The Floating Outfit 10

by J. T. Edson

  A tall, black-dressed young man, riding a big white stallion, was approaching. Odham watched him, and decided he would be the scout for the herd.

  The Ysabel Kid studied the buggy with some interest, his red-hazel eyes taking in every detail. He rode forward and halted his horse across the path of the buggy.

  ‘Howdy?’ he greeted.

  ‘Where at’s your herd?’

  ‘Under the dust there, less’n they lost ’em all,’ the Kid replied. ‘You’re a cattle-buyer ain’t you?’

  ‘I am.’ Odham puffed out his chest pompously. This cowhand was regarding him with less favor than a cattle-buyer deserved. ‘How’s the drive been?’

  ‘Fair. I saw you one time in Hays.’

  This wasn’t what Odham had expected; he had hoped that none of the hands would know him. Certainly, he now hoped none would know of his business methods whilst in Hays City.

  ‘I want to see your boss,’ he remarked, as casually as he could.

  ‘Take you back to see him.’

  Dusty, Mark and Thora were riding out ahead of the herd. They were relaxed and taking things easy over the last few miles. Mark left the point to Kiowa and Billy Jack, claiming that, as he missed out on all the fun, he was going to take things easy for the last few miles of the drive.

  ‘Won’t make Dodge today,’ Dusty remarked. ‘We’ll bed down out there a piece, and take the herd in tomorrow. Be there around noon.’

  ‘Why’d you have a double night-herd and both scouts outlast night?’ Thora asked. ‘I thought we were out of trouble.’

  ‘Just being careful. There used to be a bunch working the trail-end towns. They laid up a few miles out and hit the herds, stampeded them on either the last night or the second last. They’d usually get away with a few dozen head, or more. See, the trail-crews weren’t expecting trouble that near to the town.’

  ‘What’d they do with the cattle?’

  ‘Hold them to the end of the season, then run them in. They’d try to alter, or counter-brand, the cattle. There were some buyers who would take a herd without asking too many questions.’

  ‘Yeah!’ Mark put in. He was looking ahead, at the Kid and the man who drove the buggy alongside him. ‘And one of them’s coming up right now.’

  Dusty looked at the man in the buggy, his memory for faces being as good as those of his two friends. He recognized the newcomer. A half-smile played around his lips as he guessed why Odham was coming. ‘Sure, Mark, we know him, I wonder if he’s going to try his old game on us?’

  ‘He’d never chance it,’ Mark scoffed.

  ‘What game is that?’ Thora asked.

  Before the Texans could reply, the buggy was up to them. Odham might have wondered why such a small, insignificant man rode at the place of honor, but he knew this man. ‘Howdy, Cap’n Fog. I’m Sidney Odham. We met in Hays, I think.’

  ‘I remember.’ There was little friendship in Dusty’s voice.

  ‘I’d like to talk with the owner.’

  ‘This is Mrs. Holland.’

  Odham raised his hat politely, a warm, ingratiating smile on his face. He glanced at the cattle going past, fat, well-meated stock. They would command a high price in Dodge City. If he could play his cards right, the price would roll into his pockets.

  ‘Mrs. Holland, I came out here to talk business with you. After seeing your herd, I’m really sorry to tell you that it isn’t safe for you to take them into Dodge City.’

  ‘Not take them into Dodge?’ Thora glanced at Dusty and Mark—they looked impassive, but Dusty winked at her. ‘Why shouldn’t we take my herd into Dodge? I’m worry we can’t offer you a meal, unless you can stay until we bed down.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary. What I came here for was to save you the embarrassment that awaits you. I will buy your herd from you right now.’

  ‘Buy the herd?’ Thora felt foolish, repeating the words, but couldn’t think of anything else to say. Dusty and Mark weren’t helping her with their silence. ‘But that isn’t usual, is it?’

  ‘Not under normal circumstances. I would have waited in Dodge. But when I heard that Marshal Earp was taking on men to stop your herd using the pens, I thought I would come out and meet you, buy the herd and save you any further trouble. After all it is common knowledge that Marshal Earp ordered you never to use this town again. When a man of his caliber gives you such an order it is hardly prudent to go against it.’

  ‘I didn’t think Earp could prevent our using Dodge,’ Thora objected but she was beginning to see the light now. Dusty and Mark still kept their faces impassive and unreadable and the Kid lounged in his saddle looking more Indian than ever.

