The Floating Outfit 27

by J. T. Edson

  Although her real name was Lady Winifred Amelia Besgrove-Woodstole and having been raised as a member of the British aristocracy, the beautiful young woman had spent sufficient time observing cowhands from Texas to have come to know their ways pretty well. Arriving at the livery stable to collect the two horses she kept there, she had found none of the staff were present on entering the rear door. Being competent to saddle the animals, but wanting to avoid causing concern for the owner and his employees when their absence was discovered, she had come to the front entrance on hearing voices to tell whoever was there of her intentions.

  On seeing and deducing what was happening, Freddie had formed a far more accurate conclusion than Ushermale over the motives of the cowhands. However, despite the circumstances of her departure from England having made it impossible for her to return in the foreseeable future, she had sufficient loyalty to the land of her birth to resent the comment made by Hendricks, even though realizing what had prompted it. Having formed an accurate estimation of the Englishman’s character, she had also decided it fell upon her to uphold the honor of their country.

  ‘It’s just that the dude here—!’ Merle began apologetically, feeling as discomfited as he often had when confronted with an accusation of some misdeed by the elderly yet fiery schoolmistress of his childhood and to whom he was still in awe, despite the fact he was almost the same age as Freddie.

  ‘So you think nobody from England could ride old Blotchy there, do you?’ the young woman asked, apparently paying no attention to the attempt at exculpation. ‘Well, as this gentleman clearly doesn’t mean to, I’m going to have to prove you wrong!’

  Chapter Two – It Is Her!

  ‘You, ma’am?’ Merle Thornton croaked and, as they too had not envisaged such a contingency, his companions gave similarly startled exclamations.

  ‘Me,’ Freddie Woods confirmed, nodding emphatically. ‘And, as I haven’t got all day, let’s make a start at it.’

  ‘Star—?’ the tallest of the three Texans commenced, throwing a look redolent of alarm at his companions and finding both were standing with mouths dangling open in attitudes of amazement.

  ‘I don’t know how it is in Texas,’ Freddie continued as the comment was left unfinished, turning towards the horse. ‘But back in Merrie Old England, one has to start everything before one can do it.’

  ‘I’d reckon one does, ma’am, just like back home to Texas,’ Thornton answered. Then, still worried about the possible danger and feeling sure the attire worn by the beautiful woman would not permit sitting astride, he warned hopefully, ‘But we don’t have no side-saddle for you to use.’

  ‘That is a point,’ Freddie conceded. Then she dashed the hopes she raised by continuing, ‘But, it is one easily settled.’

  As she was delivering the second part of her comment, the young woman reached for the waistband of her skirt. Unfastening and opening the garment out, she lowered and stepped from it. Giving vent to startled exclamations, the cowhands watched what was being done in a manner which suggested they could not believe the evidence of their eyes. While the removal of the garment did not bring into view the underclothing their limited experience—gained from studying the pictures in Montgomery Ward mail order catalogues—led them to assume would be displayed, the sight was far from unattractive to their less than worldly gaze. Ending in boots similar to those worn by Shaun Ushermale, Freddie had on black riding breeches which were almost as tight as a second skin and emphasized the full curvaceous swell of her buttocks and shapely legs.

  Despite owning and operating the largest saloon in Mulrooney, Freddie always took care not to go against the proprieties and conventions of the population. Therefore, she had come to the livery stable dressed in an acceptable fashion for a ‘good’—as such things were judged west of the Mississippi River—woman to go riding. However, she had never lost the love for the extra freedom permitted by sitting astride which she had acquired in her tomboy childhood. To allow her to indulge in this, one horse had a side-saddle required by the feminine riding costume and the other bore a low horned, double girthed Texas range rig. Leaving town on the former, once out of sight, she removed the skirt and was suitably attired to change to the latter.

