The Floating Outfit 12

by J. T. Edson

  “Ain’t she the bossy one though?” grinned Mark.

  “Yeah!” agreed Britches. “Ain’t she?”

  Only she did not grin and there was a hint of annoyance in

  her eyes. They said no more until the other girl entered and spread Mark’s bedroll on the floor by the wall.

  “You sleep there, big boy,” she ordered. “I’ll stand the first night herd on him, Britches.”

  “Reckon we need to?” Britches replied suspiciously.

  “Sure we need to. We’ll look real fools if he sneaks off in the night.”

  For a moment the desire to go to bed and suspicion of Annie’s motives warred on Britches’ pretty little face. Then she turned and headed for the bedroom door, turning towards Annie as she reached it.

  “Mind you call me for my watch!” she warned. “I’ll leave the door open in case you need help.”

  An angry frown creased Annie’s face as she watched Britches’ fat little rump disappear into the bedroom, but she did not reply. Instead she began to tidy up the cabin, while Mark remained seated at the table. After finishing her tidying, Annie took the two carbines and cleaned them. By the time she had finished, the bubbling snores coming from the bedroom told her Little Britches was asleep.

  “She snores worse’n a hawg at times,” Annie remarked, bringing the coffee-pot from the stove. “Are you all right?”

  “I’ve been more comfortable.”

  “Shuckens, you can lie down if you like.”

  “The night’s young. I’d rather sit and talk.”

  “Always say a man talks better with a coffee-cup in his hands,” she replied. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “Weather, if you like.”

  “Whether I will, or whether I won’t?” snapped Annie.

  “The thought had crossed my mind,” grinned Mark. “What’d be the answer?”

  “That depends on who asked.”

  “Me, I’m asking.”

  “Bill and the boys’ll be back by night time tomorrow, happen everything goes smooth,” Annie said, speaking rapidly as she changed the subject. “Won’t they be surprised when they find you here?”

  Surprised was not the word Mark would have used.

  “How come you to get tied in with Bill and his bunch?” he asked.

  It all began when the Doolin gang paid a courtesy call to the small village where Cattle Annie and Little Britches lived, the girl explained. The outlaws came to attend a wedding and dance. They intrigued the local kids and made themselves pleasant to the citizens for Doolin knew the value of good public-relations even though he had never heard of them.

  To the youngsters of the area Doolin’s gang carried an aura of glamour. But Annie McDougall and Jennie Stevens did more than just sit back and watch from afar. When Doolin’s gang rode out of the town, the two girls took their horses and borrowed men’s clothing and followed. Once Doolin chased them back, but they tagged along and showed up at his hide-out. After that Doolin could hardly risk allowing them to go back.

  So they became Cattle Annie and, from the way she filled her pants, Little Britches. They were accepted as the mascots of the gang, for Doolin’s bunch had a string of good fortune starting from their arrival. The outlaws treated them with kindness, protected them, and taught them a number of things girls from honest, God-fearing homes only rarely learned about; such as how to handle a rifle or a revolver and how to take care of themselves by using their fists instead of hair yanking. This latter had come in useful when one of the gang brought a calico-cat along to the hide-out and she would not leave after he grew tired of her. It fell on the two girls to take the errant female out and show her the light.

  True, Annie went on, Bill had never yet let them ride on a raid, but she bet he would when she and Britches handed him the ransom money from Mark’s father.

  They talked on for a time and then Annie rose, walked around the table to sit on Mark’s lap and wrap her arms around his neck. She crushed her mouth up to his, kissing him with what she fondly imagined to be more passion than he had ever before come up against in a woman.

  “How was that?” she asked, releasing him.

  “Not bad at all,” Mark replied. “How’s about turning me loose so I can sample it properly?”

  For a moment he thought she would. Interest, eagerness and anticipation flickered across her face, to be wiped out in an expression of fear almost. She showed the sort of reaction a man on his first visit to a cat-house might have as he approached the door, then saw one of his neighbors coming along the street.

