The Floating Outfit 27

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The Floating Outfit 27 Page 18

by J. T. Edson


  Acting upon the instructions they had received, the members of the posse divided into two sections and started to move off. The intention was to form a circle at a reasonably safe distance, with the small Texan at its connecting point, around the building. When word was passed that Mark and the trail boss who had led the other section had come together, Dusty issued the order most frequently given to set a herd of cattle moving on the trail.

  It said much for the ability of the whole party that the encirclement had been achieved so quickly and effectively, without the men on the porch detecting it. What was more, such was their skill that even those moving in from the front were able to keep their presence unsuspected. Although the liquor which the pair had been imbibing helped to some extent, this was achieved by employing extreme caution while advancing from cover to cover. Each man in turn remained still and covered his neighbors as they went to their next position. With this attained, the roles were reversed in what amounted to a living noose being drawn ever tighter.

  Nor did the two Englishmen and French—who, although British born and educated, was considered a Canadian in view of his part in the negotiations—prove any less adept than the Americans. All had done considerable hunting and had learned the value of such tactics when on shikar in India, or seeking out big game elsewhere in the world. 67 Not that Dusty had expected any of them to prove a liability. If he had, he would have accepted the chance of arousing animosity and refused to allow them to accompany him. As he had put his point of view to them at the hotel, he had ended it in a fashion typical of a cowhand from Texas, ‘Should you-all get made wolf bait, I’ll bet none of you’ll come and help me tell Freddie the why of it.’

  Just as the men at the front were approaching the last of the cover before the open ground, a clamor arose from the rear of the building!

  A shot was fired, followed by more shouting!

  Lurching to their feet with speed, but in a fashion indicative of having drunk rather more than was advisable when on what was obviously guard duty—albeit not sufficient to produce a state of befuddled incapability—the Metis ran towards the end of the porch!

  ‘It’s not our chaps who’ve been seen!’ French announced, having understood what had been said behind the building from where more shooting was taking place. Noticing the rest of the posse were following orders not to open fire unless in self defense, he glanced towards the Kid and went on, ‘Somebody’s found the body of the chap you dealt with!’

  ‘Seemed like the thing to do at the time,’ the black clad Texan replied, having been compelled to use his big bowie knife to silence the Metis who had confronted him unexpectedly as he was passing around the end of the backhouse on his way to scout the main building.

  ‘What now, Captain?’ Ramage inquired.

  ‘Hold your fire at the back!’ Dusty thundered and the words were repeated by the men to either side. Waiting until he was obeyed, at least by his own men, he continued, ‘Tell them who we are and that, should they be so minded, nothing ’cept being hauled off to the pokey’ll be done to them if they toss out their guns and follow with hands raised high.’

  ‘Certainly,’ French obliged, but did not state his belief that the offer would be rejected summarily and with violence.

  On hearing the Colonel begin to shout in their native tongue, the guards swung around. With their attention attracted, they proved sufficiently in control of their faculties to locate his position. Snarling profanities, they started to bring up their weapons. Seeing the speed with which they reacted and the skill being displayed, aware that the shotgun in particular would prove most effective at such close quarters, neither Dusty nor the Kid hesitated before responding.

  Brought into alignment, the Winchester carbine held by the small Texan and the ‘Old Yellowboy’ rifle in the hands of his black dressed companion crashed almost simultaneously. Each having drawn the appropriate conclusions on how the other would act, due to their having been in action together a great many times, they selected different targets regardless of appreciating which one would pose the greater threat. Struck between the eyes by the Kid’s bullet, the man with the shotgun spun from the porch before he could squeeze its forward trigger. Nor, while more fortunate in that he received a wound in the chest unlikely to prove lethal, was the other Metis allowed to fire his rifle. Slammed backwards against the wall of the building, he rebounded from it and, smashing the rail of the porch, sprawled on the ground.

  ‘Somehow, old thing,’ Roxton commented, with his usual suggestion of ennui, watching the front windows being smashed and the barrels of weapons thrust through to open fire. ‘I don’t think they mean to surrender.’

