The Floating Outfit 27

by J. T. Edson

  Like his lanky companion, Camberwell had contrived to remain on his feet while rushing headlong across the stable.. Glancing over his shoulder as he was recovering from the powerful heave, he realized that the situation which had started so well had now passed beyond all hope of immediate redemption. The only thought he had for the fate of the two men he had persuaded to help him was to hope that both were dead and, therefore, unable to supply information about him. Making no attempt to find out whether this was the case, he turned all his attention to effecting his own escape.

  Instead of halting as he was regaining control over his movements, the burly hardcase used the still unended momentum to continue running across the room of his own accord. Instead of taking the extra time which doing so would have required to reach and open the side door, hurtling himself through the air, he covered his head with both arms and plunged through the window in the wall. Taking the shattered glass and splintered wooden sash with him, he left the stable in a rolling dive which brought him to his feet when he alighted outside. Without so much as another brief look to his rear, expecting to feel lead either strike him or whistle by at any moment, he started to run as fast as his legs would carry him.

  As he fled, without being fired upon, Camberwell realized there was only one way by which he might evade the retribution he. did not doubt would be his lot should he be captured by the local peace officers. They were certain to make every effort to capture him, particularly as the intended victim of the thwarted abduction would be determined to extract vengeance and would ensure her ‘tame law-dogs’ did everything within their power to see it was obtained. Despite his pretended disdain for Texans in general and the group running the law in Mulrooney in particular, he was aware that they had performed their duties most competently since taking office. Therefore, he wanted to put as much distance as possible between him and them before they were set on his trail. He also needed money to assist him in what might prove a lengthy chase and, although there would be a considerable element of risk involved, he felt sure he knew where it could be obtained.

  Having decided upon what he would do, a thought occurred to the surviving would-be kidnapper!

  ‘Who the hell was that Texan bastard?’ Camberwell mused, reducing his pace to a fast walk as less liable to attract unwanted attention, when a glance to his rear informed him he was out of sight of the stable and nobody was following him. ‘The son-of-a-bitch wasn’t drunk like he made out to be and, short-growed’s he was, he sure as shitting knew how to fight!’

  ‘Are you all right, honey?’ the small Texan inquired solicitously, swinging his gaze from Profitt to Lexington to satisfy himself that neither posed any further threat.

  ‘Yes, thanks to you,’ Freddie Woods replied, showing no surprise nor objection over the last word of the question. Instead, taking the Army Colt by the chamber in her left hand, she offered it butt first to her rescuer and, glancing at his unadorned mid-section, went on, ‘Here. You look as if you need this.’

  ‘Gracias querida,’ thanked the small Texan, again adding a term of endearment without rebuke and, returning the most effective wooden device to the hip pocket from which it had come, accepting the Colt. Then, followed by its donor, he crossed quickly to the window through which Camberwell left the stable so precipitously. Halting with his back to the wall alongside the now unglazed frame, he held the weapon in both hands with the barrel pointing upwards while peering cautiously outside. As had been the case when he was dealing with his two would-be assailants, his actions were those of one thoroughly conversant with what he was doing. Scanning the area and failing to find what he was looking for, so swiftly had the burly hardcase reached the shelter offered by the nearest buildings, he went on, ‘He’s lit a shuck like his butt was on fire.’

  ‘You hardly expected him to wait around, did you?’ Freddie inquired, the remark sponsored by relief at her rescue rather than being a criticism.

  ‘I’ll collect my own guns and go after him,’ the small Texan stated, lowering the Colt and setting the hammer to a safe position between two of the percussion caps on the chamber.

  ‘Leave him to Mark and the others, please,’ the black haired beauty answered, giving vent to her pent up emotions. Advancing and being taken into the arms of her rescuer, she continued, ‘Oh Dusty, thank heavens Babsy was wrong.’

  ‘You’d best run that by again, honey,’ the small Texan requested, realizing why he had been asked to refrain from going after the departed hardcase and willing to comply. ‘Babsy didn’t know the kind of trouble you were in to tell me.’