  Gently Mark put his hands on her leg and she sprang to her feet, moving hurriedly away from him.

  “Oh sure!” she said, breathing heavily. “I unfasten you and the next thing I know is you’re headed out of here.”

  Mark let it go at that. He started to rise and the girl took a hurried pace to the rear. Dropping her hand, she drew the Navy Colt. Mark ignored the move. Turning his back to the girl, he walked across to his bedroll and settled down on it as comfortably as possible to get some sleep.

  After a time Mark rolled over and looked to where Annie sat at the table. She had stoked up the stove and range, now she sat with her head rested on her folded arms, fast asleep. Slowly Mark rose, taking up one of his blankets. He went to the girl’s side and draped the blanket over her shoulders. Then, grinning to himself, he returned to his bed.

  There did not appear to be any point in escaping at the moment, leaving a snug cabin and having to spend the night out on the open range. So Mark went to sleep. One thing he did know. He was not fixing to be around when Bill Doolin came back from the raid and before he left he intended to take a couple of desperate lady outlaws and paddle some sense into their heads, via their seats.

  Long practice on trail drives and at other times when setting a watch had been necessary woke Mark. He looked at the clock on the wall, saw it to show time that Britches should take over his “guard”. Sitting up he began to cough, it took a few loud barks before Annie opened her eyes and sat up. She threw off the blanket and reached for her gun as Mark rose to his feet.

  “Can I go outside?” he asked.

  “What for?” Annie snapped.

  “Guess.”

  A slight flush came to Annie’s cheeks. She rose, blinking sleepily at the clock, and nodded.

  “Go ahead.”

  “No peeking mind.”

  When he returned, Mark found a sleepy-looking Britches emerging from the bedroom, her hair tangled, her shirt half in, half out of her waistband, ankles and feet bare, and carrying her gunbelt in her hand. Flopping in the chair, she dumped her gunbelt on the table.

  “You watch him good now, Britches!” Annie ordered.

  “I’ll do just that,” the little girl replied, throwing a suspicious look at the blanket draped over the chair back.

  However, once Annie entered the bedroom and settled down Britches rested her head on her plump arms and soon began to bubble gently as she drifted off to sleep. Mark, watching her from his blankets, knew she would make no better a guard than Annie had. Rising, he crossed the room, wrapped the girl up, built up the stove fire without waking either girl, then went back to his bedroll and fell asleep.

  The first light of day broke through the window and Mark heard Little Britches stirring. The girl padded across the room to stoke up the stove and range, setting the coffee-pot on it. He waited until she had made the coffee before he let her see he was awake.

  “Hi!” Britches greeted. “Come on over and drink some coffee.”

  While drinking the coffee they talked of various things and Mark let slip the information that he knew somebody in whom Britches had a great interest.

  “You mean you know Belle Starr?” she gasped.

  “Why sure,” Mark agreed. “I met her up to Elkhorn three years back.”

  “You know her real well?”

  Mark grinned, thinking of his meeting with the famous, or notorious lady outlaw. Anyway a man came to look at it, Mark
reckoned he could say he knew Belle Starr real well.

  “As well as they come, gal,” he admitted.

  Next moment Britches sat in his lap, her arms around his neck and her mouth thrust to his, kissing him with all the passionate power she could manage. On releasing Mark, Britches stood up, put her hands on her hips, tossed back her head and looked him over In a challenging and provocative manner.

  “How does she come up to me?” she asked.

  “Nary a comparison, Britches gal.”

  Fortunately Little Britches took the statement at its face value and did not ask him to explain it further. Britches was a pretty little girl, gay, happy and cute. Yet to compare her with Belle Starr—well it would be like comparing a pretty, friendly, cuddly little house-cat kitten with the latent, wild and savage beauty of a she-cougar.

  “Course, a man can’t really tell, not unless he’s free to get his arms around the gal,” Mark went on. “Just cut me loose and we’ll try it again.”

