The Floating Outfit 11

by J. T. Edson

  ‘You can’t know that for sure,’ Raines objected.

  ‘A Sharps or a Remington throws out its empty shells and they land some place. Which same there’s none around here. Way you told it he didn’t stay long enough to find it after he shot.’

  Mark threw a disgusted look at the Kid then turned to Louise. ‘He sounds like a regular Pinkerton sneak, doesn’t he? Can’t you just see him sneaking up to an old widow-woman to learn all her secrets?’

  Louise gave a gurgle of amusement at the thought. Her eyes went from one to another of the three Texans. They were such self-reliant men and she felt that she could trust them with her life. Dusty Fog no longer impressed her as being small, he never did again, never would she think of his size in mere inches. To her, as to all his friends, Dusty Fog stood the tallest of them all. Mark Counter would certainly set the hearts fluttering among the young unmarried women of the train when they saw him. So would the Kid, although she doubted if he was the sort of young man their mothers would approve of knowing. Her rescuer in town, despite all the things Mark and the Kid told about him, was the same kind of man, polite, friendly and courteous. He must have been driven to his life of crime by the Yankees in that hell period just after the War when Reconstructionists ruled Texas. She hoped she might meet the man called Red Blaze once more and try to turn him from his bad ways.

  ‘I’d like you to come back to the train with me,’ Raines suggested.

  On his way to the rock Raines had told the three Texans nothing beyond the killing of the scout. Now he knew he was going to need help. He would get it better if he laid his cards on the table and allowed Dusty Fog to see the entire hand as it was dealt.

  ‘That’s what Uncle Devil sent us out here to do,’ Dusty replied. ‘Tom Blade wrote Uncle Devil from Nashville and asked for help. We were out on a chore but Uncle Devil telegraphed us to meet up with you. We picked on Hammerlock as being the most likely place to find you and came direct instead of searching the plains for you.’

  Raines frowned. ‘I didn’t know Tom had been in touch with General Hardin.’

  ‘He was like that, Tom, kind of close-mouthed. But he was a friend and I aim to get the killer.’

  ‘Would you help me get the train through to Backsight?’

  ‘As soon as we find the man who downed Tom,’ promised Dusty. ‘We’ll head back to Hammerlock with what we know and ask some questions. There’s no more law in town than hair on a billiards ball so we’ll handle things our own way.’

  ‘The man responsible for killing Tom is in Backsight,’ Raines pointed out.

  ‘That takes some believing, sir,’ drawled Mark. ‘Lon’s ole Thunder hoss here can run faster’n any I ever saw over a distance and even he couldn’t make Backsight since Tom was shot.’

  The other two Texans gave their agreement but Raines shook his head. ‘The man who hired whoever did the killing is in Backsight. I was the one the shot was meant for and there were three earlier attempts on my life.’

  Louise gave a gasp for this was something not even she knew about. The three Texans showed no surprise. From all their faces showed hearing people say attempts had been made on their lives was no novelty.

  ‘I don’t buy it being a try at you, Colonel,’ the Kid put in. ‘I might not be able to tell the difference between you and Tom at say two miles, but it’d show like licorice on a snowbank close up. You ride like a cavalryman and Tom slouched western style in his saddle. That hombre was using a rest for his rifle which same means he aimed to hit what he shot at. The bullet was meant for Tom, not you.’

  ‘I’ve told you something about how I came to be bringing this train,’ Raines said. ‘I didn’t tell you that I was warned about coming the same day I received a letter from the Land Agent in Backsight. It was a letter from a man called Terry Ortega, although it was unsigned.’

  ‘How’d you know who it was from if it wasn’t signed?’ asked the Kid.

  ‘The letter was written in pencil and on the back of it I found the marks left by having a second sheet on top of it. The top sheet had been used to write Terry Ortega’s address and the pencil point marked through it on to the sheet I received. I ignored it until a knife was thrown at me and just missed my head. The next day I found a note in the same handwriting, it said they’d missed me that time but wouldn’t miss again if I tried to take the train to Backsight. I thought of holding up the train until we could get the Arizona law to investigate but there wasn’t time. So we moved out when arranged. There were two more tries at killing me, once in Louisville when a heavy wagon almost ran me down and later in Nashville when someone took a shot at me. Each time I received a warning note.’

