The Floating Outfit 35

by J. T. Edson

  ‘Pup-Tent and Styles called the play,’ Eel replied. ‘It’s none of our fuss, feller.’

  Glover stood with Basmanov and others of the poker game on the right side set of stairs. Glaring furiously at the scene, the gang leader advanced a couple of steps below his companions. Drawing his revolver, he started to line it at the small Texan.

  Chapter Eleven – He’s Got a Fortune Stashed Away

  The crash of a shot sounded over the excited chatter which had followed the unexpected ending of the fight. On the stairs, Glover heard the eerie sound of a close-passing bullet, felt its wind on his face and gave a startled yelp. Jerking back in an involuntary motion, he sat down hard. Across the room, at Emma Nene’s private table, smoke curled from the barrel of Santiago’s Colt.

  ‘What is the betting that I won’t miss a second time?’ asked the bandido, taking a more deliberate aim as he cocked the revolver’s hammer.

  Fright flickered on Glover’s face, for he knew that his life had never been in greater danger. If anybody offered to bet, the Mexican would not hesitate to shoot. For a moment, Glover thought of trying to turn his weapon on Santiago. Yet doing so would avail him but little. Even if he should be successful, the bandido’s men would kill him. Covered by ‘Comanche Blood’s’ Dragoon, Eel and Cowper would be unable to back his play. Nor could he count on help from Basmanov’s party. That had been made plain to him during the poker game. As the Russian had warned, Glover’s future in Hell depended upon how the plan worked that had been hatched between them after leaving the hotel. From what Glover had seen since coming downstairs, it had been a miserable failure.

  ‘Easy there, Mig!’ Glover said, trying to keep his voice firm and friendly. He dropped his gun. ‘What was I to think when I come down and see the Caxtons beating up one of my boys and Blood there holding the others back with a gun.’

  ‘Put up your gun, amigo,’ Dusty agreed, going to the table and picking up his belt. ‘Man’s right about die way it looked.

  Trouble being, things aren’t always how they look.’ Once more silence had come to the room and its occupants listened to his words with rapt attention. ‘No sir. Take when them two yacks of his came over. Way they talked and acted, it could’ve looked like I’d been hired by Mr. Lampart to stop folks getting their right and fair money out of his office.’

  ‘That was the impression they tried to give,’ Santiago confirmed.

  ‘Some’s say they was lucky, them two, that their boss’d taken their guns away—’ Dusty went on.

  ‘I could see they was getting riled over losing at faro,’ Glover interrupted, standing up. ‘So I did it for the best.’

  ‘Why sure,’ Dusty agreed. ‘It looks that way. Only you could’ve got them both killed, doing it.’

  ‘How?’ Glover growled.

  ‘Would Ben Columbo or Joey Pinter’ve taken off their guns to deal with them?’ Dusty challenged. ‘And if I hadn’t, when I concluded to stop them mean-mouthing Miss Emma with their lies about her and her games, folks might’ve seen it wrong. They might start to figure—’specially was somebody to put it into their heads—’ his eyes flickered briefly at Basmanov, ‘that I was working for Mr. Lampart and the other gents with money in his care could wind up dead when they wanted it back.’

  A startled exclamation in his native tongue broke from Basmanov as he heard Dusty exposing his plot. Not only exposing it, but doing so in such a manner that nothing could be salvaged from it.

  Glover had been willing to sacrifice Dorset and Homburg in the interests of raising mistrust against the mayor. Far from the most intelligent of men, the pair had been persuaded to hand over their guns and then provoke a fight with ‘Ed Caxton’. There had been a chance that he would grandstand, to impress Lampart and Emma Nene, by agreeing to fight barehanded. The conspirators, however, had felt it more likely that he would shoot his challengers down regardless of them being unarmed. If Eel and Cowper had been able to avenge their companions by killing ‘Caxton’, all well and good. If not, Basmanov would be able to circulate the kind of rumor that the small Texan had suggested.

  Instead of achieving their ends, the whole affair had gone wrong. Worse than that, Basmanov sensed that the big dangerous newcomer suspected his part in the scheme.

