grooves of the twenty-six inch octagonal barrel, driven by the volume of gas created from detonating forty grains of prime Du Pont black powder, the flat-nosed .44 caliber bullet flew to attain a much more fortunate result than any young Texan could hope for in his lifetime. Its passage was slightly higher and farther out than intended, for which the lean man might have counted himself lucky. Striking the frame of the revolver, the impact tore the weapon from his grasp with a force which broke his trigger finger; but he could easily have been far worse off. The lead might have ripped through the thigh at which it was directed, or could have hit and caused the bullets in the cylinder to explode. As it was, despite giving a pain filled howl and dropping to his knees, clutching the injured right hand with his left, he was comparatively unharmed.

  Disturbed by the commotion, the horses at the hitching rail began to move restlessly. However, although it backed away until its reins fell from the rail, the animal which was not fastened made no attempt to bolt.

  ‘Hold it right there, all of you!’ Magoon thundered, starting to run forward as the rest of the group by the front entrance began to leave the sutler’s building.

  Throwing the lever of his Winchester through its reloading cycle, Waco kept his attention upon the man at whom he had shot while accompanying the sergeant major and Doc. Either in response to Magoon’s command, or because they saw the slender Texan holding his rifle in a position of readiness, the emerging group came to a halt instead of leaving the porch. They wore civilian clothing of various styles and levels of value. Although a couple were carrying revolvers in plain view, neither made any attempt to try and arm himself.