The Floating Outfit 27

by J. T. Edson

  ‘That’s up to you,’ the small Texan answered, in such a way the dissident felt as if an icy hand was touching his spine, ‘But keep one thing in mind, gentlemen. I’ve given orders to the deputies who’ll be around and about that, should any one of you insist on leaving, he’s to be hauled to the jailhouse for conduct likely to disturb the peace and held there until this business is through.’

  ‘And that, gentlemen, puts us firmly in our place,’ Ramage declared, watching the four young Texans leaving the room.

  ‘It does,’ Harland Todhunter agreed. There was a note of admiration in his voice as he went on, ‘Tell me something, John. How the hell did I ever think of Captain Fog as being small?’

  Although he had taken no part in the discussion, one member of the party in particular had been fascinated by the way in which Dusty had commanded the proceedings. Listening to the response from the millionaire, he saw a way he might be able to solve a very serious problem with which he was faced. All he had to do, he told himself silently, was find some way of enlisting the assistance of the big and very competent Texan who was leading the other three out of the door. 63

  Scuttling along a darkened street with all the furtive aspect of a rodent expecting to be hunted, David ‘Mousey’ Nellist did not believe this was the case. In fact, he was completely at ease and, as a result of something he had just learned, very content with his lot. Nevertheless, living as he did, he was still employing his normal mode of progression through a world containing numerous people who might take reprisals of a serious nature should they learn of how he had been responsible for whatever misfortunes had befallen them as a result of his activities.

  Despite an awareness of his so far unsuspected status quo amongst the outlaw fraternity, the little man was less wary than usual that evening. By sheer persistence and not a small measure of good fortune, he had acquired some information which he had instantly realized was of considerable value. The problem facing him was where he could obtain the best market. It might command a higher price if he was to take it to the man who stood to lose most by its disclosure to official sources, but there was a far too high element of risk involved for him to consider it for more than a moment. While it would be advantageous for Bruce Millan to recompense him handsomely for his silence, the payment was more likely to be in hot lead.

  Nellist was aware that his information would be received with financial gratitude by various officers of the law, but he was unable to decide which of them would be most generous. He discounted the Pinkerton National Detective Agency as unlikely to be sufficiently interested to suit his needs. On the other hand, the affair was of sufficient importance to make the United States’ marshal regard it as being worthwhile.

  Although the same would be even more applicable in the case of the municipal lawmen, Nellist doubted whether the benefits which would accrue from them would match those of ‘Big D’, who had the advantage of being backed by considerable sums of Federal money and a far more potent protection to reward those deserving of his largesse. This was particularly the case as, if rumor was correct, Captain Fog was to hand over as town marshal to Daniel Troop in the near future and would be returning to Texas with the other members of the Ole Devil Hardin’s floating outfit.

  The little man had the decision taken from him in no uncertain fashion!

  Emerging swiftly from the entrance to the alley Nellist was passing, a hand which gave him the impression he could have sat in it took hold of him by the throat!

  With no more apparent difficulty than if the little man was a newborn baby, he found himself being raised in a painful fashion and lifted into the shadows!

  ‘I’ve no time for the usual fol-de-rols right now, Mousey!’ growled a voice which Nellist would have recognized even without the added evidence of how he was being treated. ‘Where are they?’

  ‘Who, Mister Count—?’ the little man began instinctively.

  The words ended in a strangled gurgle as the already less than gentle fingers, holding the little man suspended with his feet waving futilely some inches above the ground, began to tighten!

  ‘Those Metis of le Loup Garou,’ Mark Counter supplied, unnecessarily he believed, employing the sobriquet as being indicative of possessing considerable knowledge about the man he named.

  ‘Oh them,’ Nellist gasped, as the fingers loosened just sufficiently to make speech possible.

  ‘Them,’ the blond giant confirmed. ‘And talk up muy pronto, which mean’s—!’

  ‘I know,’ the little man interrupted. ‘It means faster even than fast.’

  ‘Somebody’s been talking,’ Mark drawled, setting the captive down on his feet with a jolt which jarred his buck teeth.

