From Hide and Horn (A Floating Outfit Book Number 5)

by J. T. Edson

  ‘We can take him—’ Austin began.

  ‘Open your mouth again!’ Dusty blazed, swinging towards the speaker. ‘And I’ll close it with my boot. Mark, take Austin, Spat and Eddie to the night herd. Eph, Ross, go help Will Trinka on the remuda.’

  ‘Get to it!’ Goodnight went on, knowing what Dusty wanted to do.

  Slowly, showing their reluctance, the Swinging G men turned to obey. Usually Eph Horn and Ross Phares would not be sent to assist the nighthawk with the horses but Dusty wanted to give Ahlen proof that he would deal fairly with Willock and not rely on the hands loyal to Goodnight to enforce his demands.

  Swiftly Dusty looked around. Kneeling at her brother’s side, Dawn was silent. It seemed that she had realized what her words might cause, for she never took her eyes from Goodnight’s face although she said no more. From her, Dusty turned his attention to the de Martins. They and Heenan once more stood clear of the two factions. Considering what had happened, Barbe seemed remarkably calm. She watched the scene before her with an almost detached interest.

  Diverting his thoughts from the girls, Dusty studied the trail hands. His dismissal of the Swinging G men had lessened the tension slightly. Yet everything depended on how Swede Ahlen answered Dusty’s question. If he stood by the Articles of Agreement, Willock’s supporters would go along. If not, the small Texan did not care to think of the result. Swede Ahlen held several lives and the safety of the whole trail drive in his big hands. Should he go back on his word about the contract, Josh Narth would want to dispense his own justice. While Willock’s cronies might stand for Goodnight or Dusty dealing with the situation, they certainly would not permit another trail hand to do so.

  After what seemed an age, although it followed on the heels of Dusty giving his orders to Mark, Ahlen spoke.

  ‘Put up the gun, Burle. We’re going to hold a hearing on the killing.’

  ‘The hell you are!’ Willock spat back, making no attempt to comply. ‘What chance do I have? You’ve seen how all that bunch stand together.’

  Ahlen stiffened slightly, looking at the cowhand’s face and moving to stand between Dusty and Goodnight. ‘He’s liquored up. Watch him. He’s dangerous when he’s wet.’

  Hearing the words, Dusty and Goodnight let out low breaths of annoyance. Under the Articles of Agreement, no liquor could be carried by the trail hands. Yet Willock showed every sign of being drunk and, according to his foreman, was a bad hombre when in that condition. Which altered nothing in the basic issue. It only made the situation more dangerously explosive.

  ‘All ri—’ Goodnight began, making as if to step forward.

  ‘Keep back, all of you!’ Willock snarled, his Colt making an arc that took in the three men before him. ‘I’m full to my guts with this drive and I’m quitting. Who’s coming with me?’

  ‘Nobody,’ Goodnight said quietly. ‘And you’re not going either.’

  ‘Who’ll stop me?’ snarled Willock.

  ‘I will,’ Goodnight answered.

  ‘No, Uncle Charlie,’ Dusty put in gently. ‘The segundo handles the men. I let this start, so it’s for me to see it through.’

  There was another, unmentioned point. Without its trail boss, the herd could not get through. So Dusty figured if anybody was going to be shot, he could be better spared than his uncle.

  ‘I’ll kill the first to move!’ Willock snarled.

  ‘Then you’ll have to do it,’ Dusty replied and took a step forward.

  ‘You’ll have to drop us both,’ Ahlen warned, advancing in line with Dusty. ‘Don’t be loco, Burle. Leather it. You know Colonel Charlie’ll give you a fair hearing.’

  Backing off before the steady advance of the two men, Willock looked from one to the other. Drunk he might be, but not sufficiently for his condition to have driven all sense and thought from his head. Swede Ahlen had never professed to be a gunfighter, but possessed the gritty determination to push through anything he started. Yet, more menacing to Willock at that moment was the big blond man ranged at his segundo’s side. A quick glance warned Willock that he could not expect help from his cronies. Even Jacko stood silent and clearly willing to accept Ahlen’s assurance that justice would be done.

  Sweat ran down Willock’s face and indecision played on it. Watching him, Dusty knew that he might go either way. If he should be drunk, impossible as it seemed, he could either surrender or make a rat-like fight against what he regarded as a trap.

