The Floating Outfit 9

by J. T. Edson

‘Damned if I believed it possible, but I’ve met a cuss just as awkward as you, Dusty,’ Mark said, setting his hat on.

  ‘She’s mighty set once she makes her mind up,’ Dusty admitted. ‘So let’s stop wasting time trying to talk sense to her and get moving.’

  ‘That’s the first sensible word either of you’s said,’ Belle commented as she buckled on her gun belt and snuggled the Dance into its holster. ‘Let’s go. We’ve a lot of miles to cover before morning.’

  ‘Let’s hope we make it in time,’ Mark said as he headed for the door.

  ‘We’ve got to make it,’ Dusty warned. ‘Even if we kill every horse to do it.’

  Seventeen – That Drunken Swine, Grant

  Sitting his horse in the cover of clumps of bushes, General Smethurst looked down at the small camp alongside where the Pebble Fork ran into the Red River, on the Texas side of the border with Oklahoma. A feeling of satisfaction filled him, partially soothing his resentment at Sheriff Spargo’s failure to rejoin the party. Everything seemed to be going according to plan. After an easy ride through the night, they had made camp beyond hearing distance of their proposed victims and had moved in with the first light. Down below, the four generals squatted on their haunches eating breakfast and their small escort, a scout and six soldiers, gathered at a second fire.

  ‘All set?’ Smethurst asked the nearest of his men and received a nod in reply. ‘Let’s go then.’

  Twelve horses lunged forward over the rim and went down the slope in a rush intended to swamp the unsuspecting camp below. Smethurst saw the consternation his men, hooded and waving revolvers, caused among the generals’ party. None of them appeared to have arms close at hand. Before they could reach their weapons and make a fight, Smethurst hoped to kill at least all four generals and the scout. For the rest, he did not care how many of the escort also died; as long as one remained to lay blame on the hooded riders.

  Not that Smethurst intended to take any chances. Once he had started the attack, he slowed his horse and allowed the others to go in front of him. Thoughts of the future flickered before him, rosy dreams of a country run in keeping with his lofty ideals. With the deaths of Grant, Sherman and Sheridan, major obstacles would be removed from the path to his dream’s fulfillment.

  At which point things began to go wrong. Much bush-, tree- and rock-dotted land separated Smethurst’s party from their victims. A man more versed in such matters would have tried to move in closer before launching his attack. The separating ground offered numerous places where men might hide—as Smethurst’s companions learned to their cost.

  Rifles and carbines crashed in a volley from behind various pieces of cover. Two of the attackers and a third’s horse went down under a hail of lead. Desperately the others tried to haul their mounts to halt, seeing hooded shapes rise into sight before them.

  Belle Boyd would never forget that wild ride through the night. After leaving the cabin, she went with Dusty and Mark to their camp. Telling the other Texans of the latest development, Dusty ordered them to prepare for moving. With the pick of the Wedge’s remuda supplying relay mounts, they began their desperate race against time.

  During the war, Belle had made many a long, hard ride, but none equaled the dash from Fort Andrew to the Pebble Fork of the Red River. She prided herself on possessing above average ability as a horsewoman and needed every bit of her skill to avoid slowing down her companions.

  Ranging ahead of the others, the Kid located Smethurst’s party camped for the night. Wanting indisputable proof of Smethurst’s guilt, Dusty decided not to make a move until the attack on the four generals’ camp began. So he ordered his companions to halt and grab what rest they could. Then he went on with the Kid to study the lie of the land. From what he saw, Dusty formed his plan. Leaving their horses, he and the others moved silently through the pre-dawn blackness and hid in a line before the camp. When Smethurst launched his assault, the Texans were in a position to break it with their saddle-guns.

  As the first volley ripped into the charging ranks, Belle saw the rear-most rider rein in savagely, swing his horse and head back up the slope. Despite the hood, she recognized him. The way he allowed the other men to take the chances and ran at the first hint of failure were typical of Smethurst. He, of all the attackers, must not be allowed to escape.

  ‘Dusty! she called and, on attracting the small Texan’s attention, pointed towards the departing figure.

  Carbine at his shoulder, Dusty looked in the required direction. Like Belle, he realized that the fleeing man must be Smethurst and sought for a means to prevent the escape. If possible Dusty wanted to take Smethurst alive, not kill him.

  With its rider shot out of the saddle, a fine-looking brown horse raced on down the slope. Letting his carbine fall, Dusty hurled from cover as the horse drew near. His hands closed on the saddlehorn and he swung himself astride the brown. Its rider had apparently been trained cavalry-fashion, for the reins were looped around the horn. Freeing them, Dusty gained control of the horse and turned it in Smethurst’s direction.