  ‘Yet it was Tom who died,’ Dusty pointed out. ‘Do you know who this Ortega is or anything about him?’

  ‘The Land Agent’s sister is travelling with us. She was in touch with her brother after I took her into my confidence. The reply says Ortega is a rancher out by Backsight and a man of some influence in the town.’

  ‘If he’d that much influence he wouldn’t bother trying to scare you off,’ Dusty answered. ‘He’d just tell the Land Agent not to sell and make sure he didn’t.’

  ‘And it doesn’t sit right that this Ortega hombre would know how to organize these tries on you in Louisville and Nashville,’ Mark went on.

  ‘I thought some about that too,’ Raines admitted. ‘It all ties in with this Ortega though. There’s nobody in the east would want us not to go.’

  ‘What new folks are there on the train, folks you haven’t known a fair time at least?’ asked Dusty.

  ‘Very few. Miss Considine, she’s the Land Agent’s sister and joined up with us in Nashville. A young woman called Simons joined us there too.’

  ‘Why not ride back to the train with us, Dusty,’ Louise inquired, seeing how worried her father looked.

  Dusty glanced at the sun. Soon it would be dark and there were things he wanted to attend to before joining the train.

  ‘We’ll head back to Hammerlock and see what’s to be learned. Happen we’re lucky we’ll be out with you at around ten o’clock. Like I said, we’ll ride along with you and Lon’ll take over as your scout.’

  With that Raines had to be contented for the three young Texans were clearly determined to go ahead with their plans, Raines knew the risks they were running, that they would be facing odds of seven to three. He also knew they knew the risks and the odds, accepting both with their quiet confidence in Dusty Fog’s planning to bring them through, He mounted his horse and nodded to Louise to do the same.

  ‘We’ll expect you then,’ Raines said.

  ‘We’ll be there, Colonel,’ Dusty promised.

  It was dark when Dusty, Mark and the Kid entered a small livery barn in the town. It was not the establishment they gave their trade to but a smaller and not so well cared for building at the other side of the town. They were walking along the row of stalls and looking at the horses when the owner came from his office.

  ‘Hey!’ he growled advancing in a belligerent manner. ‘What’s the idea. You can’t come in he—’

  Mark turned towering over the bleary-eyed and unshaven man. ‘Just set real easy mister. We’re interested in that light bay hoss. Who might own it?’

  ‘Says which?’ growled the owner although he looked a mite uncertain.

  ‘Wouldn’t belong to our ole friend Cultus Collins now, would it?’Dusty asked.

  ‘You don’t need to answer, just waggle your ears happen we called it right,’ the Kid went on, taking out his bowie knife and absently paring down his fingernails with the razor sharp edge.

  ‘It belonged to him all right,’ gulped the owner.

  He’d taken in the spread of Mark’s shoulders, the cold hard eyed look of the Kid and the dangerous way the smaller man stood. He knew this was no longer the time for loyalty to one’s customers.

  ‘Been hard run today, hasn’t it?’ the Kid went on.

  ‘I wouldn’t know.’

  ‘What sort of rifle
does Collins tote?’ Mark inquired.

  ‘Whyn’t you ask—’

  The words ended in a startled yelp as Mark’s hands clamped on the man’s dirty shirt and lifted him clear from his feet. ‘I’m asking you!’

  ‘He’s got a Sharps but he didn’t have it when—’

  The man stopped for he remembered Collins giving a grim warning to say nothing about the ride he took that afternoon and from which he returned on a lathered horse which had been run hard.

  ‘That his Sharps in the office?’ Dusty asked.

  ‘Nope, mine. He’d got his with him, unloaded it here. I took the empty case into the office to reload it for myself.’

  ‘Got fetch it here,’ Dusty ordered. ‘Then tell us where we can find Mr. Collins.’

  Four – Red Blaze Joins In

  The young Texan Mark Counter claimed to be the notorious Red Blaze watched Louise charge to her father’s defense, but did not follow. Moving back around a corner, he watched the subsequent scene with a sad grin. After Louise and the men departed he emerged and leaned on the hitching rail until Collins’ bunch came from the saloon. When they walked by, Red followed at a distance.

