The Floating Outfit 27

by J. T. Edson

  ‘Are you willing to bet on it?’ Camberwell challenged in a mocking tone.

  ‘They won’t take your word against mine,’ the baronet asserted, but his voice lacked conviction as he realized he would pretend to believe any story, no matter how blatantly untrue, if doing so served his own ends.

  ‘All you have to do is go over to that talking tube there, whistle up the jasper at the desk and tell him to fetch the John Laws a-running,’ the burly hardcase pointed out, indicating the voice pipe attached to the wall and serving as a means of communication with the receptionist of the hotel. ‘You’ll right soon find out whether you’re right, or I am.’

  ‘Being in the pokey here ain’t over bad, what I’ve heard,’ Jasp commented jovially, wiping a dirty hand across his lips. Having given a massive belch, he elaborated, ‘Leastwise they feed you well and regular.’

  ‘I—I think I may be able to help you,’ Dinglepied began, realizing—although he had never indulged in games of chance, because he was afraid of losing even a portion of his money—his bluff had been called.

  ‘I know you’re sure as shitting going to help us,’ Camberwell corrected. ‘Because, mister, my mother didn’t raise no son to go to jail; ’specially for as long as the British gal’s tame judge’d send me.’

  ‘I—I’m not a rich man—!’ the baronet commenced, as he invariably did when a call was made upon his purse.

  ‘If you ain’t, you’ll do until one’s is rich comes along,’ the burly hardcase interrupted dryly. ‘So you can have some of the cash you’ve got stashed away in the safe downstairs fetched up.’

  ‘And some grub while you’re at it,’ Jasp added. ‘We ain’t been able to go out for a meal and I’m hungry.’

  ‘H—How long have you been here?’ Dinglepied asked, throwing a nervous look at the drapes covering the window. Then, although he realized such could not have been the case, he went on, ‘Did anybody see you coming in here?’

  ‘Now is that likely?’ Camberwell scoffed, studying the cringing figure before him in a less than flattering fashion. ‘We’d followed that boy of your’n here, knowing he didn’t have sense nor sand enough to be the boss and found out he’s working for you ’n’ which room you was in. After I got away, I hid up out of town where Jasp was waiting with our spare hosses. Then, soon’s it got dark enough, we snuck in again ’n’ come up the back stairs when wasn’t nobody around to see us.’

  ‘B—B—But I locked the door when I went down to dinner,’ Dinglepied objected.

  ‘And we opened it again,’ Camberwell answered, having acquired sufficient skill at picking locks to have found little difficulty in gaining admission.

  ‘Ain’t no call for you to stand wetting your pants, mister,’ the bearded man declared derisively, studying with amusement the consternation being displayed by the unprepossessing baronet. ‘Nobody, ’cepting us three, knows we’re here and we won’t get bothered none afore you’ve done the right thing by us and we can light a shuck away from you.’

  ‘I’m getting quick sick of talking,’ Camberwell growled and started to stalk forward in a menacing fashion, causing Dinglepied to retreat at an angle and, being in a state of near panic, unwittingly edge along the wall away from the door. ‘Either you get on that tube there, or I’m going to make you wish you had!’

  If the three men had been able to see the front lobby of the building, they would have discovered the assessment made by Jasp was not as valid as he assumed!

  ’Do you have a key’s’ll open all the doors, Walt?’ the Ysabel Kid inquired of the tall, wide shouldered, smartly dressed, albeit rugged looking, young clerk on duty at the reception desk.

  ‘A pass-key, you mean?’ Walter Braithwaite suggested in his Bostonian accent, but amiably and not in the manner of displaying superior wisdom to one he considered a social inferior. ‘Certainly, Kid. Who do you want to—visit—unannounced?’

  ‘Well now,’ the black clad Texan drawled. ‘I sort of thought I might drop by and take a cup of Limey tea with one of them British Railroad Commission gents.’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘Sir Michael Ding—or some such.’

  ‘Sir Michael Dinglepied?’

  ‘You’ve slapped the brand on him as neat’s you won that fancy “Boston game” you’ve been teaching fellers hereabouts last Saturday,’ the Kid declared. ‘Air that his for real name?’

