The Floating Outift 36

by J. T. Edson

  For a few seconds, the Kid and Charging Wapiti circled and studied each other. They held their shields before them at chest level, ready to be raised or lowered as the need arose. Each carried his assault weapon in the manner suited to its specialized requirements. While the tehnap held his tomahawk’s head upwards and out to the right, to be used for sideways or downwards chopping blows, the Kid kept his knife so that he could aim for the torso with a thrust, cut, or the savage hacking slash for which the James Black bowie was perfectly adapted.

  Although the tehnap was slightly heavier, there would be little difference in their weights. Any advantage that the Kid gained from his height and greater reach was to some extent nullified by the tomahawk’s sixteen inch long, tapering from one-and-a-half to one-inch diameter shaft.

  While watching for the opportunity to attack, Charging Wapiti made circling motions with his left arm. That set the feathers fringing his shield rippling and ruffling in a manner calculated to bewilder the Kid’s eyes and conceal its wielder’s purpose. For his part, the Kid knew that he could not hope to match Charging Wapiti’s skill in manipulating a shield. So he contented himself with watching and waiting. If he hoped to escape with his life, he must fight on the defensive until presented with a chance to change things.

  With a yell, the tehnap bounded forward. He swung his shield to the left, striking at the Kid’s in the hope of knocking it aside. Just in time, the Texan turned his arm, so that the shields met face to face instead of his being struck on the side.

  Leaning on the tehnap, the Kid tried to keep them close. In that way, he would be inside the swing of the tomahawk, but could use the point of his knife. Even as the great blade drove upwards and under the shields, Charging Wapiti sensed the danger and flung himself away. As he went, he swung his tomahawk towards the Kid’s head. Thwarted in his intentions, the Texan protected himself. Feathers flew as the Kid’s shield rose and halted the war-axe.

  Around the two men circled, with Charging Wapiti initiating further attacks and the Kid defending. Such was each’s speed of reactions and body movements, as well as with the shields, that neither could blood his weapon on the other. Yet both of them had narrow escapes. Once the Kid mistimed a block with his shield. Twisting his body like an eel in a trap, he carried himself clear of the tomahawk’s downwards chop. A few seconds later, having had a side cut parried, the tehnap found his belly once more in peril from the Kid’s hook upwards with the clip-pointed knife. He was saved by a rapid jump to the rear.

  Soon after, with the breath hissing through his parted lips, the Kid was granted a desperate chance. Also showing signs of the strain, Charging Wapiti had kept up a continuous, yet unavailing attack. Drawing away slightly, the tehnap flung himself bodily at the Texan. The shields met face to face with a solid crack. To the tehnap and the onlookers, it seemed that the impact had knocked the Kid staggering.

  Letting out his scalp-yell, Charging Wapiti followed up his advantage and put all he had into a roundhouse swing aimed at the side of his enemy’s neck. The Kid extended his left foot as far to the rear as he could take it, bending his right knee and resting the shield on the ground for added support. That carried him under the arc of the other’s blow. Instantly, the Kid struck in the manner of an epee fencer delivering a low lunge. Carried forward by his impetus, the tehnap met the bowie knife’s point. Charging Wapiti’s weight combined with the Kid’s thrust to sink the blade hilt deep in his belly. Forcing himself erect, the Kid tore his knife free and the tehnap went down.

  Chapter Twelve – You Won’t Shoot Me, Madam

  Although Emma Nene knew that her stay in the town would be limited, she felt completely at home in the barroom of her saloon. With Dusty Fog and Waco to her right and left, she sat on the chair she had always occupied at her private table. The half a dozen gang leaders currently visiting Hell, together with Crouch, Goldberg and Connolly were the blonde’s guests. All things considered, the slight air of tension was understandable.

  There had been a lengthy, although on the whole amicable discussion that afternoon. All the town’s major citizens had assembled and the same gang leaders had arrived on hearing of Emma’s party’s return. Once again the blonde had told her story, being ably backed by Giselle. The little brunette had confirmed the details and added others which only she, as the ‘victim’ of a kidnapping plot, could have known.