  Revolver in hand, a hooded man charged at Dusty. Before the small Texan could draw and shoot, the Ysabel Kid saw his predicament and took a hand. The deadly Winchester altered its aim and cracked. Dusty saw a hole appear between the eyeholes of the hood, staining redly as the rider slid sideways out of the saddle. Then Dusty went by and continued to urge the brown up the slope. No shot came his way and none of the enemy made further attempts to halt him.

  Seeing her chance, Belle—wearing a hood Chow Willicks had made in the hope that he might find a chance to use it—sprang forward and caught a horse. Ignoring the fighting, she turned her borrowed mount and went after Dusty.

  In making the sudden turn Smethurst had injured his horse. At first it ran well and he felt certain that he could escape. Nor did he experience any fear at the sight of another hooded man following him. Turning in his saddle for a better look, he received a shock. The brown horse belonged to the leader of the State Police involved in the attack, a tall, handsome and dapper dandy—only he no longer sat it. In addition to lacking the police officers’s height, the rider wore his pants cowhand style hanging outside his boots. None of Smethurst’s companions had dressed in such a manner, or wore a gunbelt carrying white handled Colts.

  Satisfied that an enemy followed, Smethurst gave thought to escaping. He swung to his front and urged the horse on. Then he felt the first warning signs of distress. Sliding the revolver from his holster, he twisted in the saddle and tossed a shot at his pursuer. Then another hooded shape topped the rim and followed. An enemy most likely; none of his men would be loyal enough to try to help. Twice more Smethurst fired, but no man could hope for better than a very lucky hit while shooting backwards from a galloping horse on rough ground. Stumbling, his horse almost threw him. To save his balance he dropped the revolver, then with control regained he tried to increase the animal’s speed.

  A better rider as well as weighing less, mounted on a good and healthy horse, Dusty closed on Smethurst. Nor did the injury to the other’s horse go unnoticed. Slight though it might be, it slowed Smethurst and the gap between them shortened rapidly.

  Pulling his foot from the stirrup iron, Dusty rose on to his saddle and hurled himself across at Smethurst. Desperately the man tried to swing his horse away. Then Dusty’s body struck him and bore him from the saddle. They went down together, but Dusty landed better than Smethurst and rolled clear. Bounding to his feet, Dusty sprang forward. As Smethurst tried to rise, Dusty whipped around a tegatana blow to the back of his neck. The hood broke the force of the blow and Smethurst lunged forward to catch Dusty’s legs and bring him down. Too late the general saw that the second rider had arrived. Rearing up to fling himself on to Dusty, he heard the thunder of hooves.

  Belle left her saddle while the horse still ran, landing with cat-like agility and bounding forward. Up lashed her left foot, catching Smethurst under the jaw with enough force to throw him sideways. As the man landed limply
on the ground, Dusty sat up.

  ‘Did you reckon I couldn’t handle him, Belle?’ he asked.

  ‘I just felt that somebody ought to pay for how my back feels,’ the girl answered. ‘The shooting’s finished.’

  ‘Sure. We’d best be going back.’

  ‘I’ve brought my ring along. Let’s make sure that he doesn’t wake up too quickly, shall we?’

  ~*~

  Night had come and a sick, aching Smethurst found himself led into a cabin. He did not know where he might be, and a blindfold over his eyes prevented him from learning. On its removal, he stood blinking in the light and at last made out details of the room. Behind a table in the center sat four hooded figures of varied shapes and builds, while his captor stood between two of them. Other hooded men hovered in the background and his second attacker stood close by. Looking again at the latter, Smethurst realized he faced a woman.

  ‘Smethurst,’ said the small, standing man. ‘We’ve brought you here to stand trial for what you planned to do to Texas.’

  ‘And what might that be?’

  With growing fury Smethurst listened to his question’s answer and could hardly believe so much of his plan had been discovered. At last he let out a snarl of rage.

  ‘All right, so I planned it. Why shouldn’t I? We fought you Southern scum and beat you. Then that idiot Lincoln intended to let you get back on your feet. He meant to treat you rebels leniently, so we stopped him.’

  ‘You?’ Dusty growled in obvious disbelief.

  ‘I helped arrange to have him killed. Some of our people goaded John Wilkes Booth into the killing so that Andrew Johnson could assume the presidency. Johnson was a man. He knew how to treat your kind. He didn’t know of our plan, but we knew he meant to try every one of your leaders and have them hanged for treason. So we left the way open for Booth. And with Lincoln dead that drunken swine, Grant, had to inervene.’

  Dusty knew that President Johnson had been forced by General Grant to honor the surrender terms accorded to General Lee at the Appomattox Court House, but said nothing. The silence made Smethurst continue, ignoring the slight stirring of the stocky, middle-sized man at Dusty’s right side.

  ‘Johnson had the right idea. Hang your leaders and smash you down as reprisals for your rebellion. But Grant refused. So did Sherman and Sheridan—and the fools up North followed their lead.’

