Set Texas Back On Her Feet (A Floating Outfit Western Book 6)

by J. T. Edson

  On leaving the blond giant at the door of the hotel, after arranging to take lunch with him and accompany him to the steer-roping contest in which he would be competing, Marlene went upstairs satisfied that she had accomplished something. She felt so elated that she was tempted to waken de Froissart and boast of her achievement. However, she put the idea from her head. If she went to the Creole, he might want to resume their interrupted love-making. The idea did not appeal to her.

  Not only was she very tired, but even de Froissart—no slouch in such matters—struck her as being pallid and insipid after the man she had just met and, she felt sure, had convened to her cause.

  Chapter Ten – I Helped Him Into A Grave

  ‘GOOD MORNING, MARLENE,’ Pierre de Froissart said, rising as the woman approached the table he was sharing with another man in the hotel’s otherwise empty dining room. He indicated his companion, who was also starting to stand up. ‘I believe you know Cyrus Lonegron.’

  ‘We’ve met,’ Marlene Viridian answered. ‘Sit down, please.’

  Although Marlene had come downstairs, shortly before noon, dressed in a manner which she believed would impress Mark Counter when he arrived to collect her, she had been interested in the man who was talking to the Creole. She knew that Lonegron owned a hide and tallow factory on the mouth of the Brazos River, near to the town of Quintana. Of slightly below middle height, heavily built, with a thick moustache that did little to soften the hard lines of his tanned face, he wore a gray suit, white shirt and a polka-dot bow-tie. Knowing that he had an unsavory reputation, she was intrigued by what might have brought him to Fort Worth. Sufficiently so to decide that she must try to find out.

  ‘Won’t you join us?’ de Froissart inquired, drawing out a chair.

  ‘I already have an appointment for lunch,’ Marlene warned, but sat down. ‘So I hope you’ll excuse me if I have to leave.’

  ‘An appointment,’ the Creole repeated. ‘Who—’

  Seeing the frown which flickered to the woman’s face, de Froissart did not finish the question. It had, however, gone by the time she looked at the other man.

  ‘And what brings you to Fort Worth, Mr. Lonegron?’ Marlene asked, in a casual tone and as if making idle conversation.

  ‘The same thing as fetched you,’ the stocky man replied, looking around to make sure that the words would not be overheard. ‘I don’t cotton to this notion of folks taking herds to Kansas anymore than you do.’

  ‘It certainly won’t be to any of our benefit,’ Marlene conceded cautiously. ‘But there doesn’t seem to be anything we can do about it.’

  ‘Your man tried yesterday,’ Lonegron pointed out.

  ‘I don’t follow you,’ the woman countered but, although she sounded convincingly puzzled, she could not stop herself darting a worried glance at the Creole. ‘If you mean my husband, he’s at home with the—’

  ‘He’s likely headed for home by now,’ Lonegron interrupted. ‘But he sure as hell won’t be there yet.’

  ‘Are you suggesting that I’m lying?’ Marlene snapped.

  ‘Don’t play the innocent with me, Mrs. Viridian,’ Lonegron warned. ‘I heard about Dover getting killed and them three fellers trying to jump Dusty Fog. From what’s being said, the one who got away could be your husband dressed up to make folks think he’s a cowhand.’

  ‘Really, Pierre!’ Marlene gasped, with well-simulated annoyance, and made as if to thrust back her chair. ‘Are you just going to sit there—’

  ‘You do it real well, Mrs. Viridian,’ Lonegron complimented with a sardonic grin. ‘Fact being, you nearly convinced me that I’m wrong. But don’t waste it on me anymore. I don’t give a damn what Austin did, because I know what he was trying to do. I’m here for the same thing.’

  ‘And what might that be?’ the woman demanded, sitting down again.

  ‘Making sure that nobody believes Goodnight’s notion will work,’ Lonegron answered. ‘That’s why I wish that Austin had finished Fog off before he lit out!’ He raised a hand to silence de Froissart’s protest before it could be uttered, looking and speaking to Marlene. ‘Look, to show you I’m on the level, I’ll give you something to use back at me. I’ve sent men to make sure that Goodnight doesn’t arrive with those Eastern buyers. And I’ve told them to kill him if they have to do it.’

