Goodnight's Dream (A Floating Outfit Western Book 4)

by J. T. Edson

  ‘You know ’em then?’

  ‘Not yet. But I’m going to. I’ll trail along with you and meet ’em. If they’re getting contracts from the Army, they’ll likely need a good man to help them fill ’em.’

  ‘I dunno about that—’ Targue began.

  ‘Put it this way, Wally,’ interrupted Chisum. ‘Happen you don’t take me to meet ’em, I’ll just naturally have to take you back to Charlie Goodnight and tell him’s how I learned you’d hoodwinked Pitzer into wide-looping these cattle.’

  For all their being spoken in a gentle, almost apologetic voice, the words were charged with menace. Cold anger creased Targue’s face and his hand crept towards his holstered revolver.

  ‘You reckon I’d keep quiet about your side of it?’ Targue asked.

  ‘Sure you will,’ Chisum answered calmly. ‘I’d hate like hell to do it, Wally, but if I took you back you’d be dead. Frank there’s got his scatter lined on you right now.’

  Twisting his head, Targue saw Chisum’s Negro cook allowing the team of the chuckwagon to amble along while nursing a evil-looking double-barreled shotgun which pointed in the segundo’s direction.

  ‘My men—!’ Targue began.

  ‘Real nice boys, all of ’em,’ Chisum replied. ‘Why, they’d have no sympathy for anybody’s made trouble for good ole Uncle John.’

  Having seen the way in which Chisum could influence even surly hardcases and win them over, Targue did not doubt the comment. Loyal only as long as the money lasted, their kind would change sides quickly enough. Slowly a grudging admiration filled Targue and he let out a chuckle.

  ‘Know something, Uncle John?’ he said. ‘I reckon the bosses could use a gent like you—And even if they couldn’t, I figure we’re smart enough between us to come out of this winning.’

  ‘So do I, Wally,’ Chisum purred. ‘So do I. Say though, Fog had a point about them three fellers of your’n we’ve left in the pokey.’

  ‘How’d you mean?’

  ‘They might start talking when they hear that we’ve gone.’

  ‘They won’t,’ Targue assured the rancher. ‘I saw to their needings afore I came looking for you and Pitzer.’

  ‘You’re a smart young cuss, Wally,’ complimented Chisum. ‘Seems a real pity to waste these cattle, though. ’Specially with the Army paying good money for ’em. Reckon your bosses can use ’em —happen we do something about the brands, that is.’

  ‘I reckon they can,’ Targue answered. ‘Only we’d best swing off to the north as soon as we’re out of Goodnight’s sight. Somebody besides that gal might be looking for cattle they’ve lost.’

  Watching Chisum follow his men, Dawn let out a low sigh of relief. Then she remembered that there had been other brands represented among the herd.

  ‘Shouldn’t we have taken all the cattle instead of letting him go off with them?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t reckon he’d’ve let them go,’ the Kid drawled, having drawn his rifle and sitting holding it downwards on the side of his stallion away from the departing trail herd.

  ‘That’s for sure,’ Dusty agreed. ‘If we’d tried, likely Chisum would’ve dug his heels in. That’d mean shooting—’

  ‘Which, in turn’d mean the whole bunch, including yours, would stampede,’ Mark continued. ‘And that wouldn’t’ve done any of us any good.’

  ‘Maybe Chisum’ll do like he said and turn them loose,’ Dusty went on. ‘I don’t reckon he’ll have anywhere that he can sell them.’

  ‘Damn it!’ Goodnight barked. ‘I never figured that Chisum’d pull a game like this on me.’

  ‘How’d it happen, Uncle Charlie?’ Dusty wanted to know.

  ‘Pitzer was bringing eleven hundred head here to complete my herd. Only him and his crew left the cattle while they went into some town on the way. While they were gone, the herd stampeded and they lost it. So John went off to send Pitzer to gather more. I must admit I thought they’d worked fast when they got back so soon, but I’d never start to think he’d pull a play like this.’

  ‘Maybe he figured that you’d do the same as he would, take the herd and be pleased to get it,’ Mark suggested.

  ‘I’d’ve thought he knew me too well for that,’ Goodnight answered.

  ‘It could have come out badly for you, happen he’d mixed that bunch in with your shipping herd, Uncle Charlie,’ Dusty said quietly. ‘Their owners and other folks would blame you for the theft.’

