The Floating Outfit 27

by J. T. Edson

  Oblivious of his narrow escape from injury, the blond giant did not grant the man a second opportunity to try to kill him!

  Once more satisfied he could do so without putting other people at risk, having re-cocked the hammer and turning the barrel instinctively yet rapidly, the big Texan depressed the trigger. Again the firing sequence was repeated. Flame erupted from the muzzle of the Colt, followed by what appeared to be swirling white smoke, but which was the result of the detonated powder charge in the uppermost cylinder having been changed into a greater volume of gas and propelling the lead through the rifling grooves of the barrel.

  On this occasion, the blond giant’s aim proved even more efficacious than his previous effort!

  Starting to prepare his own weapon to resume the attack upon the taller Texan, the man was taken in the center of the forehead by the bullet sent his way. Driving onwards to shatter out at the back of his skull, spinning away his hat to show he too had been concealing long black hair, it stopped his movements instantly. Going over with the weapon still not cocked and flying from his hand, he was dead before his body struck the ground alongside his already felled companion.

  Having removed the latest threat to his life, the blond giant gave his attention to the last of the quartet!

  Quickly though he moved, the Texan was too late!

  Putting into effect a wiry muscular power too great for her to cope with, the thrower of the grenade had already escaped from Babsy’s clutches!

  However, the little blonde was not so fortunate!

  Having attained his freedom, the man did not take flight!

  Instead, realizing the danger of doing so, he sought a way to reduce the risk!

  Grabbing hold of Babsy before she could avoid him, the man moved around swiftly and twisted her right arm behind her back with his left hand. Dipping down while he was doing so, his right snatched the J. Russell & Co. ‘Green River’ hunting knife from the sheath on his waist belt. Crouching slightly until he was almost hidden by her and raising the eight inches long clip point blade, he swiftly placed its clearly razor sharp edge beneath her chin.

  ‘Let the gun drop!’ the man demanded, glaring over his captive’s shoulder at the blond giant. His guttural voice had a French timbre and he continued, ‘Do it, damn you, or I’ll cut her throat!’

  ‘Do it, mister!’ shouted one of the Canadians, still trying to bring his revolver from the close topped holster in which it was carried. ‘He’s one of le Loup Garou’s Metis and he’ll kill her if you don’t!’

  Chapter Five – What If It Goes Off?

  ‘Don’t anybody do anything!’ the blond giant thundered, thumb cocking his weapon and watching the people who had come to a halt on assuming there was no longer any danger of the ‘bomb’ exploding. ‘Leave it to me!’

  Regardless of the command—and the words were that rather than a request given to taxpaying citizens who helped supply his salary—and despite feeling sure the warning given by the Canadian was valid, the golden blond deputy town marshal did not comply with the demand immediately!

  Having served in a similar capacity at another town, 19 although there had been no such incident during his term in office upon which he might formulate a plan of action, the big Texan was aware that he was confronted by a situation which was not infrequently faced by peace officers throughout the world! 20 21

  Therefore, much as the blond giant liked and respected Barbara ‘Babsy’ Smith, he was aware that to yield to the threat might not save her from serious injury or death!

  While unwilling to let the man get away, having been the one who threw the hand grenade, the first concern of the big deputy was for the close to buxom little blonde’s safety. Nor did he minimize the danger. Going by what he had heard about those Metis who served Arnaud Le Loup Garou’ Chavallier, 22 23 24 her captor would have no compunctions over using the J. Russell & Co. ‘Green River’ knife. What was more, the man would continue to use her as a shield as long as he considered necessary. However, something could easily happen to frighten him into ripping the razor sharp edge of the blade across his captive’s throat. Or he might kill her as a reprisal for the thwarted assassination attempt if he should be allowed to keep her until he was satisfied he could effect his escape.

  One thing was to the good, the Texan told himself!

  The little blonde maid was behaving in a most commendable and desirable fashion!

  Not that the blond giant had expected otherwise!