  ‘He can’t under law of course, but in Dodge he and Sheriff Masterson are the law. You know of how they stick together. I saw Marshal Earp leaving the sheriff’s office only yesterday, I daresay he’d been making arrangements to stop your herd coming to Dodge. I realize that your men could fight their way in—but think of the trouble and the bloodshed.’

  ‘How much a head you figger on paying?’ Dusty put in.

  ‘Well, I have to hire the men to …’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Fifteen dollars, I will have to …’

  ‘All of fifteen dollars?’ Dusty looked amazed at such generosity. ‘Why thank you ’most to death.’

  ‘That’s real neighborly of you, friend,’ Mark agreed; but his voice held irony, not gratitude. ‘You rode all these miles out here to take the herd off our hands, and save Thora some trouble. I allow we owe you a vote of thanks. What do you reckon, Lon?’

  The Ysabel Kid looked Odham over with the same kind of pleasure he might give a bed-sharing gila monster. Pushing the big white to the buggy, he leaned forward to look Odham over. ‘Yep, let’s us give him one right now. Just like ole Stone Hart’s Wedge did that time at Hays. Mister, you’ve got a heart like a winter’s night—cold, dark and hawg-dirty!’

  ‘What’s wrong, Dusty?’ Thora asked, though she had a fair idea.

  ‘Not much. This kind-hearted gent here come all the way from Dodge, with us less than a day’s drive out, and offers to buy the herd from us.’

  ‘Sure.’ Mark finished; ‘for less than half we can make for it in Dodge.’

  ‘Mrs. Holland, I’d prefer to deal with you, not hired hands. I came out here to save you from some trouble

  ‘You came to make some easy money,’ the Kid growled. ‘Now just take off, or I’ll ram a boot down your neck.’

  Odham scowled and only his knowledge of the ways of Loncey Dalton Ysabel prevented further objections. He scowled round at the herd, then back at Thora, ‘I’m sorry you take this attitude, Mrs. Holland. I’ve tried to help you, but—’

  ‘I’m sorry, too. But, when I took Dusty on as trail boss, I agreed that he would handle the herd. I’m merely Rocking H’s rep, and so I’ve no more to say about selling the herd than any other hand. If you want to buy the cattle, you must talk with Captain Fog.’

  Odham scowled, for he knew that what Thora said was the truth. If she was riding as the representative of the spread, she could not sell the herd; only the trail boss could do that. He also knew that any attempt to fool, or buy, cattle from Dusty Fog was doomed for disaster straight off. Turning the buggy he set the horse moving and drove back across the range towards Dodge.

  Away from the herd, he laid his whip to the horse and let it run. In his heart, there was black rage against the Texas men who rode for Rocking H. His plan had been to persuade Thora to sell and they foiled it neatly.

  The horses were lathered by the time he reached Dodge; circling the town, he found what he was looking for.

  The camp of the buffalo-hunters was on the bank of a creek —just a wagon, a fire and some untidy bedrolls. The seven men who lounged around the fire were all dressed in buckskins, dirty and unshaven. One was tall, heavily built and ugly looking. He looked up as Odham drove up to the fire. ‘What do you want?’ he growled.

  ‘You Shag Moxel?’ Odham knew the answer wi
thout needing the surly nod the other gave him. ‘How’s things, Shag?’

  ‘Not bad.’ Moxel took the whisky flask Odham offered, drank and then spat appreciatively. ‘You from Dodge?’

  ‘Sure. I saw the trail boss of the Rocking H. He’s looking for you.’

  The skin-hunters looked up from their places round the fire. Shag Moxel’s brows drew into lines as he asked, ‘Is he now?’

  ‘Reckon we can handle him, don’t you, Shag?’ one of the other men asked.

  ‘Could, if we’d got enough food to stay on,’ Moxel agreed. ‘There ain’t no hunting round Dodge, and we’ve got to head out after the herds.’

  Odham took out his wallet, peeled off some notes and passed them to Moxel. ‘Here. Call it a loan. Go into town and get yourself some food. You watch for their trail boss. You can’t miss him—he rides a paint.’

  Moxel took the money and looked up suspiciously. ‘Why’re you doing this for us?’

  ‘I don’t like cowhands. Besides, we don’t want folks saying you ran out of Dodge and from the Texans.’

  Moxel reached over and picked up the old ten-gauge shotgun from his bedroll. He broke open the weapon. ‘Nope—we don’t.’

