The Floating Outift 33

by J. T. Edson

  ‘Leave your saddles in there until you get settled in,’ he suggested.

  After leaving the livery barn Dusty and the Kid walked along Lodgepole’s main street. The Kid had his rifle slung across his arm, but that in itself would attract no attention. They were approaching the jail office when the Kid caught Dusty by the arm and pointed ahead.

  ‘Whang and Dooley!’ he said.

  His warning came just a moment too late. The two men had seen Dusty and the Kid at almost the same instant that the Kid spotted them. They had been leaving the hotel, but turned and walked back inside once more.

  ‘They saw us,’ growled the Kid. ‘Now what?’

  ‘There’s the jail, let’s see your friend, the Judge.’

  The Judge, a tall, leathery man, bulky and yet not looking slow or awkward and who might have looked better in buckskins riding with Jim Bowie in the War of Independence than in his cutaway coat and frill fronted shirt, showed a remarkable pleasure on seeing the Kid walk in.

  ‘Howdy, boy!’ he boomed. ‘Howdy, Captain Fog. Come in, take a seat, have a cigar and tell me what brings you to Lodgepole.’

  Accepting the offer of chairs, but declining the cigars, Dusty and the Kid sat down. Having been assured by the Kid that Buckley would be discreet and would not spread word of anything he heard in strict confidence, Dusty explained something of the conditions below the border and the reason for their hurried journey north. Buckley listened, puffing on his cigar, then he jerked a thumb to the window and gave a low curse.

  Looking across the street, Dusty saw Margarita de Plonchet, Chavez and Whang standing before the window of a room on the upper floor of the hotel. They were studying the front of the jail, Whang pointing and talking, clearly warning the others of having seen Dusty and the Kid.

  ‘Saw ’em come in,’ grunted Buckley. ‘There’s no warrant out on any of the Chavez gang.’

  Dusty knew this all too well. Chavez never raided north of the line, or if he had, he made certain it could not be proved against him.

  ‘Where at’s their hosses?’ asked the Kid.

  ‘Back of the hotel, in the stable, coach the gal rode in’s there, too.’

  ‘Have they met anybody?’ Dusty inquired.

  ‘Couldn’t say about that. There’s none of ’em come out the front way, I’ve been in here watching. See, King Fisher’s here in town and I thought maybe Chavez came north to try locking horns with him.’

  Both Dusty and the Kid knew of King Fisher’s reputation as one of the real fast Texas gunfighters. The natural assumption, to anyone not knowing the true facts would be that Chavez came to try conclusions with Fisher, see who was fastest with a gun.

  ‘What do you reckon they’ll do now?’ Buckley asked.

  ‘If they’ve seen their man and made the deal they’ll likely run,’ Dusty replied. ‘And we’ll be right after them.’

  ‘Move around to the other end of the desk, Cap’n, then you can see in through the hotel doors clear to the desk and stairs.’

  ‘That’s the only way down from the bedrooms?’

  ‘’Cepting by the fire-escape ropes, there’s one in each room. But they’re in the front here and would have to do it right before us. Hotel’s pretty fair crowded right now, all the back rooms are filled.’

  ‘We’ll stay on here if we can then,’ Dusty said. ‘Lon, just take a look out back of the hotel, see if their horses are ready for leaving.’

  ‘Do you want me to stay on out there?’

  ‘Not unless they’re ready to pull out. Watch them go, see which way they take then get back here pronto.’

  Nodding his agreement, the Kid left the jail, but he used the rear door for he knew better than take unnecessary chances when dealing with the Chavez bunch. Dusty took his seat to the other end of the desk where he could see into the hotel lobby, right to the stairs and the reception desk. Buckley took out a checker board and set up the pieces.

  ‘It’ll pass the time away,’ he remarked. ‘And we can both keep our eyes on the hotel.’

  Before they could finish one game the Kid returned from checking on the stables. He came from the front and watched Dusty take three of Buckley’s pieces in one series of moves.

  ‘If they intend moving tonight they’ve sure a strange way of doing it,’ he drawled, grinning at Buckley’s blistering comments on Dusty’s shrewd play. ‘Fed up their hosses not half an hour ago, less’n I miss my guess. If they tried hauling the coach, their team’d founder before it went a mile. Looks like they’ve fed for an early start in the morning.’