  Removing the jacket of the riding costume, Freddie handed it, the discarded skirt and her hat to Bernard ‘Bernie’ Morris. He accepted them so gingerly he might have believed they would burn his fingers. Relieved of the garments, unbuttoning the neck of the white silk chemisette, she strolled to where the horse was tethered to the gate of an empty pole corral. While doing so, she examined it with the gaze of one well versed in matters equestrian.

  Having a washy paint coloration of a somehow grubby looking white much be-splotched by irregular patches of yellowish-red, which obviously accounted for its name, ‘Blotchy’, the animal was a less than attractive sight.

  Standing on cow-hocked legs and seeming ready to fall over at any moment, its conformation was unlikely to have won any prizes for beauty. No more than fourteen hands, weighing slightly under a thousand pounds, its head was ‘common’—having big woolly ears, big eyes, narrow jaws and a coarse, flabby muzzle indicative of being underbred—and was set on a ewe neck which seemed almost too long for its body. If that was not enough, it was goose rumped and had short, steep croups.

  Should Freddie have inquired why such an ill-favored animal was included in the remuda for a trail herd, especially when also possessing the kind of unsuitable temperament which she suspected was the case, she would have been informed this was an accident upon the part of the wrangler. When the facts had become known, being too kind hearted to shoot it, Bradford Drexell had kept it with them in the hope—which failed to materialize—that it could be sold to some unsuspecting buyer along the way.

  However, the thought never occurred to the beautiful Englishwoman. Instead, she was concerned only with the conclusions she had drawn from the examination. They were not of a kind to inspire over confidence, or a belief that she had a sinecure ahead. Regardless of all the faults, some of them suggestive of speed and agility being lacking, the beautiful Englishwoman’s keen and knowing scrutiny established that the paint was wiry and well muscled. What was more, although it had on a well used Texas range saddle, it was not equipped with a conventional bridle and split ended reins. In addition, the adjustable wide brow band of its hackamore’s headpiece had been drawn down to cover its eyes and she knew this was done to restrain any tendency to fight against whatever might be required of it.

  ‘I’ve heard that sometimes a burr, or something just as sharp, gets put under the saddle blanket, or in the girths,’ the Englishwoman commented, although she felt sure the Texans would not have indulged in such a vicious and dangerous trick.

  ‘Any man who’d do that to a hoss deserves to have whatever he uses stuck up his butt!’ Thornton asserted and his companions nodded an equally vehement concurrence. Then he realized he had employed a term unsuitable for the ears of a lady and his manner became apologetic. ‘Happen you’ll excuse what I said, ma’am.’

  ‘I agree and you’re excused,’ Freddie answered with a smile. ‘Now, let’s see if somebody from Merrie Old England can sit your old Blotchy horse.’

  ‘There ain’t no call for you to do that, ma’am!’ Aloysius ‘Red’ Hendricks claimed, sounding worried. While he would quite happily have allowed Ushermale to get on the paint despite knowing its temperament, or any other man if it came to that, he did not care to subject a member of the opposite sex—especially one so attractive, charming and friendly—to such a fate. ‘’Cause, fact being—!’

  ‘Fact being, he’s not quite as gentle and harmless as you’ve been letting on,’ Freddie finished for the cowhand, but her demeanor showed she was amused rather than annoyed by the attempted deception. ‘Don’t tell anybody I said so, but I didn’t think for a moment he was. But I can’t let down the honor of Merrie Old England.’ She did not continue, “even if he is doing it,” but the glance she directed at Ushermale implie
d the thought was in her mind. ‘So, come what may, I’m going to give it a whirl, as you colonials put it.’ 7

  Studying the determination on the beautiful face and noticing the timbre of her voice warned them the Englishwoman would brook no argument, the cowhands accepted the inevitable. Everything about her suggested she knew what was in store for her and felt competent to cope with it. They also were sure, no matter what the result, she would not hold anything that might happen to her against them.

  Apart from the single derisive glance she had directed at Ushermale, Freddie gave him no further attention!