  Maybe the story would not have received credence but for two factors. If the women and the Texans had stolen money for their own ends, they would have been unlikely to return. That aspect had been mentioned and accepted. The second item went unsaid; but nobody wanted to cast doubts with ‘Ed Caxton’ and his ‘brother Matt’, hovering close at hand. None of the audience had even offered to inquire why the two Texans had taken the trouble to shave off their beards during the time spent away from Hell.

  Of course, things might not have gone so smoothly if the various gang leaders and other depositors in Lampart’s ‘bank’ had been the losers out of the robbery. Faced with the threat of the outlaws going on the rampage, to recoup their looted money, the people of the town had formed a pot and paid them off in full. So what would have been the most dangerous element of opposition, the visiting fugitives from justice, had seen no reason to cross trails or lock horns with a pair of deadly efficient gun-fighters like the ‘Caxtons’.

  Having accepted that any hostile moves would have to be carried out by themselves, the townspeople had been inclined to accept Emma’s story. With that decision made, the two factions had vied with each other for gaining the support of the blonde’s party. All had given their agreement to Giselle assuming her dead husband’s duties, with the proviso that she allowed the committee to audit and have access to the Civic Improvement Fund on its return. Dusty and the women had agreed, promising that they would collect the ‘buried money’ on the morning after the allocation of the ammunition to the Kweharehnuh.

  Eventually the meeting had broken up, with everybody apparently on the best of terms. One jarring note, soon ended, had come when Emma had ordered Rosie Wilson to quit the saloon and take her employees along. However, finding that she no longer commanded support in her claims to ownership, the brothel-keeper had yielded to the inevitable and obeyed.

  The saloon’s original staff had shown their delight at finding Emma re-established as their boss. Setting to work willingly, they had given the building a thorough cleaning. By sundown, the Honest Man had once more become the elegant, well-run place it had always been under the blonde’s guidance.

  To prevent the chance of smoke rising and giving away the location of the town, there was a strictly enforced ruling that no fires could be lit in the daytime. So Hell did not come to full life until after darkness had made possible the cooking of food. Several outlaws had pulled out following the destruction of the ammunition, to avoid the wrath of the Kweharehnuh which they had felt was sure to come. There were still a number of visitors and business at the saloon was satisfactory.

  ‘Will Giselle be joining us?’ Goldberg inquired, glancing at the stairs which led to the first floor.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Emma replied. ‘She said that she intended to take a bath and grab some sleep.’

  Although the mayor’s home had been ransacked after the discovery of Lampart’s body, it had still been habitable. However, the little brunette had been vehement in her refusal to stay there. In the interests of peace and quiet, Emma had agreed to let Giselle share her quarters above the Honest Man’s barroom. The blonde had felt that she was acting for the best. Knowing her half-sister very well, Emma did not trust her and preferred to have her under observation.

  ‘We’ll be able to put on the usual show for Ten Bears tomorrow?’ Crouch asked after a moment.

  ‘Well, Giselle says that the box’s all right as far as she can tell,’ the blonde answered. ‘The trouble is that she’s got nobody to help her. She says that it needs somebody who knows the trick.’

  ‘And none of us knows it!’ Connolly breathed,
darting a nervous glance around the table. ‘Damn it! I always knew somebody should have learned how to do it from Simmy.’

  ‘They did,’ Emma announced calmly.

  ‘Who?’ demanded the three townsmen, all in the same breath.

  ‘Me,’ the blonde told them and sat back, enjoying the sensation she had created. ‘Simmy taught me how and we had something rigged between us in case he wasn’t able to do it for any reason.’

  ‘None of us knew that,’ Crouch said in an aggrieved tone.

  ‘We never needed for me to do it before,’ Emma pointed out. ‘Hey. Where’s Happy? Don’t tell me that he’s embalming those two yahoos Ed and Matt killed?’

  ‘Embalming?’ Goldberg put in, throwing a puzzled look from the blonde to Connolly.