  ‘You know something?’ Waco answered, the words having been directed his way. ‘I was sort of starting to think along them self-same lines.’

  ‘Do you know how to throw that?’ Ramage inquired, seeing the youngster laying down his Winchester rifle and taking the grenade from the bag which he had had slung on his back to ensure it did not get jolted.

  ‘I figured you just hauled back and let go,’ Waco admitted. ‘Would there be some other way in Merrie Ole England?’

  ‘Well, there’s “letting go” and there’s “letting go”,’ Roxton advised, after sending two bullets from his elephant gun which ripped sizeable chunks from the framework of a window on their way into the building. Breaking open the breech and ejecting the empty cases, ensuring he did not expose himself from behind the bush he was using as concealment, he replaced them with two of the bullets from his bandoleer. While doing so, he went on, ‘Now if it could be put through there, it ought to have quite an effect upon the blighters inside.’

  ‘That’d be some throw,’ the blond youngster assessed dubiously, wondering whether he possessed the skill to make it.

  ‘About the length of a cricket pitch, wouldn’t you say, Jimmy?’ Ramage inquired, watching along the twin barrels of his Holland & Holland rifle for a suitable target to be presented.

  ‘Perhaps even a fraction less,’ Roxton estimated. ‘But that window is wider than the stumps were when you bowled your hat-trick against the M.C.C. at Lords’s.’

  ‘And there’s nobody standing in front of it,’ the baronet said, in what might have passed as a casual fashion to an unknowing observer.

  ‘I don’t know whether you’ve noticed or not, old boy,’ Roxton replied. ‘But there could be a chap or two behind it.’

  ‘Quite!’ Ramage admitted and turned his gaze to where Dusty was kneeling in similar concealment. ‘Can you keep those blighters inside occupied for a few moments, Captain Fog?’

  ‘I reckon so,’ the small Texan replied. ‘Would there be any particular’ special call for it?’

  ‘I think popping that grenade thing in amongst them might produce results,’ the baronet replied. ‘But I don’t believe they’d approve.’

  ‘They might even react in a hostile fashion,’ Roxton supplemented, his manner implying he considered he was the only one to have thought of the contingency.

  ‘I’d say you could get your bottom dollar on that,’ Waco asserted.

  ‘In which case,’ Ramage said, his manner showing no more emotion than if he was requesting his hat ready to go for a stroll around Piccadilly Circus in London. ‘If you’ll have our chaps do something, I’ll pop it through and see what happens.’

  ‘You,’ Dusty and Waco said in the same breath.

  ‘I’m a far better bowler than James, or George if it comes to that,’ the baronet pointed out. ‘And, as I doubt whether any of you colonials have ever played cricket, I feel I’m the most suitable to do it.’

  The conversation had been carried out to the accompaniment of gun shots at and from the building!

  Glancing around, Dusty assessed the situation rapidly and with an experienced gaze!

  As yet, no casualties had been reported from the members of the posse!

  However, the small Texan realized it was only a matter of time before some of the men who had volunteered to accompany him
were hit!

  Accepting there was no chance of persuading the Metis to surrender without some strong inducement being applied and—having the instincts indispensible to any good leader—wanting to avoid injuries to the posse if possible, Dusty could see the wisdom of the suggestion made by Ramage. However, he was less enamored of allowing the baronet—who was of considerable importance to the outcome of the negotiations which Freddie, whose wishes were of considerable importance to him, wanted to succeed—making the throw.

  ‘It isn’t really a matter for debate, old boy,’ Roxton stated, guessing correctly what was causing the small Texan to hesitate. ‘I assure you that John is the best man for the job!’

  ‘And so do I,’ Ramage confirmed. ‘So, if you’ll pass that thing to me, Waco, I’ll do it.’

  ‘Go to it, boy,’ Dusty authorized. ‘Only, when Sir John gets shot, I’m going to tell Freddie it was you who said he could try it.’