  For each pace the two men advanced, Willock retreated a stride. To Dusty it seemed that the barrel of the cowhand’s Colt started to dip. At that moment a shot rang out. Lead ripped into Willock’s head, spinning him around and tumbling him lifeless almost at the small Texan’s feet.

  Smoke curled up from the revolver in Heenan’s hand and he said, ‘I thought he was fixing to start throwing lead.’

  Chapter Thirteen – Where Did You Hire Heenan?

  Throwing a look at the Mineral Wells men, Dusty prepared to draw if they showed signs of hostility. None of them made a move, but stood staring at the still body at the small Texan’s feet.

  ‘You stupid son-of-a-bitch!’ Ahlen growled at Heenan. ‘He was giving it up.’

  ‘It didn’t look that way to me!’ the hardcase answered, holstering his gun. ‘Hell! If he’d thrown lead, this whole camp’d’ve gone up smoking. And if he’d run, we were standing in his way.’

  On the face of it, Heenan had acted in a sensible manner. The moment Willock had squeezed his trigger, the rest of the men would have become involved. That would place the innocent bystanders in considerable danger. Nor would their position have been any safer if Willock had elected to escape, for they stood in his path to freedom.

  ‘You can hardly blame Mr. Heenan, Swede,’ de Martin put in. T thought that Burle meant to shoot you.’

  ‘Best get two graves dug,’ Dusty said quietly. ‘Lon, take after Mark, then go on to Billy Jack and tell them everything’s all right here.’

  ‘Yo!’ replied the Kid, whistling for his stallion and darting into the darkness to meet it.

  Slowly Dawn rose and turned her grief-lined face towards Dusty. It was not her first brush with violent death, or even the first time she had lost somebody close to her, so she held control of her emotions and showed no sign of breaking down. That might come later. Right then she had other things on her mind. From Dusty she turned to Barbe, eyeing the girl with cold mistrust.

  ‘How did it start?’ Dawn demanded.

  ‘They—they followed me,’ Barbe replied hesitantly. ‘I had come to the wagon to help Edmond collect his camera so that we might photograph the fun. I thought that they wanted to help—’

  ‘So did I,’ de Martin went on. ‘When I said I wanted to go into the bushes, Vern loaned me his Colt—’

  ‘Who started the fight?’ Jacko interrupted.

  ‘Finding out now won’t do anybody any good,’ Dusty put in. ‘Burle Willock’d been drinking. Where’d he get the liquor?’

  ‘Could he have had it with him all the time?’ asked de Martin. ‘Waiting for a chance to celebrate, I mean.’

  ‘Not him,’ Ahlen grunted. ‘He wasn’t a booze-hound, but he liked it enough to have drunk any he’d brought long afore tonight.’

  ‘None of the others in the crew had any either,’ Dusty said. ‘Except Rowdy. Go see if your stock’s still there, Rowdy.’

  ‘Sure, Cap’n,’ answered the cook and went to obey. On his return, he held out a partially filled bottle of whiskey. ‘That’s what there was left in it after I yanked a tooth out for Sherm Sherman.’

  ‘Which leaves you, Edmond,’ Dusty drawled.

  ‘How dare you imply that my broth—!’ Barbe started hotly.

  ‘Dusty is right, dear,’ de Martin cut in. ‘I do have liquor in my wagon and this is a serious matter which needs clearing up. You can inspect my stock, Dusty. I have kept it under lock and key since Charles explained his no-drinking article.’

  With that the photographer led the way to his wagon and ins
isted that an inspection be made of his liquor supply. As he had claimed, it was securely locked in a trunk to which he carried the only key. Leaving the wagon, Dusty remembered something he had seen earlier and turned to Heenan.

  ‘You took Burle a cup of coffee—’

  ‘Sure,’ agreed the hardcase. ‘Two of ’em. Hell, it was all part of the running, us treating the heifer-brands like they was for-real womenfolk.’

  ‘Mr. Heenan has no liquor with him, Dusty,’ de Martin stated. ‘He was broke when he came to work for me and I refused to advance his wages to buy a bottle.’

  ‘It—it’s all my fault!’ Barbe put in, sniffing and looking pathetically at the men. ‘You all blame me—’

  ‘No, ma’am!’ Jacko hastened to assure her. ‘We ain’t none of us blaming you.’

  ‘Those boys’ve been fussing over you—’‘ Dawn began.

