Set Texas Back On Her Feet (A Floating Outfit Western Book 6)

by J. T. Edson

  Taking up his saddle, Dusty swung it on to his left shoulder. On leaving the room together, the marshal locked its door and fixed another piece of thread in place. Going downstairs, they separated in the lobby and Dusty made his way to the livery barn.

  On arriving, Dusty found the owner and requested a few words in private. On seeing the damage to the small Texan’s saddle, Mulcachy swore luridly and asked how he could help. He agreed to lend Dusty his saddle without hesitation. Not only had he served in the Texas Light Cavalry during the War, but he owed Ole Devil Hardin a very big favor. In addition to helping Dusty in that way, Mulcachy promised to try to find out if there was any significant betting.

  Dusty was to make two rides that afternoon and his reputation as a cavalryman had placed him among the favorites. However, neither Grillman nor Mulcachy managed to find anybody who was wagering in such a manner that he appeared to be certain the small Texan would lose. Attending with Marlene and de Froissart, Mark reported—during a clandestine meeting with the marshal—that both had placed fair sums of money on Dusty; which suggested that they were not involved in the plot.

  The first horse allocated to Dusty was a roman-nosed, small and ugly bay gelding. While it appeared docile as it allowed itself to be roped, saddled and bridled, Dusty was not fooled by its apparently placid nature. Which proved to be fortunate. Once he was astride it and the blindfold had been removed, the bay proved to be a vicious fighter. It was what was known as a close-to-the-ground pitcher. Never leaping high, it moved fast, kicking sideways with its hind quarters, shaking its head from side to side and contorting its body in an unending attempt to so befuddle its rider that he lost all sense of timing and direction. With such a mount, it was all too easy for the man on its back to miss track of it completely and find himself plowing up dirt with his chin. That did not happen in Dusty’s case, but he had several bad moments before the battle came to its end.

  Dismounting and acknowledging the applause of the crowd, Dusty could not help thinking what would have happened if he had failed to discover the damage to his saddle and had fastened it to such an animal.

  Making the final ride of the day, Dusty knew that he would win the event if he succeeded in completing it. He took on a big, rangy yellowish claybank stallion which fought the rope and needed to be eared down, with a man gripping each ear between his teeth so that pain would make it stand still, before it could be saddled. It proved to be a very different proposition to the bay, being a cloud hunting high roller, bounding high and slamming down hard, alternating the leaps by rearing wildly, vaulting upwards and pawing the air with its forefeet.

  Finding that such tactics failed to dislodge Dusty, the claybank tried runaway pitching.

  After dashing in a straight line for about fifty yards at a gallop, it flung itself five foot into the air. Alighting on stiff legs, it struck the ground heavily and with considerable force. The rapid forward motion had ceased so abruptly that the stallion seemed to be thrusting itself backwards as it reached the ground. Although Dusty was thrown against the fork of the saddle, then back on to the cantle, he remained aboard it.

  The fight ended soon after the claybank had hurled itself in blind fury at the rails of the corral. Seeing the danger, Dusty quit its back an instant before the collision. Landing on his feet, he vaulted back afork the saddle as the stallion rebounded. Winded and exhausted by its efforts, the horse could make only a token resistance and even that was soon finished.

  Having been acclaimed the winner of the event, Dusty received his prize and congratulations from the Governor. Then he returned Mulcachy’s saddle to the barn and made arrangements to have his own rig repaired. He also received Grillman’s and Mulcachy’s negative reports. Not only had the marshal failed to learn anything from Mark or the betting, but he had been equally unsuccessful at the hotel. None of the staff had seen anybody loitering about the building. Nor had any visitor expressed interest in Dusty staying there, or tried to learn which room he was occupying. That information, however, would not have been hard to discover as the register was open on the desk and there had been times when it was not manned. Nor would obtaining access to Dusty’s quarters have been too difficult, as each lock was fitted to operate with a master key. A skilled person could deal with such a device easily enough.