  ‘I think I would have preferred you to say, “if” rather than “when”, old boy,’ the baronet commented dryly. Laying aside his elephant gun, he removed first the bandoleer and then his jacket. ‘But no matter.’

  ‘Anyways, Freddie’ll forgive lil ole me, ’cause I’m so cute,’ Waco declared and continued without losing the suggestion of light-hearted detachment, ‘Ready or not, here I come.’

  Saying the last word, extending his right arm above his head to keep the grenade clear of the ground, the youngster rolled from where he was lying. Two bullets threw up spurts of dirt very close to his body, the man who fired one being shot in the head by the Kid just after the trigger was squeezed, but he reached and handed the device to Ramage. With the delivery completed, he returned to his position and picked up his Winchester.

  ‘Pass the word for everybody to load up and leave one in the chamber!’ Dusty ordered, wanting to avoid giving the Metis a suggestion that something was going to happen by shouting and added a supplement which he felt sure would indicate just how serious a situation he was envisaging. ‘Then, when I shout, “Now”, cut loose as fast as you can.’

  ‘You’d better toss across your gun, old boy!’ Roxton requested of the baronet. When this was done, without either of them being hit by bullets sent their way, he glanced from one big double barreled rifle to the other in a critical fashion and breathed, ‘Damn it. I wish I had that Hottentot, “Ventvogel”, of Quatermain’s. I’ve never seen anybody who could reload faster.’ 68

  ‘You ready, Sir John?’ Dusty inquired.

  ‘Yes!’ the baronet replied, having compared the difference between the grenade and a cricket ball, then adopted a crouching posture much like a sprinter waiting to commence a race.

  ‘On three then,’ the small Texan instructed. ‘One! Two! Three! Now!’

  Hurling himself out of his place of concealment as the last word was let out in a stentorian bellow, Ramage started towards the building. As he did so, he drew back his right arm and extended the left ahead as a counterbalance in the way which had helped him to acquire a well deserved reputation as a most efficient ‘round arm’ bowler. Although somewhat heavier than the permissible five and a half to five and three quarter ounce weight of a regulation cricket ball, the grenade did not have a circumference much greater than the mandatory eight and thirteen-sixteenth to nine inches.

  As the baronet commenced his movements, a veritable hail of lead poured from every rifle held by the members of the posse!

  Wanting to attain greater speed in handling their Winchesters than was possible in a prone position, or even when kneeling, Dusty, the Kid and Waco lunged erect regardless of the danger to themselves. Between them and the other men, they contrived to put down such a barrage of flying lead that it quickly made the front of the building untenable. However, before this happened, the blond youngster’s Winchester prevented a Metis from firing at Ramage. An instant later, letting out a boom far deeper than the bark of the repeaters, Roxton’s elephant gun propelled one of its massive charges through the wall alongside the window frame he had smashed. In spite of this, the bullet retained sufficient power to literally pick up and fling backwards another of the defenders, who had been too well hidden to be hid otherwise while attempting to draw a bead on the baronet.

  For his part, paying no attention to the fusillade going on all around, Ramage concentrated upon what he was doing. Like every good bowler, he was able to pitch the ball to within a foot of a selected point. However, regardless of considerations of personal safety, he was aware there were two very important differences for him to take into account on this occasion. Firstly, the grenade was slightly heavier than a cricket ball. Secondly and even more essential, he must send it through the window without allowing it to land on the ground before doing so.

  Estimating the time had come, the baronet commenced his swing!

  The grenade was released at what Ramage assumed was the correct instant!

  Curving through the air, as the baronet threw himself face down on the ground, the black sphere went where it was intended to go!

  Descending to the floor with little diminished velocity, one of the thin supporting wires holding apart the outer and inner segments collapsed!

  In turn, a percussion cap was crushed and sent a spurt of flame into the central component’s charge of black powder!

  An instant later, to the accompaniment of an ear- splitting roar, the whole building was shattered by a vastly greater explosion than seemed possible from such a small object!