  ‘I never thought she did,’ the black haired beauty replied. ‘But she said that, like all men, you were never around when you’re needed.’

  Although Freddie had been through a second traumatic situation in two days, with the latest posing an even more direct personal threat to her well-being than had the attempted assassination at the Mulrooney passenger depot, she did not behave in the manner which was generally attributed to the heroines in the books and melodramatic plays of the day and, with only a few exceptions, would continue to be the case in the future. 38 During the hectic moments following the arrival of her rescuer, instead of standing back with a hand clasped in her mouth or breast regardless of how desperately he might require assistance, she had not hesitated before supplying it as soon as it was needed. What was more, despite being a little paler than usual, her hand was steady as she spoke and prepared to hand over the revolver with which she had just taken another human being’s life. She derived neither pleasure nor satisfaction from having shot the lanky hardcase, but accepted she had had no other choice. Nor, having formed an accurate assessment of his unscrupulous and vicious nature, did she feel any remorse over having been responsible for his death.

  Nevertheless, Freddie had never been more pleased to see Captain Dustine Edward Marsden ‘Dusty’ Fog!

  What was more, the black haired beauty and her rescuer had come to be on sufficiently close terms for her to have no compunctions over allowing him to see her when she was far from feeling her usual calm and collected self!

  ‘I wouldn’t’ve been, but for luck,’ Dusty admitted. ‘When the train finally hauled in, figuring you’d want to know the how-all of what happened in Hays City in your capacity as mayor, of course—!’

  ‘Of course,’ Freddie assented and, having regained much of her composure, went on, ‘By the way, dear, do you think it would be considered proper if anybody came in and found the marshal hugging the mayor?’

  ‘There’s some might even reckon’s how the mayor shouldn’t call the marshal “dear”,’ Dusty pointed out. ‘And, was I asked, I’d say’s how it was the mayor who’s hugging the marshal.’

  ‘Mr. Bruce Millan most certainly wouldn't approve, bless his tiny little heart,’ the black haired beauty admitted, referring to a man who had consistently opposed her in everything she had done while helping to organize the building of Mulrooney and since she had been appointed as its mayor. Moving away from the small Texan, she continued in a mock official tone, ‘But, be that as it may, marshal, please tell me how you came on the scene just when you were needed.’

  ‘Whatever you want, mayor,’ Dusty assented and gestured towards his sides. ‘Only let me go fetch my gear from outside. I feel sort of undressed without it.’

  Returning the Army Colt to Freddie, as a precaution in case the squat hardcase should recover sufficiently from the blow to pose a threat, the small Texan strode swiftly from the stable. He returned wearing a low crowned, wide brimmed black J.B. Stetson hat and buckling on a gunbelt with two bone handled Colt ‘Civilian Pattern’ 1860 revolvers in its well designed cross draw holsters. 39 However, neither the rig nor the badge of town marshal which was now affixed to the left breast pocket of his green shirt served to make him in any way more noticeable; except that a casual observer might have wondered how one so insignificant in appearance could have received such an appointment as senior municipal law enforcement officer in a Kansas trail end-railroa
d town and, despite it being only the second time he had held such a position, 40 fulfilled his obligations with considerable competence. Anybody who looked closer would have discovered there was a strength of will, intelligence and an aura of genuine self confidence to the lines of his face. Furthermore, although his clothes served to lessen its effect, he had the physique of a Hercules in miniature.

  While he was completing his ‘dressing’, the small Texan began to explain how he had arrived so fortuitously!

  Having instructed Waco—who had been on duty at the passenger depot—to help Deputy Town Marshal Frank Derringer to deliver the prisoner they had brought from Hays City to the jailhouse, Dusty had gone to the Fair Lady Saloon. He had been told by Babsy that Freddie had just left. Learning of the misgivings both had had over the possible motive for the request for a meeting behind the Railroad House Hotel, he had set out after her and was just too late to prevent the interception taking place. However, seeing her accompanying the three hard- cases, he had immediately realized she was not doing so of her own accord.