  ‘Thank you for being so frank with us,’ the woman said, in a more friendly tone. ‘Now I can see why you wish that Fog was dead. If Goodnight doesn’t get here, the ranchers will listen to him.’

  ‘I don’t think they will,’ de Froissart put in.

  ‘Have you seen him?’ Lonegron challenged.

  ‘Yes,’ the Creole replied. ‘He doesn’t look very impressive—’

  ‘Don’t let his size fool you,’ Lonegron interrupted. ‘With his Civil War reputation, there’s plenty of the ranchers will reckon he’s a forty-four caliber man.’

  ‘That’s true enough,’ de Froissart admitted, knowing what was meant by the words ‘a forty-four caliber man’. ‘But, at the moment, the ranchers are interested in whether it’s possible to drive herds to Kansas and sell them there, not in Fog’s ability as a cavalry officer. They don’t see how that will help him when he’s working cattle.’

  ‘But Fog’s speaking for Goodnight,’ Marlene pointed out. ‘I saw him last night at the Fitts’ ball—’

  ‘And I’ve been speaking with some of the ranchers he met there this morning,’ the Creole put in. ‘They’re interested in what Goodnight thinks, but don’t believe young Fog knows enough about it on his own account. After all, commanding a company of cavalry doesn’t have much in common with working cattle.’

  ‘He was Goodnight’s segundo on the drive to Fort Sumner,’ Lonegron reminded the man and woman.

  ‘And, as I pointed out when it was mentioned in the bar-room just now,’ de Froissart replied, ‘he’s also Goodnight’s nephew. The general feeling when I left was that there might have been more kin than ability involved in him being made segundo.’

  ‘I’d feel happier if Fog wasn’t around,’ Lonegron growled. ‘But getting rid of him won’t be—’

  At that moment, there was the sound of laughter and voices in the entrance lobby and footsteps approached the main door of the dining room.

  ‘It might be better if we weren’t seen together,’ Marlene suggested, looking at the stocky man.

  ‘That’s right,’ Lonegron agreed and rose quickly. ‘I’ll see you tonight at the Post Oaks, Pierre.’

  With that, the man strode to the side door and had gone through it before a small party of ranchers and their wives entered. None of them were known to Marlene and de Froissart and all went to a table by the front window.

  ‘What do you make of Lonegron, Pierre?’ Marlene inquired.

  ‘He was telling the truth about why he’s here,’ the Creole stated. ‘What I didn’t like was the way he tied Austin in with Dover’s death. If anybody else started thinking that way—’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Marlene said, sounding more confident than she was feeling. ‘Harlow will make sure that nobody believes it. We’ll—’

  ‘What’s wrong?’ de Froissart demanded as the woman stopped speaking. He followed the direction in which she was staring and studied the handsome blond giant in expensive, yet functional, cowhand clothing who had just strolled into the dining room. It became obvious that the newcomer was making for their table.

  ‘Hallo, Mark,’ Marlene greeted, rising and offering her right hand to the big Texan. I’d like you to meet my husband’s partner, Pierre de Froissart. Pierre, this is Mark Counter. We met at the Fitts’ ball and I’ve promised that I’ll go to bring him good luck when he rides in the steer-roping contest.’

  ‘With Marlene rooting for me,’ the blond declared. ‘I don’t see how I can lose.’

  Darting a glance at Marlene, de Froissart shook hands with the big Texan and was impressed. There was a latent power in his grip that suggested exceptional physical strength held carefully under contro
l. What was more, his whole attitude—particularly the way in which he wore his Colts—was that of a very capable fighting man. There, the Creole decided, stood a man who might be a match for Dusty Fog. Perhaps, the Creole concluded, that was why Marlene was taking such an interest in Mark Counter.

  ~*~

  Accompanied by the Ysabel Kid and dressed much as he had been during his meeting with Dover and Viridian, Dusty Fog was at that moment entering the office of the town marshal. They found Harlow Dolman present and seated at the desk. While he was unshaven, his clothing looked reasonably clean and neat.

  The previous night, after the Kid had returned to the bar-room at the Snapping Turtle, Dusty and Marshal Grillman had tried to learn about Nemenuh Grift’s activities and associates. They had failed to discover anything to help them. On being questioned, Ram Turtle had stated that the man had been alone since his arrival at about midnight. The Saloonkeeper had been equally vehement in his declaration that Grift had not previously been in his place. While they were certain that he was lying, there had been no legal, or peaceable, way in which they could prove it.