  Being possessed of an impulsive nature which—when added to her intense devotion and loyalty to those whom she considered worthy of receiving it—had led Babsy into the very dangerous predicament and not for the first time in her life. Nevertheless, quick tempered and high spirited though she undoubtedly was on most occasions, she possessed sufficient good sound common sound to realize struggling would only make her extremely perilous situation worse. On the other hand, although she was standing perfectly still in the painful grasp the man had upon her, the blond giant knew she would be ready and willing to do anything which might be required of her. He could also count upon her to wait until finding out what action this might be.

  Appreciating the situation and knowing how best to cope with it were vastly different propositions!

  Competent a marksman as the big Texan knew himself to be, especially when employing the double handed hold as an aid to aiming, he was disinclined to chance using the Colt 1860 Army Model revolver under the prevailing conditions. Crouching behind the captive’s buxomly curvaceous little body, despite looking over her shoulder, the Metis offered her too small a target for him to contemplate hitting it without accepting the risk of the bullet striking her first. On the other hand, he was equally unwilling to carry out the order by dropping his weapon.

  The matter was taken out of the giant’s hands in no uncertain fashion!

  In fact, despite having sought to create the impression that he was going to deal with the situation unaided, the big deputy had anticipated this might prove the case!

  Sounding whip-like in comparison with the bark made by an Army Colt, a rifle cracked!

  Clearly, being to the left and on the side away from the railroad depot instead of in front, the user of the repeater—a category indicated by the very rapid and easily recognizable double clicking sound of the mechanism being operated to replace the discharged cartridge case with a ‘live’ bullet from the magazine—had not found the crouching posture of the Metis too great an impediment to aiming in the only manner which would turn the tables upon him.

  Arriving in the Metis’ left temple, the bullet ranged onwards to burst out at the other side in a spray of blood and flying fragments of destroyed brain and shattered bone!

  Having her captor killed almost instantaneously brought an end to the little blond’s ordeal!

  Because the flying lead found the point on the anatomy of Babsy’s captor at which all his automotive instincts were immediately rendered inoperative, he was prevented from carrying out the threat he had made regarding any attempt to save her. Not only did the unexpected impact jerk him away from her, due to the destruction of the brain’s left lobes—which controlled the movements of the body’s right side—but he was prevented from raking the blade of the knife across her throat. Instead, he was pitched to the right and the weapon went away from its position without its edge touching her flesh.

  Staggering forward involuntarily on being liberated, the little blonde’s face was white under its make-up. She gave the impression that her knees were weak and her legs were shaking underneath her. Making an effort of will, she managed to keep a firm grip on her emotions and contrived to hold down a surge of something close to hysteria caused by the relief at having been saved. Nevertheless, she was wobbling uncertainly on her feet and felt there was a danger of collapsing.

  Twirling away the long barreled Army Colt with a similar speed to when it was being drawn, the blond giant caught Babsy by the shoulders as her legs were beginning to buckle. Supporting her sturdil
y curvaceous weight erect with no discernible effort, he scooped her into his arms and held her pressed gently against his chest. Knowing she would not wish to let others see her disturbed frame of mind, he kept her face hidden from the people who were converging hurriedly from all sides for the few seconds she required to regain her composure. That the weakness was only momentary was proven by her response at the end of the brief period.

  ‘Leave off, luv!’ the little blonde requested breathlessly. ‘You’re squeezing all the bleeding wind out of me!’

  Complying with a good grace to what people who did not know Babsy would have considered a lack of gratitude, the blond giant released and lifted her gently to set her down at arms’ length. Directing a wink his way to prove she had not meant anything so ungracious by her comment, which he already knew, she turned her gaze in search of whoever had fired the shot which saved her from her captor.

