The Floating Outift 36

by J. T. Edson

  At that moment, Dusty saw O’Day come in through a side door. The man had not offered to continue the acquaintanceship they had struck up on the way to town. In fact, he had explained that he did not wish to become associated with any particular faction of Hell’s society. In view of Giselle’s obvious dislike of the Easterner, along with his own inclination, Dusty had not forced himself into O’Day’s company. With the situation so unsettled, O’Day had not yet been required to make his contribution to the Civic Improvement Fund. Although he had taken a room at the hotel, he apparently had not followed the usual outlaw trend of purchasing fancy ‘go-to-town’ clothes. Bare headed, showing short brown hair that was going thin on top, he was dressed as when the floating outfit had saved his life.

  ‘Did he say anything?’ Dusty asked, turning his attention back to Crouch.

  ‘N ... He ... didn’t spe ...!’ the jeweler began, then a fit of coughing sprayed blood from his mouth and he sagged limply against the small Texan’s supporting arm.

  Gently laying Crouch on his back, Dusty rose and looked around. While the crowd had withdrawn in accordance with his demands, they watched with interest and muttered amongst themselves.

  ‘What happed, Ed?’ O’Day inquired, strolling up.

  ‘Crouch and his wife have been attacked,’ Dusty explained, eyes on the other’s smooth, hairless face. ‘He allows he’d know the man who did it.’

  ‘May I ask who it is?’

  ‘That he didn’t get around to telling me,’ Dusty admitted, alert for any hint of emotion. He had seen no sign of alarm at his first statement, nor did O’Day display relief over the second. ‘Maybe he will when he recovers. Until then, how about you coming with a few more of us to see what we can learn at his place?’

  ‘Why me?’ O’Day wanted to know.

  ‘Why not you?’ Dusty countered. ‘You’re as good as a gang leader and you’re intelligent enough to use your eyes and your head.’

  ‘After praise like that, how can I refuse?’ O’Day conceded with a smile.

  ‘Which of you gents wants to come?’ Dusty asked, looking at the nearest members of the crowd.

  Before any volunteers could step forward, running footsteps pounded across the sidewalk. Followed by the two panting townsmen and the waiter Emma had sent to collect them, Waco entered. They listened as Dusty told them what had happened. Then, while Connolly went to attend to the jeweler, Goldberg stared at O’Day.

  The hotel-keeper was a badly frightened man who did not care to contemplate the implications of the night’s happenings. Except for the combatants who had fallen during the recent struggle to determine which faction would control Hell, and Lampart’s demise, death had always steered clear of the citizens. Outlaws had been killed in quarrels, or while being robbed by others of their kind, but none of the town’s people had come to harm.

  And now, in the course of a single evening three—probably four—of the citizens had met untimely, mysterious deaths.

  While not concerned too much with who might have committed the crimes, Goldberg had no desire to become another victim. So he searched for a possible culprit. Every gang leader present was making a return visit. There did not appear to be any reason for one of the town’s inhabitants suddenly to go on the rampage. All had warrants out for them and would be arrested if they left the security of the Palo Duro. There was only one stranger in their midst.

  ‘Nothing like this ever happened before you came here!’ Goldberg shouted, pointing his right forefinger at O’Day.

  An excited rumble of comment rose from the occupants of the room. The sound had an ominous, menacing ring to it. By nature the citizens and visitors were suspicious-minded. Most of the crowd, particularly the regular inhabitants, had been thinking along the same general lines as Goldberg. However, it had been left to the hotel-keeper to supply a suspect.

  ‘Just who are you, feller?’ demanded a burly gang leader, hand hovering over the butt of his low-tied Colt.

  ‘My name is O’Day,’ the Easterner replied. ‘And, like yourselves—or most of you—’ his eyes flickered towards Waco and Dusty, ‘I am a fugitive from justice who fled here for safety.’

  ‘I’ve never heard tell of you,’ the gang leader declared. ‘Has anybody here heard his name?’

  Negative answers came from all sides. From his experiences as a peace officer, Dusty could see all the symptoms of a lynch mob. Alarmed by the murders, the customers and employees were wide open for suggestions of who the killer might be. Given just a hint, as they had been, they would strike blindly. Darting a glance at Waco, the small Texan prepared to intervene. O’Day beat him to it. Showing no sign of concern, the man looked around the circle of threatening people.

