The Floating Outfit 11

by J. T. Edson

  Louise waited to hear no more but headed across the street to save her father.

  Three – Tom Blade’s Friends

  Dusty Fog. Just two words, but they stiffened Cultus Collins’ hand, froze it over the butt of his gun. Behind him his men stood stiff, still, making sure no movement of their hands would give the Texan cause to be suspicious. They could hardly believe this was Dusty Fog, although all of them knew the name and what it stood for in the west.

  Dusty Fog. There was a name to conjure with in the west. First as a cavalry captain at seventeen leading his gray-clad troop against the Union Army in the War. In that his name ranked with John Singleton Mosby or Turner Ashby as a cavalry leader and a master of light cavalry tactics. Then after the War Dusty Fog’s name became known as a cowhand top-hand, a master of the cowboy trade. He was segundo of the great OD Connected ranch in the Rio Hondo country of Texas, leader of the elite of the crew, Ole Devil Hardin’s floating outfit, two members of which were with him now. He was known as a trail boss, learned his trade under the master of the cattle trailing art, Colonel Charlie Goodnight and now was said to be the equal of his teacher at the business. He’d been town marshal of Quiet Town and backed by his loyal friends brought law and order to that wild wide-open town where three lesser men tried and paid for their failure with their lives. That then was Dusty Fog. Yet there was even more to his capabilities. It was rumored that he knew certain alien yet effective fighting arts which rendered bigger and stronger men helpless before his bare hands. It was more than rumored that he was lightning fast with his matched Colts and capable of hitting his mark at the end of the half second it took him to draw and shoot.

  This was the man who cut in on the game of Cultus Collins. A small man who towered over the heads of the tallest in the crowd.

  By a simple process of thought the name of that blond giant and the black dressed boy also became clear. The big blond was Mark Counter, for where Dusty Fog stood Mark Counter was most likely to be. The knowledge gave no comfort to Collins and his men for Mark Counter was a name in his own right.

  He was said to be one of the finest fist fighters in the west and able to meet any man on any terms. His strength brought him the reputation of being a rangeland Hercules. He was known as a top-hand if anything better with cattle than was his pard, Dusty Fog. He was good with a rifle and men who knew said he was very good with his matched ivory-butted Colts. One thing was for sure, men who knew said he was almost as fast as Dusty Fog.

  The third man, still holding his bowie knife to the throat of Hooks Hammer was just as well known. The Ysabel Kid, that was a name still spoken with awe down on the Rio Grande border. He was a wild young heller and quite likely to use the knife if the other man gave him the slightest cause to do so. The Kid’s father had been a wild Irish-Kentuckian and his mother was the daughter of Long Walker, the Comanche chief and his French-Creole squaw. It was from such a mixture of bloods that the Ysabel Kid was born. From his father he inherited a rugged independent nature and the sighting eye of an eagle. His skilled use of the Winchester Model of 1866 rifle was a legend as was his knowledge of the art of cut and slash in the manner of the old master James Bowie himself. He was fair with his old Dragoon Colt in a land where to be fair meant to be able to draw, shoot and make a hit in a second. However, he preferred the other two weapons for offence and defense and only called on the four-pound thumb-busting Dragoon when the others would not serve his needs. He was less of a cowhand than the other two, his particular field having to do with riding scout. In this he was aided by his Indian blood, a knowledge of six tribal tongues, mastery of fluent Spanish and the ability to read sign where a buck Apache would not know how to begin. All in all Loncey Dalton Ysabel was a good man to have as a friend, for he made a real bad enemy.

  The Kid released his hold of the man and Hammer staggered forward. Then with a gesture of supreme contempt the Kid sheathed his knife, walked along the sidewalk and joined his two friends.

  ‘How did you know about Tom Blade being shot?’ Raines asked.

  Collins licked his lips again in a nervous manner. His eyes went first to Raines then the three Texans.

  ‘I heard somebody talking,’ he answered lamely.

  ‘Who?’ asked Dusty Fog.

  ‘Some man who came into town in a hurry and rode on through,’ Collins replied without any great conviction.

  ‘You wouldn’t be lying, now would you, pelado?’ asked the Kid in a mild voice which held neither mildness nor kindness to Collins’ listening ears.