  ‘Hot damn!’ Waco ejaculated, as he and his companions picked themselves up from where, despite being some distance away, they had been thrown off their feet by the blast. Turning an accusatory gaze to the Kid, he went on with well simulated wrath, ‘You let me go fooling around with a thing’s could do that.’

  ‘You wouldn’t take “no” for an answer, like always,’ the black dressed Texan countered, justifiably displaying not the slightest suggestion of contrition. Running his gaze over the remains, he continued, ‘Anyways, it was helped just a lil mite by the dynamite they’d got in there.’

  ‘That’s all right then,’ the blond youngster claimed and his voice took on a timbre of persecution as he continued, ‘But now I’ll be the one’s gets blamed ’cause there won’t be none of ’em going to surrender.’

  Chapter Seventeen – I’ve Come to Arrest Freddie

  ‘Well, howdy, you-all, Solly,’ Captain Dustine Edward Marsden ‘Dusty’ Fog greeted, looking up as he heard somebody approaching his desk in the town marshal’s office shortly before noon on the second day after the removal of the threat posed by the Metis. ‘You here on business, or to swap some more bible quoting with Mark?’

  Even as he was speaking, the small Texan realized something of considerable gravity had brought his visitor to see him!

  What was more, Dusty wondered whether it had anything to do with the successful raid upon the Metis he had led!

  Due to the force of the detonated dynamite, there had been no survivors from the explosion caused by the improved version of the Haynes ‘Excelsior’ hand grenade!

  Even the Metis guard on the porch who was wounded by the small Texan had been killed, so there was nobody to say whether Arnaud le Loup Garou Chavallier was amongst those who had died inside the building. With everything which might have provided evidence of complicity destroyed, there was no hope of proving Bruce Millan had known the men were occupying his cabin. Nor, if it came to a point, had Dusty hoped there would be. He was aware of the complications and possible animosity which would arise if the owner of the property was arrested and put on trial for involvement in the activities of the men from Canada and he felt, under the prevailing conditions, to do so would not be advantageous to the aims of Freddie Woods.

  With the latter consideration in mind, the small Texan had given instructions to Albert Tickles’ Barrel before setting out with the posse. Waiting until certain there would not be sufficient time for David ‘Mousey’ Nellist to get a warning to the Metis, in the unlikely event that such should hav
e been his intention, the jailer had set him loose. However, before he was given his liberty, he was told to let Millan know what was happening and warn of the danger of possible incrimination should the raid produce prisoners.

  The ploy had been successful!

  Acting upon Dusty’s recommendation by calling at Millans’ home the following morning, ostensibly to discuss a donation for a charity, Freddie Woods had been told by a servant that he had gone on ‘urgent business’ to an undisclosed destination just after daybreak and had left no indication of when he would return!

  Satisfied there was little chance of the man coming back, the small Texan had not anticipated the latest development!

  Of medium height and in his late twenties, Solomon Wisdom ‘Solly’ Cole had a black Texas-style Stetson hat tilted back on his head to show rusty-red hair. Despite a luxuriant moustache enhancing a solemn expression, his face had a rugged attraction. His stocky, powerful frame was clothed in a somber black three-piece suit, white shirt and black necktie such as a stringently practicing member of one of the more strict religious denominations might wear. However, his black boots had a cowhand’s sharp toes and high heels and the silver badge of a United States’ deputy marshal glinted on the left breast pocket of his vest. What was more, about his waist, on a stiff two and a half inch wide belt, in an open fronted spring retention holster—of a kind more usually seen in shoulder rigs—riding somewhat higher than was normal, was a Rogers & Spencer Army Model revolver with bell-shaped, square bottomed black walnut grips.

  ‘Business, I’m afraid, Dusty,’ the newcomer replied, his Texas drawl as somber as his appearance. He ran a quick glance over Mark Counter, the Ysabel Kid and Waco, who were gathering around to greet him and went on, ‘You’re none of you going to like this, but I’ve come to arrest Freddie.’

 

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