A Horse Called Mogollon (Floating Outfit Book 3)

by J. T. Edson

  ‘Such doings should oughta be stopped, stranger,’ stated the taller of the hovering hard-cases.

  ‘They sure as hell should,’ agreed his companion. ‘Go get me a bottle of whiskey, barkeep.’

  ‘Sure,’ replied the bartender. ‘Look, fellers—’

  ‘Do I have to come over and fetch it myself?’ growled the second hard-case.

  ‘N—No,’ answered the bartender. ‘Only I don’t want—’

  Seeing the ugly expression on the hard-case’s surly features, the bartender turned away. Instantly the first hard-case reached behind his back to a Colt revolver thrust into his waist-band and concealed beneath his calfskin vest. Drawing the weapon, he tossed it at the frightened Gallic man. In an involuntary gesture, the man caught the revolver.

  ‘Watch him, Hubie!’ screeched Laura. ‘He’s pulled a gun on you!’

  Across flashed the gambler’s right hand, passing under the left flap of his coat. Even as his fingers closed on the butt of the Colt Wells Fargo revolver hidden there, something crashed against his right shoulder-blade with numbing force. Letting out a cry of pain, he stumbled forward and his hand fell limply to his side.

  Startled exclamations burst from Laura—whose language proved that she was not ‘good’—and the two hard-cases as they saw a whiskey bottle flash by them and strike the gambler’s back. Snarling curses, the pair began to turn and reach for their guns. What they saw ended their movements in that direction.

  Entering the room unnoticed by its occupants, Tam Breda had realized the significance of what he saw. On a table to the right of the entrance was a tray holding bottles and glasses from the poker game that had resumed upstairs. Snatching up a bottle, he had hurled it with all his strength. That had been the only way, other than using a bullet, he could think of to prevent Hubie Stagge from killing the scared man at the bar. From flinging the bottle, Breda’s right hand dipped to produce his Dragoon Colt. By the time Royce and Coxin, Stagge’s confederates, had recovered from their surprise and started to turn, Breda’s gun was already lined at them.

  Colliding with the bar alongside his staring, frightened would-be victim, Stagge twisted around. His left hand went up to massage the throbbing shoulder and his eyes flamed hatred which he hoped would hold the advancing Breda’s attention. Although Coxin and Royce could not take cards, there were other factors unsuspected by the Scot in the game. Dipping her right hand into the reticule which swung from her left wrist, Laura moved soft-footed to get behind Breda. Also to his rear, the man in the corner started to rise and draw a Colt.

  Just as Stagge was congratulating himself on having an old enemy in a box, he saw a huge, blond cowhand and a buxom blonde woman come into the room. With a fresh flood of anger, the gambler realized that the trap might not be sprung upon Breda.

  Seeing the man in the corner, Mark turned, drew his right hand Colt and yelled, ‘Drop it, hombre!’

  The man might look sly and shifty, but he possessed good, sound common-sense. Knowing that such flashing speed was mostly accompanied by considerable accuracy, he rapidly placed his revolver on the table and shot both hands into the air.

  Bringing a Derringer from her reticule, Laura prepared to avenge her ‘husband’s’ injury. Although she heard the patter of footsteps behind her, she ignored them—at first. A hand gripped Laura’s shoulder and swung her around. On turning, she had a brief impression of an angry, good-looking female face and blonde hair. From the corner of her eye, Laura caught just a glimpse of a fist growing in size as it hurled in her direction. The hard knuckles crashed against the side of her jaw. Exploding patches of brilliant light obscured the brunette’s vision. Vaguely she felt herself spin around, then everything went black. Taking Libby’s power-packed punch so unexpectedly, the brunette was propelled sideways. Striking a table, she rolled across its top and flopped in a flaccid manner to the floor.

  ‘If that bit—woman’s hurt Laura—!’ Stagge blazed, not particularly caring but feeling he should make the comment.

  ‘She’ll’ve got no more than she asked for,’ Breda answered, glancing to where Libby was picking up Laura’s discarded Derringer. Then he looked at the gambler and continued, ‘You should try a new game, Stagge. That one’s getting known.’

  ‘What’s it about, Tam?’ Mark inquired, watching the skinny man.

  ‘Mr. Stagge here’s a hired butcher, laddie,’ Breda explained.