  ‘That’s how we heard.’

  Collins ignored the insult the Kid laid on him although he spoke enough Mexican to know what pelado meant. It was used to mean a thief of the lowest kind, one who would rob the bodies of the dead. Collins knew this, knew the insult but there was not enough pride in the world to make him call the Kid down to avenge it.

  ‘Where’d this hombre go, happen he ever came?’ asked Mark Counter, his voice deep and cultured as became the son of the owner of one of the biggest spreads in the Texas Big Bend country. Mark could have been on his father’s ranch but was content to stay at the OD Connected and work with his friends.

  ‘Headed on out of town right after he told it,’ Collins replied.

  Dusty Fog watched the faces of the men backing Collins. They did not know for sure what was going on. Collins was the only one who knew anything about this business on hand, the others were just with him.

  ‘Why’d you jump this gent?’ asked Dusty.

  ‘Shucks, we thought he might need another scout and I want work,’ Collins answered. ‘Only I didn’t like his way of answering a man so I was all set to have some sport with him.’

  ‘Did yuh? Now how’d you like to take the same sport with me?’

  Collins shook his head violently. ‘I ain’t fussing none with you, Cap’n Fog. I was only funning.’

  ‘Well I’m not,’ Dusty drawled, his voice gentle as the first whisper of a Texas blue northern storm and heralding the start of something just as dangerous. ‘Drift, hombre. We’re riding out to where Tom was killed and Lon’ll cut for sign. If we find anything that points to who killed Tom we’ll be back.’

  ‘Which same you can surely stake your money on,’ agreed Mark Counter.

  Collins and his men withdrew, heading back into the saloon they’d just vacated. Collins left his busted Starr gun where it lay on the ground, for he did not wish to stand on the order of his going. The Kid’s victim joined the other men and faded into the bar, allowing the batwing doors to swing to behind him.

  Dusty turned to face Raines after the men went from sight. ‘I’m Dusty Fog, this’s Mark Counter and the Ysabel Kid.’

  ‘I thought I recognized you, Captain Fog,’ Raines replied, holding out his hand. ‘I saw you in the War. I heard about you, too,’ the Colonel’s eyes went to Mark, ‘You’re the one who brought that damned skirtless tunic into the army. I called you a few names over that.’

  ‘You weren’t the only one, sir,’ replied Mark with a grin.

  In the War Mark’s taste of uniform did not entirely agree with dress regulations but found favor among the young bloods of the south. Then, as now, Mark was something of a Beau Brummel and his style of dress much copied by his fellows.

  The grin died for there was something more important on hand.

  ‘About Tom Blade, sir?’

  Raines opened his mouth to reply, wondering how they knew his rank. Then there was somebody standing between him and the three Texas men. A slim blonde girl with flashing eyes, fists clenched and the attitude of a she-bobcat defending her young, faced Dusty, Mark and the Kid.

  ‘You wretched bullies!’ Louise Raines blazed at Mark as being the most likely leader of the proposed attack on her father. She directed the speech at all three but Mark most of all. ‘How dare you bully and browbeat my father, you great hulking brutal savage.’

  Mark was taken back by the girl’s fury. He was not used to presentable and pretty young women taking such
an attitude with him when he first met them. His two friends looked on with grins of amusement and admiration.

  ‘You tell him, ma’am,’ drawled the Kid, not knowing what was wrong but willing to enjoy it to the full.

  The words were ill-timed for they brought the fury of Louise’s attack on the Kid’s head.

  ‘Be quiet!’ she hissed. ‘You’re as bad as he is. I suppose you think it a great joke to pick on a man old enough to be—’

  Raines was surprised to see his daughter in the town and more than surprised at the spirited way in which she leapt to his defense. However, he knew he must stop her for she was heaping abuse on three entirely innocent heads. He caught the girl by the arm and turned her to face him. The three Texans were grinning broadly, for they knew a mistake had been made, although they were not sure how.

  ‘Louise!’ Raines barked. ‘Stop it this instant. These young men helped me out of a difficult position. They’re friends.’

  ‘I know they are,’ she replied, so angry that the words did not sink in. ‘I’ll not have—I—’ the words ended and the girl’s face turned even more red as she realized what she’d said and done. ‘Gracious to Betsy, what have I been doing, papa?’