  After walking a short distance, Collins’ party halted and looked down a side alley. Saying something to the others, Collins walked down the alley and his men swung around to block its entrance. Being unable to follow Collins without attracting unwanted attention, Red waited until the man returned. Collins led his men off once more and Red darted down the alley, but could find no trace of who, or what, attracted the hardcase’s attention. Walking back to the street, Red saw Collins’ crowd enter Saloon Ten. He decided to see if whoever contacted Collins in the alley showed again. So a few minutes later slouched into the saloon with hat shoved back, hair rumpled and untidy and a loose-lipped, drunken grin on his face.

  On unsteady legs Red made his way across the room to the bar, ignoring the suspicious looks thrown at him by the men with Collins.

  ‘Gimme a bottle, mister,’ he told the bartender, his voice whisky lined. Fumbling in his pockets Red hauled out a handful of change and dumped it on the bar, poking out the price of the drink in an owlish manner. He yawned and eyed the bartender. ‘I’m a tired cowhand ’n’ a long ways from home. Just want a place to sit down ’n’ rest. Un’erstand?’

  The bartender nodded in understanding. He was something of an authority on the habit of drunks. His right eye lowered in a wink as he set a bottle of whisky on the counter and topped it with a four-finger glass. The cowhand crossed the room in a waving and uncertain manner as Collins called for drinks. Flopping down at a side table Red started to sing a cowhand song in a muddled way, then his head fell forward on to his arms and he lay as if asleep. Collins threw a glance at the redhead, then ignored him as being of no importance, just a cowhand sleeping off a drink.

  Time went by and the bartender lit his lamps as the darkness came down outside. One of Collins’ men left the building on some errand and after a time came back fast, face flushed from running.

  They’re here,’ he said.

  ‘Where?’ asked Collins.

  ‘Down to the livery barn and likely to be coming here.’

  One of the other men looked towards Collins and asked, ‘You’re sure you didn’t cut down that scout, Cultus?’

  ‘I told you I didn’t,’ Collins answered. ‘I just wanted you boys to side when I tried to muscle in and get the chore.’

  ‘All right then, we’ll back you in it.’

  The bartender gulped. He could read the signs and knew his place might see some trouble real soon. His hand went under the counter and felt the comforting butt of the Wells Fargo ten gauge, while his eyes went to the redhead who appeared to be asleep still.

  Collins stood up, shoving his chair back. The hand which held his glass shook slightly, for he was sweating and scared. The three Texans were looking for him, they must know something. His only hope was to start shooting as soon as they entered the saloon. One shot would be enough and the men with him would be forced to back him up whether they wanted to or not.

  The bearded man was at the window looking out. He turned with a scared look on his face.

  ‘They’re coming, Cultus, near on here.’

  Boot heels thudded on the sidewalk. The Texans must have come unseen by the lookout along the other side of the street and were crossing. There would be little or no time to organize a defense.

  ‘Fan out, boys,’ Collins croaked. ‘Get—’

  The redhead came to his feet, hands curling back and lifting his Colts clear as the thumbs drew back the hammers. The double click was echoed by the gentle words of warning.

  ‘Stand fast and live long, gents!’

  Collins looked in the bar mirror, seeing the way the Texan stood. One thing was for sure, he was not drunk and had not been from the moment he entered the room. With an angry snarl Collins tensed to take action.

  ‘Like the gent says,’ growled the bartender and slapped the ten gauge on the bar top. ‘I ain’t having my fittings busted up.’

  The footsteps halted by the door so the men outside could see in without showing themselves.

  ‘Come ahead, Cousin Dusty,’ called the redhead. ‘They’re all hawg-tied down and plumb peaceable.’

  The batwing doors opened and Dusty Fog came in, moving forward. Mark Counter followed, stepping to the right then the Kid joined them prowling to the left and looking as mean as all hell.

  ‘Leather your guns, Cousin Red,’ Dusty drawled. ‘Thanks for your help, bartender.’

  ‘I just didn’t want me bar wrecking,’ the bartender replied and replaced his shotgun beneath the counter.