  To have tried to take the matter further would almost certainly have led to more killings. Turtle had been displaying a growing rage and might have thrown discretion to the winds if they had continued to provoke him. Remembering that Grillman had no legal, nor official, status at the Snapping Turtle—and being aware that there were men in Fort Worth who would be delighted to find an excuse to have him removed from office—Dusty had suggested that they left. On taking their departure, the Kid had stated his intention of remaining in the woods and keeping watch. When satisfied that nobody was following them, he had joined his companions and they had returned to the town.

  ‘Howdy, Cap’n Fog, Kid,’ drawled Grillman, acting in a more formal manner than he would have shown if Dolman had not been there. ‘The Captain here’s just got back from chasing that killer.’

  ‘We didn’t get him,’ Dolman went on, as two pairs of eyes swung in his direction. ‘He was heading northeast and we lost him when he crossed the Trinity. My man couldn’t find his tracks again, so I thought I’d come back and telegraph the State Police at McKinney to watch for him.’

  ‘He was headed northeast, huh?’ asked the Kid.

  ‘Yes,’ Dolman agreed and, having noticed the slight emphasis placed on the compass direction he had given, eyed the Indian-dark youngster in a speculative manner. ‘Which way did you expect him to be going?’

  ‘Ain’t done a whole slew of thinking on it,’ the Kid answered, lying with the attitude of one who was speaking the unvarnished and absolute truth. ‘Happen I had, though, I’d’ve reckoned he’d be headed west.’

  ‘Why west?’ Dolman challenged.

  ‘That’s where Mr. Dover’s spread lies, or so the marshal told us,’ the Kid explained. ‘Down in Comanche County, which’s west of here.’

  ‘More southwest, I’d say,’ Grillman commented.

  ‘Do you think the killer might be one of Do—Mr. Dover’s neighbors, marshal?’ Dolman inquired, delighted at having been presented with an opportunity to discover if the other peace officer had any suspicions of the truth.

  ‘I’d a notion it might have been, seeing’s how they hadn’t robbed him after they’d pistol-whipped him,’ Grillman replied, with an air of unsullied veracity which matched that of the Kid. ‘Only from what you’ve just told us, I’m beginning to wonder if maybe I was wrong.’

  Watching the captain, Dusty wondered if an expression of relief had flickered across his face at the marshal’s earlier words. It had come and gone before the small Texan could be sure, being replaced by a blank—yet somehow wary—stare.

  ‘I can’t be certain that the man was heading for McKinney,’ Dolman warned, wanting to keep Grillman thinking along harmless and erroneous lines. ‘Even if he had come from Comanche County, he’d hardly be likely to head straight back there.’

  ‘That’s for sure,’ Dusty agreed. ‘What did Mrs. Dover say about her husband having enemies, captain?’

  ‘I couldn’t ask her,’ Dolman confessed, although the small Texan had already known roughly what the answer would be. ‘She was hysterical and not making sense when I went to see her. The doctor said it would be some time before she would be, so I decided not to wait. After all, the trail wasn’t getting any warmer.’

  ‘I saw her after you’d gone,’ Grillman remarked, sounding almost apologetic. ‘She said the feller Cap’n Fog described didn’t put her in mind of anybody. But she allows that her husband didn’t get on too well with some of his neighbors. Could be one of them hired those yahoos and sent ’em after him.’

  ‘That’s possible,’ Dolman declared. ‘In fact, I think it’s a possibility worth investigating.’

  ‘I figured it might be,’ the marshal went on. ‘But, only being a local peace officer, I can’t do it.’

  ‘I’ll see to it for you,’ Dolman promised, not averse to finding a reason for leaving. ‘In fact, I’ll go along to the telegraph office and send word to the State Police in Comanche to find if it did happen that way.’

  ‘That’s right obliging of you, captain,’ Grillman stated.

  ‘I’ll do it on the way to the Belle Grande,’ Dolman offered. ‘Then I’m going to have a hot bath, a shave and catch up on the sleep I missed last night. I’d be obliged if you’d send me word if anything turns up, marshal.’

  ‘You can count on it,’ Grillman assured him.