  ‘And I did my best to stay away from them after that fight!’ Barbe whimpered. ‘You all know that. I never went near either of them. And tonight it was I who suggested that they played at being women so that I wouldn’t have to dance with either of them. You all know that.’

  ‘We all saw it,’ Sodak agreed. ‘Ain’t nobody blaming you, Miss Barbe.’

  ‘There for sure ain’t!’ Jackie confirmed, directing a grim, challenging look around him.

  Barbe threw the young cowhand a look of abject relief and complete gratitude. Then she clasped her handkerchief to her face, turned and ran to her wagon. Sobs shook at her as she climbed inside.

  ‘You’d best see to her, Edmond,’ Goodnight said. ‘Rowdy, take some of the crew and have two graves dug. We’ll have to bury—Vern—tonight, Dawn.’

  ‘I—I know!’ Dawn replied. ‘Oh Colonel Charlie, he was only a boy—’

  Showing a gentleness known by only his closest friends, Goodnight took the girl in his arms and led her away from the bodies. Quietly Rowdy assembled a working party and, for once, none of the cowhands objected to riding the blister-end of a shovel. Watching them go, Dusty let out an angry growl which brought Ahlen’s eyes to him.

  ‘Damn it, Swede!’ Dusty said. ‘Where did he get that liquor?’

  ‘I wish I knew,’ the big cowhand answered. ‘Whoever gave it to him near on blew this whole drive into the air.’

  Red-eyed from crying, stiff-faced and tight-lipped, Dawn took her regular place among a silent trail crew on the morning after the double killing. She had seen her brother buried the night before and sobbed almost to sun-up in the bed-wagon, but insisted at breakfast that she was able to take her share of the workload. If anything, her brother’s death had increased her determination to see the drive brought off successfully.

  ‘Ho, cattle!’ Mark and Ahlen chanted at the point. ‘Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho!’

  Showing satisfaction almost, Buffalo lurched into motion. There was a short period of inevitable confusion until the steers reassumed their positions in the line. Wending their way to the banks of the South Concho, the cattle drank and crossed without any trouble to resume their westward march on the other side.

  ‘We’ve not lost more than half-a-dozen head,’ Dusty told his uncle as they gathered to compare their totals after making a trail count on the western side of the river.

  ‘You’ve done well, boy,’ Goodnight congratulated.

  ‘Not all that well,’ Dusty said bitterly, thinking of the two graves close to their deserted campsite.

  ‘Very well!’ Goodnight insisted. ‘Including last night. A wrong word or move there would have seen more graves on the Horsehead Crossing.’

  Early in their stay, one of the hands had found a horse’s skull near the river and stuck it up in a tree to give the area a name it would bear in future.

  ‘Swede did most of it,’ Dusty said. ‘If he’d not backed us, there’d’ve been powder burned last night.’

  ‘Swede’s got a good head on his shoulders, like you. That’s why I stayed out of it and let you two call the play. I’m damned if I know what I’ll say to Darby Sutherland when we get back home.’

  ‘I know how you feel, sir. That was one chore I hated in the War; and I only had to write letters, not tell them face to face. It’d be best if we watched the crew real careful for a few days, Uncle Charlie, and try to make sure that nothing else happens to stir them up.’

  ‘It would,’ Goodnight agreed. ‘Once we get on to the Staked Plains, they’ll have more than plenty to keep them occupied.’

  ‘Sure. I wonder where Willock got the liquor from?’

  ‘He could’ve carried it all along. After being off it for so long, he’d not need much to make him drunk.’

  ‘I asked Miss de Martin why she shouted about not shooting,’ Dusty said. ‘She reckons she can’t remember doing it. I didn’t push it, she likely feels bad enough about what’s happened.’

  During the day, Dusty kept a close watch on the crew. They were subdued in their manner, but worked together with no sign of remembering the split of the previous night. So far they had not got on to the real Staked Plains, but the grazing grew poorer while the heat increased. By good fortune they found a water hole and let the cattle drink before bedding down for the night.

  Despite Dusty’s comments, Barbe seemed to have recovered from her shock by nightfall. Returning from a visit to the remuda, Dusty heard talking beyond a clump of bushes. Recognizing Barbe’s voice, he would have walked on but her companion’s words brought him to a halt.

  ‘Colonel Charlie won’t let me do it,’ said Austin Hoffman. ‘He wouldn’t let Edmond take pictures close to the cattle.’