  ‘Enjoy your ride this afternoon, Collins?’ asked Mark Counter.

  ‘Ride?’

  ‘Ride,’ agreed Mark. ‘With a hoss. You know how and what I mean.’

  ‘I wasn’t out on my hoss today.’ Collins answered and his bunch gave rather unconvincing grunts of agreement.

  ‘We know you did,’ Dusty put in.

  ‘You got proof he done it?’ asked the man who spoke to Collins just before Dusty’s arrival.

  ‘We’ve got proof.’

  The man looked at Collins. ‘We said we’d help you scare that dude into taking you on as a wagon scout, Cultus. I liked you up to a point but you passed that point if you murdered a man to get the job.’

  Collins stared at the men, seeing they were all in the same frame of mind. ‘I didn’t kill Tom Blade!’ he yelled. ‘Get them!’

  With that Collins sent his hand down towards the butt of his remaining Starr gun. Dusty Fog’s right hand crossed his body, came back with a Colt in it. The Army Colt bucked in Dusty’s hand even before Collins completed his draw and the stocky man spun around, crashing into the bar with a bullet-broken shoulder.

  ‘Don’t shoot!’ he screamed, clinging to the bar. ‘Don’t kill me!’

  ‘You dropped Tom Blade,’ Dusty replied quietly, his Colt cocking again.

  The other men stood fast for they were under the guns of Dusty’s friends. Mark had thrown down on the men the same instant Dusty made his draw and the long barreled Colts were in his hands only a flicker behind Dusty’s shot. Red Blaze was also armed, having beaten the Kid to it, although neither could really claim to be fast, using the lined weight of his Colts to help Mark persuade a lack of movement from the men. The Kid’s old Dragoon was covering the bearded man by the window, ending his move as surely as when they first met.

  Collins rolled his eyes in fear and pain as he faced Dusty Fog. He was holding his shoulder and moaning as blood ran between his fingers.

  ‘Who’d you see down the alley, Collins?’ asked Red Blaze.

  None of the men saw the side door of the building open slightly. Then the Kid saw Hammer’s eyes flicker to it. The Kid glanced and went into action with the speed of his Comanche blood.

  ‘Look out, Dusty!’ he roared and the old Dragoon boomed like a cannon in the confines of the room.

  Several things hap
pened all in seconds. The roar of the Kid’s Dragoon echoed and drowned out the crack of a shot from the barrel of the revolver which showed around the edge of the door. Flame lanced from the barrel and Collins jerked, then slid down, a hole in his temple, the other side of his head shattered where the bullet came out once more. Dusty went to one side, twisting to face the door with his Colt ready. The man called Hammer saw his chance for the Kid’s attention was on the door. Hammer went through the window, carrying glass and sash with him. His rapidly departing feet were echoed by the sound of someone running away from the side door.

  The Kid hurled across the room to the batwing doors but he was too late, for the bearded man was not in sight by the time he reached the street. Holding his Dragoon ready the Kid sprinted to the corner of the building and flung himself around it into the shadows at the side. The alley by the saloon side was empty, whoever killed Collins did not wait around.

  Calling a warning the Kid went to the door of the building and opened it. He looked at the hole his bullet made, opening the door, then glanced down but as he expected the iron hard ground outside showed no sign.

  In the saloon Dusty came to his feet and snapped, ‘Hold them down, Mark, Red. I want to look into this.’

  With that he walked to the door and looked at the hole left by the Kid’s bullet, while he tried to gauge how high the killer’s revolver was held. One thing was for sure, shooting like that was not done from waist high. The revolver was sighted before it fired and sent the ball through Collins’ head.

  ‘About this high,’ drawled the Kid, pointing to the place where the gun was held. ‘I’m near on sure of that.’

  Dusty looked at the hole made by the Kid’s Dragoon. On the exit side a large chunk of wood had been blasted out and with luck might have caught the killer, for it was not on the ground. He estimated the killer stood at least five foot six and maybe more, there was no way to check. Dusty was almost sure he heard a yelp of pain just after the shot but could not be certain. Likely the splinter hit flesh and not the bullet, for nobody went far carrying the round lead ball of a Dragoon in the body.