  ‘I had to have to win,’ Braithwaite corrected, grinning at the memory of the game of football which he had organized and hoped would become a regular feature of the town’s sporting activities. 54 ‘And “Sir Michael Dinglepied” has to be for real. Nobody would pick it for a summer name.’

  ‘Which room’s he in?’ the Texan asked.

  ‘One-Eleven, on the second floor to the left along the passage.’ the clerk supplied. ‘There’s one thing, though.’

  ‘What’d that be?’ the Kid inquired.

  ‘If you’re expecting to get a cup of tea from him, Limey or otherwise,’ the clerk answered dryly, having formed a very accurate assessment of the man they were discussing’s character. ‘You’d best make sure you’ve got enough money on hand to pay for it.’

  ‘He’s that tight with his money, huh?’

  ‘He’s so tight, if he was a diving duck no water would get up his butt while he was under.’

  ‘I’ll bear it mind,’ the Kid promised, so soberly he might have received information of great importance.

  ‘Here’s the pass key,’ Braithwaite said, reaching to take the required object from its place on a hook inside the desk without inquiring why it was needed.

  ‘Can I have that drinking glass of your’n as well?’ the Texan requested. ‘I’ll leave my Ole Yellowboy here in trade.’

  ‘I’m getting the worst of the bargain,’ the clerk claimed, but he accepted the Winchester Model of 1866 rifle and handed over the tumbler, once more refraining from showing curiosity.

  ‘Gracias, amigo,’ the Texan thanked.

  ‘Es nada,’ the clerk replied, having learned the correct response in Spanish. ‘Hey though, seeing as I’ve given you the key and glass, how about joining my team in next week’s Boston game?’

  ‘Not me, thank you ’most to death!’ the Kid refused emphatically. ‘It’s way too dangerous for a delicate lil old boy from Texas like me.’

  ‘What a pity,’ Braithwaite smiled.

  ‘Is his sir-ship up to his room?’ the Texan asked, tossing the key he had received up and down in his left hand.

  ‘Yes,’ the clerk confirmed. ‘I saw him going up about five minutes ago.’

  ‘Then I’ll drift on up and say, “Howdy, you-all, your sir-ship”.’

  ‘There is just one small thing about using the key—!’

  ‘Tell it and it’s your’n,’ the Texan asserted, knowing he did not need to issue a warning against having his impending arrival announced over the speaking tube after he had left the lobby.

  ‘I know it’s not likely to happen, dealing with the likes of him,’ Braithwaite explained. ‘But I hope you don’t have to start shooting off that cannon you persist in carrying instead of a revolver.’

  ‘You’ve been listening to that blasted Mark ’n’ Waco,’ the Kid accused. His insistence upon retaining the massive old Colt Model of 1848 Dragoon revolver, despite there being lighter—albeit not quite so potent in the matter of the acceptable powder charge—handguns manufactured by the same Company available, was a frequent cause of friendly criticism from his amigos. Slapping the worn walnut grips with his right palm, he went on in the manner of one conferring a favor, ‘But I’ll do my damnedest not to cut loose at his sir-ship with Granny here, less’n he shoots me twice in the leg first.’

  ‘Which nobody could ask for more,’ the clerk replied and turned his attention to where the member of the British Railroad Commission who had lingered after the others went upstairs was coming from the barroom with some of the local businessmen. ‘Do you want to go up now, or wait until after Sir John Ramage has gone
to his rooms?’

  ‘I’ll go now,’ the Texan decided, turning his gaze to give the tall, bronzed, hawk-faced and immaculately attired middle-aged Englishman a quick scrutiny. Although he liked what he saw, he went on, ‘It’ll take ’em a spell to say their goodnights I reckon and Dusty don’t like his hired help spending time in what he calls loafing ’n’ idleness.’

  ‘There’s some might say Captain Fog has right good sense,’ Braithwaite claimed, but his words were directed at the back of the Kid’s shirt.

