The Floating Outfit 35

by J. T. Edson

  At that moment, two men walked into the shop. Tall, lean, the first looked like an older, dirtier and meaner version of the late Heck Smith; he moved to his left. The other was smaller, with a long scar twisting his right cheek. As he stepped to his right, he exhibited a noticeable limp. Even without seeing their hands dropping towards holstered revolvers, Dusty had decided that they must be the dead man’s brothers. Nor did it call for any deep thought to realize that they had come to take revenge for the killing of their kinsman and gang’s leader.

  The man who entered the Kid’s cubicle had a sufficiently strong family resemblance to Heck Smith for there to be need to swap introductions. Tall, young, hard eyed, he was already drawing his Army Colt. Glancing first at the dirty buckskins on the floor, he swiveled his eyes to the figure in the bath. Indignant at the invasion of his privacy, the Kid knew who the man must be and why he had come. Things looked desperate for the Indian-dark cowhand, but that brief interval while the intruder checked his identity gave him all the respite he needed.

  Before the man could slant the revolver his way, the Kid acted with typical Pehnane speed. Swinging up the soapy washcloth, he flung it so that it hit and wrapped wetly around Smith’s face. Letting out a startled, muffled yelp, the man grabbed at the cloth with his empty left hand in an attempt to restore his obliterated vision.

  Bringing down the hand that had flung the cloth, the Kid used it to help him rise and drop over the edge of the bath. Landing on the floor, he rolled across his old clothes to the chair. Gripping the front leg with his left hand to hold the chair steady, he folded the fingers of his right fist about the ivory hilt of the bowie knife. Looking over his shoulder, he took aim and plucked the great knife from its sheath. Then he swung his right arm parallel to the floor, releasing his hold on the weapon at the appropriate moment.

  The knife hissed through the air as the would-be killer tore the soaking cloth from his features. Vision returned too late to save him. Flying on a horizontal plane, the clip point spiked between two of his ribs. The weight, balance and design of the weapon—brought to perfection at the instigation of a master knife-fighter—caused it to drive on until it impaled his heart. Letting his gun fall, he clutched ineffectively at where the hilt rose from his torso. Then he stumbled and blundered helplessly out of the cubicle.

  Coming to his feet, as naked as the day he was born, the Kid jerked the Dragoon Colt from its holster. Cocking it, he made for the door. He heard voices from the front of the building. Realizing that he could not go there in his current state of undress, he returned and draped a towel about his waist.

  Bad though the position might appear, Dusty knew that it was not entirely hopeless for Waco or himself. Their gunbelts were hanging with their hats on the sets of wapiti horns fixed to the wall for that purpose. If the Smith brothers had been more observant, they might have noticed that both the belts had something missing. Each of their prospective victims, did the brothers but know it, was nursing his right hand Colt under the long cloth which the barber had draped around his neck to protect his new clothing. All that remained for the OD Connected men to do was spring from the chairs, turn and face their respective assailants—if they could do it before the outlaws’ guns came out and threw lead into them.

  About to shove himself from his seat, Dusty felt it starting to move. Gripping the back of the chair, le Blanc tugged sharply at it. Instead of trying to jump, Dusty gambled on a hunch and allowed himself to be carried around. Sure enough, the barber halted the chair as its occupant faced Smith.

  Shock twisted briefly at the tall outlaw’s face as he took in the sight. He opened his mouth to speak. Then the cloth covering Dusty from the neck down formed a pyramid. Flame burst from its apex and a bullet twirled across the room into the man’s head. All expression left his face and his mouth dangled open without words leaving it. Reeling backwards, he collided with the wall and slid down it until he sat in a heap on the floor.

  If anything, Waco had been slightly better prepared than Dusty for the pair’s arrival. From his seat, he had been able to see the door and out of the left-hand window. With his attention drawn that way by the assistant barber’s behavior, he had observed two men crossing the street at an angle that would bring them to the door of the shop. At least, he had assumed that to be their destination when he had noticed the taller’s resemblance to Heck Smith and the other’s scarred face.

  There had not been time for Waco to warn Dusty of the danger. However, the youngster assumed that his ‘brother’ was equally alert to its possibility. So, like Dusty, Waco was preparing to leap from his seat when the assistant barber started to swing it around.