  What was more, being fascinated by the appearance of the beautiful young Englishwoman and what she was doing, the Texans had also put the cause of the incident from their mind!

  For his part, Ushermale was staring at Freddie with an intensity which would have surprised anybody who knew him. However, his thoughts were not upon the most attractive sight she presented in the less than conventional attire displayed by removing her outer garments. Instead, he was even more convinced there was something about her which he should remember. Failing to bring whatever it might be to mind, he suddenly realized the chance he was being presented by her intervention. Having no desire to face the trio again, especially if anything should happen to her while riding the horse, he backed off a couple of steps. His action went unnoticed and, giving a low sigh of relief, he turned to walk away at a swift pace.

  Liberating the one-piece reins from the rail to which they were hitched, Freddie asked for the gate of the corral to be opened. After Hendricks had complied with the request, followed by all three Texans and giving no thought to the Englishman, she led Blotchy inside. Accepting Thornton’s offer to hold the washy paint, she prepared to mount. Although she had been taught to ride on the somewhat smaller type of saddle used in the United Kingdom, she had come to like the more comfortable rig which had been developed in Texas to meet the needs of men who spent much of their working life astride a horse.

  Before doing anything else, Freddie tested the fit of the saddle to ensure it was secure. However, this did not imply she suspected otherwise. Nor did any of the trio consider it a reflection upon their honesty. Rather they were relieved by watching a precaution each would have followed and they took it as further proof of her competence. Satisfied that all was well, she made ready to get astride the animal. Because of the way in which the rig was constructed being different from those she had used in England, this called for a slightly revised method of mounting.

  When riding on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean, Freddie would have grasped a good hold of the mane with her bridle hand. However, using the Texas range rig, there was something available that was even more secure and less liable to arouse the animosity of a recalcitrant animal. Grasping the low horn and the one piece reins of the hackamore with her left hand, she slipped her left foot into the near side stirrup iron and deftly swung into the saddle. Settling herself firmly on the seat, she ensured her feet were positioned securely in the stirrups. When satisfied all was as she wanted it, feeling the horse quivering between her legs and giving warning of its intentions, she issued the order for the blindfold to be cleared.

  Thrusting up the browband, Thornton sprang clear!

  Nor did the tallest of the Texans move an instant too soon!

  Showing an equal appreciation of the situation, the other two joined Thornton in dashing across the corral and climbing to sit on its top rail!

  All the head-hanging, passively somnolent seeming posture left Blotchy and, springing forward, it started the kind of rapid bucking which had won its reputation. However, it soon discovered it had a rider of considerable ability on its back and made extra effort to try and dislodge the unwelcome burden. Rearing, plunging with back arched, chinning the moon, crawfishing, fence-worming, jack-knifing and performing every other trick in its extensive repertoire, 8 it went around and around the spacious confines of the corral in an ever growing cloud of churned up dust.

  Thrown back and forwards on the saddle, jolted into the air and coming down again on the less than yielding leather seat, Freddie needed all her skill to stay with her mount through its violent efforts. She was oblivious of the yells of encouragement being given by the Texans although she sensed they were there. Nor could she spare even a moment to find out how the Englishman was responding to her attempt to uphold the honor of their native land. She did not even notice that, attracted by the commotion, several men and a few women started running from several directions to watch the struggle for dominance which was taking place.

  Before many seconds had passed, Freddie’s previously immaculate hair was shaken down until she was compelled to toss her head and clear strands from in front of her eyes. Soon freely flowing perspiration washed the acceptable amount of make-up permitted to a ‘good’ woman from her face. Gasping to exhale and replenish her lungs with air, exertion caused her bosom to rise and fall with a vigor which threatened to burst off the buttons of her snugly fitting chemisette.