  Going upstairs with swift strides, the Texan went to the room for which he had been supplied with the number. Glancing in each direction to make sure he was not being observed, although the passage was deserted, he placed the top of the tumbler against the door and rested his ear against the base.

  ‘Well I’ll be switched,’ the Kid breathed after a moment. ‘Belle was right, not’s I thought she wouldn’t be. You can hear through one of these things.’ 55

  Even while the thought was passing through his head, the Texan decided the conclusion reached by Waco was correct!

  Although he arrived as Camberwell was making the threat, but had missed the comment from Jasp which preceded it, the Kid did not wait to hear any more!

  On the point of drawing his Colt, the Texan remembered the promise he had made to Braithwaite. Grinning slightly, which caused all the misleading suggestion of innocence to leave his Indian dark features and transform them into the mask of the Pehnane Comanche dog soldier—to which war lodge of exceptionally competent fighting men he had won admittance as a boy—preparing to make war, he slid free the James Black bowie knife. Holding the concave hand-fitting ivory hilt in his right fist, with which he also contrived to grasp the doorknob, he put the pass-key to use. Feeling sure the click made by the lock would not go unnoticed, he made no attempt to effect a surreptitious entry. Instead, the instant he felt the action of the lock being manipulated, he twisted at the knob.

  Nothing happened!

  At least, there was no movement to suggest the knob was performing its function!

  However, even as the Kid was about to let loose and deliver a kick which he hoped would serve his purpose, the lock clicked. Instantly, he felt the door begin to move inwards. There was no time for him to realize the hotel had had the catch portion of the knob removed so that guests could gain access with greater ease when inebriated or incapacitated in some other way. Giving a vigorous shove, the moment there was sufficient space, he thrust himself into the room.

  At the sight of the door being thrown open in such a fashion and the black dressed figure coming through, Camberwell did not need to notice the badge of office on the vest or the big knife to realize what was portended by the unannounced visit. He had seen such entrances performed by peace officers in the past and, under less exacting conditions, might have conceded few had been done better. Giving no thought to such distinctions, he forgot his intention to compel the cringing baronet to supply the money needed for his escape from Mulrooney. Instead, he reacted by sending his right hand towards the butt of his low hanging Colt Army Model of 1866 revolver.

  The move was made with considerable speed and would have succeeded against many an opponent!

  Unfortunately for Camberwell, he was up against an exception!

  Much as he would have preferred to take a living prisoner, the Kid realized this would not be possible under the circumstances. To have attempted to do so would almost certainly have cost him his own life. Therefore, moving with the deadly rapidity and precision indicative of long practice in wielding the big knife, he responded in a manner which would have gladdened the hearts of his Pehnane Comanche warrior ancestors on his mother’s side.

  Around lashed the eleven and a half inch long, two and a half wide, clip point blade, sparkling in the light of the large lamp suspended from the ceiling. Having an edge many a barber would have admired for a razor to be used while shaving an influential customer, the cutting surface passed beneath Camberwell’s chin and sank into his throat an instant before his Colt came clear of leather. It was a mortal wound, delivered with a force which slashed through his windpipe as well as the veins and arteries of the neck.

  The impact also caused its recipient to stagger sideways involuntarily, giving a strangled incoherent bellow of anguish which caused blood to gush from his mouth as well as out of the terrible gash in his flesh. What was more, his instinctive adherence to the sensible habit of refraining from starting to cock the hammer and keeping his forefinger out of the trigger guard while the weapon had remained in leather was not as beneficial as previously. 56 Although he had raised the gun above the lip of the holster, even if he could have elevated the barrel towards his assailant, he would not have been able to shoot.

  ‘A:he,’ the Kid grunted, as he often did involuntarily when handling a knife in combat brought back memories of the training he had received from his maternal grandfather during his childhood amongst the Pehnane Comanche. 57 58

  Despite having disposed of the more immediate menace, the Texan realized he was far from being out of danger!