  Seeing that le Blanc had treated Dusty the same way, Waco formed rapid conclusions from the actions of the barbers. It seemed that the two townsmen intended to help their customers escape from the gun-trap. Yet in his eagerness to do so, the assistant had put too much force into his pull on the back of Waco’s chair. The youngster knew that it was turning too fast to halt when he faced Heck Smith’s limping brother.

  With Waco, to think was to act. Ramming his shoulders against the back of the chair, he used them to thrust himself sideways and roll off it. The smallest Smith proved to be faster than any of his brothers. Out flashed his revolver and lined at the blond cowhand’s chair. Smith was still trying to correct his aim in the light of Waco’s actions when the gun crashed. Lead winged above Waco and embedded itself in the back of the seat he had just deserted.

  Tearing off the barber’s cloth as he fell, Waco landed on his left side and continued to roll. As his back came to rest on the floor, he stabbed forward the long-barreled Army Colt. Already cocked, it roared and missed. Across lashed his left hand, its heel catching the spur of the Colt’s hammer and carrying the mechanism to fully cocked, while his forefinger held back the trigger. On being released, the hammer flew forward and set off another load. Three times Waco repeated the process.

  Fanning the hammer offered the fastest known method of emptying the cylinder of a single-action revolver, but had never been noted for accuracy. During the one and a half seconds taken by Waco to get off the shots, the method proved accurate enough. Although scattered about his body, all four bullets struck Smith. Dropping his smoking gun, so that it fired and sent a bullet into the floor, he pitched headlong across the room and crumpled lifeless in a corner.

  Snatching off the smoldering white cloth, which had been ignited by the Peacemaker’s muzzle-blast, Dusty tossed it aside and stepped from the chair. While treading on it to put out the fire, he looked to where Waco was rising. ‘Are you all right, boy?’ Dusty asked.

  ‘He missed,’ the youngster replied. ‘Hey! There’s three of ’em. Maybe the other’s gone—’

  ‘Hell, yes!’ Dusty spat out and darted to the door which gave access to the bathroom.

  Going through, with Waco on his heels, Dusty almost tripped over the body of the Kid’s victim. Dragoon in hand, the Indian-dark cowhand stepped cautiously out of the cubicle. The weapon lined at them, then lowered.

  ‘Figured you’d be all right,’ the Kid remarked calmly. ‘Only I didn’t aim to take no chances was I wrong.’

  ‘Damned if he ain’t gone back to the war-whoops, Brother Ed,’ Waco grinned, eyeing the towel which formed the Kid’s only item of clothing. ‘That sure is one fancy lil breech cloth.’

  ‘He’ll send all them sweet lil naivis 21 into a tizz happen he wears it at a Give-Away dance,’ Dusty agreed, watching the Kid retrieve his bowie knife.

  ‘I allus did,’ declared the Kid and stalked with what dignity he could muster into the cubicle. ‘Why’n’t you blasted palefaces go leave a man to take his bath in peace?’

  Returning to the barber’s shop portion of the building, the Texans found le Blanc and his assistant examining the bodies.

  ‘They cashed in?’ Dusty inquired.

  ‘I’ve never seen anybody more cashed in,’ le Blanc answered cheerfully.

  ‘Toby Siddons ought to be grateful to you,
Mr. Caxton,’ the assistant went on, looking at Waco in a worried manner. ‘Limpy Smith shot him in the back two weeks ago.’

  ‘It’s nice to know we’ve shot somebody and won’t have another bunch coming after us,’ Waco replied. ‘Wonder if Toby’ll set up the drinks for us, Brother Ed?’

  ‘It’s not likely,’ the assistant warned. ‘Toby’s dead and buried in our boothill. His gang left just after the funeral to see if they could raise some more money.’

  From the way in which he spoke, the assistant was acting, like a man trying to stop another thinking about a mistake he had recently made. Despite having certain suspicions, Waco wanted to convince le Blanc that he suspected nothing about having been treated in a different manner to Dusty.

  ‘Anyways, gracias, amigo,’ the youngster said to the assistant. ‘You sure saved my hide. Only, should it happen again, don’t shove the chair so hard. You near on spun me all the way ’round instead of towards him.’

  ‘I—I’m sorry,’ the assistant said, exhibiting signs of alarm.

  ‘Shuckens. You’ve got no call to be, seeing’s you saved my life,’ Waco assured him. ‘Likely you was’s surprised’s Brother Ed ’n’ me when they come busting in. But you acted for the best and I’m right grateful.’