  ‘It was that butto—amigo of your’n,’ Nellist supplied. ‘Waco, ain’t it?’

  ‘Ain’t it always,’ the blond giant answered, without releasing the little man. His voice took on a harsher timbre as he continued, ‘So where’re Chavellier’s sons-of-bitches at?’

  ‘They’re laid up in that small place Bruce Millan keeps about a couple of miles north of town,’ Nellist advised. In the brief contact with his captor, he had decided that to dispense with the information he had acquired about the three killings to his present interrogator—rather than waiting to decide which market would be most advantageous—was the only safe way left to him. ‘Do you know Millan—?’

  ‘That I do,’ Mark confirmed, moving his hand. ‘And I reckon we can right easy find that place of his. So come around tomorrow about noon and, happen I’m still able after we’ve dropped by to say, “Howdy, you-all” to whoever’s out there, I’ll see’s how, like Cousin Solly says, “the laborer is worthy of his wad”.’

  Watching the blond giant striding rapidly away, Nellist was filled with mixed emotions. Of all the Texans in the office of the town marshal, being a member of a very wealthy family in the Lone Star State, Mark Counter was certain to prove more generous than the others. However, fingering his throbbing throat and thinking malevolently of how roughly he had been handled, the little informer wondered whether he would not be just as pleased if circumstances prevented the blond giant from meeting him at the appointed time and place.

  Chapter Sixteen – I Don’t Think They Mean to Surrender

  ‘Give the blighters credit,’ Lord James Roxton remarked sotto voce, sounding no more than mildly aggrieved despite the gravity of the situation which had provoked the comment. He was wearing a ‘deerstalker’ hat, a dark suit of the kind worn for that specific kind of trophy hunting in the Highlands of Scotland, a black turtleneck pullover, tartan woolen socks and untanned veldts-choons. A bandoleer holding massive bullets was suspended around his shoulders and he was carrying a magnificent Holland & Holland double barreled rifle. Unlike the one owned by Freddie Woods, it had a caliber of .600 Nitro Express and, therefore, qualified as an ‘elephant gun’. ‘They haven’t made things too easy for us. In fact, if I was inclined to pessimism, I’d even go so far as to say they’ve made it hard. Oh well, to quote the family motto, “Nil illegitium carborundum”.’

  ‘That’s strange, Jimmy,’ Sir John Uglow Ramage commented just as quietly, being dressed and armed in a similar fashion. ‘I always thought your family’s motto was, “Semper im excretum”.’

  ‘We traded it with Dingers Dinglepied after Her Majesty had him ’round to Buck House and “sirred” him, as his people had never had one of their own,’ the younger aristocrat replied. 64 Although I don’t suppose it’s good form to speak ill of the dead.’

  ‘I’d reckon’s how it’d be hard to find anything good to say about him,’ Waco commented dryly, also holding down his voice. ‘Anyways, seeing’s how I’m just a half smart lil ole boy from Texas, what does them fancy motto things mean?’

  ‘I’m afraid you’re too young to be told, dear boy,’ 65 66 Roxton answered. Then he turned his attention to where Captain Dustine Edward Marsden ‘Dusty’ Fog stood cradling a Winchester Model of 1866 carbine. ‘A bit of a sticky wicket, what?’


  ‘If it’s not,’ the small Texan replied, deciding he had no need to worry over having the two aristocrats along on what he knew was almost certain to be a dangerous mission. ‘It’ll do ’til one comes along.’

  ‘We’ve had easier chores,’ the blond youngster supported. In addition to his twin staghorn Colt 1860 Army Model revolvers in their holsters, he was armed with a Winchester Model of 1866 rifle and had a small buckskin pouch suspended over his left shoulder. ‘Here comes Lon.’

  Although locating David ‘Mousey’ Nellist had not been accomplished until eight o’clock in the evening, Dusty had claimed the time was well spent when Mark Counter brought him to the town marshal’s office!