  Knowing only one of the three hardcases involved had escaped after the thwarted abduction of Freddie Woods and having arrived too late to hear Jasp speaking, the Kid had thought only two men would be present, and he discounted the baronet as posing an additional potentially dangerous factor needing to be overcome. Unfortunately, having just missed hearing something while eavesdropping which would have given an indication of the true state of affairs, he had been unaware of exactly what he would be facing when he made his entrance. However, he needed only a single glance to warn him of what he would be up against.

  As soon as he saw the door being opened so precipitously, the bearded hardcase had started to thrust himself from the chair in which he had been lounging.

  However, not only did he lack his companion’s speed in normal conditions, he was feeling the effects of the brandy he had found and been drinking in a greater quantity than was wise with such a potent liquor. While he was not sufficiently drunk to be incapable, he was under the influence to an extent which rendered him less speedy than usual. When dealing with a man like the Ysabel Kid, that was far from being a condition to ensure success!

  Knowing he could not hope to cross the room and reach his intended assailant quickly enough for his needs, the Kid did not try. Instead, whipping back his right hand, he hurled the knife. It flashed through the air with awesome speed. Even as Jasp realized the danger, it was too late for him to do anything to avert it in his slightly befuddled condition. Like Camberwell, he had removed his hat on entering the room. If he had followed his more usual habit of keeping it on even when indoors, he might have saved himself.

  Driven with the full impetus the wiry, steel-muscled body of the Kid was capable of producing, the knife made contact at the center of the bearded man’s forehead. Such was the excellent quality of the steel and the superb balance James Black had imparted during its manufacture, it was able to cope with the thin bone at the front of the skull. Forcing its way onwards, it buried into his brain and killed him as instantaneously as would a bullet to the same area. The path was to some extent opened by the needle-sharp point, then expanded with the aid received from the last few inches of the otherwise unsharpened ‘back’ of the blade joining and forming an extension of the main cutting surface in a concave arc. Jerking backwards in a purely automotive reaction, his hands rising involuntarily as if trying to pluck out the knife, he struck the chair from which he had risen. Disintegrating under his weight, it precipitated his already lifeless body to the floor.

  Despite having hoped to produce such an effect, the Texan had not waited long enough to ascertain the success of his throw. Instead, the moment the knife left his grasp, his right hand dipped down. Turning palm outwards, it wrapped about the walnut handle and twisted the old Dragoon Colt from the well designed black holster. However, by the time he had thumb-cocked the action, he concluded the weapon would not be needed except to induce the already
frightened Englishman to supply self-incriminating evidence with regards to the attempted abduction.

  Hearing voices raised in the passage and the sound of hurrying footsteps, the Texan realized with a sense of annoyance that the opportunity to deal with Dinglepied as he wished would not be granted!

  ‘God damn the luck!’ the Kid breathed. ‘Well, at least I didn’t have to shoot off ole Granny here!’

  Chapter Thirteen – He Saved My Life

  ‘What the blazes is going on here?’ demanded a masculine voice with a British upper class accent far more authoritative then the somewhat nasal whine of Sir Michael Dinglepied.

  Having come upstairs to show the local businessmen some documents to do with the proposed railroad, instead of lingering over saying goodnight in the lobby as the Ysabel Kid had envisaged, Sir John Uglow Ramage had reached the passage in time to hear the gruesome cry given by Hugo ‘Camb’ Camberwell. His career in the diplomatic service had been far from desk-bound and sedentary. Experiences during native uprisings in India and South Africa had taught him the meaning of the sound which came to his ears. Therefore, even though he disliked the other baronet intensely, he had not hesitated before coming to investigate.

  Striding through the still wide open door, having moved more swiftly than the man accompanying him, Ramage swept his keen gaze around. First, he glanced briefly to where Dinglepied was huddled against the wall facing a corner and vomiting unrestrainedly. Next, he gave as quick a scrutiny to the body lying just inside the room. There was no need for a close or longer examination to know death had been caused by the throat being cut almost to the depth of the neck bones. Finally, he took in the sight of the tall, black dressed young figure retrieving an enormous blood-smeared knife from the skull of a second corpse lying supine beyond the table.

  His stomach felt decidedly queasy, despite this not being his first contact with sudden and violent death, but he was made of far sterner stuff than the other baronet.