  Several people, including Lampart and Basmanov, had heard the shooting and come to investigate. As at the livery barn, a couple of townsmen stood at the door and kept the curious onlookers outside the shop.

  ‘There’s another of them,’ the mayor announced, glancing at the bodies. ‘He might have gone after Mr. Blood.’

  ‘He did,’ Waco admitted. ‘Had he asked, I could’ve told him not to. Ole Comanch’s a mite touchy who he shares his bath with.’

  ‘Mr. Blood isn’t injured?’ Lampart inquired.

  ‘Nope,’ grinned Waco. ‘But he’s sure a sight to see, with that lil ole towel wrapped around him.’

  While the mayor was talking with Waco, Dusty watched Basmanov examine the two corpses. To the small Texan, it seemed that the owner of the livery barn looked a mite relieved at discovering that both had been killed almost instantaneously and so would have been unable to do any talking before they died.

  ‘I never thought they’d come after you so soon, Mr. Caxton,’ Lampart remarked to Dusty.

  ‘Or me,’ growled Waco. ‘After we was told about them being stinking drunk.’

  ‘Easy, boy,’ Dusty ordered. ‘They must’ve got sobered up when they heard what had happened—’

  ‘They didn’t hear about it from Manny and me!’ le Blanc declared.

  ‘If they had, you wouldn’t’ve saved us the way you did, sir,’ Dusty replied soothingly and saw Basmanov dart a scowling glance at the barber. ‘Or they maybe wasn’t’s drunk as they made out. Would there be anybody else likely to take this up for them, Mr. Lampart?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so,’ the mayor answered. ‘They weren’t the most popular or likeable of our visitors. And, in view of what’s happened since you came, there’ll be second thoughts before anybody decides to go up against you gentlemen. By the way, Ed—if I may dispense with formality—?’

  ‘Feel free, sir. It’s your town.’

  ‘It’s remiss of me not to have done so earlier, but my wife and I are giving a dinner-party for the gang leaders tonight at the hotel and we would like to offer you an invitation to attend.’

  ‘Just me?’

  ‘Meaning no disrespect to your brother and Mr. Blood, it is only for the gang’s leaders. Lampart apologized. ‘Much as I would enjoy your company, gentlemen, I can’t invite you without asking along all the other visitors.’

  ‘Well,’ Dusty began hesitantly. ‘That being the case, I don’t—’

  ‘Aw. You go on and go to it, Brother Ed,’ Waco suggested, his attitude hinting that he would not be averse to being away from his ‘elder brother’ with a celebration in the offing. ‘Comanch’ and me’s not much for them fancy, sitting down polite dinners. And, anyways, that blonde gal’s setting up free drinks for us tonight at the saloon.’

  ‘Mind you don’t have too many of them,’ Dusty ordered bluntly. Then he turned to Lampart and continued, ‘I’d be right honored to come, sir. Only I’d maybe best get these whiskers trimmed decent first.’

  ‘No sooner said than done, mon ami,’ le Blanc announced, darting a triumphant grin at the scowling Basmanov. Swinging on his heel, the barn’s owner stalked from the room and the barber went on, waving to his chairs, ‘If you and your brother will sit down, we’ll attend to you. This time there shouldn’t be any interruptions.’

  ‘How do you read the sign on what happened in there, D—Ed?’ the Kid asked half an hour later as he. Dusty and Waco strolled towards the hotel. ‘Way I see it, the barber and his louse figured the Smiths’d be coming and saved your lives when they did.’

  ‘Likely that’s what Lampart told them to do,’ Dusty replied. ‘Only, was I you pair, I’d not count on it happening while I’m not with you tonight. It was me he wanted saving.’

  ‘But le Blanc’s boy twirled “Brother Matt” there around—’ the Kid objected, recalling the conversation which had taken place, while he was having his hair cut and beard trimmed, discussing the shooting at length.

  ‘And damned near twirled me too far,’ Waco interrupted. ‘Way I see it, there’s not much goes on in Hell that Lampart doesn’t get to hear about. You can bet he knowed the Smiths was sober enough to be figuring on coming after us. If he’d wanted us all dead, he’d’ve passed the word to let them get us. And he’d’ve warned us happen he’d wanted all three of us alive.’

  ‘I’m with you so far,’ admitted the Kid.