  ~*~

  Thora watched the cattle-buyer heading away, then turned her attention to the three lounging Texas men. ‘Just what was all that about?’ she asked. ‘I didn’t get half of it.’

  ‘I never thought he’d pull that old game with us,’ Mark replied. ‘It went out with the Colt Dragoon.’

  ‘What game?’

  ‘One he played a couple of times, maybe more, in the early drive days. He’d leave Hays, or whatever town Kliddoe was working near, and look for a small herd, one without many men. Then he’d warn them Kliddoe was waiting, and offer to buy the herd,’ Mark explained.

  ‘At about half the market price,’ Dusty put in.

  ‘Sure. Worked real well, for a piece. The small owners hadn’t the men to fight off Kliddoe, and couldn’t afford to pay, so they sold to Odham and reckoned they were lucky. Odham worked it well. Then he made a mistake. The small ranchers back to Texas pooled together. Stone Hart gathered their herds, made a big drive and came north. He faced Kliddoe down, him and his Wedge crew. Then, the following day, Odham met him with the news Kliddoe was ahead, reckoned he’d buy the herd. Wedge sent him back to Hays without his pants!’

  ‘He just faded out after that, turned up in a couple of other trail-towns, but word had gone out about him. The small owners didn’t try to drive alone; they pooled and hired Stone Hart’s Wedge, or somebody like that, to bring their cattle to market,’ Dusty finished.

  Dude and Lil Jackie rode up. The cowhand raised his hat to Thora and asked, ‘Can the button head into Dodge, Cap’n? There’s some of us left without smoke or chaw.’

  Dusty studied the eager face of the youngster, then glanced down at the fancy Navy Colt stuck in his belt. Lil Jackie had changed almost beyond recognition since joining the herd. Salt’s cooking and plenty of it, gave him a filled-out look. The trail hands, with typical cowboy generosity, had supplied him with a change of clothing. Dude had given the wrangler a good hat and burned the old Woolsey which caused him to be drenched with stew and knocked down by the trail boss.

  The boy had changed; he looked older, fitter, and was well able to handle himself in either the rough horseplay of the camp or the hard work of the remuda. He sat his paint horse and waited eagerly to hear his fate.

  ‘All right, boy,’ Dusty said. ‘Bring me a sack of Bull Durham and don’t you get yourself into any trouble. If I find you in jail when we get to Dodge, I’ll take the hide off you.’

  Lil Jackie whooped his delight, kicked his spurs into the ribs of his horse and headed off for Dodge. Dusty watched him go and then turned to the Kid. ‘Ain’t no more scouting to be done, is there?’

  ‘Nope. You reckon I’d best go to Dodge after the button and see he says out of trouble?’

  ‘Reckon you’d best watch the remuda. See they keep out of trouble.’

  Fourteen – Shag Moxel’s Indiscretion

  ‘The button not back yet?’ Dusty asked as he stood eating his breakfast on the last day of the drive.

  ‘Not yet, likely stayed in Dodge the night and’s headed back now,’ Mark replied, then looked round the camp. ‘Reckon we’ll make Dodge this week, happen these bunch don’t fall asleep on the trail.’

  The cowhands jeered derisively and headed for their horses. There was a light-hearted mood in the air as they headed the cattle up ready to pull out on the last stage of the journey. Every man was thinking of the various uses they had for the money they’d get when the herd paid off.

  Kiowa and Tarbrush handled the remuda this final day, leaving the Kid to ride ahead with Dusty and Mark. It was the last day and already, in the far distance, they could see the sun shining on the roofs of Dodge City.

  The Kid stopped his horse, squinting his eyes as he stared ahead across the range.

  ‘Two riders,’ he said, pointing across the range. ‘Sits like Bat Masterson and Billy Tilghman.’

  Dusty and Mark could see the two riders, but not well enough to make any guess as to who they might be. They both felt admiration for their keen-eyed friend, and knew his guess was most likely correct.

  ‘Best go and meet them, then,’ Dusty suggested. ‘They’ll likely want to warn us not to rope Trail Street and haul it down to the Cimarron.’

  Masterson and Tilghman rode towards the Texans, and neither man looked over-eager for this meeting. They knew that there were stormy times ahead, and hoped they could stop the worst of it.

  ‘Howdy, Bat, Billy!’ Dusty greeted. There were few Yankee lawmen he would have greeted so warmly. These two were good, honest lawmen; both played fairly with the Texas men, and so gained Dusty’s respect for he knew handling trail hands at the end of a drive was exacting and dangerous work.

