The Floating Outfit 9

by J. T. Edson

  ‘Could be either Ogden or Haben’s place.’

  ‘Which one, Dusty?’ asked Mark.

  ‘Haben was a copperhead in the war,’ Johnny put in. ‘Kinda friendly to the Davis thieves. I’d say Ogden’s.’

  ‘They’d expect us to be there,’ Dusty guessed. ‘Nope. Haben’s on the list. I’m betting that’s where they go. They’ll never expect us to be helping him.’

  ‘If we’re wrong—’ Johnny began.

  ‘We’ll face that if it comes up,’ Mark told him. ‘Haben’s place, Dusty?’

  ‘Haben’s place,’ the small Texan agreed.

  Fourteen – A Mighty Strange Banking House

  Urging on their horses, Dusty’s party soon left the State Police posse well behind. On arrival at the Haben place, hoods once more in position, they rode right to the front of the house. Haben, a bulky, cropped-haired man of obvious Germanic appearance, stepped out holding a shotgun.

  ‘I thought this kind of thing had all blown over!’ he said, scowling along the line of hooded men.

  ‘We’ve come to warn you—’ Dusty began, seeing the scared faces of two women at the windows.

  ‘All this time since the end of the war and it is not forgotten,’ Haben went on as if he had not heard a word. ‘I’ve tried to be a good neighbor, but you still won’t let it be forgotten that I followed my beliefs and fought for the Union in the war.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Haben,’ Dusty declared. ‘But we’ve come to warn you that the State Police’re on their way here to collect your back taxes, or evict you.’

  ‘And you come to help me do what, fight them? To bring me into conflict with the State Government and have them run me off my ranch?’

  ‘To offer our help—’

  ‘Wearing hoods, hiding your faces like outlaws?’

  ‘Damn it to hell—!’ Johnny barked and Rusty mumbled something deep in his throat.

  While Dusty also disliked the implications of the remark, he held his temper. ‘We have to wear the hoods for your protection as well as our own,’ he said. ‘If you can’t identify us, you won’t have to lie about it.’

  ‘I want no help from you!’ Haben yelled. ‘If the State Police come, I will pay what I can and ask for time to give them the rest.’

  ‘Giving time’s not what they’re coming for,’ Dusty warned. ‘We can—’

  ‘I want no help from you!’ interrupted Haben. ‘Go before they come and I will not mention you’ve been here.’

  ‘It’s your choice,’ Dusty said evenly, cutting off Johnny and Rusty’s indignant comments. ‘Let’s go, boys.’

  ‘Damn stupid, hawg-headed metzel!’ Johnny spat out as they rode off.

  ‘Are we leaving, Dusty?’ asked Doc.

  ‘Not too far,’ Dusty replied. ‘Once we’re out of sight, we’ll leave the hosses and move back on foot. Get close enough to take a hand when they come.’

  ‘If they come,’ Johnny put in.

  ‘You wouldn’t want to lay five lil ole iron men that they don’t, now would you?’ drawled Mark.

  ‘Five it is,’ grinned Johnny, more out of a love for gambling than through any conviction that Dusty might be wrong.

  Unaware that Dusty’s party had not left the vicinity, Haben watched the State Police officers riding up. Although disturbed by the visit from the hooded riders, he fought against believing that they might have told the truth. Despite having supported the Union during the war, he regarded the State Police with some misgivings and admitted they left much to be desired in the execution of their duties.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ he greeted as the men dismounted.

  ‘Come for your back taxes, Dutchy,’ Dalkins announced without preamble. ‘Make it four hundred and thirty-two dollars.’

  ‘How long do I have to raise the money?’

  ‘Right until after your missus’s fed us.’

  ‘But—!’ Haben gasped.

  ‘Don’t want no “buts”, Dutchy,’ interrupted Dalkins. ‘Either you pay up, or start packing ready to leave.’

  ‘I will go to your superiors and ask for time.’

  ‘You’ll be riding for nothing,’ Dalkins told him, darting glances around, and believing that the hooded men would have made their appearance by this time if they were present. ‘Now pay up, or start packing—or do we have to show you a lesson that we mean business.’