  Lean and wiry, particularly in comparison with the golden blond, the man responsible for the rescue was some three inches shorter. So glossy it seemed almost blue in some lights, the hair beneath his Texan’s style Stetson hat was black as the wing of a Deep South crow. Indian dark, unless one looked at his curiously colored red-hazel eyes which gave a hint of a vastly different character, his features were handsome and seemed almost babyishly innocent. They offered little suggestion of what his age might be, except for a hint that he was almost certainly a few years older than he looked. Less costly than that of the big deputy, every item of it being black, his garb—except for his sharp toed boots having low heels more suitable for walking than riding—was of the style practically de rigueur for a cowhand from the Lone Star State. He too had a badge of office on the left breast pocket of his shirt. At the right side of his gunbelt, a Colt Dragoon Model of 1848 revolver hung with its plain walnut butt pointing forward in a low cavalry-twist draw holster. On the left was sheathed a massive ivory hilted James Black bowie knife.

  ‘Blast it, Babsy-gal!’ the black dressed Texan greeted, his melodious tenor voice implying he was delivering a rebuke. He had been prevented from intervening earlier, thereby removing the need for the maid to tackle the shortest of the Metis, by the fleeing people milling about in front of him. However, he had taken the earliest opportunity to deal with the situation and felt sure that, apart from being frightened a little, she was no worse for the experience. Gesturing with the Winchester Model of 1866 rifle grasped by its foregrip in his right hand, he went on in a similarly aggrieved tone, ‘I’ve allus told you’s how you’re too small.’

  ‘We don’t have our boots stuffed full of horse muck when we’re little in England, to make us shoot up like weeds same’s you blokes from Texas do,’ the buxom blonde answered with apparent wrath. ‘Anyway, what’s me size got to do with anything?’

  ‘Way that jasper was hiding behind you,’ the Indian dark deputy replied, somewhat ambiguously considering his previous comment. ‘Mark couldn’t draw a bead on him and I had to waste a bullet doing it.’

  ‘I’ll buy you a bleeder to replace it, see if I don’t!’ Babsy promised, albeit with the words sounding more in the nature of a threat. Knowing no open thanks were required, or expected, she turned an equally wrathful looking glare at the blond giant and went on in a similar vein, ‘And you don’t know your own bloody strength. Not content with grabbing me so hard you’ve probably bruised my shoulders, you nearly squashed me ribs in hugging me.’

  ‘I didn’t know there was any other way of doing it,’ the big deputy answered, his baritone voice indicative of one who had received a better ‘schoolhouse’ education than the black clad Texan.

  ‘Well, my girl!’ Freddie Woods put in, having hurried forward followed by most of the men she had met from the west-bound train. Sir Michael Dinglepied was one who abstained, as was Lord James Roxton, albeit with a far more commendable reason. However, the hug she delivered to the little blonde belied words which a ‘liberal’ would have expected from one of her status when addressing an ‘underling.’ ‘Don’t you ever do anything like that again. You gave me such a fright. I thought I was going to need a new maid.’

  ‘I won’t never do it again, me La—ma’am,’ Babsy promised as seriously as if she believed the rebuke had been genuine. ‘In fact, if we can put the clock back a few minutes, I won’t even do it this time.’

  ‘You’re beginning to think like a Texan,’ the black haired beauty accused, sounding as if she could conceive nothing worse.

  ‘Blimey, am I?’ the maid ejaculated, showing well simulated distaste. ‘I’m going to have to watch that.’ Having delivered the sentiment, she swung her gaze to the youngest of the deputies. He was standing with Lord James Roxton at his side and she demanded with apparent heat, ‘Why don’t you get shut of that bleeding thing in your titfer afore it goes off and spoils me hair-do?’

  ‘That means in your hat, old boy,’ the aristocrat interpreted, realizing he had forgotten the existence of the hand grenade in the subsequent excitement. He spoke in a clipped fashion, yet conveyed the impression that he found the entire situation boring. ‘And getting rid of it isn’t such a bad idea after all, although I don’t think there is any danger of it going off now.’