  Going back to the hotel, Dusty found that the thread was intact when he examined the door. After taking a hot bath and changing his clothes, he went to dinner with Mulcachy. The evening passed enjoyably, with Dusty continuing his work of trying to persuade ranchers that Goodnight’s scheme was practical and feasible.

  Towards midnight, the small Texan was walking alone on his way back to the hotel. Suddenly he became conscious of being followed. To make sure, he halted and pretended to be looking into the window of a store. Instead, he gazed back along the street. A pair of men had also stopped, but they remained in the shadows and he could not make out who or what they might be.

  Walking on, Dusty went faster. So did the men. So he slowed down, waiting for them to come nearer and allow him to learn more about them. Instead of complying, the pair made no attempt to close the distance which separated them from him. Deciding to let them make the next move, Dusty kept walking. Soon the hotel was in sight and, if they had any hostile intentions, they would have to take action before he reached it.

  ‘Across the street!’ yelled one of the men. ‘Down!’

  Alert for any hint of danger, Dusty reacted instantly. He glanced across the street, seeing a dark shape in the black mouth of an alley. However, fortunately for him, he was already diving forward and into the shadows of the nearest building. There was a brief glow of flame from the other side of the street and, as the sound of a revolver’s shot reached his ears, a bullet cut the air just above his head. If he had moved a fraction slower, it would have hit him.

  Even as Dusty landed on the sidewalk, with a Colt in each hand, and started to twist so that he was facing the shooter, he heard the sound of running feet along the street. A moment later, the man who had tried to kill him was sprinting through the alley.

  Despite the warnings he had received, Dusty did not rise from his place in the shadows. He wanted to be sure of the pair before showing himself. While they had saved his life, he still did not know who they might be and their behavior had been suspicious.

  Separating, each holding a revolver, one of the men headed for the alley and the other made for Dusty. As he drew nearer, the small Texan saw that he had a badge of some kind on his vest.

  ‘You all right, Cap’n Fog?’ the man called anxiously and Dusty identified him as one of Grillman’s deputy marshals.

  ‘He missed me,’ Dusty replied, rising and crossing the sidewalk. ‘Let’s go after him.’

  Running along the alley, they heard the sound of a horse moving off. There was a shout from the second deputy, followed by a shot, but the hooves grew fainter and there was nothing to suggest that the rider had been hit.

  ‘He got away, blast it!’ the second deputy cursed, as Dusty and his companion joined him. ‘Sorry about that, Cap’n Fog, but we didn’t see him until it was too late to stop him shooting.’

  ‘I hadn’t seen him at all,’ Dusty confessed. ‘Not that I’m ungrateful that you were, but how come you’ve been following me?’

  ‘The marshal told us to, only not to let you know,’ the first deputy explained. ‘He allowed somebody might try to make wolf-bait of you.’

  ‘Good of him,’ Dusty grunted and, remembering a comment the marshal had made. ‘Tell him I wish folks would start to ignore me.

  Chapter Fourteen – Colonel Goodnight’s Been Killed

  ‘WE WANT YOU TO cut out a red and white Box L cow, Captain Fog,’ Horatio Fitt ordered, indicating a herd of about a hundred and fifty head of cattle which were being held together by half a dozen cowhands. ‘Start on the whistle.’

  Two days had passed since the attempt upon the small Texan’s life. Although Marshal Grillman had tried, he could not find out who had b
roken into Dusty’s room and damaged the saddle, or discover the identity of the would-be killer. Nor had Mark Counter been more successful, despite his association with Marlene Viridian having developed into an active flirtation. De Froissart and Dolman had not told her of the orders given to Roxterby. In view of his failure to carry them out, they had no intention of leaving themselves open to her derision by doing so.

  To keep up appearances, Grillman had questioned Mark about his whereabouts at the time of the shooting. This had been done in the Belle Grande Hotel, in the presence of Marlene and de Froissart. The woman had given the blond giant an unshakeable alibi, by stating that they had been guests at a ball when the attempt was being made.