  ‘Yeah,’ agreed the Kid. ‘And some folks get real touchy about getting stole from. I wonder what Chisum and that hard-faced cuss’re talking about?’

  ‘Could be where’d be the best place to turn loose those cattle, but I doubt it. Do you want for Lon to trail after them a ways, Uncle Charlie?’

  ‘Nope. John Chisum might be tricky, but he’s not fool enough to come back looking for trouble with me.’

  ‘I’m real sorry if I came between you and your friend, Colonel,’ Dawn put in.

  Turning, the rancher smiled at the girl. ‘It’d’ve come sooner or later, Miss Sutherland. How do you figure on getting your cattle back home?’

  From the momentary flicker of confusion on her face, Dawn had given little thought to the matter. She gave a shrug and replied, ‘Likely I can pick up a couple of fellers up around town to help me.’

  ‘You could,’ Goodnight admitted. ‘Only I don’t take to the notion of you picking out a couple of strangers. Trouble being that I’m going to need every man I’ve got for rounding up eleven hundred head to replace Chisum’s herd.’

  ‘I’ll be all right,’ Dawn stated and wished that she felt as confident as she tried to sound.

  ‘How important is it that you get those cattle back home, Miss Sutherland?’ Dusty inquired. ‘I mean, does it matter to a day or so?’

  ‘That buyer’ll be around by the end of the week,’ she replied and, after a brief pause, continued, ‘Miss Sutherland makes me sound real old. Couldn’t you say “Dawn” instead?’

  ‘I reckon I could, if you call me “Dusty”. If the buyer’ll not be around until the end of the week, I reckon you could spend the night at Uncle Charlie’s house and still be home in time.’

  ‘It’s a bachelor spread, Miss Sutherland,’ Goodnight warned. ‘But if you’d care to stay, you’ll be more than welcome. I’ll ask the Dilwotts from the store to come out for the night—’

  ‘Why?’ Dawn smiled.

  ‘So that Mrs. Dilwott can act as a chaperone for you.’

  ‘If I figured I was going to need one, I’d’ve said “no” from the start.’

  ‘Danged if I know whether that’s a compliment to me or not,’ Goodnight said with a frosty grin.

  ‘Now me,’ drawled Mark. ‘I’d say that all depends on how old you are.’

  ‘Which’s just about what I’d expect one of Big Rance Counter’s sons to say,’ Goodnight sniffed. ‘Shall we get going, we can bed your cattle down by the house, Miss Sutherland.’

  ‘It’d be as well,’ Dusty agreed and turned in his saddle to look after the Goodnight herd. ‘They’re pushing the cattle a mite, aren’t they?’

  ‘Maybe they don’t like the company around here,’ suggested the Kid.

  ‘You’re sure you don’t want him to trail after them, Uncle Charlie?’ Dusty asked in a disgusted tone.

  ‘I don’t,’ the rancher replied, then a thought struck him. ‘What do you intend to do about those three fellers, Miss Dawn?’

  ‘I’m not fixing to do anything,’ the girl answered. ‘I’ve got my stock—’

  ‘Why not go in and swear the complaint against them?’ Dusty interrupted.

  ‘I don’t want to make a fuss,’ she replied. ‘Do you reckon I ought to?’

  ‘I reckon you should,’ Dusty confirmed. ‘Even if you don’t push it through all the way, it’ll be interesting to hear what those three jaspers have to say. Especially when they hear that their boss’s pulled out and left them.’

  ‘You figure they might do some talking, Dusty?’ Mark inqu
ired.

  ‘I’m hoping that they do,’ Dusty admitted. ‘Take my gear out to the ranch for me, Mark.’

  ‘And mine,’ drawled the Kid.

  ‘You lend a hand with the herd,’ Dusty ordered with a grin. ‘I don’t want Dawn getting wrong ideas about Rio Hondo County by associating with varmints like you.’

  ‘She couldn’t get wrong ideas about Rio Hondo County,’ sniffed the Kid and slid his rifle into the saddle boot.

  For the first time Dawn noticed that the Kid held a repeater. It looked like a Henry, yet had a wooden foregrip along the lower part of the magazine tube. While riding into town with Dusty, she learned that all the three OD Connected men carried similar weapons. Known at that time as the New Improved Henry, the type of rifle grew to fame as the Winchester Model of 1866 or, due to its brass frame, ‘the old yellowboy’. Dusty, Mark and the Kid had been given the guns during the mission into Mexico. While his friends selected rifles, Dusty had chosen the shorter carbine model. On reaching the edge of the town, he returned the carbine to its boot, having shown the girl its improvements over the Henry.