  ‘Howdy, Dusty!’ Masterson replied. He felt definitely uneasy, and glanced at Billy Tilghman. ‘We’ve got some bad news for you.’

  ‘Mr. Earp ain’t gone and died of his meanness, has he?’ the Kid inquired, watching the two lawmen with the wary attention of a part-reformed border smuggler.

  Masterson didn’t smile; his face was grave, his eyes not meeting those of the Texan. ‘You sent your wrangler into Dodge last night?’

  ‘Sure,’ Dusty felt uneasy. Masterson was a good enough friend not to be nervous like this. ‘Don’t tell me you had to throw him into the hoosegow for treeing the town.’

  ‘No. He’s been killed!’

  ‘Little Jackie—dead!’ The easy slouch had left Dusty now.

  ‘When did it happen, and how?’ The slit-eyed, mean Comanche look was on the Kid’s face again and the savage growl in his voice.

  ‘Last night, he was riding out of town and got shot in the back.’

  ‘With a ten-gauge?’ Dusty’s voice dropped to a soft drawl; but Masterson had heard it go soft like that before. When it did, the time had come for trouble. It meant bad trouble, and hunt for the cyclone cellars.

  ‘With a ten-gauge,’ Tilghman agreed. He was one of the bravest men ever to wear a law badge but he knew he wouldn’t face any of this trio in their present mood.

  ‘Where at’s Earp?’ the Kid’s savage, Comanche growl cut in.

  ‘He left town on the noon train yesterday. I saw him go,’ Masterson replied.

  ‘How about Shag Moxel?’ Dusty put in, accepting Masterson’s word.

  ‘Still in Dodge. Saw him at the Buffalo House. His bunch allow he was with them all night. Schieffelin reckons they were playing poker in his back room. We can’t prove anything—’

  ‘Prove?’ The Kid spat the word out. ‘Had it been Earp or one of his stinking amigos who got downed, there wouldn’t be no looking for proof. It’d just be find the first Texas neck and stretch it.’

  ‘Not while I’m wearing a badge,’ Masterson snapped, his temper rising. ‘I tried to find out who killed your boy. Give me time and I may yet do it.’
/>   ‘No offence, Bat,’ the Kid replied. ‘I just feel mean as a razorback hawg. We took that kid on in Texas, and brought him north. He worked hard and was making a hand. Then some lousy back-shooting skunk puts him under.’

  Thora rode across to the party; she could read the signs real well for a Yankee gal, and she knew that, when Dusty stopped lounging in his saddle, trouble was coming.

  ‘Jackie dead?’ she gasped when Dusty told her. ‘Who did it?’

  ‘I don’t know, but it’s surely time we found out.’

  ‘Hold hard now, Dusty. Moxel’s got six men with him. I don’t want no war starting in Dodge.’ Masterson snapped.

  Dusty faced the sheriff, his eyes cold and expressionless. ‘You should have told that to the man who killed Jackie. Before he did it.’

  ‘Wasn’t the button riding his paint?’ Mark’s deep drawl cut in.

  ‘Sure,’ Tilghman knew trouble was coming and wanted to stop it if he could. ‘We’ve got it in the city—’

  The words died an uneasy death as Tilghman and every man here looked at the huge paint stallion Dusty sat.

  ‘Hell!’ Masterson spat out. ‘That buckshot was meant for you.’

  ‘And there’ll likely be more of it,’ Dusty replied. Turning to Thora he went on. ‘I want—’

  ‘Take every man, if you need them,’ she answered, before he could finish. ‘I want the men who killed Jackie.’

  ‘Won’t need but Mark and Lon. You aiming to stop us. Bat?’

  Masterson sat silent for a time. He knew that any attempt to halt Dusty, Mark and the Kid would end in gunplay. Then he shook his head; it wasn’t fear that made him take this attitude, but his sense of fairness. The murder last night had been aimed at Dusty, not at the wrangler. Dusty would be in danger, unless he found the murderer and found him real fast.

  ‘No, Dusty, I’m not going to stop you. I let Moxel stay on when I should have run him out of town. I was near certain he gunned Ben down, and hoped I’d get some proof. He kept quiet, and then this happened.’

  ‘It was Moxel then?’

  ‘I don’t know enough to take him to court, but he’s a friend of Schieffelin. And his bunch would say whatever he told them. The town’s yours for three weeks. Billy and me aims to go round the county on Tax Assessment. You’ll be gone when we get back, I reckon.’