  Realizing that a further visit by them to the Snapping Turtle was almost certain to result in bloodshed and would be unlikely to produce any worthwhile results, Dusty and Grillman had decided against going there. Instead, as a matter of form, the marshal had requested that Dolman made use of the State Police’s jurisdictional powers and carry out the inquiries. Not unexpectedly, Dolman had returned to announce that there was no evidence against Turtle. However, a rumor had started to circulate in Fort Worth that the saloonkeeper was implicated in the attempted murder.

  Despite the narrow escape, Dusty had continued with his efforts at gaining further approbation. On the day after the shooting, he had won a contest which had demanded a display of skill in fancy and practical roping. That evening, he had scored another minor victory in the campaign against the hide and tallow men.

  Forewarned by Mark, Dusty had countered Marlene’s suggestion, regarding Goodnight having ulterior motives for trying to send other ranchers to Kansas, before it could be made and take hold. He had done so by raising the matter himself. Then he had pointed out that, although intending to make a drive to Kansas, the colonel had a lucrative contract to deliver cattle to the Army. So Goodnight had no need to worry about selling his stock to hide and tallow factories, especially at the low prices such establishments offered. Listening to Dusty’s words and observing their results, Marlene had been seething furiously inside. She could see that there was little chance of the implication stirring up favorable feelings against Goodnight. All it had done was to remind the ranchers of just how little money was to be made by dealing with the hide and tallow men. Not only that, she had sensed a growing belief that driving to Kansas might be a practical proposition.

  There had remained only one major doubt. That was how the cattle could be loaded on the trains at the railroad, ready to be shipped to the East. It was, unfortunately, still a subject upon which Dusty could shed little light.

  Shortly after noon the second day, Dusty had been told to take his turn in yet another of the County Fair’s entertainments. What was more, it was an event in which he had intended to participate even before there had been a need for him to bring himself into prominence as a top hand. There were few things he enjoyed doing more than working with a good cutting horse. To him—and to many other horsemen, even to this day—that was the ultimate form of the equestrian arts. So he had been looking forward with pleasurable anticipation to matching his mount against other first class cutting horses.

  Waiting for the whistle so that he could commence, Dusty sat relaxed on his own saddle. Its maker, Joe Gaylin of El Paso—which was only a small village at that time—was in Fort Worth. He had replaced the ruined rings and the rig was as good as new.

  The horse between Dusty’s legs was a sleepy-looking grullo gelding which he had trained himself. Not more than fourteen hands in height, it lacked the size and presence of the paint stallion. Yet, to the more knowledgeable of the spectators, the grullo—its coat slate-colored like a sandhill crane—had the indefinable quality known as brio escondido, hidden vigor. It stood as if almost asleep, but with its ears cocked. Alert and eager to move, it never took its eyes from the cattle.

  When the judge’s whistle shrilled, Dusty did not need to signal for the grullo to advance.

  There was none of the speed with which the paint had taken after the fleeing golondrino steer. Instead, the gelding glided slowly and quietly towards the herd.

  From his point of vantage on the saddle, Dusty studied the animals. There were bulls, steers and cows mingled together. From the variety of the brands they bore, they belonged to different ranchers. Dusty was entering into the kind of a situation which frequently confronted a cowhand during a round up. Not only did he have to locate a specific animal, but he must separate it from its companions. Nor would his task be made any easier by the animal in question being a female.

  Looking round, Dusty realized that the cutting out was anything but a sinecure. There were several red and white animals in the herd. He must select the particular specimen nominated by Fitt and without wasting too much time.

  While realizing that the test was difficult, Dusty did not feel that he was being victimized. Having won so many previous events, he could hardly expect to have things easy. Nor would he have wanted them that way.

  Having seen Lonegron in the crowd, de Froissart left Marlene and Mark. Joining the man, he stood as if watching the small Texan.

  ‘I see Fog’s still around,’ the Creole remarked in a low voice. ‘You said he wouldn’t be after the bucking horse event.’

  ‘I’m damned if I know what went wrong,’ Lonegron admitted angrily, thinking of the chances he had taken to reach the small Texan’s room at the hotel, open the door with a simple lock pick and saw through the saddle’s rings. ‘He must have found out what I’d done. But I was sure he hadn’t when I spoke to you at the corral. It looked like the same saddle I’d seen in his room.’