  ‘That’s never been proved!’ Stagge spat out.

  ‘No,’ Breda agreed. ‘He does it all nice and legal. Every man he’s dropped’s had a gun in his hand. Like this young feller would have had if I hadn’t cut in. You’d best give me the gun, friend.’

  ‘Wha—?’ gasped the proposed victim. ‘I—Here, take it, m’sieur.’

  ‘Who hired you to kill him, Stagge, and why?’ demanded Breda, accepting the revolver thrust in his direction.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ the gambler snarled. ‘He was a-pawing Laura—’

  ‘Was it that way ’round,’ Libby commented dryly, ‘I’d say she’s been pawed plenty. And done some pawing herself.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Stagge snarled at the blonde. ‘And I’ve heard—’

  ‘Just what did you hear, hombre?’ Mark asked, his Colt turning towards the speaker’s belly.

  ‘Nothing!’ Stagge muttered.

  Although Stagge had not heard about the previous night’s incident, he held back his intended accusation. There was an air of menace about the blond giant and the Colt lined with disconcerting accuracy. So Stagge did not repeat the vicious fabrication about Libby’s amatory relationship with her Mexican mesteneros since Trader Schell’s death.

  Before the affair could be taken further, Sheriff Lansing and other people arrived. To Mark, it seemed that the local peace officer looked to Tam Breda for guidance and went willingly along with the Scot’s suggestions that the gambler and other participants be taken to the jail for questioning. Mark felt puzzled. A political appointee, Lansing had never been an efficient sheriff. Yet Mark could not understand why he allowed Breda to give him even the correct advice.

  ‘I’m sorry, Libby lass,’ Breda said. ‘I’ll have to go tend to this afore I leave town. I’ll come back as quickly as I can.’

  Watching the party leave, with Stagge supporting a wobbly-legged Laura, Libby frowned. Tam Breda was behaving like a peace officer, but that could not be. One of the first acts performed by the Reconstruction administration had been to disband the Ranger companies. So Tam—her Tam, as she now regarded him—could no longer be wearing a badge. If he should be—Libby did not want to consider that possibility. Still frowning, she accompanied Mark to the dining-room.

  Half an hour went by before Breda joined them and apologized for his absence. During that time, they had not mentioned him except in general terms. To Mark, it had seemed that Libby had wanted to avoid discussing the incident’s implications.

  ‘What happened down to the sheriff’s office, Tam?’ Mark inquired.

  ‘Not much,’ Breda answered disgustedly. ‘Stagge and his bunch stuck to their story about the man accosting Laura. The barkeep hadn’t been there when she started ’ticing the feller. That skinny-gutted cuss’s one of ’em and he goes along with the tale. Trouble being, I can’t prove he’s in cahoots with Stagge.’

  ‘He was trying to pull down on you,’ Libby pointed out.

  ‘And allows he aimed to help me,’ Breda replied. ‘The only way we could’ve proved different would’ve been after he’d shot me.’

  ‘I’m sorry I billed in and spoiled it for you,’ Mark said with a grin.

  ‘I’m not!’ Breda declared. ‘So it’s that feller’s word against the boiling of ’em. Sure, I know what they aimed to do. But I can’t take ’em in front of a judge and prove it.’

  ‘What set them on to that feller?’ Libby inquired, rather than ask why an ex-Texas Ranger should want to take Stagge’s bunch into court.

  ‘They wouldn’t say and he couldn’t even start to guess,’ Breda an
swered. ‘There doesn’t seem to be any reason why anybody’d want him dead bad enough to pay Stagge for doing it. He’s just a cook, headed west looking for work. That was why he went to the Grand; got told at the stage depot that they might be hiring.’

  ‘He talked sort of French,’ Mark commented. ‘There’s a French count and his missus at the hotel—’

  ‘I thought some on that,’ admitted Breda. ‘Trouble being, the feller’s a Creole from down Louisiana way and’s never been to France. Anyways, let’s forget it. The feller’s not got work and’s heading west on the stage this afternoon. Lansing’s holding Stagge’s bunch until after he’s gone. There’s nothing I can do. It’s not in my bailiwick.’

  ‘Shouldn’t be, seeing’s you’re not with the Rangers no more,’ Libby remarked, the words coming despite her desire to avoid hearing an explanation.