  On being questioned further, the little informer had asserted that from six to ten Metis were at the cabin owned by Bruce Millan outside Mulrooney. However, he had claimed he did not know whether Arnaud le Loup Garou was with them. Nor was he able to say exactly how they were armed, except that he suspected they were not short of repeating rifles and other weapons. His knowledge of the property in which they were located was restricted to its general direction outside Mulrooney, but that had not created any particular problems. Satisfied that he could not help further, Dusty had ordered that he be kept in a cell for being ‘drunk and disorderly’. After he had been removed, at first protesting at being subjected to such an indignity—but putting on a convincing performance to substantiate the charge for the benefit of the other occupants when passing into the cell block—instructions for his activities in the not too distant future had been given to Albert ‘Pickles’ Barrel.

  Telling the Ysabel Kid and Waco to locate and scout the property, Dusty had set about dealing with the situation. While he had complete faith in the ability of his three amigos, he had known the four of them were not sufficient to tackle the kind of men they would be up against with any positive hope of success. Nor, with the murderer brought back from Hays City in a cell, could he spare Frank Derringer and Barrel to support them. Instead, he had gone to the Railroad House Hotel and sought assistance from the men deputized to guard the delegation.

  As he had anticipated, Dusty had acquired all the reinforcements he would need. However, three had not been anticipated. Having been playing poker with some of their guards, Colonel George A. French had offered his services and pointed out he knew much about the Metis, so might prove useful as an interpreter conversant with their dialect. Also in the game, although they had admitted they did not possess such qualifications, the two aristocrats had insisted upon being included. Each had brought a battery of rifles and shotguns from England for sporting purposes and they had selected those which they considered most suitable as well as appropriate attire from their fairly extensive wardrobes.

  Waco was back when Dusty had returned to the jailhouse. Having located the property and ensured their quarry were in occupation, the youngster had come back to act as a guide for the main body while the black dressed Texan had remained to scout the premises more thoroughly. Before setting off again, Waco had made an unconventional addition to his armament. Saying it should go back to where it belonged, he had put the improved version of the Haynes ‘Excelsior’ hand grenade in a shoulder bag along with a small box of percussion caps to prime it should it be required.

  Leading the posse to the vicinity of their destination, the youngster had called a halt when still far enough away to avoid the danger of their horses being overheard by the Metis. Completing the remainder of the journey on foot and with a greater silence than would have been possible if mounted, they had halted in a clump of trees which offered the only available cover for so many of them in a group.

  Being experienced in such matters, Dusty had refrained from trying to establish a line of action until he was sure of what would be entailed. Nothing he had seen led him to assume the raid would be a sinecure. There was sufficient light from the moon for him to be able to study the buildings and ascertain that going closer would require great care. While there was a reasonable amount of concealment available up to within about twenty yards of the small frame house, which was illuminated in a way indicating there were still occupants awake and active, the immediate surroundings were completely bare ground.

  To add to the problem, two men armed with a Winchester and a double barreled shotgun were seated on the front porch. However, they were repeatedly imbibing from a shared bottle. Judging from the fact there were several more around them, some lying in the manner of having been emptied and discarded, the experienced watchers concluded they might be somewhat less vigilant than French had warned could prove the case. Nevertheless, all were in agreement that the possibility of the guards failing to maintain a careful watch should not induce a sense of false security and, as a result, a reduction of caution while moving in.

  The sotto voce conversation between the two young Texans and the Englishmen was brought to an end by the return of the Kid.

  ‘There’s at least ten inside, Dusty,’ the black dressed Texan reported. ‘All still awake and taking liquor.’

  ‘It’s going to make them even less likely to surrender,’ French put in. ‘The kind of Metis le loup Garou recruits from have all the worst traits of both sides of their family, including a tendency to get drunk. When that happens, they’ll fight at the drop of a hat.’

  ‘And likely drop it themselves, should your Injuns in the Land of the Grandmother be like our’n,’ the Kid suggested, employing a colloquial term for Canada, based upon it being under the sovereignty of Queen Victoria. ‘Which being, what I saw through a gap in the curtains, they’re loaded for bear. Unless I’m mistook, it’s not all just for wiping out you railroad gents neither. Leastwise, I don’t conclude they’d reckon on needing a couple of cases of dynamite for that.’