  ‘None of you had heard another name, either,’ O’Day pointed out. ‘Yet you accept the man who bears it.’

  ‘Who’d that be?’ Goldberg barked suspiciously, yet impressed by the man’s demeanor.

  ‘Ed Caxton,’ O’Day replied.

  ‘Ed—!’ the hotel-keeper yelped, then snorted. ‘Huh! We all know what he did so that he had to come to Hell.’

  ‘You know what you read in a newspaper,’ O’Day corrected. ‘And what he himself told you.’

  ‘Mister,’ Waco drawled, moving to Dusty’s side. ‘You’re asking to find all kinds of trouble.’

  ‘Ah! The younger of the “Caxton brothers”,’ O’Day answered. ‘I cast no aspersions on your mother’s reputation, but she did not throw a very good family likeness between her sons. You are remarkably unalike in other ways, too. “Ed” speaks like a man with education and breeding. “Matt” sounds like a common trail hand—’

  ‘Keep talking,’ Waco interrupted, wondering when Dusty would take cards. ‘And I’m going to—’

  ‘People are strange,’ O’Day went on and something about him held the attention of the whole room. ‘They have preconceived ideas about how others should look. Take Dusty Fog for example. Everybody assumes that he must be a veritable giant. Yet I have heard on very good authority that he is a small man, not more than five foot six in height. Yet, when trouble threatens, he seems taller than his fellows. He has companions, too. One is part Comanche, his name is the Ysabel Kid. Another is a man of gigantic stature and handsome to boot, who might be taken by the unknowing for Dusty Fog himself. Suppose, for example, it was wanted to appear that Dusty Fog was in—say San Antonio—instead of—say here in Hell—Mark Counter could go there and pretend to be him.’

  ‘What Mr. O’Day’s trying to get across to you,’ the small Texan drawled, ‘is that I’m Dusty Fog.’

  ‘He’s loco,’ Emma snapped, standing to one side of Dusty and with her right hand rested upon the butt of her Navy Colt. She had donned her working clothes, but wore the gun in a holster belted about her waist.

  ‘Am I, Ed?’ O’Day challenged. ‘Will you give me your word of honor that you are not who I say?’

  ‘No,’ Dusty answered, in a quiet voice that still reached every pair of ears. ‘My name is Dusty Fog.’

  Half a second later, almost before the shock of the announcement had died away, before the exclamations of surprise, amazement and anger commenced, the big Texan held a cocked Colt in each hand.

  Knowing his amigo, Waco had expected such a line of action. So, an instant behind the appearance of Dusty’s revolvers, the youngster’s Army Colts cleared leather to throw down on a section of the crowd.

  ‘Scatterguns!’ Emma yelled at her bartenders, almost as quickly as the Texans made their draws. Then she produced and aimed her Navy Colt.

  Grabbing the twin barreled, sawed-off shotguns which lay beneath the counter readily available for use, the two drink dispensers lined them and drew back the exposed double hammers.

  Long before any of the room’s occupants could think of making physical resistance, the chance to do so with any hope of success had departed. Under the threat of the assorted firearms, to have tried to fetch out a weapon would have been suicidal.

  ‘What do you want here,
Fog?’ demanded one of the gang leaders, as the general conversation died away.

  ‘Do you reckon you can take us all in?’ another leader went on.

  ‘I don’t aim to try,’ Dusty replied. ‘My work here is done, but I’ve come back to help you save your scalps.’

  ‘I’d listen if I was you,’ Emma advised. ‘Because if you don’t, by this time tomorrow the whole bunch of you’ll be dead.’

  Chapter Fifteen – Make Your Medicine, White Man

  ‘Well,’ said Emma Nene, turning slowly on her toes in front of Dusty Fog and Waco. ‘How do I look?’

  ‘Like I’m seeing a ghost,’ the blond youngster declared. ‘Miss Emma, you handed me one hell of a scare when I first walked in.’

  ‘You didn’t even look at Giselle, so I must have,’ Emma smiled.