  ‘What!’ Haben shouted. ‘You come here and threaten me. You, the State Police? Gott in himmel! I fought for the North because I believed in them, made enemies of my friends for my beliefs. And now you come here—’

  ‘Sounds like he’s saying “no”, boys,’ Dalkins growled, drawing his Colt as he stepped forward and swinging it up with the butt held for striking not shooting.

  Suddenly, with shocking force, Haben realized that he had left his shotgun on the porch when he saw that the second party approaching his house wore the badges of the State Police. Behind Dalkins, the Negroes held their carbines ready for use and the German read eagerness on their faces. If he made a move to resist, lead would crash into him. After that—he did not want to think about the fate of his wife and daughter.

  Confident that the two Negroes left behind could prevent interference, Dalkins prepared to pistol-whip the German to the ground.

  Only the rear guard had troubles of their own.

  Cradling their carbines ready for use, with the barrels rested on convenient rocks, the Negroes watched the house front for the first sight of the hooded men.

  ‘I bets that I hits that big jasper with the two white-handled guns smack a-tween his two eyes, Joseph,’ said the shorter of the pair.

  ‘You leave him to me, Shad,’ his companion answered. ‘I’ll—’

  ‘Just set down them carbines, boys,’ ordered a low voice from behind them. ‘And do it easy, I can drop you both afore you turn.’

  Twisting their heads around, they saw a tall, hooded man armed with bowie knife and an old Dragoon Colt, looking along the barrel of a Winchester rifle in their direction. Both realized the futility of arguing and set down their carbines as commanded. Then they rose, Shad more rapidly than his more bulky companion. As he came erect, Joseph hurled himself forward with big hands reaching at the Kid.

  Even as his finger started to tighten on the Winchester’s trigger, the Kid remembered that Dusty wanted no bloodshed if it could be avoided. Moving with all the speed of his Comanche upbringing, he swayed aside. The rifle left his shoulder, swinging around to crash its butt into the side of Joseph’s jaw as the man staggered by. From the limp manner in which the man went down, the Kid concluded there would be no further trouble from that source.

  Although Shad did not intend to disobey, Joseph’s actions left him no real choice. Bending down, he grabbed at the discarded carbine and saw his companion’s attack fail. From felling the first man, the Kid leapt forward. Up and down swung his arm, slicing the side of the rifle’s barrel on to Shad’s lowered head and tumbling him unconscious to the ground.

  Dalkins’ idea for defending his party had been thwarted by Dusty Fog’s almost uncanny habit of thinking as the other man would and then planning to circumvent the moves.

  Before Dalkins’ revolver could crash into Haben’s face, a carbine cracked. Lead struck the raised weapon, batting it from the man’s fingers and bringing a howl of pain as slivers of metal sprayed his hand. Instantly the Texans rose from their places of concealment and lined their saddle-guns at the State Police.

  Instead of bullets screaming down from the rear guard’s position, a wild yell shattered the air. Turning startled eyes in its direction, the Negroes saw a hooded man where their friends ought to be.

  ‘Don’t try nothing!’ counseled one of the posse. ‘He must’ve got Joseph ’n’ Shadrack.’

  ‘Toss them carbines to one side!’ Dusty called.

  The Negroes obeyed without argument and showed no sign of making trouble as the small Texan walked down to the front of the house. Winchester carbine under his arm, he
looked from Haben to where Dalkins knelt nursing a stinging, bloody hand. Fury showed on the injured man’s face as he recognized his assailant.

  ‘So you’re in it with ’em, Haben!’ Dalkins gritted.

  ‘In what?’ Dusty put in before the German could deny the accusation. ‘We just happened to be passing on the way to a lodge meeting and saw what we thought to be a hold up. So we, being law-abiding citizens, cut in and stopped it.’

  ‘You know we’re State Police!’ Dalkins spat out.

  ‘Not from the way you were acting just now,’ Dusty denied blandly. ‘Still, seeing’s you are, get on with what you’re here to do.’

  ‘I’ve only three hundred dollars,’ Haben told Dalkins. ‘Will you take that and let me pay the rest after I’ve sold some vegetables and beef to the Fort at the end of the week?’

  ‘With this jasper backing you I can’t argue,’ Dalkins answered.