  ‘Instead, he must’ve told le Blanc to keep watch and save just Brother Ed. They figured to let you take your chance, Comanch’; and to let Smith get me, but make it look like they’d tried to save me. If I’d’ve took lead, you’d likely’ve reckoned it was through the young feller spooking and turning the chair too hard.’

  ‘That’s about the size of it,’ Dusty conceded.

  ‘Just leave us have that young yahoo off somewheres quiet for a spell,’ suggested the Kid, sounding as mild and innocent as was humanly possible. ‘We’ll soon know if your figuring’s right or not.’

  ‘Leave it be,’ Dusty advised. ‘We’ll let them believe we’re thinking the way they want us to. I reckon that Lampart’s looking for backing against that Basmanov hombre. If so, given a mite of luck, I’ll get him thinking that three of us’re better than one. If we can get close to him, we can learn all there is to know about this town and how to bust it wide open.’

  ‘We know one thing now,’ Waco said soberly. ‘They kill off fellers with rewards on their heads and get the bodies out to towns where they can collect the bounties.’

  ‘We’d figured that much afore we got to Paducah,’ commented the Kid.

  ‘And we know for sure now,’ Waco insisted. ‘Toby Siddons was back-shot in town and buried here, ’cording to the barber’s louse. It’d be mighty interesting to try opening up some more of those graves in boothill.’

  ‘Don’t try doing it tonight,’ Dusty ordered. ‘And watch how you go, boys. Basmanov might get somebody else to try and make wolf-bait of us, to stop us tying in with Lampart.’

  Chapter Nine – I Was Sawing My Wife in Half

  Wearing his freshly cleaned black Stetson, a frilly-bosomed white silk shirt, black string tie, gray town-fashion trousers tucked neatly into shining Wellington-leg boots and a Colt-laden gunbelt, Dusty Fog strolled into the hotel’s dining room. The time was just after ten o’clock in the evening of his first day at Hell. As the mayor had explained in a note which had been delivered to the small Texan, due to the rule prohibiting the lighting of fires during the hours of daylight, the dinner could not be prepared and served any earlier.

  That afternoon, Dusty, the Ysabel Kid and Waco had made an extensive examination of the town and its surroundings. To avoid arousing suspicions as to their motives—cowhands being notorious for their dislike of
walking—Dusty had given a reason publicly for their perambulations. While enjoying an excellent cold lunch at the hotel, he had announced in loud tones that he and his amigos would be taking a stroll that afternoon. So, happen any of Columbo’s, Pinter’s, Topple’s or the Smith brothers’ friends had the notion, the trio would be ready and available to accept objections.

  The challenge had not been taken up. So Dusty, the Kid and Waco had conducted an enlightening survey of the area. Passing through the graveyard, they had located Toby Siddons’ ‘grave’ and studied headboards bearing the names of other outlaws. Half a dozen Mexicans and Chinese coolies had been digging holes to accommodate Columbo, Pinter, Topple and the Smith brothers. Walking on, Dusty had wondered if the men killed by himself and his amigos would occupy the graves. Or if the other corpses whose names appeared on the headboards were really buried there.

  Sixty or more adobe buildings were scattered around the wooden establishments on the street. Some were used by outlaws who probably objected to paying the hotel’s high prices, or had been unable to obtain rooms in it. Others housed the Chinese and Mexicans who were employed to carry out various menial tasks in the town. The Kid had guessed that the latter were once slaves owned by the Kweharehnuh and traded, or given, to the citizens of Hell.

  The discovery of six large wagons parked in three of the buildings had led the trio to make a closer scrutiny of the livery barn’s corrals. They had found that a number of the horses were of a type bred for heavy haulage work. That had helped to explain how the town obtained its supplies.

  One building in particular had aroused Dusty’s interest. Situated about two hundred yards to the rear of the mayor’s residence, it conveyed a similar impression of sturdiness. Small, cubic in shape, in an exceptional state of repair, its adobe walls had a single stoutly made oak door, secured, like the heavily shuttered window, with double padlocks. Although Dusty had noticed the building while accompanying the Lamparts from the livery barn, he had not been aware of the full implications. The door and window were at the rear and on a bench under a shady porch, two Mexicans armed with shotguns kept watch on them. All the trio had wondered why the place should require a guard and Dusty had resolved to find out as soon as possible.