  Approaching the jail, they could see no sign of life. Although the sun was starting to set, the lamps in the sheriff’s office had not yet been lit.

  ‘Likely the sheriff’s gone ho—,’ Dusty began.

  The words chopped off as the office’s front door flew open and Keck came out. With his Metropolitan revolver in his hand, he stopped and gazed at the approaching riders. Recognition flared on his face, twisting it into hate-filled lines. Behind him, Venner and Alden also emerged from the building. Like Keck, they were armed. Venner had an Army Colt, while Alden clutched a double-barreled shotgun.

  At the first sight of the three men, Dusty knew they must be escaping. Released prisoners would not come through the door holding weapons and in such an alert, wolf-cautious manner. Dusty also knew that the trio posed a threat to Dawn and himself. Not only had they been responsible for the men’s arrest, but they sat on horses which could be used as an aid to evading recapture.

  So, even as Keck started to raise the revolver, Dusty acted. Wanting the girl clear of the danger area, Dusty jerked his left boot from its stirrup. With a whooping yell, he kicked the bayo-tigre in the ribs and continued to swing his leg forward, then over his saddle horn. A spirited animal, Dawn’s horse showed its objection to the treatment by leaping forward and galloping by the front of the jail. Slapping the paint’s flank as he dropped clear, Dusty sent it running after the bayo-tigre. On landing, he flashed his hands across to the butts of the Colts.

  Flame licked from Keck’s Metropolitan. Dusty’s hat flew from his head with a hole in its crown, to be caught and held by its storm-strap. Already holding his matched Army Colts, he went instantly into what would come to be known as the gunfighter’s crouch. Legs slightly bent on spread-apart feet, body inclined forward, Dusty made no attempt to lift either revolver above waist level. Even as the storm-strap tugged against his neck, he cut loose with a shot from the right-hand revolver and aimed it by instinctive alignment. A conical .44 bullet spiked into Keck’s throat before he could draw back the Metropolitan’s hammer for another shot. Reeling back, he almost crashed into the two men following him.

  Alden flung himself to the left, letting Keck sprawl between him and Venner as he tried to line the shotgun on Dusty. Going aside in a fast dive, Dusty just managed to pass beyond the spreading pattern of buckshot which belched from the right-hand barrel of the shotgun. The small Texan landed rolling, seeing Venner’s Colt starting to swing in his direction. Having missed with his attempt from waist high, Alden began to swing the shotgun shoulder-wards. There would be no time for Dusty to stop both his attackers.

  Brain working as fast as it could, Dusty analyzed the situation and thought up a possible solution. Of the two, Alden held the more dangerous weapon. Maybe Venner would miss with the Colt, but there was far less chance of Alden doing so a second time with the shotgun.

  With that in mind, Dusty fired his left-hand Colt as he landed on his side. His missed and continued to roll, twisting himself over with desperate speed but not in panic. Looking along the barrel of his left-hand Colt, he found it was lined at Alden’s chest. Satisfied, Dusty squeezed the trigger. On the heels of the revolver’s shot, the other weapon boomed. Only by a fraction of a second had Dusty beaten Alden to the shot; but it proved to be sufficient. Deflected slightly when the .44 ball struck home, the second barrel of the shotgun sent its charge on their way. Plowing into the hard-packed surface of the street with a solid ‘whomp!’, the buckshot balls threw geysers of dirt up to patter against Dusty’s shirt. Continuing his roll, Dusty saw Alden stumble back and let the shotgun drop. Blood was trickling down the hardcase’s shirt from a hole in its left breast and the truculent expression had at last been wiped from his face.

  Startled though she had been by Dusty’s actions, Dawn’s long experience at riding kept her in the saddle. Nor did she allow the horse to continue running unchecked. Regaining control of it, she started to rein it around. At the same time she twisted her right hand back to grip and draw the Cooper revolver from its holster. Trained to use firearms by her parents, she acted swiftly. Seeing that Dusty needed help, she raised, sighted and fired the revolver.