  ‘That’s a real fine mule you’ve got back in the corral, friend,’ Dusty remarked. ‘I’m right took with him. Would you sell him to me for two hundred dollars?’

  ‘You mean—?’Haben gasped.

  ‘Cash on the barrelhead,’ Dusty agreed, taking out a roll of notes.

  Surprise showed on the German’s face, but he could think fast enough to see the possibilities of the offer. While a fine animal, the mule was not worth two hundred dollars and could be replaced.

  ‘I’ll sell,’ he said.

  ‘Make me out a bill-of-sale after these gents’ve done their business and gone,’ Dusty suggested. ‘I wouldn’t want it said that I stopped the law getting on with its rightful duties.’

  Watching the State Police ride away, Haben shook his head as if still unable to believe what he had seen.

  ‘He really meant it,’ the German gasped.

  ‘I tried to warn you, friend,’ Dusty replied.

  ‘Ja, you tried. But why do you help me?’

  ‘You’re a Texan. That’s enough. Say, about that mule. I don’t care for his color now I come to think about it. Let’s call the sale off.’

  ‘But the money—’

  ‘I’ll let you know where to send it when things get a little better.’

  Declining offers to stay and eat with the Habens, Dusty rejoined his companions and rode off. However, the State Police had returned the way they came, collected their two barely conscious companions—the Kid having withdrawn after unloading the carbines—and continued along the back trail. From all appearances it seemed that Dalkins had called off any further attempts at tax collection and was heading towards Fort Andrew.

  Dalkins had so much to think about that he let his colored companions push on ahead. Slowly an idea began to form on how he might yet discredit his hooded enemies. Carefully he scanned the surrounding ranges, without seeing any sign of the men following him. Most likely they would be pushing their horses at top speed for another ranch and did not realize that he was returning to Fort Andrew.

  ‘Wait ahead, you Johnny Reb bastards,’ he muttered. ‘Time you figger I’m not coming, it’ll be long too late.’

  With the sun sinking in the west, the Fort lay almost two miles away, a distance Dalkins felt ideally suited his plans. Hearing him stop his horse, the Negroes also came to a halt. Head wrapped ostentatiously in a white bandage, Joseph turned and rode back.

  ‘What’s up?’ he demanded.

  ‘Go on to the Fort,’ Dalkins replied. ‘I’ll make sure that we’re not being followed by them hooded bastards.’

  ‘How about the money?’

  ‘I’ll see to it.’

  Further away from town and Joseph might have argued the point. Not when so close that shots might be heard and investigated. While General Smethurst and some of his officers had ‘liberal’ tendencies and could be relied upon to take a colored gentleman’s word, the majority of his troops tended to support other white men in matters involving a Negro. So Joseph kept his suspicions to himself and gave a casual shrug.

  ‘You’re the boss, man,’ he said and swung the horse to ride to his friends.

  Watching the Negroes continue on their way, Dalkins let out a snort. He might have explained his plan to them, but failed to see any reason why he should. Swinging his horse from the trail, he rode towards a clump of trees. There he dismounted and fastened the reins to a sapling. Taking the bag with the tax money from his saddle, he walked off into the trees. After searching for a short time, he found what he wanted, a big old chestnut tree with its base hollowed out. Bending down, he started to stuff the moneybag inside.

  ‘That’s a mighty strange banking house, mister.’

  At the sound of the voice, Dalkins started to jerk himself back out of the hole. In doing so, he crashed his head against its edge. Bright lights flashed before his eyes and his dazed condition prevented the chance of fast movement. When his vision cleared, he found himself faced with a tall, hooded man. The needle-sharp point of a Bowie knife rested against his Adam’s apple and already his Colt had been plucked from its holster and tossed aside.

  ‘Th—There’s almost a thousand dollars in here,’ he croaked, gesturing weakly with the bag. ‘Take it—’

  ‘Now there’s a novel notion, for sure,’ drawled the Kid, never relaxing his vigilance. ‘A lawman offering a bribe to a citizen.’

  ‘Wh—What’re you going to do to me?’ Dalkins croaked.

  ‘Well now, the Grand Imperial Wizard’ll have ideas on that, I’d say. Let’s go ask him, shall we?’