  ‘That’s when we watch ’em most, then,’ Dusty replied.

  For all that he and the Kid kept up their watch on the hotel until almost midnight when all the lights, except the one in the lobby, had been put out. They had eaten a good meal, brought across from the hotel and had a pot of coffee on hand. At various times during the evening they had seen Chavez, Whang, Dooley and Clapper moving about in one room and Margarita came to the window of the next room. She wore a nightgown, with a robe thrown over it and stood in view for a moment, then turned, removing the robe as she walked out of sight. Her room light went out after that which caused the Kid to slip out and watch the stable for a time. However, she did not leave the hotel, nor any of her men.

  Dawn found both Dusty and the Kid on their feet, Dusty watching the hotel lobby and the Kid around back, checking on the stables. However, eight o’clock rolled around before Margarita appeared and she did not appear to be dressed for travelling as she passed from sight to take her seat before the hotel dining-room window and ate her breakfast. The men also appeared, filing into the dining-room although not in sight.

  Throughout the day Dusty and the Kid watched. The girl stayed in her room as did Chavez. Whang and the others came out, but they headed to the rear of the hotel, took care of the horses, then returned. In the afternoon Whang strolled with Clapper and Dooley to the saloon and entered. Dusty passed by and saw them apparently settled down, playing in a poker game, so he returned to the jail once more.

  ‘I don’t like it,’ Dusty said, looking out of the window through the darkness towards the hotel. ‘They’re still all in town, showed no signs of leaving.’

  ‘Maybe their man hasn’t showed yet,’ Buckley suggested.

  ‘Maybe, Judge. I just don’t like the idea of chancing it.’

  He took up his hat and put it on. The Kid threw a glance at Dusty and asked, ‘Just what you got in mind, amigo?’

  ‘This whole damned thing smells wrong,’ Dusty replied. ‘I’m going across to the hotel to kind of stir things up a mite.’

  ‘Need me along?’

  ‘Be best if you stay here and watch the front.’

  With that Dusty left the jail and crossed the street to enter the hotel lobby, pausing just inside the door to look around him. He could see no sign of any of Margarita’s party but noticed the desk clerk studying him in a worried manner. This interested Dusty and, without making it obvious, he watched the man, waiting to see if he signaled to anybody.

  Sure enough the clerk stared hard, then jerked his head towards the door where Dusty stood, after gaining somebody’s attention in the bar and gambling room at the right side of the lobby. A tall, slim young man wearing expensive cowhand clothes with the indefinable air of a top hand, and belting a brace of ivory-handled Army Colts in a fast man’s rig, turned from where he stood at the chuck-a-luck table. He gave the clerk a reassuring grin, nodded a greeting to Dusty and turned to give his attention once more to the whirling chuck-a-luck cage.

  Grinning, Dusty walked towards the dining-room and entered, standing again for a moment to look around. There were a few guests at the white-clothed and neat tables, the usual sort of crowd for a South Texas hotel. Business men and their wives, a couple of prosperous looking ranch owners. At the far side of the room a couple of men, either Mexicans or half-breeds, gave him a long, penetrating stare. He felt he should know them, yet those good clothes and quietly correct manners did not fit in
with where he suspected he had last seen them.

  ‘Why, it’s Mr. Smith,’ said a voice he recognized, from behind him. Dusty turned to face Margarita de Plonchet. ‘Or should I say Captain Fog?’

  She wore a stylish gray dress which went well with her hair and eyes, but did not look to be suitable for travelling in. Her face showed nothing but a smile of welcome. Of course, she could not be sure that he connected her with Chavez, Dusty thought, then changed his mind. She knew he had seen her with the Mexican outlaw.

  ‘And what brings you back north?’ she went on. ‘Still looking what is on the other side of the hill?’

  ‘Likely, ma’am. You’re a mite further north than I reckoned to find you. I thought you were kin to Señor Perez.’