  ‘Put that blasted hand-cannon away, Comanch’,’ Dusty commanded, having completed the buckling on of his belt and secured its holsters to his legs while apparently addressing Glover but really speaking to the crowd, ‘Those two fellers only want to tend to their amigos’ hurts.’

  ‘Yo!’ answered the Kid and obeyed.

  ‘Do it,’ Glover said as Eel and Cowper glanced at him. ‘You’d best have Doc Connolly see to them, they could be hurt bad.’

  ‘Hank,’ Dusty called, to a gang leader who wore the clothes favored by professional gamblers. ‘Just to straighten out any doubts them two yacks might have stirred up, will you check over that faro lay-out.’

  ‘I’ve done it every night,’ the man replied. ‘It’s like all the games in here, as straight as Emma’s beautiful.’

  ‘You saying things like that about the lady, I reckon I’d best ask you to show Mr. Glover and his boys what to look for in a crooked game,’ Dusty grinned. ‘Fancy-talking competition like yours, I can do without. ’Course, they might not want to take your word on it.’

  ‘Hank knows what he’s talking about and what he’s said’s good enough for us,’ Glover growled, picking up and holstering his revolver. ‘Pup-Tent and Styles was allus poor losers. So I took their guns off ’em, to stop them making trouble if their luck stayed bad.’

  ‘Like I said, they was lucky you did it,’ Dusty drawled. ‘Only, happen they come mean-mouthing or spreading lies about Emma again, I’ll not waste effort fist fighting. And that goes whether they’re wearing guns or not.’

  ‘That Dorset hombre’s got a real hard head,’ Waco went on, alternately rubbing his right hand’s knuckles and working its fingers. ‘Happen we lock horns again, I’ll be inclined to hit him with a teensy bit of lead ’stead of my dainty lil fist.’

  ‘We’ll mind it,’ Glover promised sullenly. ‘Come on, Tommy, Saw. Let’s get the boys to the doctor’s.’

  ‘Hey, you musicians!’ Emma called. ‘Earn your pay. Come on, fellers, you’ll put me in the poor-house, sitting on your hands instead of buying or playing.’

  Taking their cue from the blonde, the band started to play a lively tune. Girls and waiters set about stimulating the activities which had been brought to a halt by the trouble. By the time Glover, Eel and Cowper had carried Dorset from the room, it reverberated with the sound of revelry.

  ‘Where-at’s Emmet Youseman?’ Dusty inquired. ‘Don’t tell me he’s undertaking at this hour of the night?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so,’ Lampart answered looking a touch furtive.

  ‘He didn’t strike me as a feller who’d miss the chance to bend an elbow in good company,’ Dusty remarked, flickering a glance at Waco.

  ‘Most likely he’s doing some undertaking at the cathouse,’ le Blanc remarked. ‘Only with live customers.’

  ‘Where’s Red got to?’ Waco whooped and the girl ran up. Scooping her in his left arm, he kissed her. ‘I thought you’d backed out, gal.’

  ‘What on?’ Emma demanded.

  ‘Why, I’ve bet her that I’ve got more hair on my chest than she has,’ the youngster explained. ‘And, happen it’s all right with you, Miss Emma, I was figuring on taking her out for a whiles to show for most.’

  ‘I told you that Red was your gal,’ Emma reminded him. ‘Run along and get your bet settled.’

  ‘You heard the boss-lady, Red gal,’ Waco grinned. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘What it is to be young,’ Emma smiled, almost wistfully, watching Waco and the girl making for a side door.

  ‘Aren’t you going to fix Ed up with a girl, Emma?’ le Blanc asked.

  ‘I already have,’ the blonde stated. ‘Come on, let’s set the paying customers a good example. Sit down and get happy.
’

  ‘Let’s do that,’ Dusty agreed. ‘I sure hope that gal of mine’s a blonde.’

  ‘You know,’ Emma replied. ‘She just might be at that.’

  Although the party sat down and resumed their conversation, the subject of the motives behind the fight received no discussion. In fact, to Dusty it seemed that Lampart was trying to avoid it. The mayor kept the others laughing with a flow of rude stories. When he ran out, he offered to demonstrate a few of the tricks he had learned as a stage magician.