  The Ysabel Kid laughed, looking about fourteen years old. ‘You done good, ma’am. Real good.’

  ‘I’ve never seen it done better,’ Mark agreed, sweeping off his hat.

  ‘Shucks ma’am,’ Dusty went on. ‘I sure can’t help having such villainous looking friends.’

  Raines scowled at his daughter. ‘You owe these gentlemen an apology, girl.’

  ‘No, sir,’ objected Mark. ‘The lady was only doing what she thought was the right thing.’

  It was then Louise remembered her rescuer and started to turn, saying, ‘But you told me—’

  The words ended unfinished for the red-haired cowhand had disappeared and she could see no sign of him anywhere.

  ‘Who told you what, ma’am?’ asked Dusty. ‘Say, let’s get off the street and let the traffic through, shall we?’

  They all stepped on to the sidewalk and the crowd dispersed about their own business for all could see there would be nothing more happen. Louise told quickly of her fright and rescue, describing the redhead in flattering terms. The description brought knowing nods from Mark and the Kid.

  ‘I thought so, Mark,’ drawled the Kid, sounding deadly serious. ‘It was him.’

  ‘Sure sounds that way,’ agreed Mark just as seriously. Louise looked from one man to the other and gasped, ‘Who?’

  ‘Red Blaze,’ explained Mark.

  ‘As ever was,’ said the Kid. ‘A wilder, woollier varmint never drew breath of good Texas air.’

  ‘Is he an outlaw?’ gasped Louise.

  ‘Worse’n that, ma’am,’ the Kid drawled, his voice suggesting Red Blaze’s social standing came well below that of the worst kind of outlaw. ‘I don’t reckon outlaw even starts to cover it one lil bit at all.’

  The girl gulped. She did not see Dusty’s smile and the twinkle which came into her father’s eyes for her full attention was upon the other two.

  ‘Well,’ she snapped, just a hint of defiance in her tones. ‘He looked and acted like a perfect gentleman.’

  ‘Don’t let that worry you,’ warned Mark. ‘It’s his favorite trick.’

  ‘Do you think that man Collins knows anything about Tom’s death, Captain Fog?’ asked Raines.

  ‘Likely, sir. But if we’d tried to force the issue there’d have been lead thrown and I don’t want that. Take it kindly if you’d show us where Tom died.’

  ‘Of course I will. Where’s your horse, Louise?’

  The girl suddenly realized she no longer led her horse. Turning she saw it standing across the street with its reins hanging before it and Mark collected it for her. On returning Mark joined the others as they headed for one of the livery barns to collect their horses. Colonel Raines remembered he had not introduced his daughter to the Texans and performed the introduction as they walked along.

  Louise stared at Dusty as if she could hardly believe her eyes and ears. In the War Dusty’s name ranked high and she’d often heard tell of his exploits. He had been one of her heroes, a knight in the dress uniform of the Confederate Army instead of shining armor and carrying a Haiman Brothers saber in place of a lance. She always thought of him as a tall, magnificently handsome man on a huge black stallion, leading his loyal troop against the hated Yankees. It came as something of a shock to discover this small and insignificant man was Captain Dustine Edward Marsden Fog of Troop ‘C’ Texas Light Cavalry.

  Louise knew her father wished to talk with Dusty, so did the other two and they both drew back pouring stories of the notorious Red Blaze into her receptive ears. Dusty and Raines walked in front, discussing the situation at the train.

  Louise felt relieved as they rode from town, Dusty astride a seventeen-hand paint stallion which matched Mark’s huge blood-bay stud horse in size and shape. The Kid rode afork a magnificent white stallion fully as large as the other two and looking meaner than a bull-elk bugling for mates in the middle of the rut. The Kid warned Louise never to lay a hand on his horse but she did not need the warning. All her life had been spent around horses and she knew a bad one when she saw it.

  Each man’s saddle was a low horned, double girthed range rig; no Texan used the word cinch. To each horn was strapped a rope and a bedroll hung from each cantle. Each owned one of the improved Henry rifles, the gun fast becoming called by its new name of Winchester. Dusty’s weapon proved to be in the carbine size, while the other two carried rifles proper.

