by J. T. Edson
The Home of Great Western Fiction!
Other States were carved or born,
Texas grew from hide and horn.
There were problems to be solved before that became true. Where to sell the cattle which swarmed across the Texas ranges and how to get them to the market; also whether sufficient longhorns could be delivered at one time to make a long journey to a market profitable.
Charles Goodnight thought he had the answers and aimed to prove it. Backed by Ole Devil Hardin’s already legendary floating outfit, he set off with three thousand five hundred head of cattle for distant Fort Sumner. With Dusty Fog as his segundo, Goodnight meant to deliver his herd and so pave the way for Texas to grow from hide and horn.
THE FLOATING OUTFIT 5: FROM HIDE AND HORN
By J. T. Edson
First published by Transworld Publishers in 1969
Copyright © 1969, 2016 by J. T. Edson
First Smashwords Edition: July 2016
Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information or storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.
This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book
Series Editor: Ben Bridges
Text © Piccadilly Publishing
Published by Arrangement with the Author’s Agent.
For Mike Muse and his box of doom, disaster, subtle violence and sudden death.
Author’s Note
The events recorded in this book follow on from those in Goodnight’s Dream, and tell how he made it come true.
COLONEL GOODNIGHT’S TRAIL CREW
Charles Goodnight, trail boss
OD CONNECTED
Dusty Fog, Segundo
Mark Counter, Point Rider
The Ysabel Kid, Scout
Red Blaze, Trail Hand
Billy Jack, Trail Hand
SWINGING G
‘Rowdy’ Lincoln, Cook
‘Turkey’ Trott, Cook’s Assistant
‘Boiler’ Benson, Trail Hand
Eddie Quinn, Trail Hand
‘Spat’ Bodley, Trail Hand
‘Austin’ Hoffman, Trail Hand
Eph Horn, Horse Wrangler
D4S
Dawn Sutherland, Trail Hand
Vern Sutherland, Trail Hand
Josh Narth, Trail Hand
BENCH P
Tod Ames, Trail Hand
‘Jacko’ Lefors, Trail Hand
LAZY F
Solly Sodak, Trail Hand
‘Pick’ Visscher, Trail Hand
DOUBLE TWO
Swede Ahlen, Trail Hand
Burle Willock, Trail Hand
FLYING H
Shermy Sherman, Trail Hand
Alex Raymar, Trail Hand
Chapter One – You Hire Cheap, You Get Cheap Results
Bearers of bad news are rarely welcome and the tall, lean man clad in travel-stained range clothes shuffled his feet uncomfortably as he finished his tale of misfortune and failure. Seated at his desk, Joseph Hayden glared coldly at the man.
Rooms in the small hotel at Throckmorton, Texas, did not usually offer such facilities. Nor, especially since the end of the War Between the States, did they normally house guests of wealth and social prominence. So the manager had willingly complied with Hayden’s requests. Small, dapperly attired to the height of current Eastern fashion, Hayden had a hardness of face and cold eyes. He invariably spoke in a clipped voice which showed an expectancy of receiving instant obedience.
‘So Goodnight’s managed to regather his herd, has he?’ Hayden said at last.
‘That’s what the feller I met on the way here told me,’ the westerner, a typical cattle-country hardcase, replied. ‘He allowed that Mr. Wednesbury had just got to the cabin when about thirty Swinging G cowhands jumped them. Your partner and all but one of the others went down in the fighting ’n’ the feller allowed he was lucky to get away alive.’
‘I’ll just bet he was,’ Hayden sniffed, having no illusions about the quality of the men his penny-pinching late partner had insisted on hiring. ‘Goodnight hasn’t got thirty men, counting his ranch crew and the extra help he hired for the trail drive.’
‘He’s got Cap’n Dusty Fog backing him,’ the man pointed out, his tone indicating that he was giving a perfect explanation for Wednesbury’s defeat and death.