  ‘Nope,’ Breda said, looking uncomfortable. ‘I’m a captain in the State Police now, Libby.’

  Going by Libby’s intake of breath, Mark concluded that the news of Breda’s new employment did not meet with her approval. He could guess why.

  Brought in to replace the Texas Rangers, Governor Davis’s State Police had rapidly made themselves hated. Many of its officers were vicious, corrupt opportunists eager to line their pockets at the Texans’ expense; or ‘liberals’ seeking to work their bigoted hatred against the supporters of the Confederate States. The enlisted men were of the same kind, with a number of the worst type of white-hating Negroes to swell their ranks.

  Loyal to the Southern cause, for family rather than political reasons, Libby had accepted Breda’s reasons for not joining the Confederate States’ Army. Like her husband, he had carried out an important task at home. Trader had supplied remounts to the Rebel cavalry or artillery. Riding with Cureton’s Rangers, Breda had helped to protect the homes of men—regardless of whether they wore blue or gray—away fighting the War. To learn that Breda had accepted an important rank in the State Police drove a chill of anger through her. One of that force’s victims had been her brother, killed while ‘resisting arrest’ by an officer who wanted to take over his property,

  Jerking her head around, without giving Breda the opportunity to explain his ‘treachery’, Libby started to talk pointedly to Mark. The remainder of the meal was not a success, due to her behavior. Glancing at Breda, Mark could see his lips tighten and tried to lessen the tension. Libby showed no sign of repenting, but the Scot accompanied her and Mark to the wagon. On the way, Mark felt annoyed and embarrassed by the way Libby was acting towards him. Sure they had made love the previous night, but he had expected that the dawn would see the incident over. In her annoyance at Breda, Libby seemed likely to make a fool of herself.

  The situation did not improve during the journey out of town. After Mark and Breda had collected their horses, they set off with Libby’s party. By the time they had set up camp for the night, the big blond had decided that she must be taught a lesson and brought back to her senses. Just as he hoped, she played into his hands. They had made camp in a clearing a short distance from the Kerrville trail. Surrounded by trees and bushes, the area’s water-supply was about a hundred yards away. With the fire built, Libby asked Mark to help her collect water.

  ‘Sure,’ the big blond agreed, picking up a couple of buckets and conscious of Breda watching the by-play. ‘I’d admire to, Libby.’

  Neither of them spoke as they passed out of sight from the camp. On reaching the edge of a small stream, Mark set down the buckets. Turning, he scooped Libby into his arms and lowered his head as if to kiss her. In bed the previous night, she had responded with passionate eagerness. Instead of repeating her reactions, he felt her body stiffen violently and strain back. Surprise and anger showed on her face as she twisted her head away.

  ‘Let me go!’ Libby hissed furiously. ‘What the hell do you think I am?’

  Immediately, grinning broadly, Mark lifted her gently back to arms’ length. Setting her on her feet, he took his hands away and watched her clench her fists.

  ‘Until noon today, I’d’ve said a real nice lady and a right smart woman.’

  ‘Only what?’ Libby challenged, drawing back her right fist a little.

  ‘Now I’m starting to wonder.’

  ‘Because I slept with you?’

  ‘That ended well afore noon and did nothing to change my thoughts about you,’ Mark drawled. ‘It was pleasurable, only I don’t figure you’d do it regular—or even again with me.’

  ‘Then why—?’ Libby gasped, letting her hands drop to her sides.

  ‘To prove it for certain to both of us,’ Mark explained, picking up the buckets. ‘And to try to stop you doing something real foolish.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘With Tam Breda. Keep on acting like you’ve been doing since you learned about him joining the State Police and you’re likely to run him off for good.’

  ‘Is that any of your never-mind?’ demanded Libby.

  ‘Maybe not,’ admitted Mark. ‘’Cepting I like you and Tam both. Did you figure to ask him why he joined, or just aim to keep acting mean ’n’ ornery ’cause he did it?’

  ‘Do you know why I’m acting this way?’

  ‘’Cause you reckon Tam helped gun down your brother.’

  ‘The hell I do!’ Libby protested, so vigorously that Mark’s grin grew broader. ‘I know he wasn’t mixed up in that. Say, did Tam tell you why he joined while you was going for the horses?’

