The Floating Outfit 13

by J. T. Edson

  ‘They didn’t kill me!’ the man gasped. ‘Had me dead to rights as I crawled into the house and let me get the door closed. They could’ve still got me had they tried, but they just took all they wanted and rode off.’

  ‘See to the man’s wound, one of you,’ ordered Manners.

  ‘Leave one of the men without a repeater to tend to him Jeff,’ the Kid put in. ‘We’ve got to ride.’

  Normally a troop of soldiers who came on such an incident would stay to bury the dead and do what they could to clean up the mess. The wounded man showed signs of surprise when Manners clearly did not intend to do so. However Manners saw the Kid’s point. While they wasted time, Sidewinder would be getting further and further away. Even as the troop, less one man, prepared to leave, they saw more smoke rising in the distance.

  ‘That’s the Villiers’ place!’ gasped the cowhand. ‘Hell! He’s married and got a little gal.’

  ‘Move out!’ Manners snapped and the troop set off again.

  Six miles later the Kid, ranging ahead of the others, came into sight of the Villiers ranch. However the Comanche had departed, taking every horse from the corrals and doing damage. Once again they had not fired the house. Villiers had been lucky. Seeing the Waw’ai approaching, he showed commendable speed of thought in taking his family and cowhands into the house from where they held off the attack even though unable to prevent the loss of their horses and some damage. Naturally Villiers expressed himself strongly on the subject of Indians, when the soldiers arrived and damned the idea of making peace with Comanches.

  The Kid sat silent and did not attempt to explain the difference between the Comanche at the peace council and Sidewinder’s bunch of bad-hat bucks. In the interests of diplomacy Manners kept quiet also and told the rancher that the troop must move on if they hoped to catch up with the attackers and perhaps recover the stolen horses.

  ‘There’s a pattern to it,’ the Kid said as he led Manners along the Waw’ai’s trail. ‘They’re leaving somebody alive each time to spread the story.’

  ‘Sidewinder could just be trying to count coup and gather loot without taking chances,’ Manners objected.

  ‘After whipping the Lancers he wouldn’t need to show his medicine’s power,’ the Kid drawled. ‘Had they wanted to get him, that wounded cowhand couldn’t’ve stopped them. And they’d’ve stuck to Villiers’ place longer if they’d aimed to take him.’

  Shortly before noon they once more saw smoke drifting into the air. Manners gave a low growl for his men had pushed their horses at a good speed and yet the Waw’ai still retained a lead as great as when they first started out that morning to investigate the original attack.

  ‘Damn it,’ he said. ‘They’ll be gone before we reach that ranch.’

  ‘Sure,’ the Kid agreed. ‘We’ve got to catch up with ’em, not trail along behind, following their smoke.’

  ‘What do you suggest?’

  ‘They’ve been swinging to the West all the while. Likely they aim to make a complete circle and pick up the womenfolk on the way back, then high-tail it for the open range.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So happen we can reach some place to the west of that burning spread, we might catch them there, or even beat them to it.’

  ‘Let’s take a look at the map while the horses rest.’

  Studying the map he brought along, Manners followed a line in a rough circle from the first attacked ranch. He tapped his finger on the next spread’s home buildings and remarked that it would take some riding to reach the place in time.

  ‘Then let’s leave it,’ the Kid replied. ‘This’s where I’d say we go.’

  Looking at the spot the Kid’s finger touched, Manners shook his head. ‘It’s well beyond the ranch—’

  ‘But it’s a Wells Fargo relay station,’ answered the Kid. ‘And you know what that means. Hosses.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Manners, sounding puzzled.

  ‘Those bucks with Sidewinder aren’t along for a ride or sport. They want loot and hosses most of all, So he’ll take them where they can get their wantings.’

  ‘They might hit at that ranch—’

  ‘We still won’t be there soon enough to stop them, or help out.’

  ‘All right then. We go your way.’

  ‘Reckon I’ll scout ahead and see what’s happening,’ the Kid said as the men rode across the range in the direction of the relay station.

  ‘We’ll keep moving as fast as we can,’ Manners replied.