  Margarita’s smile might have meant anything. If Dusty’s cousin Betty ever smiled in such a manner it meant, ‘you aren’t fooling me one little bit.’ Dusty took the hint. The girl knew he knew her true position in the business at Salvamiento. Now the gauntlet had been thrown down and he could not help admiring the girl’s cool courage.

  ‘Have you eaten?’ she asked.

  ‘No, ma’am.’

  ‘Then join me, I hate to eat alone.’

  Accepting the invitation, Dusty followed her to a table and drew out a chair for her. He saw her make a slight movement of her head and the hairs on the back of his neck rose stiff and bristly as his instincts, born of a life of danger, warned him he might soon be in trouble.

  ‘Mind if I sit facing the other way, ma’am?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m afraid not. Sit down, please, Captain, or my men will shoot you as you stand.’

  Around the walls of the room hung mirrors, useful in an area where it often proved vital to know who came behind one’s back. Dusty glanced into one and knew his instincts had not let him down. Now the two half-breeds had turned on their seats and under the table, their guns, in open-bottomed holsters cut so the weapon could be fired without being drawn, lined on him. He did not doubt that each man’s hand gripped the gun butt and his thumb held back the hammer.

  ‘I see what you mean, ma’am,’ he drawled. ‘Only folks in Texas don’t take kindly to back-shooting.’

  ‘Nor do they take to anyone insulting a woman. I warn you now that at the first hint of trouble I will scream as if you are hurting or insulting me and the men can then shoot. They will be defending the honor of a lady and none will blame them for taking no chances when faced with the famous Dusty Fog.’

  ‘I’ll take your word for it, ma’am,’ Dusty drawled and took his seat. His right hand dropped under the table as he sat down. ‘Now what’s all this foolishness about?’

  ‘You are in no position to ask questions, Captain,’ she smiled. ‘I will do the asking. Why are you—’

  Before she could carry on with her question a waiter arrived and they went through the formality of ordering a meal. Not until he walked away did Margarita continue speaking.

  ‘Why are you and your men doing what you do?’

  ‘Why are you planning what you plan?’ Dusty countered.

  ‘I said I would ask the questions.’

  ‘That’s changed, ma’am,’ Dusty replied. ‘When I sat down I drew my right side Colt with my right hand, they were watching the left, figuring me to pull it cross hand. Now it’s resting on my knee, the hammer’s under my thumb and the trigger’s drawn back as far as it’ll go. The muzzle’s lined smack-dab on your stomach. Now, happen you figure to yell do it, but there’s no power living can stop me letting the hammer drop, not even if I’m hit in the head.’

  For a long moment her eyes locked with his. Dusty gave her credit for having courage in plenty. She searched his face, trying to find some sign that he lied but read only calm assurance.

  ‘You wouldn’t shoot a woman,’ she said.

  ‘After I’m dead it won’t make any difference whether I’ve shot a woman or the man who killed me,’ replied Dusty. ‘Only I’ll likely die a lot quicker than you. Did you ever see a man shot in the stomach?’

  She nodded. Doubt seemed to be warring on her face. Could a man draw a long barreled Army Colt without giving some warning? Even at the thought of that she also remembered Dusty Fog wore a brace of some new kind of gun, she had seen them, much shorter than the Army Colt. It might be possible.

  ‘Take it this way,’ Dusty went on, seeing the threat of death—even the painful death of a stomach wound—would not swerve her. ‘Who’ll run things with you dead?’

  Dusty knew he had said the one thing to make her see reason. She could not bear the thought of leaving Marcus, Barrio or Chavez to make a hash of the great plan. Luckily Dusty had spent some time with Almonte’s spy learning all he could about the leaders of the plan and this knowledge looked like paying off with his life.

  ‘You are a clever man, Captain Fog,’ she said. ‘Do you really hold a gun?’

  ‘It’s a good gamble, ma’am.’

  At that moment King Fisher entered the room and took his seat at a table reserved for him at the side of the door and with his back to the wall. He raised a hand in greeting to Dusty once more and winked.

  ‘That cuts your odds down even further, ma’am,’ Dusty went on. ‘Your boys’ll die within a second of them shooting me. King Fisher’s a good friend.’