  ‘Isn’t that what an undertaker does when he’s getting a body ready to be buried?’ Emma asked, oozing innocence. ‘You boys’ll never believe it, but I had one as an admirer back East. I didn’t know how he earned his living, mind, and when I found out, I dropped him fast.’

  ‘He’s probably at Rosie’s,’ Crouch commented. ‘Happy, I mean, not your undertaker friend from the East, Emma.’

  ‘She can probably use the business,’ the blonde smiled, hoping that the dangerous subject would drop. ‘The damned nerve of that woman, trying to take over my place.’

  ‘There were some who agreed that she should,’ Crouch replied.

  ‘Are you hinting at something?’ Goldberg demanded indignantly, seeing the jeweler’s words as an attempt to undermine himself with the blonde’s faction. ‘I didn’t hear you objecting to it.’

  ‘Shucks, you boys weren’t to know what had happened,’ Emma smiled, satisfied that her slip of the tongue had been laid aside, if not forgotten. ‘Rosie always was a pushy woman. Let’s have a drink to the future prosperity of Hell. And this one’s on me.’

  Wearing nothing but a pair of long john underpants, Emmet Youseman sat nursing a naked, pretty brunette employee of Rosie Wilson’s brothel. There was a partially filled glass in his hand and an almost empty bottle of whiskey on the dressing table, which along with the bed and a chair, formed the small room’s furnishings. Male and female clothes lay in an untidy pile on the floor, discarded by the couple on their arrival earlier in the evening.

  The girl had long since become adept at persuading her customers to drink more than was good for them, while remaining sober herself. That night she had paid an even greater attention to her task, for she had been given orders by her employer. However, despite being very far gone in liquor, Youseman still showed no inclination of giving her the required information.

  ‘You’ve got a fine mammary protuberance there, Peggy,’ the undertaker announced with drunken gravity, his free hand jiggling one of her jutting breasts. ‘Let’sh go ’n’ lie down so I can examine it some more.’

  ‘Aw, Happy,’ the girl protested. ‘You was telling me how you and Doc Connolly took care of them dead fellers. What’d you need Doc there for, seeing’s they was both of ’em dead?’

  ‘Huh?’ grunted Youseman and finished his drink with a single gulp. ‘Why, that’sh a she ... she-cret, Peggy.’

  ‘Gee, Happy,’ the girl protested, knowing that he was fast approaching the point where he would collapse in a drunken stupor. ‘It’s not right that you keep secrets from lil ole me.’

  ‘I shuppose-sh not,’ Youseman muttered, still fondling the breast. ‘You ... a good girl, Peggy. Only that miserable old bash ... my esteemed and respected partner ... Isn’t he the most mish-erable old bash-tard you’ve ever met?’

  ‘Sure he is,’ Peggy agreed. ‘And he’s not worth keeping any ole secret for, is he?’

  ‘No, shiree,’ the undertaker mumbled, lurching to his feet and letting the girl slide from his lap. ‘Le’sh go bed ’n’ I tell.’

  An angry curse broke from Peggy’s lips as she watched the burly undertaker staggering unevenly across the room. All too well she recognized the symptoms and knew that her boss would gain no further information that night. Falling heavily on to the bed, Youseman lay snorting like a pig as he dropped into an unassailable drunken sleep. Obviously Rosie Wilson had been eavesdropping at the door. Its drapes jerked open and the woman entered.

  ‘The drunken, useless pig!’ the big woman snarled, crossing to the bed and delivering a stinging slap to Youseman’s face.

  ‘It wasn’t my fault!’ Peggy yelped, wishing to exculpate herself. ‘You know he never talks about anything important until he’s nearly ready to go under from the drink.’

  ‘I know,’ Rosie confirmed. ‘Get dressed and go out front. There’re some fellers wanting company and a roll in the hay. What you make, you can keep.’

  ‘Gee, thanks, Rosie!’ the girl enthused and started to sort out her clothes.

  While the girl dressed, not a lengthy affair, Rosie searched the undertaker’s pockets. The woman let out a low hiss of excitement as she produced two door-keys.