  Urging his horse forward at a faster pace, the Kid soon disappeared over the horizon. Once clear of the others, he employed all his skill to travel fast and avoid allowing himself to be conspicuous. Tirelessly the big white loped on, its iron-hard condition enabling it to out-distance the soldiers. Yet the Kid knew he could rely on Thunder to gallop at high speed if needed.

  The sun began its downwards dip towards the western horizon and the Kid rode through bush dotted range country about a mile ahead of the soldiers. Slowing the big stallion, he studied a metallic glinting and then took cover. In a short time he saw the cause of the glinting. Two Waw’ai bucks rode through the bushes some distance away. Up to that moment they had been hidden, but one of them carried a US. Army lance over his shoulder and its tip rose high enough to top the bushes. Dropping from his horse, the Kid studied the Waw’ais and decided they must be either scouts, or two bucks who decided to strike out on their own. In either case they had to be stopped for the route they travelled would take them into sight of the soldiers. One sight of the troop would send the two bucks racing back to Sidewinder and warn him of the danger.

  Thinking fast, the Kid formed a plan which he felt would meet his needs. He must stop both braves; killing one and allowing the other to escape was no use at all. So he prepared to lay a trap and draw the bucks in. Quickly he stripped the stallion’s saddle, blanket and bridle off and hid them under a bush. Then he let Thunder advance into the open and begin to graze. Not knowing how many more Waw’ai might be in hearing distance, the Kid discarded his rifle and took up the bow instead. With everything ready, he moved into cover and waited.

  On coming into sight of the big horse, the Waw’ai scouts halted and studied it with interest. However they did not move in straight away to pick up such a valuable piece of loot. Even with the stain on its coat, the stallion looked a magnificent animal, yet it bore the signs of regularly carrying a saddle. If the Kid hoped to have the men ride in close enough for him to deal with them he needed to lull their suspicions and figured he knew just the way to do it.

  Loud in the air rang the cackling gobble of a tom turkey, sounding from down close to the horse. The Waw’ais exchanged satisfied glances. No tom turkey would give its call in the presence of its prime enemy, man. Feeling assured that they ran into no danger, the braves advanced.

  Crouching hidden among a clump of bushes, the Kid watched his plan succeed. When he imitated the turkey’s call, he hoped to fool the Waw’ai and had done just that. His eyes took in every detail of the two men’s armament and dress. Clearly they had been at Wide Valley, for both wore items of US. Cavalry clothing in addition to the lance which gave them away to the Kid. However he felt less concerned over the lance than in the twin barreled shotgun held by the second brave. That would be the dangerous weapon, its spreading load a menace even in the hands of a poor shot. It looked a mighty fine gun, too, not a cheap trade weapon. Although the Kid did not know it, he watched the killer of the Reverend Boardwell recently returned to his people and riding on a loot-gathering raid.

  Matched against odds of two to one and with such important issues at stake, the Kid could not play the game in a sporting manner. He allowed the braves to ride by and then rose, bringing up the bow and drawing back its string until the arrow’s flight brushed against his ear. Swiftly, yet carefully, he released his hold on the string and the arrow sprang forward. Even as the string twanged against the Kid’s wrist and its noise warned the Waw’ai of their danger, the arrow sliced into the
second brave’s back.

  In the bushes did not permit the Kid free enough movement, so he lunged through them and into the open as soon as he sank his arrow into the brave. Body contorting in agony, the shotgun clattering to the ground, the Kid’s victim slid from his horse without a sound.

  Not so the first brave. Bringing his horse around in a fast turn he swung the lance from his shoulder and into the lined position. A lance-carrier disdained the use of any other weapon and the brave intended to live or die by the tradition of the Nemenuh. Shouting his war cry, he sent the horse hurling towards the Kid and the lance in his hands made a more formidable weapon than when its original owner wielded it.