  Looking towards her men, Margarita saw indecision on their faces. They recognized Fisher and did not like his friendly greeting to Dusty. With a shrug of her shoulders, Margarita made another sign. The two men removed their hands from their weapons, letting the holsters slide down. At the same moment Dusty moved, changing chairs to sit so he could watch the men—his hands were empty.

  Fury darkened Margarita’s face and she opened her mouth.

  ‘Don’t try it, ma’am!’ Dusty warned. ‘They’ll be burying both your boys if you do.’

  Slowly the anger left the girl’s face and a slightly admiring smile took its place. There had been no hint of boasting in the quiet words, only complete assurance in his ability to handle the matter.

  The food came and to all appearances he and the girl might have been the best of friends, lovers even, from the way they sat eating together.

  ‘Why don’t you give this up, Miss de Plonchet?’ Dusty asked. ‘Innocent people will die if you carry on. Why should a beautiful woman like you—’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ she said, bowing gracefully in her seat.

  ‘Why, for telling the truth? You are beautiful. Why do you want to become involved in this business?’

  ‘And why did your family fight for the South in the war?’ she challenged. ‘Did you have so many slaves that it paid you to fight to hold them?’

  ‘No, ma’am. Don’t reckon there was a slave in the whole of Rio Hondo County. We rode for the South because of our belief that any State should have the right to secede from the Union if they consider the Federal Government’s going against the State’s best interests.’

  ‘And I do what I must do for my duty.’

  ‘We’re going to stop you, ma’am,’ Dusty said quietly. ‘The U.S. Government will know about your ideas just as we know why you came here. And we’ll stay on your trail until you meet this Vincent hombre to make your buy. Then we’ll see you never get the arms below the border.’

  A mocking, triumphant smile flickered on the girl’s face. Dusty saw it even as he saw the Kid coming into the dining room and read the message in the innocent appearing features. Something had gone wrong, Dusty felt it in his bones. Then he looked at the girl once more. The smile was still there, the smile of a poker player who had just pulled off a brilliant bluff.

  Suddenly Dusty knew—somehow, somewhere, the girl or one of the others had made contact with Vincent, the arms salesman. More than that, the arms were already on their way down into Mexico.

  Ten – Chavez Makes His Play

  ‘Dusty!’ the Kid growled out the words, throwing an angry look at the smiling girl. ‘They’ve given us the slip. Whang and the others had hosses down in the Mexican village. They s
lipped out of the saloon during a poker game. The judge had one of his boys watching them. He didn’t think anything about it when they went out because they left their chips and some money on the table.’

  ‘And Chavez?’

  ‘He’s gone, too. Judge had a man behind the hotel, we found him with a bust head and rope running down from the room at the side’s window.’

  A laugh came from Margarita’s lips. ‘You were not so smart, Captain Fog. The arms left before noon but we stayed on, keeping you waiting.’

  ‘We’ve got you, though,’ drawled the Kid.

  ‘Do you think you could hold me?’ she answered. ‘On what charge? There is no way you can stop me leaving when I am good and ready.’

  ‘Forget her, Lon!’ Dusty ordered. ‘Let’s get the horses and pull out.’

  He threw a glance at the two half-breeds, but the Kid had already spotted them and recognized them for what they were. Slowly the Kid turned so he faced the two men, watching them with cold eyes, his right hand hanging by the butt of his old Dragoon, the palm twisted outwards ready for a draw.

  Dusty threw back his chair and started to rise. He saw the girl’s face take on a startled expression for a flickering instant. It brought him around to face the door for towards the door Margarita had been looking.

  Standing just outside the doorway was Chavez. The Mexican saw Dusty’s eyes turn towards him, knew he would be recognized. His right hand stabbed down at the Tiffany grip of his Colt. He had a clear start, the edge, everything appeared to be in his favor.

  Everything except the new model Colt guns Dusty wore.

  Even as he saw Chavez, Dusty’s mind screamed a warning and his brain shot out the signal to make a move.

  ‘Draw!’

  The one thought clicked and Dusty’s lightning fast reactions took over. His right hand crossed his body, the white handled Colt at his left side coming out in a flickering move. It roared from waist high and the bullet ripped in between Chavez’s eyes, threw him backwards from his feet, his gun barely clear of leather. It all happened in less than half a second.