  For an instant much the same expressions played on Little Britches’ face as had shown on Annie’s when Mark made the suggestion to her. Then Britches winked and bent over, reaching for the rope hobble on Mark’s feet. Neither she nor Mark had seen a sleepy looking Annie emerge from the bedroom and her bare feet made no sound as she crossed the room. Like Britches, Annie had removed her boots and gunbelt before she went to sleep and was not wearing either.

  Britches received notice that Annie had woke up when the other girl delivered a round house slap which cracked like a gunshot and landed fairly on the tight stretched seat of Britches’ amply filled pants.

  “Yeeeow!” Britches yelled, jerking erect and whirling to face Annie. “I was just making sure the rope hadn’t slipped.”

  For all that hot anger flooded her face and tears brimmed in her eyes as she rubbed the spot on which the slap landed.

  “Yeah!” Annie replied. “I could see you was.”

  “Now easy there, Annie,” Mark put in. “Choke off, she kisses just as good as you do.”

  Instantly the girls were facing each other. Annie opened her mouth to frame an angry, if untrue, denial. She saw the look which came into Britches’ eyes and knew she should not have slapped her plump little friend.

  Suddenly, without any warning, Britches let Annie have it. Not a slap, but a round-arm punch with her clenched right fist. She swung the blow in the manner Bill Doolin taught her, smashing her fist into Annie’s cheek, snapping her head around. At the end of the swing Britches brought the hand whipping back, the knuckles landing on Annie’s other cheek and swinging her head over once more.

  Mark grunted, wincing in sympathy, for it looked as if

  Britches knew how to throw a real good punch. With a yell of triumph Britches lunged in, but she was over confident. Annie, who had staggered back a pace or two, recovered her balance and stabbed a hard right into Britches’ plump middle and rocked her back a few steps gasping and holding where the blow landed.

  The two girls had always been tomboys and since joining the Doolin gang had received lessons in defending themselves. They appeared to have learned their lessons well. Britches backed off hurriedly, avoiding Annie’s rush and keeping her fists raised. Annie shot by Britches, hit the table, which stopped her charge.

  Giving a squeal of fury, Annie turned and attacked once more. At the last moment Britches side-stepped and hooked her in the stomach, then clipped her over the ear as she staggered by. Annie hit the wall, twisting around to ram head first into Britches’ middle and force her backwards. Digging her left hand into Annie’s hair, Britches dragged the other girl’s head up and started to drive her free fist into Annie’s face. Three times she hit, drawing blood from Annie’s nose. Then Annie caught Britches by the left wrist, twisted and threw the plump girl over her shoulder. Flinging herself on to Britches, she landed facing the other girl’s feet but they rolled and squirmed until they managed to get around and at each other.

  Clinging to each other’s hair, they rose and reeled across the room. At last Annie forced Britches backwards to hit the table. For a moment Annie held the advantage, yanking at Britches’ hair with her left hand, slapping and punching with the right. Desperately Britches wriggled backwards on to the table and Annie followed her. Annie landed between Britches’ legs and the little girl wrapped them around the other’s slim waist. Crossing her ankles, Britches began to squeeze. From the way Annie howled, Britches’ legs packed a fair amount of crushing power.

  Squawking in agony, Annie grabbed Britches’ hair in both hands, trying to smash her head on the table top. One of Britches’ wildly flailing hands touched the handle of the coffee-pot, missed its hold as her head thudded on to the wood, slapped wildly at Annie’s cheek, then came down and caught hold of the handle.

  That was when Mark decided to take a hand. The coffee in the pot would be hot enough to give Annie a nasty scald and he knew Britches did not mean to do so, yet in her anger she might.

  Lifting his feet, Mark placed them under the edge of the table and tilted it over. The weight of the girls turned the table on its edge and they slid to the floor. Desperately trying to avoid Annie’s hands, Britches let the coffee-pot fall and it spilled harmlessly on to the floor. Getting her feet under Annie’s body, Britches flung the other girl back across the room.