  ‘Well,’ Dusty said, after Dolman had left the office. ‘How does it feel to know you’ve guessed wrong?’

  ‘I don’t follow you,’ the marshal declared.

  ‘That feller was headed to the northeast,’ the small Texan elaborated. ‘And Pilar’s down to the south.’

  ‘Why, sure,’ Grillman agreed. ‘From that, it couldn’t’ve been Viridian who jumped you.’

  ‘Now me, I’m not smart like some’s I could name,’ the Kid stated, favoring his companions with a superior expression. ‘But I’d say it’d take real fancy tracking to follow that feller’s trail clear to the Trinity—especially as they’d’ve had to go at a full gallop to get there ’n’ back by now and do most of it in the dark.’

  ‘Why didn’t we think of that?’ Grillman wanted to know, despite having already drawn a similar conclusion. ‘Comes to a point, Dolman looked mighty clean, tidy and refreshed seeing’s how he’d been in the saddle all night, riding so far and fast. I was all set to ask how he’d done it. Only he might’ve took offence, figuring I didn’t believe him.’

  ‘So he should, for shame,’ the Kid chided. ‘Why a captain in good ole Carpetbag Davis’s State Police’d no more think of lying than I would.’

  ‘Now there’s what I’d call a real good recommendation of honesty,’ the marshal scoffed, before growing serious. ‘Something else’s come to mind, though. Couple of times when Mrs. Viridian’s been up here without her husband, her and Dolman’ve been seen out and about with each other. Fact is, I heard’s he’d lit out with her like the devil after a Ysabel the last time she was here— and that would be the same day’s the Herald came out with the story about Colonel Charlie’s notion.’

  ‘You reckon that they rushed down to Pilar so’s they could let her husband and his partners know what was coming off?’ the Kid inquired innocently. ‘Why, that’d be almost like saying he was in cahoots with them.’

  ‘I’ve known less likely things,’ Grillman replied. ‘Which’d mean that he knowed what Viridian was fixing to do.’

  ‘Even if he didn’t, knowing the family so well, he’d figure that it could be her husband I was describing,’ Dusty pointed out. ‘And, happen he is so all-fired friendly, he wouldn’t want anybody thinking along those same lines. So he took out the posse, with men he could trust, and came back to say the feller was heading in just about the opposite direction to Pilar.’

  ‘He sure acted jumpy when I asked about the feller going northeast,’ the Kid admitted.

  ‘Sure,’ Grillman agreed. ‘But truth
ful lil ole you sure showed him that you wasn’t figuring on him having gone south.’

  ‘You didn’t do too bad along those lines yourself,’ the Kid countered.

  ‘What riles me, though,’ the marshal growled, losing his levity, ‘is Dolman thinking we’d be too stupid to see he was lying.’

  ‘Let him think what he likes,’ Dusty replied. ‘The thing that counts is that he’s no idea we suspect Viridian. That’s going to be a big help.’

  ‘You’re real set on getting him, aren’t you, Dusty?’ Grillman said.

  ‘Not getting him,’ the small Texan objected. ‘But I have to know if he did kill Mr. Dover. If we’re guessing right about why it was done, I feel responsible for it happening.’

  ‘How could you be?’ the marshal asked.

  ‘It was me who told him how he could get together with some of his neighbors and share the cost of a drive to Kansas,’ Dusty explained. ‘He seemed real eager to try it. If he hadn’t been, he might still be alive. Could be I helped him into his grave.’

  ‘Hell’s fire!’ Grillman ejaculated. ‘Nobody could think that.’

  ‘I do,’ Dusty answered quietly. ‘And I’ll not rest easy until I know the truth of it.’

  ‘Getting at the truth’s not going to be easy,’ Grillman warned.

  ‘I know,’ Dusty conceded. ‘But we’re working on it.’

  ‘We?’ the marshal repeated, then enlightenment showed on his face. ‘So that’s what—’

  The comment went uncompleted, due to the front door of the office opening. A tall, lanky man in worn, cheap town clothes and carrying a buff colored envelope entered.

  ‘Howdy, Mr. Schelling,’ Grillman greeted, although his voice held little cordiality. ‘Is that for me?’

  ‘No, for Cap’n Fog,’ the man replied. ‘They told me at the Stockmen’s Hotel’s I’d find you here, Cap’n.’