Maybe Hayden had never worn a uniform, and spent the War years building up a sizeable fortune, but he had heard the name mentioned by his hired man.
During the last years of the War, Dusty Fog had risen to a prominence as a military raider and fighting cavalry commander equaled only by Dixie’s other two experts, Turner Ashby and John Singleton Mosby. At the head of Company C, Texas Light Cavalry, Dusty Fog had caused havoc, loss and despair among the Yankee Army in Arkansas. In addition to his excellent military record, he was rumored to have twice helped Belle Boyd, the Rebel Spy, to accomplish dangerous assignments. i With the War ended, he had returned to Texas and taken over as segundo of the great OD Connected ranch. Circumstances soon sent him into strife-torn Mexico on a mission of international importance, which he brought to a most satisfactory conclusion. ii
In addition to his past military glories, people spoke of Dusty Fog as a top hand with cattle. They told many tales of his ambidextrous prowess, lightning-fast way of drawing a pair of 1860 Army Colts and wonderfully accurate shooting. Also frequently mentioned was his uncanny barehanded fighting skills, which rendered bigger, heavier, stronger men helpless in his grasp.
Hayden did not know how many of the legends about Dusty Fog might be true. Nor did he particularly care. Except that Dusty Fog was Goodnight’s nephew and so a factor to be reckoned with when plotting the downfall of the stocky, bearded, trail-blazing rancher from Young County.
‘Is the man with you?’ Hayden inquired.
‘Nope,’ the hardcase answered. ‘He allowed that he wasn’t staying anywheres close to Goodnight in case somebody was took alive and talked. Last I saw of him, he was headed East like the devil after a yearling.’ Then, feeling he ought to express his condolences, he went on, ‘I’m real sorry about Mr. Wednesbury, Boss.’
‘So am I,’ Hayden replied. ‘I’ll put a mourning band on for him. What did you learn around Mineral Wells?’
‘Not much at first. The Sutherland gal come in with Mark Counter and the Ysabel Kid, trying to talk some of the ranchers’ wives to get up a herd and send it to Goodnight. They weren’t getting any place, then Wardle, Hultze and the others got back from chasing the cattle Chisum stole. Seems like Goodnight’d offered to let them send cattle and men on his drive to Fort Sumner. So’s they’d have hands who knowed how to trail cattle and money enough to pay for another big drive.’
‘Where to?’ Hayden demanded.
‘I heard up to the railroad in Kansas,’ answered the hardcase and made a deprecatory gesture. ‘Only I figure somebody’d been joshing the gal who told me. Hell! They’d never take cattle right up there.’
Although Hayden did not show it, he disagreed with the speaker. Conditions were sufficiently bad in Texas for men to take desperate chances in the hope of improving them. Having supported the Confederate States during the War, most people in Texas found themselves left with a worthless currency following the South’s defeat. Texas had no major industries capable of competing on the national market, nor
mineral assets which might help its people to return to solvency. iii
All they had was cattle. The longhorns grazed in enormous herds on land capable of supporting them and many more; a potential source of wealth if they could only be sold. At first there were only the hide-and-tallow factories willing to take the cattle—at three or four dollars a head, calves thrown in free. They bought by the herd, killing, stripping off the hide and tallow, then dumping the meat and remains of the carcasses into the Brazos River.
Charles Goodnight and Oliver Loving found another market. With something like eleven thousand Indians on reservations needing to be fed, the U.S. Army in New Mexico wanted all the beef they could buy. So the Texan partners had decided to make a stab at supplying that need. They had made two successful drives, pioneering a trail and learning many valuable lessons, before word of their efforts leaked out.
No cattleman, Hayden had recognized the potential source of profit offered by delivering beef to the Army. Longhorns could be bought for less than five dollars a head in Texas and sold at Fort Sumner for eight cents a pound on the hoof. With an average-sized steer—the Army wanted neither cows nor yearlings—weighing about eight hundred pounds, there would be a very fair return on his outlay.