  ‘I wouldn’t count on that,’ the blond youngster contradicted. His tanned face was showing the relief which had come after the strain he had been under while watching the little blonde in danger and being unable to do anything to help her. Swinging his gaze back to the Stetson he was holding and extending it gingerly towards the Englishman, he went on, ‘I don’t know where they got this son-of-a-bitch, but it doesn’t need no burning fuse to touch it off unless I miss my guess.’

  ‘Good god!’ Roxton snapped, losing his languid posture for an instant as he looked down. ‘You’re right, old sport. And, providing you don’t think it presumptuous of me to make a suggestion before we’ve been formally introduced, I think we would be advised to do something about it.’

  ‘They call me “Waco”,’ the youngster drawled, giving the only name he had ever claimed as his own. 25

  ‘’Mongst other things,’ the black clad Texan put in. ‘Mostly worse and always deserved.’

  ‘Which I conclude’s introduction enough,’ Waco continued, as if the interruption had not been made. ‘And seeing’s how I’ve been sort of thinking along those same lines myself.’

  ‘Then shall we get it done?’ Roxton suggested.

  ‘Here?’

  ‘Do you fancy taking it somewhere else?’

  ‘Well, now you come to mention it, no,’ the youngster admitted. ‘I don’t take kind to walking no place, no time. Which goes “four-bled” at least, happen that’s the word, when I’ve got a bomb in “me titfer”.’

  ‘I’m inclined to agree,’ the lean aristocrat declared, then waved a languid gesture which encompassed a circle about him. ‘But having all these people around could prove—um—restrictive, shall we say?’

  ‘Happen they’ll back off a ways, asked polite’, Waco drawled, also glancing at the onlookers who were closing in talking excitedly amongst themselves. ‘How’s about it, amigo?’

  ‘All right, everybody!’ boomed the blond giant, the second comment having been directed his way. His voice and demeanor were those of a man expecting to be obeyed without hesitation or question. ‘Back off pronto!’

  ‘Which same means right now,’ supported the black clad deputy in a tone which implied he too would brook no objections from anybody. ‘Fact being, starting ten seconds back!’

  ‘That’s what you call asking politely?’Roxton inquired, despite noticing that the command was starting to be obeyed without protest and quickly, even by the members of his party, two of whom in particular he would have expected to object to being subjected to such cavalier treatment from men they were likely to consider to be of a lesser social standing.

  ‘You should hear Dusty on occasion,’ Waco answered with a grin. ‘He can get practical’ rude when he’s so minded.’

  ‘Lumme!’ Babsy said to Freddie, while the t
wo young men were speaking, pointing what was clearly an accusatory finger at the black clad deputy. ‘You don’t mean’s how I’m starting to think and talk like what that there Lon does?’

  ‘I’ve noticed you do on occasion, but it isn’t something one likes to mention,’ the black haired beauty replied, then looked at Waco and Roxton. ‘Are you going to try to deal with that thing?’

  ‘The thought had crossed our minds, dear lady,’ the aristocrat replied.

  ‘But it might go off,’ Babsy pointed out in some alarm.

  ‘In that case,’ Roxton drawled, once again sounding as if consumed by ennui. ‘Bury me at Barton Stacey, Ogben Saint George, Ogben Saint Andrew and Winchester. You might even save a bit for Shepton Mallet. But, as I went to Oxford, don’t let Cambridge have any.’

  ‘I’ll see it’s done,’ Freddie promised, then swung her gaze to the blond youngster. ‘And have you any last requests?’

  ‘Yes’m,’ Waco replied. ‘’Cepting I want to die all old ’n’ ornery, in bed and with my boots off. There’s just one thing, though.’

  ‘And what might it be?’ the beautiful Englishwoman asked.

  ‘When this son-of-bit—lil ole thing—goes off and blows me to lil bits,’ the youngster obliged, still sufficiently in control of himself despite being fully aware of the situation’s danger to make the correction to the definition. ‘Don’t nobody say, “That’s him all over”.’