  There was justification for Waco’s comment. The blonde wore a man’s evening clothes, top hat and opera cape. Not only that, but with her hair hidden beneath the hat, she had contrived to look almost exactly like the late mayor of Hell.

  Coming on such a startling resemblance to the man he killed had been a real surprise to the youngster, but not enough to make him ignore the brunette. Giselle wore a brief, almost minute, white doeskin version of an Indian girl’s dress. With a décolleté more daring than would have been permitted even in the most wide open of trail end towns, the midriff bare and the skirt extending just below her buttocks, it showed off her figure to its best advantage. The clothes and moccasins were the garments she wore when performing her ‘medicine dance’ and being sawn in half to entertain the Kweharehnuhs.

  ‘I can understand the clothes,’ Dusty remarked. ‘But the face has me beat.’

  ‘It’s a rubber mask,’ Emma explained. ‘I doubt if a dozen people, other than professional magicians, know where to lay hands on them.’

  ‘Let’s hope it stays that way,’ Waco drawled. ‘It surely fooled me.’

  ‘What’s happening in town?’ the blonde inquired, taking both Texans’ attention from the uses to which such rubber masks might be put.

  ‘All the owlhoots have pulled out,’ Dusty replied. ‘Your scouts, the Chinese and the Mexicans you folks had from the Kweharehnuh’ve all gone. There’s only the folks from the original wagon train left.’

  ‘At least, you made sure that the owlhoots left without robbing us,’ Emma reminded him. ‘If you hadn’t been here, they’d’ve taken everything they could tote off.’

  Backed by the menace of the lined guns, Dusty had been allowed to say his piece downstairs in the barroom the previous night. He had begun by pointing out that Hell’s days as an outlaws’ refuge were numbered. The town was no longer a carefully kept secret, for the Texas Rangers, the United States’ Army and the authorities in Austin had learned of its existence. By that time, they would also be aware of its location, Dusty had warned. The soldiers who had helped fight off the kidnap attempt on Giselle would have delivered their report. Probably an expedition was already on its way. When it came, Dusty had gone on, it would be in sufficient strength to fight its way through the whole of the Kweharehnuh band.

  That was, of course, Waco had reminded the audience, unless the Antelope Comanches had not decided to take matters into their own hands. Then Dusty had predicted that the latter contingency might become a fact. He had elaborated upon the significance of the attempt to capture Giselle, then on the unrestricted passage which had been granted to his party when it had become obvious that they were returning to Hell.

  Everybody had accepted that the Indians must have had a good reason for wanting the brunette back in time for the allocation of the ammunition. They had also agreed that it might be to do with an attempt to break Lampart’s ‘medicine’ hold over the band. In that case, the braves would come prepared to deal with the white interlopers on their domain.

  Such had been the power of Dusty’s eloquence that he had persuaded his audience that he and the others had returned with the best of motives. The citizens had not been able to forget that the small Texan and his party had brought about much of their present predicament. However, with the fear of exposure hanging over him, Doctor Connolly had done much to keep the other inhabitants from making their annoyance more active. Once again, the outlaws had no reason to back up the town’s people. In fact, some of the visitors had seemed to find the situation amusing. With the lawbreakers disinclined to take up the issue, the citizens had lacked the courage to do so.

  O’Day had improved Dusty’s chances of avoiding a clash, by stating that he was not going to stay on and be massacred. That had brought similar comments from various outlaws. The general consensus of opinion amongst them had been that it would be safer to take one’s chances against the forces of white law and order than to lock horns with the rampaging Kweharehnuh.

  Satisfied that the danger of trouble was shelved, if not entirely finished, Dusty had suggested that they should resume their investigations into the killings of the evening. An examination of Crouch’s safe, opened with the keys found in his pocket, proved that robbery had been the motive for the couple’s murders. Although there had been no evidence, Dusty had assumed that the same cause had resulted in Duprez’s and Rosie Wilson’s deaths.

  Explaining that he had exposed the small Texan merely as a means to avoid being lynched for a crime of which he was innocent, O’Day had insisted that his property be searched. On the way to do it, he had told Dusty how he had formed the correct conclusions on remembering what he had heard about the descriptions of the small Texan and of Mark Counter, and aided by the story he had read in the Texas State Gazette. It had been a piece of quick thinking on the Easterner’s part, Dusty had admitted.