  ‘So you planned to kill them down here and blame us for it?’ asked the tall, slim, seated man.

  ‘That’s right. It would have started a wave of hatred up North and this time there would be nobody to stop us.’

  ‘Only you failed,’ Dusty drawled.

  ‘What do you intend to do about it?’ Smethurst spat back.

  ‘Take you to trial for trying to murder President Grant and the other generals.’

  ‘And who’ll take the word of a pack of hooded Southern scum against me, a general in the United States Army?’

  ‘They’d listen to me,’ put in the bulkiest of the sitting men and pulled off his hood to reveal the tanned features of General Handiman, currently assumed to be the figurehead commander of the Adjutant-General’s Department.

  ‘Handiman!’ Smethurst snarled. ‘I always knew you were a rebel sympathizer and traitor.’

  ‘Am I one, too?’ asked the smallest of the seated quartet, and the removal of his hood showed him to be ‘little Phil’ Sheridan.

  ‘Or me?’ demanded the tall, slim, third man in General Sherman’s voice.

  Even without the last of the four speaking, before he took off the hood, Smethurst knew him to be General U. S. Grant, President of the United States. Then Smethurst saw his chance. It seemed that the woman believed him to be harmless for she was standing with folded arms, her revolver very close to his hand. With all the desperate courage of a cornered rat, Smethurst lunged sideways. His plan only partially succeeded. Although the hooded woman swayed aside enough to avoid his reaching left hand, his right closed on and drew the Dance from her holster.

  Despite his surprise at Belle’s apparent carelessness, Dusty acted with his usual speed. Out came his right side Colt, crashing an instant before Smethurst could line the Dance at Grant. Struck in the head by Dusty’s bullet, Smethurst went over backwards and the Dance dropped from his lifeless hand.

  ‘Lord, how could I have been so careless?’ Belle gasped, bending to pick up her gun.

  ‘Maybe it was for the best,’ Handiman answered. ‘Bringing him to a court-martial wouldn’t’ve done anybody any good.’

  An hour later Dusty stood with Belle on the banks of the Red River near the cabin they had borrowed to stage the trial.

  ‘It’s over, Dusty,’ the girl said. ‘The Negroes will be told there’s no land available out here—’

  ‘And’ll think they’ve been sold down the river, but not by Smethurst’s kind,’ Dusty replied, holding the hood in his hands. ‘The soft-shells may mean well, Belle, but they foul up everything they touch.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed the girl. ‘You know I let him grab my gun, don’t you?’

  ‘I figured you had.’

  ‘It’s a dirty game I play, Dusty. There’re no rules. My only regret is that I had to use you.’

  ‘Like you say. It’s a dirty game,’ Dusty drawled and looked at the hood for a moment. Then he hurled it into the river. ‘I hope I never have to wear one again.’

  ‘So do I,’ Belle agreed. ‘But with Smethurst dead and the franchise to be returned, I don’t think the hooded riders need ride anymore.’

  Author’s Note

  The hooded riders did not return. When the Davis administration was voted out of office the need never arose. Try as he might, Dusty failed to obtain proof of what had happened the day Sheriff Waggets died. Before Wes Hardin could be brought to trial and cleared of the charge, he gained the reputation of being a killer. Driven beyond the law, he finally died, another victim to the stupidity and bigotry called ‘Reconstruction’.

  THE FLOATING OUTFIT 9

  THE HOODED RIDERS

  By J. T. Edson

  First published by Transworld Publishers in 1968

  Copyright © 1968, 2017 by J. T. Edson

  First Smashwords Edition: March 2017

  Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information or storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

  This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book

  Series Editor: Ben Bridges

  Text © Piccadilly Publishing

  Published by Arrangement with the Author’s Agent.

  The Floating Outfit Series by J. T. Edson

  The Ysabel Kid

  .44 Caliber Man

  A Horse Called Mogollon

  Goodnight’s Dream

  From Hide and Horn

  Set Texas Back on Her Feet

  The Hide and Tallow Men

  The Hooded Riders

  ... And more to come every month!

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  More on J. T. EDSON

  i Told in The Fastest Gun in Texas.

  ii Told in The Fastest Gun in Texas.

  iii Told in The Devil Gun.

  iv Told in The Colt and the Saber.

  v Told in The Rebel Spy.

  vi Told in Comanche.

  vii Told in The Ysabel Kid.

  viii A’he: I claim it.

  ix Liberadical: Derogatory name for a liberal with radical tendencies.

  x To
ld in Quiet Town.

  xi Told in the Waco series.

  xii Told in The Colt and the Saber.

  xiii Told in The Bloody Border.

  xiv An organization that smuggled Negroes from the South to Anti-Slavery States.

  xv Told in The Bad Bunch,