  ~*~

  Normally a rider coming at a leisurely pace down the single street of the small town outside Fort Andrew attracted little or no attention. Dalkins created something of a stir when he came in. It was not every day a man arrived seated facing his horse’s rump, feet fastened in the stirrups, arms lashed to a pole laid across his shoulders. Around his neck hung the bag containing the tax money and a large sheet of white paper with words printed boldly on it.

  ‘Caught attempting to steal county tax money and returned for trial,’ read one of the people attracted by the sight. ‘What the hell—?’

  Which sentiment General Smethurst repeated even more vehemently as he came from the hotel with Belle Boyd at his side. Then he strode forward, bellowing for a pair of nearby soldiers to stop the horse and haul its rider from the saddle.

  Tall, lean, sallow-faced and sullen mouthed Smethurst gave an impression of voluntary untidiness and his uniform carried the insignia of a colonel. At that time the U.S. Army was plagued by the ‘brevet’ rank system. While a brevet rank might be awarded for meritorious service, it carried no pay and had no bearing on future promotion. As in Smethurst’s case, the holder of the brevet rank was called by it out of courtesy, but held down a much less exalted post than the title suggested. The ‘general’ commanded an under-strength regiment, not a brigade or division, fact which never failed to annoy him.

  ‘What’s all this, General?’Belle asked.

  ‘How the he—!’ Smethurst began, then stopped himself. The change came less from respect for Belle’s sex than a realization that Miss ‘Montoon’ had the means to do his career considerable harm. ‘I couldn’t say.’

  ‘If the allegation is true, it must be investigated thoroughly,’ the girl stated, knowing that Dusty must have sent the man into town in such a way.

  ‘I’ll see it is,’ gritted Smethurst.

  Having come to Fort Andrew to witness the start of the scheme he had helped to hatch, Sheriff Spargo heard the news and hurried from the small shack which housed his local office. After being told what Belle had demanded, he instructed his deputies to take Dalkins to the office and requested that the General be present for the interview. While the men would probably have preferred to deal with the matter during her absence, Belle showed no inclination to leave.

  Faced by the coldly accusing eyes of Belle, the sheriff and Smethurst, with the trio of deputies hovering in the background, Dalkins told his story. He saw the flicker of worry which passed across Smethurst and Spargo’s faces when he menti
oned the hooded riders. However, Miss ‘Montoon’ gave no indication that she attached any importance to that aspect of the affair, except in the last part.

  ‘How did they come to capture you?’ she asked, for Dalkins did no more than state the bare fact that the hooded men had sent him into town.

  ‘It was like this,’ Dalkins answered and, sucking in a deep breath, launched into a reasonably truthful account of his capture.

  ‘Telling his story, he became struck with how flimsy it sounded. Nor could he see any sign of belief in the noble nature of his motives appear on the faces of his listeners. Belle started to raise suspicion among the men, or continued to build on the foundations already laid.

  ‘I must say that this whole affair strikes me as peculiar to say the least,’ she stated. ‘Did you inform your companions of what you planned to do, and why?’

  ‘Sure,’ Dalkins answered, but his slight hesitation told the girl he lied.

  ‘That can easily be verified,’ she said and looked at Spargo. ‘Will you send your men to collect the officers who accompanied him, sheriff?’

  ‘Is there any need for all this?’ Spargo growled.

  ‘I feel so,’ Belle answered. ‘Do you want accusations of complicity leveled at you?’

  ‘How come?’ demanded the sheriff.

  ‘By letting it seem that you failed to investigate this matter thoroughly. Either prove or disprove his story now and there will be no chance later of hardshell donks accusing you.’

  An argument calculated to reach one of Spargo’s mentality. Knowing the excellent use his own kind made of smear campaigns and accusations, he could see all too well what the girl meant. So he gave the order for Ritson and Baker to gather up and bring in the Negro officers to be questioned.

  Riled at being disturbed from what ought to have been an enjoyable evening, Joseph, first of the posse to be questioned, looked sullen and showed little desire to be cooperative. Nor could Spargo or Smethurst change his attitude. Suddenly Belle slapped the palm of her hand hard on the desktop and her eyes fixed on the Negro’s.

  ‘I want some answers and I want them right now!’ she snapped.