  ‘But you could do it, Austin,’ Barbe answered. ‘And it would make both my brother and I so grateful if you did.’

  ‘They’d not let me do it either,’ Austin protested.

  ‘Couldn’t you do it without them knowing?’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Take the camera and hide close by. Then photograph the herd as it comes towards you.’

  ‘That’d mean being on foot,’ Austin gasped.

  ‘Are you afraid?’ Barbe asked and Dusty could sense her bristling at the arguments.

  ‘No. But I’m not loco neither,’ Austin replied. ‘Any one of them critters’d charge me on sight—’

  ‘It would be worth the risk, Austin,’ Barbe purred. ‘Just think what such a photograph would mean. The first of its kind, taken at considerable risk. Why, it would make you famous. Then, with the flair you show for photography, you could open a studio in Austin, or even in some Eastern city where I could live. Don’t you see, Austin?’

  At which point Dusty decided to let his presence be known. So he gave a rasping cough and heard a hurried scuffling among the bushes.

  ‘Who’s there?’ Dusty called.

  ‘It’s only us,’ Austin answered, coming through the undergrowth with the girl trailing behind him. ‘We’re just going back to camp.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Dusty said. ‘Hey, I just now remembered, Austin. There was a Hoffman in the Texas Light, maybe you’re kin to him?’

  ‘My uncle,’ Hoffman confirmed, looking just a touch relieved and showing no sign of yielding to Barbe’s glances at the bushes. ‘What do you know, Miss Barbe, Cap’n Dusty knowed my uncle in the War.’

  ‘How interesting!’ Barbe said in a tone which carried a knife’s edge.

  ‘Say, Miss Barbe,’ Dusty drawled. ‘You don’t know if Edmond’s figuring to take any pictures of the herd in the next few days?’

  ‘He may be,’ Barbe answered, darting a suspicious glance at the small Texan and reading nothing on his face.

  ‘I’d best ask him not to,’ Dusty said. ‘Especially close up. That powder going off near them might start a stompede and none of us’d want that to happen—now would we, Austin?’

  ‘We sure’s hell wouldn’t,’ Hoffman agreed vehemently.

  ‘I’m sure pleased that I met up with you, Miss Barbe,’ Dusty went on in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘It’ll save me looking up your brother special to warn him. You can do it for me.’


  ‘I will,’ Barbe promised, but her voice dripped ice and she left the men as soon as they drew near to the camp.

  ‘How much did you hear, Cap’n Dusty?’ Austin asked as soon as they were alone. ‘Afore you coughed, I mean.’

  ‘Enough to figure it was my business to cough,’ Dusty replied. ‘Don’t try it, Austin. Even if you don’t get killed by a steer, you’ll stompede the herd. Either way, you’ll never get that fancy photographic studio in some Eastern town.’

  After the cowhand had left him, Dusty stood for a moment and looked at the de Martin wagon. However, he put off his intention to see the photographer with a warning not to use Barbe as a lure to get risky pictures taken. There would be time to do that later. So Dusty walked across to the main fire and heard Goodnight talking to the crew. One of the hands had just been complaining about his bed being so rock-studded that he doubted if he could sleep.

  ‘Getting to sleep’s not going to worry you for a spell after tonight, anyways,’ the rancher announced.

  ‘How come, Colonel Charlie?’ the cowhand inquired.

  ‘Because when we move out tomorrow,’ Goodnight explained and something in his voice brought all other conversation to a halt, ‘we won’t be stopping until we reach the Pecos.’

  An almost numbed silence followed the words, as the trail crew gave thought to the implication behind them. Even the de Martin party had heard, for they approached the fire. Dawn could see concern on the girl’s face and wondered what caused it.

  ‘You mean that we just keep the herd going,’ Ahlen said. ‘Without bedding down, or for water, until we get to the other side, Colonel?’

  ‘That’s just what I mean,’ the rancher agreed. ‘You saw the lie of the land, Swede. There’ll barely be enough water for the horses and crew. So we keep the cattle going for as long as it takes us to hit the Pecos.’

  ‘How about food for the hands?’ Sherman wanted to know.

  ‘Rowdy’ll pull ahead with the wagon, throw up a meal and you’ll eat it in the saddle. Those cattle have to be kept moving all the time.’

  ‘How about my sister, Charles?’ asked de Martin. ‘Do you expect her to be subjected to such conditions?’