  Reaching back over his shoulder, the Kid started to draw another arrow. At the same moment he flung himself across the front of the charging horse. In doing so he avoided the lance thrust and put himself in a place where its steel head could not speedily be brought to bear on him. While moving, he notched the arrow and was already drawing back on the string as he swung around. With superb skill the Waw’ai swung his horse in a rump-scraping turn and prepared to attack again. Once more the Kid drew his bow and released an arrow. Flying shaft and charging Waw’ai converged. The arrow head, set at right angles to the string-notch, passed between the Indian’s ribs and into the vital organs beyond. Even so the Kid had to avoid the charge by leaping aside. Death came to the Waw’ai before he could turn or make a further attempt and his body crashed to the ground.

  Instantly the Kid sought cover and lay with an ear to the ground. He did not know how many more braves might be in the vicinity, but the lance-carrier’s yells might have reached to other ears. However he could pick up no sounds other than the departing mount of the dead lance-carrier. Rising, the Kid checked to make sure he did not need to take further action against the two scouts. Then he collected his saddle and went to the waiting stallion.

  Chapter Fourteen – A Disappointment For the Ysabel Kid

  ‘They’ve not reached the relay station yet,’ the Kid said as he rejoined Manners’ troop. ‘Place’s quiet and I didn’t go in.’

  ‘Travelling at speed, they ought to be here,’ Manners said worriedly.

  ‘They’ll likely be going slower now,’ the Kid drawled. ‘Don’t forget they’ve a fair bunch of stolen horses along by now.’

  ‘That would slow them down,’ the lieutenant agreed. ‘But if we’ve guessed wrong—’

  ‘I don’t reckon we have. Had me a run-in with a couple of scouts who were down this ways.’

  ‘Did you kill them?’

  ‘Sure. Figured it was best. Sidewinder won’t jump the station today, it’s too near night-fall. But he’d send out a couple of bucks to see what was doing. If I hadn’t stopped them, they’d’ve seen you.’

  ‘Won’t he be suspicious when they don’t return?’ Manners asked.

  ‘Maybe,’ answered the Kid. ‘Most likely, though, he’ll figure they’ve found something worth watching and’ll go through with the raid on the station.’

  ‘Only we’ll be there waiting for him,’ Manners said.

  ‘That’s just where we’ll be,’ agreed the Kid. ‘If we handle things right, we’ll have him and his bunch whip-sawed and end it right here.’

  ‘How do we play it?’ asked O’Neil.

  ‘Careful,’ the Kid replied and went on to explain his plan. Dawn slowly crept up in the East and the tired men at their posts about the relay station stirred restlessly. They had covered almost seventy miles the previous twenty-four hours and with little sleep, so the long vigil through the night left them irritated and tense. For all that they remained silent, following the orders given to them by Manners in accordance with the Kid’s plan.

  By the corral, in their impromptu firing positions, the Kid and ten soldiers scanned the range for the first sight of the enemy. Skilled Indian-fighters all, they knew that the Comanche’s favorite attacking time came soon. The Kid gave the surrounding area a quick study and nodded in satisfaction at what he saw. Or rather did not see, for the groups of men in the various buildings remained out of sight.

  Suddenly the Waw’ai appeared. Some twenty or so braves rose out of the ground, or so it seemed. Taking advantage of every scrap of cover, unnoticed even by the most keen-eyed of the soldiers, the braves drifted down on the silent station.

  A rifle cracked from the barn where one of the soldiers had been dropping to sleep, fighting it off as best he could, and shook himself awake in time to see the Waw’ai advancing. Pure instinct caused him to press his Spencer’s trigger and ruin the Kid’s plan. Before any human agency could have stopped it, every soldier fired his carbine. The shots came in a rippling, jagged roll rather than the smooth crash of a volley and lead tore into the Indians. Caught in a murderous cross-fire, nine of the braves went down and at least three more caught minor wounds. Not a bad result if they had formed the entire party. Turning, the remainder of the Waw’ai went bounding back in the direction from which they came.

  ‘We did ’em!’ whooped one of the men with the Kid and started to rise.

  Even as the Kid opened his mouth to growl a warning, a rifle cracked from in the bushes towards which the disrupted party fled. The soldier gave a little cough, staggered, spun around and fell to the ground. Next moment hooves thundered and the main body of the Waw’ai burst into view and charged down at the station.