  ‘Dynamite, huh?’ Dusty said, showing no surprise that his amigo had been able to approach so close as to acquire the information.

  ‘Dynamite,’ the Kid confirmed. ‘They had a feller on guard out back, same’s those two on the front porch. But, even though he’s not there no more and they’re guzzling liquor copious-like, I can’t see any way of us getting ’em to give up peaceably by shouting, no matter we’ve got the whole place surrounded.’

  ‘They won’t surrender,’the Colonel confirmed grimly. ‘Even if they’ve not got a noose waiting for them for crimes they’ve committed on behalf of le Loup Garou, I’ll be willing to wager they’re almost all wanted for offences elsewhere.’

  ‘Then we’ll have to get them out un-peaceable and this’s how we’ll set about doing it,’ the small Texan answered, being willing to accept French’s assessment as stemming from a far greater experience of the Metis than either he or the Kid possessed. He spoke with a cold and deadly seriousness which warned he had accepted the inevitable and was willing to follow it through to the bitter end. Giving his instructions to the assembled well armed men, he concluded, ‘Just keep one thing in mind. Happen they’re so minded, they’ll be given the chance to come out with their hands raised.’

  ‘As you say, Captain Fog,’ Ramage assented and there was a low rumble of agreement from the rest of the party. ‘There is one thing, though,’ Roxton put in.

  ‘What’d that be?’ Dusty inquired, feeling sure the matter was of some consequence.

  ‘A point of pure legality, old boy,’ the younger aristocrat explained. ‘I’ve learned a little about your amazingly complicated judicial system over here in the colonies while we were playing poker earlier. I’m not complaining about it and all that. You seem to be muddling along all right with it. But, as we aren’t within the bounds of Mulrooney, have you legal jurisdiction here.’

  ‘That is a point,’ the baronet agreed. ‘If they should surrender, with the kind of legal representation I’m sure will be provided by their—soft shell, as I believe you put it—friends, I’d hate to see them having to be released when on trial because of a legal technicality.’

  ‘There won’t be any,’ Dusty claimed with assurance. ‘When we took office, Freddie arranged for t
he county sheriff to make us all his deputies and that gives us jurisdiction all through his bailiwick as well as our own.’

  ‘Deuced clever these Chinese,’ Roxton praised in a manner he felt sure would prove even more satisfying to its recipient than a more formal expression of the sentiment.

  ‘Deuced,’ Ramage seconded, having been equally impressed by the forethought which had been displayed by the beautiful Englishwoman and the small Texan, who he suspected correctly, had suggested the precaution. ‘And, with that settled, old boy, we’re yours to command.’

  ‘Then let’s get her done!’ Dusty ordered, satisfied his orders had been understood and would be carried out. Noticing some activity not too far away, he went on, ‘What are you doing, boy?’

  ‘I’m just priming this lil ole sucker,’ Waco replied, looking up from where he was attaching the fourteenth percussion cap to the inner portion of the grenade with the assistance of a small ‘bull’s eye’ lantern held by Roxton so the Metis on the porch would not see its light. ‘’Cause, happen she’s needed, I don’t figure there’ll be time to do it after then.’

  ‘You could be right at that,’ the small Texan conceded, gratified by the change he had helped to bring about in the youngster which was proven by this commendable behavior. ‘Only don’t tell Cousin Betty as I said so. She’d never forgive me for giving you notions above your station, as Freddie would call it.’

  ‘Now there’s another lady with a real mean tongue,’ Waco claimed, having set the inner component into position and starting to screw the outer shell into place. ‘Fact being, Betty and her’re like two peas in a pod for that and a man’d have to be either loco, or real brave, to tangle with either of ’em permanent.’

  ‘Are you ready?’ Dusty inquired, without responding to what he knew had been a hint—albeit made with the best of intentions and permissible amongst such good friends—about the increasingly closer relationship which had developed between the beautiful Englishwoman and himself. Receiving an answer in the affirmative, he continued after the fashion of a trail boss giving the order to start a herd on its one-way journey, ‘Head ’em up, move ’em out!’