  At last, after several minutes of unremitting effort, Blotchy’s struggles slackened. Despite being urged by jabs from the small spurs on the heels of its rider, it made only a token effort to resume the fray. Then, snorting breathlessly and whitened by copiously shed lather, it came to a halt. Slipping from the saddle and swaying with the effect of her exertions, Freddie leaned against its hot flanks and gently patted its steaming neck. As the three young Texans sprang down from the rail and hurried forward, for the first time she became aware that she had attracted a much larger audience. Surrendering the reins to Thornton, smiling at the enthusiastic way in which he and his companions were responding to her victory, she acknowledged the applause from the men and women around the corral with a tired wave of her left hand. Then she looked for the Englishman. Although she had hoped otherwise, she was not entirely surprised to find he was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Whee dogie!’ Morris whooped, turning Freddie’s attention from thoughts which were less than flattering to Ushermale. ‘You took ole Blotchy like General Sam took Santa Ana at San Jac!’ 9

  ‘O—Or General Grant took Richmond?’ the Englishwoman suggested breathlessly, feeling sure the ride she had just completed would make such an otherwise impolitic remark acceptable to the three young Texans.

  ‘He was just lucky, ma’am,’ Thornton claimed and the grins on the faces of the other two indicated that, despite being confirmed ‘Johnny Rebs’ at heart—like him—they had taken no offence at this reminder of a crucial ‘Yankee’ victory in the War Between the States. ‘In two ways!’

  ‘T—Two ways?’ Freddie inquired, gently rubbing at her throbbing curvaceous buttocks and concluding they had never felt so sore even at the end of a day’s hard riding with the Quorn or Belvoir Hunts near her family’s home town of Melton Mowbray in Leicestershire.

  ‘His boys’d wide-looped some good Southron sipping whiskey for him to drink,’ the oldest of the trio explained with a grin. 10 11 ‘And, more important, he couldn’t’ve done it was the Texas Light Cavalry there to stop him.’

  ‘He sure ’nough couldn’t’ve,’ Hendricks confirmed. ‘Amen to that from here to there and back the long way,’ Morris supported. ‘Happen you’ve heard of the Texas Light in the War, ma’am?’ 12

  ‘I’ve heard,’ Freddie conceded. ‘Anyway, us Rebs won the last battle of the War.’

  ‘We surely did, ma’am,’ Thornton agreed, surprised that an Englishwoman should be so conversant with that particular event from not too long ago in America’s past. He was also delighted by the way in which she had said, ‘us Rebs,’ implying she too was in favor of the South’s cause. ‘Trouble being, the War’d ended a mite afore Colonel Rip Ford whipped the Yankees at Palmitto Hill.’ 13

  Even as the tallest of the Texans was speaking, noticing where he and the other two were continually yet surrepitiously glancing, caused Freddie to look in the same direction. What she saw warned her that she was no longer dressed in a manner suitable for mixed company. Soaked by
the perspiration she had been shedding and being emphasized by her heavy breathing, the thin chemisette was clinging even more tightly to the contours of her torso than under normal conditions. As it was the only garment covering them, despite it having ridden up from the waistband of the riding breeches to leave a gap exposing some of her midriff, the nipples of her full firm bosom were now standing out in bold relief.

  ‘I think I’d better have my coat back,’ the Englishwoman told the Texan to whom she had given the garments she removed before mounting.

  ‘Yes’m!’ Morris answered, jerking his gaze away from the twin magnificent protuberances and blushing furiously at the realization that his scrutiny might have provoked the request. ‘I—I’m sorry!’

  ‘That your horse lost?’ Freddie queried with a smile, accepting the jacket. Donning and buttoning it, she went on, ‘And, if you are sorry, how do you think I feel?’

  ‘How come, ma’am?’ Thornton inquired, also having found the sight presented by the sweat soaked chemisette most interesting and enjoyable.

  ‘I’ll be lucky if I can sit down comfortably for a week,’ Freddie claimed and felt gingerly at her rump again. ‘Which, with that British Railroad Commission arriving this evening, I’ll be expected to do more than a little sitting down with them before they leave. Only it won’t be half as much fun as proving somebody from England could ride old Blotchy.’