  On closing with each other, the girls decided to start using fists again. Annie decided her best hope lay in keeping Britches at range and Mark admired the way the slim girl stabbed out punches which stopped her opponent’s rushes and kept her back. For a few seconds she managed to keep it up, then Britches got inside her guard, ripping savage little fists into Annie’s ribs. Squealing in pain, Annie trapped Britches’ right hand under her arm. Then Annie began to lash her other hand in flat palm slaps and back-hand blows across Britches’ face.

  Britches took it for a moment, then thrust Annie backwards so she crashed into the wall by the door. The impact not only jarred Britches free, but it knocked the catch off the door. Swinging a round-house punch, Britches knocked Annie staggering through the now open door. Lowering her head, Britches charged out after Annie. The thud of a blow sounded and Britches came in again, landing on her plump little rump.

  Coming up with a yell, Britches lowered her head to charge into Annie with head down as the other girl appeared in the doorway. They shot through it and out of Mark’s sight, but from what he could hear the fight did not slacken its pace any.

  Mark had come to his feet after turning the table over. With the girls busy outside, he set the table on its legs again and prepared to escape. Up until the fight started Mark had planned to escape sometime in the morning, then take the two girls across his knee and teach them not to waylay and kidnap strangers. From what he had already seen, and from the sounds coming in through the door, Annie and Britches were raising lumps on each other and handing out more punishment than he would have.

  Raising his hands, Mark brought them down in the direction of the table. The handcuffs struck the wood and, as he knew they would, burst open. As a trained lawman Mark knew better than leave a handcuffed prisoner unwatched, the girls did not know of the danger.

  On the impact, the handcuffs burst open and Mark tossed them aside. His powerful fingers made short work of the hobbles and he rose a free man. Crossing the room, Mark took his gunbelt from the racks and donned it while watching the two girls. They appeared to have forgotten their fist fighting and were rolling over and over in a hair-yanking feminine brawl.

  After checking his guns were still loaded, Mark took up his hat, set it at the correct “jack-deuce” angle over his off eye and prepared to deal with the two girls. They seemed to be tempting providence for they had rolled to the edge of the spring and still fought on. Neither had any idea their prisoner had freed himself. Not until they felt a hand clamp on each of their waist-belts and lift them into the air.

  Although Mark held the squealing, kicking girls in midair, they still clung to each other’s hair. He swung them forward and sent the
m flying out over the spring and they disappeared with a splash and muffled, mutual squeals of surprise. They came up spitting water and spluttering. The ducking in the icy cold water appeared to have ended their aggressive desires and they stood hip deep in the spring, side by side looking dazedly around them. It took them almost thirty seconds to realize their prisoner was a prisoner no more and that they were now at his mercy.

  “Come on out!” Mark ordered grimly.

  Two disheveled girls waded towards him. Both had lost their shirts in the fight; Annie’s underskirt had been ripped open but she held it together with both hands; Britches wore a man’s undershirt that had been torn across one shoulder and which she held up protectively. Both had a blackened eye, bloody noses and numerous bruises. Altogether they looked like a very sore and sorry brace of desperate lady outlaws.

  Suddenly the life of an outlaw lost its appeal for the two girls. They found themselves faced with the consequences of their actions. The man they had so merrily kidnapped now stood before them and in a position to send them both to jail for a long time.

  Just as they came ashore and started to walk by Mark, a shot ripped through the air. A second bullet kicked up dirt between Annie’s feet and the third came so close to Britches it made her yelp in fright and released the vest which collapsed to expose her chubby, naked torso.

  At another time Mark might have enjoyed the view.

  “Head for the house!” he ordered.

  Neither girl needed twice telling. They had been born and raised in Indian country and did not need warning twice when bullets flew. So they took off at a gallop for the safety of the house.

  The shots had come from the corner of the valley. Mark knew this and he sprang away from the girls, making a fast, swerving dash towards the slope, hoping to draw the fire from the girls. He had no idea who the attackers might be, but he sure as hell did not intend to stop and find out. Three more shots spattered around him, from two of the rifles unless he missed his guess, for he had heard another shot which must have gone in the direction of the girls.