  On collecting the horses from the livery barn Louise had failed to notice a fourth Texas saddle on the burro by the wall. Likewise she paid no attention to the huge claybank stallion in the next stall to Dusty’s paint. If she’d noticed the horse she might also have seen the brand it carried; an O and a D, the straight edge of the D touching the side of the O.

  ‘We’ll look around first,’ Dusty said as they reached the rock where the killer hid. ‘See what we can learn.’

  ‘And then?’ asked Raines.

  ‘That depends on what we find.’

  They all dismounted but only the Kid went forward on foot. His eyes studied the ground with care. Halting by one scrubby bush the Kid examined its branches, then under and all around it. He moved on, checked the rock in the same manner and with equal care, missing nothing the human eyes could see. Finally he dropped to the ground and gave a low whistle. The huge white stallion tossed its head and moved forward, answering the call which was almost too low for human ears to catch.

  ‘What a horse,’ Louise breathed. ‘Would Lon sell him?’

  ‘Not for all the money in the world,’ Dusty replied, giving a sign and the others moved forward on foot.

  The Kid had returned to the bush and waited for them. He waved a hand towards it and Louise tried to see what interested the dark youngster.

  ‘Hoss was tied here for a spell. Light bay I’d guess. Feller got down and went to that rock there. Feller about five foot eight or nine I’d reckon. Be there for at least one hour, maybe longer. He stayed up there on the rock and didn’t come down at all.’

  ‘How can you tell?’ asked Louise.

  ‘He left some sign behind,’ answered the Kid, pointing to faint marks on a branch. ‘Reins made those. Hoss droppings tells me how long he stayed, near enough, and when they left. The hoss brushed against the bush and left enough hair for me to know its color. Then this hombre walked across here,’ the Kid led the way pointing to the ground. At the rock his finger stabbed out to indicate some faint scratches. ‘Went up this way.’

  ‘Was it Collins?’ Mark asked.

  The Kid threw a withering look at his big pard and sarcasm dripped from his voice as he replied, ‘I know I’m about as smart as a Texan can get, which same’s real smart. But I can’t work miracles ’cepting on every third Sunday of the month. How in hell would I know if it was Collins or somebody we never heard tell of?�
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  ‘What do you reckon?’ Dusty interrupted. ‘You’re getting worse’n a Yankee congressman way you talk on and on.’

  The Kid extracted a cigarette Mark just finished rolling from the big Texan’s fingers, ignoring a remark that it was long gone time he bought some of his own.

  ‘It could have been Collins. It’s about the right stride for him.’

  ‘How would you know that?’ Louise asked.

  ‘Length of stride. Whoever it was lay up there on that rock with his rifle rested like he didn’t aim to miss what he aimed at. He shot Tom, slid down and lit out at a dead run.’

  Raines knew something of tracking but compared with the Kid he knew himself to be the veriest beginner. From what little he could read on the ground Raines knew the Kid was most likely calling the game right.

  ‘Does Collins use a Sharps?’ asked Mark Counter of nobody in particular, as he stood by the rock and looked down.

  The Kid grinned. ‘I wondered if you’d see that.’

  ‘See what?’ demanded Louise.

  The Kid bent and pointed to the ground just at the side of the rock. In the earth which was softened by water running from the rock surface was a small depression which she could not identify. She raised a puzzled face towards the Kid who was straightened up by her side.

  ‘He rested his rifle there. That’s the mark the butt-plate made, him not standing it muzzle down. That mark’s too big for a Henry or a Spencer and not the right shape for a Hawken or Mississippi rifle, happen one of them could carry the range the Colonel allows Tom was dropped at. Fact being the rifle has to be one that’ll carry over four hundred yards. That means a metal cartridge single shot rifle like either a Sharps or a Remington.’

  ‘Which same means we’ll have to see what sort of rifle Mr. Collins totes,’ Mark put in. ‘If he has one—’

  ‘He’ll be a danged sight more loco than I reckoned,’ growled the Kid, then joined the Colonel and Dusty. ‘Way she reads to me this hombre wanted Tom, not you, Colonel. Happen he’d wanted both he could have dropped you both. But he only stayed long enough to put lead into Tom, then lit out without even reloading.’