  ‘Leave him sleep here,’ Rosie commanded, not troubling to hide her excitement at the find. ‘Maybe you’d better stay with him and make sure he doesn’t leave if he wakes.’

  ‘Aw, Rosie—!’ Peggy began, seeing her chance of a fee slipping away.

  ‘I’ll cover what you’d’ve made from those fellers,’ the brothel-keeper promised. ‘And mind you keep your mouth shut about this.’

  ‘You can count on it,’ the girl assured her employer’s departing back.

  Going through the customer’s lounge at the front of the building, Rosie entered and locked the connecting door of her private office. At her desk, she produced a Smith & Wesson No. 3 American revolver and bull’s-eye lantern. Setting them down with the two keys, she collected and donned the long black cloak which hung on a hook behind the parlor’s door. After lighting the lantern, but covering its lens, she left by the side entrance. Peering cautiously around, she made her way between the jacales and towards the rear of the undertaker’s place of business.

  Rosie had often suspected that Youseman and Connolly were involved in clandestine activities outside, yet in some way connected with, their respective lines of employment. Previously, when very drunk, the undertaker had hinted as much; but had always avoided saying exactly what they might be. Having noticed how the pair had reacted that afternoon to the comments of Emma Nene and the Caxton brothers about exhumations, her suspicions had grown even stronger.

  Actually, the two men’s behavior had merely strengthened the brothel-keeper’s theory of what their activities might be. One earlier attempt to unearth it—literally as well as figuratively—had come to nothing. The man she had sent—an impoverished outlaw—to open up a grave had been shot by somebody who had seen him about to commence his work. While Rosie’s part in the affair had not been detected, she had come no closer to solving the mystery.

  Still trying to obtain knowledge which might have proven profitable, the woman had ordered Peggy to try to worm it from Youseman. On every occasion, he had fallen into a drunken sleep without yielding his secret. While he had always carried the key to his premises’ rear door, it had availed Rosie nothing. It had given her access only to his living quarters. Her searches of them had not produced the means of entering the building’s business section. With the second key in her possession, she hoped to be able to carry her investigations into the previously protected regions.

  If the secret had been sufficiently important—or potentially dangerous—to make Connolly and Youseman instantly compliant with the demands of the saloonkeeper and the Texans, it ought to be worth the effort taken to learn it. Rosie had never rated high on the town’s social scale. The other citizens, no matter how loathsome the crimes which had driven them to Hell, had always tended to look down on her. Having access to information that would put the two men under her domination would go far towards changing the situation.

  Entering Youseman’s establishment, the woman tried the second key in the lock on the inner door. It worked and she passed through into the laying-out room.

/>   Earlier that day, the bodies of the Texans’ victims had been displayed there in their coffins for anybody who wished to come and pay their last respects. Rosie had been one of the few to attend and had watched the lids of the coffins screwed firmly into place. Although Youseman had ushered her and a couple more mourners out into the waiting carriage, he would not have had time to unscrew the lids and remove the bodies before the coffins were carried from the room and into the hearse.

  Frowning, Rosie directed the beam of her lantern on to the sturdy bench upon which the coffins were always placed for the last visits. She saw nothing at first and its stout wooden front prevented her from looking underneath. Then her attention was attracted by a slightly protruding knot in the timber. She pressed and felt it give, but nothing else happened. Still certain that she was on the verge of making a discovery, she began to press the top of the bench where one of the coffins had been resting. Silently, but smoothly, an oblong section of the top hinged down from its further narrow end. It was only down for a few seconds and rose again of its own volition.

  Pressing again, Rosie directed the beam of her lantern into the cavity. It illuminated a section of the building’s basement and another bench immediately below her. Hardened as she might be, Rosie could not hold back a startled gasp; nor resist withdrawing hurriedly. The trapdoor closed automatically.

  But not before Rosie had seen the two vaguely human forms, swathed in tarpaulin, which lay on the basement’s bench.

  ‘So that’s what your game is, huh!’ Rosie breathed. ‘Now we’ll see who’s so high and mighty.’

  Making sure that she left no traces of her visit, the woman walked from the laying-out room. Having locked both doors