  Stiffened with cold, the soldiers’ hands fumbled at recharging their carbines. Down swung the loading levers, ejecting empty cartridge cases and then lifting to slide a loaded bullet into the chamber. After that the side hammer must be drawn back; the detail prevented the .50 caliber carbine from ever attaining a speed of fire equal to the Winchester. For all that the Spencer could be fired far faster than the single-shot trapdoor Springfields issued to the majority of the cavalry. A second ragged volley ripped into the Indians, bringing down several men and horses. While the soldiers still went through the reloading sequence, the remainder of the Waw’ai spun their horses around, scooped up dead or wounded companions and withdrew. Instead of descending on an unprepared relay station to gather easy loot and coups, they had stirred up a hornet’s nest of opposition.

  Angrily the Kid lowered his rifle. He alone of the defenders had not fired any shots. While the attackers charged, he searched their ranks for a sign of Sidewinder. A bullet through the chief’s head would halt the attack and cause a hurried departure of the rest of the band. However Sidewinder did not appear to be among those present. Clearly he allowed his position as a name-warrior to give him the right to keep back while others did the fighting. A magnanimous gesture in Comanche eyes, as it permitted those less fortunate in the matter of gathering coups to collect a greater share of the glory. Being a war-bonnet chief, Sidewinder no longer needed to enhance his fame.

  ‘That’s done ’em!’ enthused one of the Kid’s party.

  ‘They’ll be back,’ replied the Kid. ‘How is he?’

  ‘Dead,’ answered the soldier who knelt by the shot man.

  ‘Six of you get through the corral and watch the back,’ the Kid ordered. ‘We’ve got to hold on here until hell freezes.’

  Should the Waw’ai manage to drive off the horses, they would leave Manners’ patrol with no means of continuing the pursuit when they withdrew. So the Kid had the largest group of men accompanying him in the defense of the corral. Six more held the blacksmith’s forge, eight defended the barn and the rest, under Manners guarded the main building. However each group covered the others and gave support against a frontal attack.

  Having seen the result of one frontal attack, Sidewinder did not intend to make another. Sitting his horse in a sheltered, but commanding, position, the chief studied the situation and formed his conclusions. The dead soldier by the corral, taken with the spirited opposition to his men, told that an Army patrol defended the relay station. Not a large patrol, Sidewinder concluded as he examined the horses in the big corral. A man skilled in such matters could tell the difference between saddle-horses and the heavier
, stronger animals used to haul Wells Fargo stagecoaches. By counting the number of horses used for riding, Sidewinder drew his conclusions and acted on them. From the position of the defenders, he knew the soldiers were split up in small groups. Yet he also saw their strength and knew he could accomplish nothing while all four positions remained in his enemies’ hands.

  Calling his junior leaders to him, Sidewinder gave orders. He had well over a hundred and twenty-five men at his back now, even after the losses of the thwarted attack due to small bands of restless young tuivitsi having joined him. Numerical odds favored the Waw’ai and their tactics must be tailored to fit the occasion. Swinging away, the young leaders went to put their chief’s plans into operation.

  Telling the men at the front of the corral to keep their eyes open, the Kid slipped back, rose and darted through the milling horses. Before he reached the rear, he heard a couple of shots and the drumming of hooves. As he arrived, the Kid saw a small bunch of Waw’ai charging through the bushes while the defenders fired at them. The whip-like crack of the Winchester mingled with the deeper boom of the Spencers and a brave slid sideways from his horse. Then the attackers turned and withdrew, darting out of sight like scared whitetail deer.

  ‘Stop that shooting!’ barked the Kid as the soldiers fired after the departing Waw’ai without scoring any hits.

  Although each man carried one of the special ammunition boxes, which held ten copper tubes containing seven bullets each—to facilitate rapid recharging of magazines—they had no other source of supply and must not be allowed to waste bullets.

  ‘They’re not pushing home their attacks,’ one of the soldiers commented.