  ‘Yes,’ Mark replied. ‘Only I’m not going to tell you.’

  ‘Will you go and ask him to come down here to me?’

  ‘No, ma’am,’ Mark refused. ‘You’re going to have to eat crow and ask him to come yourself.’

  ‘Damned if you’re not a meaner cuss than I figured,’ Libby smiled. ‘Come on, I’ll eat that crow.’

  Despite the conversation, Libby showed no sign of carrying out her promise on their return to the camp. However, she gave Breda the pick of the food and paid attention to him. Telling Mark and a mestenero that they had volunteered to wash the dishes, she slapped a hand to the pockets of the Levi’s pants she had donned for the journey.

  ‘Damn it!’ Libby ejaculated. ‘I left my handkerchief by the stream. How’s about coming with me to fetch it, Tam?’

  ‘That I will, lassie,’ Breda agreed.

  ‘Why did you join Davis’s bunch, Tam?’ Libby asked as they walked through the woods side by side. Her right hand found and gripped his left.

  ‘He needed a man to run the law in Kerr County.’

  ‘Why you? You know what kind the State Police are.’

  ‘You’ve just answered your own question. Don’t you reckon it’ll be easier for folks with somebody like me running things—and picking fellers for the Ranger companies’s’ll be needed after Davis and his bunch’ve been run out of office?’

  ‘It would!’ Libby enthused. ‘If you wasn’t there, some lousy soft-shell or pocket-lining carpetbagger would be. I’ve been acting loco all day, Tam.’

  ‘I’ve always loved you, Libby lass,’ Breda declared, taking her arm and turning her to face him. ‘I know it’s not long since Trader died, but I was thinking—’

  ‘Tam!’ Libby put in, her voice strained and eyes blinking worriedly. ‘I slept with Mark last night.’

  Before she returned Breda’s declaration of affection, or allowed him to go further, she wanted to be honest with him. Searching the tanned, rugged features, she could detect no condemnation or revulsion at her confession.

  ‘You’d not’ve done it while Trader was alive. Nor if we’d met and I’d declared myself to you yesterday. And, not a week back, I slept with April Hosman up in San Antone.’

  Libby stared without speaking for several seconds. Another potential victim of the Flores brothers’ vengeance, saloon girl April Hosman had remained in the Schell family’s care until the deaths of the bandidos. During that time, she and Libby had become good friends. Once able to leave in safety, April had stated that the
outdoor life was not for her. Returning first to Fort Sawyer, she had gone on to find employment in San Antonio.

  ‘Did you enjoy it?’ Libby asked at last.

  ‘Will you be riled if I say “yes”?’ grinned Breda.

  ‘I don’t know what I’ll be,’ Libby admitted. ‘But I for sure know what I’ll do if it ever happens again.’

  With that, Libby twisted free. Walking a short way, she came to a spot where the bank of the stream rose a few feet above the water. As Libby sat down with her legs dangling over, Breda joined her and slipped his arm around her waist.

  ‘April and me had supper,’ the Scot said. ‘Talked some about Jeanie, Colin, what’s been happening. That’s how I knew where to find you and headed down this way to do it. We talked some about you, too. A whole heap about you, I reckon. Next morning April said a kind of strange thing.’

  ‘What was that?’ Libby inquired.

  ‘She said she’d been wondering all night if it’d been her or you I was with,’ Breda answered and his left arm connected with the right behind her neck. ‘I know which I’d sooner it’d been.’

  ‘Which?’

  ‘Was we engaged to be married, I’d show you.’

  ‘You can buy me the ring later,’ Libby breathed and allowed herself to be lowered on to her back. ‘Only I’m from Missouri. I’ve got to be shown.’

  Chapter Eight

  Standing at the mouth of a draw, Colin studied the range ahead of him with the aid of Dusty’s field glasses. Scattered in concealment in front of him, half a dozen mesteneros waited for the signal to commence a corrida. Out beyond the mesteneros, Mogollon’s lathered and leg-weary manada moved uneasily. In between snatching up mouthfuls of grass, the mustangs threw nervous glances about them. Only the big chestnut stallion retained any semblance of its former alertness. Examining the manadero, Colin concluded that its capture was still anything but certain despite the events of the past four days.