  Being considerably more experienced in such matters than was suggested by his external appearance, Dusty had appreciated the risks involved in going to assist Freddie immediately!

  Instead, taking great care to remain out of their sight and being inadvertently helped in this by Freddie having kept the three hardcases occupied in conversation, Dusty had followed with such skill he had reached the front of the livery barn without being caught in the act. Peering through a gap in the weather-warped planks of the wall, despite knowing he had avoided detection so far, he had seen enough to warn him against bursting in. Even with his Colts drawn and cocked ready for use, his completely ambidextrous ability notwithstanding, he would be unable to deal with all three of the men swiftly enough to serve his purpose. They were too far apart for him to be able to shoot the first and turn his guns on the others before at least one would be able to kill their captive.

  Aware of how little he resembled the popular conception of how he should look, the small Texan had seen how he could turn this to his advantage as he had occasionally in the past!

  Because he presented an appearance so vastly different from what one might have expected from a man of his reputation, the trio at Hampton’s Livery Stable were not the first—nor would they be the last—to fall into error about the potential of Captain Dustine Edward Marsden ‘Dusty’ Fog! 41

  What was more, because of the duties which Dusty had to carry out where one section of the town’s transient population was concerned, he had the means upon his person to implement the scheme he formulated. As was the case with the cowhands delivering trail herds to the shipping pens, the construction workers on the railroad frequently visited Mulrooney to spend their hard-earned pay in celebrations which mostly entailed excessive drinking. However, unlike the Texans, they tended to rely upon bare hands and steel toed boots to settle disagreements or resist arrest for legal infractions. Declining to use the methods of such peace officers as the Earp brothers, who never hesitated before using firearms even against unarmed men, he sought to quell such aggression without employing guns. To this end, he carried a most effective—yet seemingly innocuous—device in his right hip pocket.

  Removing his hat, Dusty had placed his badge of office and gunbelt in its upturned crown. Then ruffling his hair and conveying the impression of being drunk, he had alerted Freddie to his presence and sought to lull her captors into a sense of false security by singing loudly before going inside the building. The ploy had proved successful. In addition to believing he was as drunk as he appeared, thinking in terms of guns and knives, the three men had paid no attention to a device which could prove equally effective in competent hands. Therefore, he was helped achieve his purpose by the unexpected potency of the seemingly innocuous yawara stick he had wielded with such devastating effect. 42 43 He had been taught how to use this primitive weapon, along with certain unarmed fighting techniques—including the leaping kick he delivered to Profitt—little known outside the country of their origin, by Tommy Okasi, a Japanese samurai who acted as valet to his uncle, General Jackson Baines ‘Ole Devil’ Hardin.

  ‘Mind you, honey,’ Dusty drawled at the conclusion of his story. ‘I could’ve got by without your help.’

  ‘You know what they say,’ Freddie replied, now completely recovered from her tension. ‘Behind every successful man, there’s a woman.’

  ‘You can be behind me any time you’re so minded,’ the small Texan declared, then glanced at the two sprawled out figures on the floor. ‘Only, before you do, I want to find out the how-come of all this.’

  ‘They’d been hired to kidnap me and take me to the marshal in Brownton,’ the beautiful Englishwoman replied and glanced towards the main entrance from beyond which the sound of hurrying footsteps indicated somebody was approaching. ‘I can’t tell you what it’s all about right now, but I will later.’

  ‘Bueno,’ Dusty assented. ‘And I’ll be real interested to find out who-all hired them to do it.’

  Chapter Ten – Somebody Knows the Answer

  ‘No matter we walked this town from end to end—!’ the Ysabel Kid commenced.

  ‘Which I’d tell anybody’s asked is one fair piece to walk,’ interrupted Waco, sharing the antipathy his companion—and practically every other cowhand—had towards travelling from place to place on foot. Despite being aware of the situation’s gravity, he could not resist injecting the comment. ‘Not that I figure I’ll get asked.’