Along with his partner, Wednesbury, Hayden had gone to Fort Sumner in the hope of obtaining contracts to supply the cattle. Although Loving had died from a wound gathered in a Comanche Indian attack, Goodnight had put in a bid to deliver three thousand steers by early July; relying on rancher John Chisum to fill the number for him. There would still have been a good opening for Hayden, but he wanted much more than that. Before him lay a vision of enormous wealth. By buying cheap from the impoverished ranchers of Texas, he hoped to make a vast fortune.
Figuring Goodnight to be a threat to that vision, Hayden had tried to remove him. With the aid of the unscrupulous Chisum, Hayden had hoped to plant eleven hundred head of stolen steers into Goodnight’s shipping herd and have their owners find them. By bad luck, Goodnight had learned of the thefts in time and turned the stolen cattle away. Although Hayden’s men had managed to stampede the Swinging G herd, the attempt was only partially successful and the losses had been made up. Determined to attend to Goodnight’s ruin himself, Wednesbury had taken some men to Young County and died with nothing achieved. Not even the loss of the eleven hundred head stolen by Chisum had slowed Goodnight down, it seemed. In some way the rancher had not only made his peace with the irate owners, but persuaded them to make good the missing cattle.
From what Hayden remembered of Goodnight, he did not lightly discard the idea of the alternative destination for cattle mentioned to his hired man. Goodnight had foresight and was aware of the crying need for beef on the Eastern seaboard. While it would not be possible to trail cattle that far, they could be shipped east on the transcontinental railroad.
If the long drive could be made, Hayden saw a second, even greater, market opened. The forts of New Mexico were less accessible to the owners of the eastern and southern ranches than from his present location. Kansas would be open to all. Nor, using it, would the Army become flooded with stock so that they could lower their prices. If Goodnight’s actions in taking along men from his neighbors’ ranches was anything to go on, he intended that everybody would benefit from the markets he opened.
That was the last thing in Hayden’s mind. The longer he could keep the markets to himself, the greater would be his profits. From the money the herds brought in, he could buy property, take over ranches from bankrupt owners, and build himself a cattle empire.
Let Goodnight pave the way and others would follow. So he must be stopped or, coming from a breed which did not know the meaning of the word ‘beaten’, killed. Let Charles Goodnight, honored scout of Captain Jack Cureton’s famed company of Texas Rangers and master cattleman, fail, and others would hesitate to try. The problem facing Hayden was how he might best achieve his intentions.
‘Can we get men down there in time to stop the Mineral Wells cattle reaching Goodnight?’ Hayden asked, breaking in on his train of thought and seeking for the means to deal with the rancher.
‘Not afore they get to him,’ the man admitted.
‘Then why didn’t you do something before you came here?’
‘How d’you mean, boss?’
‘You could have followed them and stampeded the herd.’
‘With Mark Counter trail bossing it and the Ysabel Kid riding scout?’
Looking blankly at his employee, Hayden saw a flicker of consternation cross the other’s face. Yet Scabee had shown courage, if not initiative, on more than one occasion since they first met. Hayden wondered who Mark Counter and the Ysabel Kid might be. If he had lived for any time close to the lower reaches of the Rio Grande he would have known the answer to the latter part of the question.
Born in the village of the Pehnane Comanche, only son of a tough Irish-Kentuckian mustanger-cum-smuggler and his Creole-Comanche wife, the Ysabel Kid had been raised and educated among the Wasps, Quick-Stingers or Raiders—the white man’s translation of Pehnane—band. From his maternal grandfather, Chief Long Walker of the fabled Dog Soldier war lodge, the boy had learned all those things a Comanche brave-heart must know. iv He could ride any horse ever foaled and knew ways to bring a strange, hostile mount to his will. Given expert instruction in the handling of a variety of weapons, he also knew how to walk in silence through the thickest brush, follow tracks barely visible to less keen eyes, locate hidden enemies and conceal himself in minute cover. One thing he had never been taught was to nurse too great a respect for the sanctity of human life.