  Advancing to the edge of the sidewalk for a clearer shot at Dusty, Venner became suddenly aware of the girl’s intervention. Splinters erupted from the top of the hitching rail close to his empty hand as a bullet plowed into the wood. Swiveling around, he saw who had fired. Already the small Texan’s Colt was roaring out its challenge to the shotgun. The sickening sound of lead driving into flesh rose from close by. Too close for it to be Dusty Fog who had caught the bullet, which left only Alden to be the victim.

  Venner paused briefly, wondering if he should run in the girl’s direction. If he shot her, he could grab her horse and make good his escape. Only, doing so would be extremely dangerous. Judging by the manner in which she thumb-cocked the Cooper on its recoil, that girl knew how to handle a gun. She did not act scared, but showed every sign of knowing the score. Even if she did not throw lead at him, she likely had sense enough to turn and ride away before he reached her.

  Reaching a decision with commendable speed, Venner turned to his left and darted in front of his dying companion. Down the street, a horse was hitched before a barber’s shop. So he raced along the sidewalk towards the animal. As he approached his goal, he saw the sheriff run out of a store across the street.

  Unlike many of the men appointed as peace officers by the corrupt, inefficient Davis Administration which the Union Government had put in control of Texas, Sheriff Ward Kater was capable and really enforced the law. Having heard the shooting, he appeared ready for trouble with his Colt drawn and cocked in hand. At the sight of Venner, who should still be locked in a cell at the jail, the sheriff needed no further information.

  ‘Hold it!’ Kater yelled, bounding from the sidewalk.

  ‘Go to hell!’ Venner screeched and sent a bullet across the street.

  Which showed mighty poor sense when dealing with a man trained in Captain Jack Cureton’s now-disbanded company of Texas Rangers. With the smooth speed gained fighting an assortment of bad men during the War Between the States, Kater threw up his gun and returned Venner’s fire. The escaping man cried out in pain as lead caught him. Stumbling backwards, he still retained his hold on the Colt and tried to use it again. Once more Kater’s revolver cracked, but he had taken the brief time necessary to raise it and aim visually. Struck in the skull by the second bullet, Venner crumpled lifeless to the sun-warped sidewalk boards.

  ‘Catch my saddle, Dawn!’ Dusty yelled, coming to his feet and wanting to keep the girl out of harm’s way.

  Deciding that there was no further danger to Dusty, she turned to obey. The request made by the small Texan was one often given by an un-horsed cowhand. While the horse which threw him mostly belonged to the rancher who hired him, the saddle was always the cowhand’s own property and its loss not to be c
ontemplated. So the girl rode after and caught Dusty’s paint. Holding its reins, she rode back towards the small Texan.

  After removing Dawn from the line of further fire, Dusty sprang on to the sidewalk and across it to enter the sheriff’s office. His right-hand colt aimed at Keck’s sprawling shape; but one glance told him there would be no further danger from the man.

  Looking across the room, Dusty saw a figure lying face down in one of the cells. Before he could go and investigate, he heard rapidly approaching footsteps. The sheriff appeared at the door, also holding a cocked weapon.

  Halting, Kater studied the scene for a moment, then gave Dusty a long, searching glance. ‘You’re Captain Fog, aren’t you?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Colonel Charlie told me you were coming. Looks like you arrived just at the right time.’

  ‘I had to kill these two,’ Dusty remarked as the sheriff opened the cell and entered to kneel by the groaning man. ‘Did you get the other alive?’

  ‘No,’ Kater admitted. ‘It’s a pity they’re all dead. I’d like to know where they got the guns.’

  Chapter Nine

  Eight Cents a Pound, On the Hoof

  The clock in the corner of Goodnight’s comfortably furnished living room chimed eleven as he and his guests gathered before the fireplace at the conclusion of their belated meal. Dusty and Dawn had not reached the ranch until shortly before ten, due to the small Texan assisting the sheriff in trying to discover how the prisoners obtained the weapons used while making their escape bid. Settling in the comfortable chairs in front of the glowing log fire, Dusty told his uncle, the Kid, Mark and the girl about the investigation.

  ‘Seems that Keck and his pards waited for Sheriff Kater to leave the office and hoped he’d be down to his home before they made their move,’ Dusty explained. ‘Then Keck called the deputy over and asked him for a match. Only as he was taking it out, Keck threw down on him. It was a choice of opening the door or getting shot, so the deputy opened up. Keck whomped him over the head as soon as he’d done it. The other two helped themselves to the deputy’s Colt and one of the office scatterguns, their own being locked in the safe, and headed for the tall timber.’