  ‘I know somebody who’ll get asked to ride the blister end of a shovel unless he closes his feeding-hole,’ Mark Counter threatened. ‘You’ll have to forgive him, Freddie. Like Cousin Solly says, he knoweth not what danged fool thing he does.’

  ‘Let’s confine ourselves to the local barbarians, shall we?’ the beautiful young Englishwoman requested, despite knowing the man named as being responsible for the extemporized biblical quotation was building a reputation as a competent and incorruptible peace officer. 44 45 She showed no objection to or annoyance at the youngest of the Texans’ apparently frivolous behavior, nor the familiarity with which the tallest had employed her first name. Instead, patting the subject of the request gently on the cheek with what was obviously genuine affection, she continued, ‘And I’m always willing to forgive this dear boy. He’s so cute.’

  ‘Anyways,’ the first speaker went on, his tone redolent of resignation over such flippancy when he had news of importance to impart. ‘’Spite of all this walking and looking, we couldn’t find hide nor hair of him!’

  Almost two hours had elapsed since the attempted abduction of Freddie Woods!

  Showing no signs of distress over her narrow escape, the black haired beauty was sitting with her rescuer in the dinning-room of her living quarters at the Fair Lady Saloon and listening to reports from three of the local peace officers. Acting in a way which suggested he was not paying his first visit, on entering, Captain Dustine Edward Marsden ‘Dusty’ Fog had removed his well designed gunbelt and placed it with his low crowned, wide brimmed black Stetson hat on the table alongside the door through which he had come in. His three companions were almost as completely at home there. However, having only just arrived, they had only taken off their headdress before starting to deliver the news they had gathered. Regardless of being aware that the situation was serious, neither they nor Freddie could restrain the banter which almost always passed between them.

  Attracted from where they were patrolling the town by the shot, the Kid and Waco were told what had happened. Leaving them to start searching for the man who had fled and asking them to send a doctor while doing so, Dusty had remained at the livery stable with Freddie until the second instruction was fulfilled. As he had suspected would be the case, having of necessity been compelled to strike the toad-like man with a much greater vigor than he normally applied when using the potentially dangerous yawara stick, the medical practitioner had said his victim was in a state of deep concussion which nothing but time and mo
re than a little good fortune would end.

  Asking the doctor to obtain assistance from the small group of spectators who had gathered to remove the unconscious man and the corpse to the appropriate destinations, Dusty had escorted Freddie back to the Fair Lady Saloon. Finding Mark there, she had invited him to join them in her dining-room and told all she had learned about the reason for her abduction. Then he was sent to check whether Sir John Uglow Ramage had written to suggest the rendezvous. He had returned with an answer in the negative, which Freddie had claimed she anticipated would prove the case, but said he had dissuaded the accused Englishman from coming to the saloon to find out what had prompted the enquiry. They were discussing the possibilities suggested by some of the comments made to her as she was being taken to the livery stable when the other two deputies arrived from what had proved an abortive mission.

  ‘It’d make things easier happen some folks didn’t whomp a feller so hard on his lil ole pumpkin head he hasn’t woken up yet to answer questions,’ the Kid commented, eyeing Dusty in an accusatory fashion. ‘And, ’cording to the doc, likely won’t be able to when he does wake up, neither.’

  ‘I’ve heard tell’s a feller talks some better when he hasn’t had a blue window put in his hat-rack,’ Waco went on, ostentatiously refraining from looking at Freddie.

  ‘Cute or not,’ the beautiful young Englishwoman warned. ‘The blister end of that shovel’s getting closer by the second.’

  ‘It’s a pity we haven’t got one of them able to talk,’ the small Texan drawled, knowing the levity was intended to help Freddie over any trauma which might have been created by the dangerous events she had passed through. ‘I’d surely admire to find out who-all’s behind what happened.’