Fortunately for the peace of Texas, he had never made use of his knowledge in the manner of a Pehnane brave. However, he put much of his training to use helping his father as a smuggler or, during the War, delivering cargoes, run through the U.S. Navy’s blockading squadron into Matamoros, to Confederate officials north of the Rio Grande. During that time he had gained a reputation for being one tough, very capable and deadly hombre. Maybe he did not rate high in the use of a revolver, but none could fault his handling of a bowie knife, or belittle his ability with a rifle. Young he might be, yet the hardcases along the bloody border grew silent and well behaved in his presence.
With the War over, the Kid had intended to resume the family trade. Bushwhack lead cut down his father and, while hunting for Sam Ysabel’s killers, he had met Dusty Fog. Lone-handed smuggling held no attraction for the Kid, so, having helped Dusty complete the important mission, he accepted the other’s offer of employment. Many folk slept easier in their beds knowing that the Ysabel Kid now rode on the side of justice. His talents were given to the OD Connected and utilized by Ole Devil Hardin to help friends in trouble. It would have gone very hard for any man the Kid had found acting in a suspicious manner in the vicinity of the herd he helped to guard.
While he would quickly achieve a fame equaling that of Dusty Fog or the Ysabel Kid, at that time Mark Counter was less known than his companions. Son of a wealthy Big Bend rancher, Beau Brummel of the Confederate Cavalry, Mark was known as a top hand with cattle, something of a dandy-dresser, yet immensely strong and exceptionally able in a roughhouse brawl. Less was known of his skill as a gunfighter. Nor, riding as he did in the shadow of Dusty Fog, would he ever gain his just acclaim. Yet men who were in a position and possessed knowledge of such things would say that Mark was second only to the Rio Hondo gun wizard in the matter of fast draw and accurate shooting.
Like the Kid, Mark helped Dusty on that important assignment. Instead of returning to his father’s R Over C spread, he took on at the OD Connected. Not just as a hand, but to ride as part of the floating outfit, the elite of the crew. On the enormous ranches like the OD Connected, four to six men— top hands all—were employed to travel the distant ranges instead of being based on the main house. Being aware what was at stake, Ole Devil Hardin had sent his floating outfit to help Goodnight. Although Hayden did not know it, the floating outfit had been mainly responsible for t
he failure of his plans.
‘So Goodnight will be moving out soon,’ Hayden commented coldly. ‘And with a full three thousand head.’
‘Sure, Boss,’ Scabee admitted. ‘Anyways, you’ve got our cattle on the trail by now, ain’t you?’
‘Yes, and with Chisum handling the drive. He knows the trail to Fort Sumner as well as Goodnight does. And he’s got a good four days’ start. But I don’t mean to take chances. I’m going to make sure that Goodnight doesn’t arrive.’
‘You figuring on taking men after the Swinging G herd, Boss?’
‘Not me personally. I’m going after Chisum and joining him on the trail. A man who’d betray his friend won’t play square with an employer. So I’m going to be with him when he reaches Fort Sumner.’
‘Then who—’
On his arrival at Throckmorton, Hayden had found that a suite was an unknown quantity at the hotel. Explaining his needs, he had had three ordinary rooms converted into quarters for himself and his recently departed partner. Each of their bedrooms had been connected by a door to the room in which he now sat interviewing Scabee. Suddenly the hardcase cocked his head in the direction of what had been Wednesbury’s quarters and chopped off his words. Down dropped his right hand, drawing the Remington Army revolver from its holster on his gunbelt and thumbing back the hammer. Lining the gun at the door, he glanced at his employer.
‘I just heard somebody in there, Boss.’
‘Go and see—’ Hayden commanded, but the rest of the order proved to be unnecessary.