  The examination of the man’s belongings had apparently established his innocence. While his packs had held a number of clothes, they did not include a top hat or an opera cloak. Nor did he have the quantity of jewelry that had been taken from the Crouch family’s safe. O’Day had no support for his story that he had not left the hotel room until going to the Honest Man, but his word had been accepted.

  Later, Dusty had searched Giselle’s room and questioned her without coming any closer to the solution. The saloon had closed early, but there had been considerable activity around town. Throughout the night, men and some women had been taking their departure. With the time approaching noon—the hour at which the allocation was due to take place—Dusty and Waco had just returned from making their rounds. Everything was ready for the meeting with the Kwaharehnuh, but Hell had lost more than half of its population.

  ‘The Rangers have got Sheriff Butterfield and your man Hatchet,’ Dusty remarked, referring to a crooked lawman they had met and the town’s main contact with the outside world. ‘One of Butterfield’s pigeons had come in with a message about it.’

  ‘Butterfield sent a warning?’ Emma asked. ‘I’d’ve thought all he’d think about was saving his own neck.’

  ‘The message was for me,’ Dusty explained. ‘It said, “Uncle Jules is here, has met sheriff and seen goods delivered by Mr. Hatchet.”’

  ‘Who’s “Uncle Jules”?’ Giselle asked as she draped a cloak about her shoulders.

  ‘Captain Jules Murat of the Texas Rangers,’ Waco grinned. ‘The gent who first learned about Hell and got us sent here.’

  ‘So it’s all over, E— Dusty?’ Emma said quietly.

  ‘Near enough,’ Dusty admitted. ‘Depending on today, that is. I’ve got a feeling something just might be about to go wrong.’

  ‘How?’ Giselle demanded worriedly.

  ‘I don’t know, ma’am,’ Dusty answered.

  ‘If there’s any danger, I’m not getting into that box!’ the brunette stated.

  ‘Could be that’d be the biggest danger of all, ma’am,’ Waco warned. ‘Happen you don’t, they’ll say our medicine’s gone back on us. Only this time, they’ll not be caring about keeping you alive.’

  ‘Oh lord!’ Giselle wailed. ‘Why did I let you talk me into coming back, Emma Nene?’

  �
�Because you’re a money-hungry little bitch with no more morals than an alley-cat,’ the blonde told her bluntly. ‘You came back to pick the locks and open the safe so that we could steal all the jewelry Crouch had gathered in his place. Only somebody beat us to it.’

  ‘And to Jean le Blanc’s?’ Dusty commented.

  ‘It’s possible that Jean had already got rid of it,’ Emma pointed out. ‘It wasn’t anywhere in his place when we searched last night. He used to play a lot of poker and wasn’t especially good at it.’

  When questioned privately by the blonde, Giselle had sworn that she was innocent of Duprez’s murder. An even more thorough search than Dusty had been able to give her had also failed to produce the barber’s loot. So, although still suspicious and determined to keep a close eye on her half-sister, Emma had been compelled to accept the other’s story that she had done no more than go to the barber’s shop, take a hot bath and return to her room.

  ‘Time we was headed out to see Ten Bears,’ Waco remarked.

  ‘The Kid hasn’t come back?’ Emma asked.

  ‘Likely he’s getting all them fancy Comanche foods he’s always telling us about,’ Waco answered. ‘Raw, fresh killed liver dipped in gall and such. Or they give their makings away easier not knowing him.’

  ‘I hope he’s all right,’ the blonde breathed, noting the undertones of anxiety in the youngster’s voice.

  ‘Trust Lon to be that,’ Dusty answered. ‘If anything had been bad wrong, he’d’ve been out of there faster than a greased weasel. What now, Emma?’

  ‘Giselle goes down there and starts doing her dance,’ the blonde explained. ‘Simmy follows. You’d best go with her, Ma—Waco.’

  ‘I’ll do that,’ the youngster promised. ‘Let’s go, ma’am.’

  ‘How about those pictures of Ten Bears and the medicine woman?’ Dusty asked and the blonde produced them from a drawer in her dressing-table. Taking them, Dusty tucked them into the front of his shirt. ‘They might come in useful.’