  ‘He must have had it repaired,’ de Froissart commented in a disbelieving tone.

  ‘There wouldn’t have been time,’ Lonegron answered. ‘Anyways, your man didn’t do any better.’

  ‘My man?’ the Creole repeated, sounding puzzled. ‘But I thought it was you who tried—’

  ‘Not me!’ Lonegron insisted.

  ‘Then who was it?’ de Froissart demanded and seemed so sincere the other man was convinced that he was genuinely mystified.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Lonegron replied. ‘But, thinking it was you, I started a rumor that it might have been Ram Turtle’s doing.’

  ‘That’s good of you,’ de Froissart praised.

  ‘Good nothing,’ Lonegron sniffed. ‘Now you owe me a favor. I’ll be around when I need to collect on it.’

  ‘You’ll get it,’ the Creole promised, then grinned. ‘Turtle’s not going to like it.’

  ‘Nope,’ Lonegron agreed, also grinning. ‘Could be he’ll be so riled that he’ll take Fog out of the game for us.’

  ‘How about Goodnight?’ de Froissart wanted to know. ‘Have you heard from your men?’

  ‘I don’t expect to,’ Lonegron answered. ‘When they’ve done their work, they’ll head straight back to Quintana. Schelling’ll tell me if Fog hears anymore.’

  ‘I’d be happier if I knew he wouldn’t be arriving,’ de Froissart stated.

  ‘He won’t be,’ Lonegron declared. ‘I told the boys that if it looked like he’d make it on time, they was to kill him.’

  While the conversation had been going on, oblivious of everything except the work at hand, Dusty had located the cow. He had identified it, after discarding a red and white bull which bore the same mark of ownership, by its udder and the OH brand that had been burned indelibly into its left flank.

  ‘Cut her out!’ Dusty commanded, pointing the gelding at the required animal and letting the reins hang loose.

  Having been shown what its master wanted, the grullo moved closer. Without any fuss, using its weight and an occasional quick nip with its teeth, it started to edge the cow towards the fringes of the herd. It worked with the minimum of guidance from its rider, knowing what was expected of it.

  Wishing to emphasize the ability of the grullo in carrying out the exacting work, Dusty rested his hands on the horn and allowed the reins to swing freely. He sat well back on
the saddle, instead of standing forward in the stirrups as he had when roping the golondrino. Cutting involved a lot of rapid changes of direction and the backward seat distributed his weight so as to lighten his mount’s forehand as much as possible when making fast turns or whirls.

  Watched by the judges, two of whom were working ranch owners who understood what was required in such a task, Dusty and the grullo gave a masterly demonstration of cutting out a longhorn. While doing so, the small Texan provided the final and most convincing proof to the doubters among the spectators that he was a cowhand of the first water and could not be dismissed as just another good cavalry officer.

  Try as it might, the cow could not rejoin its companions. Every attempt was countered by the little gelding. While the grullo used its teeth when necessary, it never did so in such a manner that it chased the cow back to the herd. Always it stopped and turned head to head with her, so as to be able to cover her farther forward or shorter as the occasion demanded. Going slightly ahead in order to halt and swing her, it never looked as if it might commit the blunder of advancing so far that she could duck by and obtain more play in the struggle to return to the rest of the longhorns.

  The judges did not only watch for faults by the horse. They deducted points for each step it took when going by the cow, but more could be lost if the rider spurred the outer shoulder of his mount. Nor must he carry the reins level with his upper body, or use them, or his weight, excessively to cue the horse. Picking up and setting the horse was also penalized.

  Carefully Dusty and the grullo directed the cow away from the herd and towards the cut. At last, she noticed the second bunch of animals and darted in their direction. Satisfied that she did not intend to return to the herd, having seen the same thing happen to another competitor, Dusty brought the grullo to a halt. Dropping from the saddle, he praised the little horse while awaiting the judges’ verdict. When it was announced, he knew that—with the time he had taken and the points he had been awarded—he stood a good chance of winning.