  ‘You’re not sawing me in half,’ Emma warned.

  ‘Spoil-sport,’ Lampart chuckled. ‘Get me a couple of decks of cards, I may be able to baffle you.’

  Dusty had to admit that Lampart was a skilled performer. Handling the cards with deft professionalism, he kept his audience baffled. Emma had been asked to sing a song and was on her way to oblige, while Lampart concluded his show by demonstrating how to shuffle a deck of cards in each hand, when Glover returned.

  ‘Look, Simmy, I don’t want to bother you,’ the outlaw said as he came to the table. ‘But I need some money to pay Doc Connolly. The boys aren’t the only ones who lost tonight.’

  ‘Very well,’ Lampart replied.

  ‘I wasn’t fixing to ask,’ Dusty drawled, ‘but seeing’s you’ve got to open your office, I’ll come and get myself a stake. There’s a diamond bracelet down to the jewelry store that’d just do fine for a birthday present.’

  ‘Who for?’ le Blanc smiled.

  ‘Not my mother, you can count on that,’ Dusty grinned back.

  ‘You know the rules, Andy,’ Lampart said. ‘I have to have a member of the Civic Regulators with me if I open the office after dark.’

  ‘Mr. Basmanov’s upstairs,’ Dusty hinted.

  ‘So he is,’ agreed Lampart. ‘Why should he sit gambling and carousing when I’ve got to work? Ask him if he’ll come with us, will you please, Jean?’

  ‘With the greatest of pleasure,’ Le Blanc responded and went to do so.

  By the time a scowling Basmanov had arrived, Emma was coming to the end of her somewhat ribald song. Acknowledging the applause, she left the dais and walked back to her table. On being told that Dusty would be leaving, she extracted his promise to return as soon as possible.

  ‘Tommy’ll have to come along,’ Glover said, indicating Eel standing on the sidewalk as the men emerged from the saloon. ‘He’s got the other key to our box.’

  ‘That’s all right with me,’ Lampart confirmed, but he caught Dusty’s eye and shook his head briefly. ‘Where’s Mr. Cowper?’

  ‘Down to the doctor’s,’ Glover replied. ‘You stove in three of Styles Homburg’s ribs when you jumped up and kicked him, Ed.’

  ‘Feller who taught me to do it allowed that could happen,’ Dusty answered disinterestedly. ‘How’s the other one?’

  ‘Still unconscious,’ Eel put in. ‘His head’s broke, the doctor says.’

  ‘They called the play,’ Dusty reminded the outlaws.

  ‘Nobody’s gainsaying it,’ Glover grunted.

  Approaching the mayor’s house, Dusty saw a glint of light showing through a crack in the curtains at the window of the mayor’s office. He recollected his host having mentioned that the room was kept illuminated all night as a precaution against attempted thefts.

  Unlocking the front door, Lampart allowed the other men to precede him into the hall. A lamp hung in the center of the ceiling, throwing its light over the party. Closing the door, the mayor went to his office.

  ‘Come in, Andy,’ he said, turning another key. ‘You’ll have to wait until I’ve dealt with these gentlemen, Ed.’

  ‘That’s all right with me, sir,’ Dusty drawled. ‘Just so long as I can get to the jewelry shop before it closes.’

  ‘You’ll do that easy enough,’ Basmanov said, in a more friendly voice than he had previously employed. ‘He stays open until daybreak. Fellers get generous to Emma and her girls late on. You don’t need me in there, do you, Simmy?’

  ‘No,’ the mayor replied, but Dusty thought he detected an undercurrent of worry in the one word. ‘I’ll handle things.’

  ‘What do you think of Simmy?’ the Russian inquired as he and Dusty stood in the hall after the other three had disappeared behind the door of the office.

  ‘I like him fine,’ Dusty replied. ‘He’s a good man. Smart, too.’

  ‘What with his cut from you fellers’ loot and the saloon’s takings—he owns it, not Emma, you know,’ Basmanov went on, ‘he’s got a fortune stashed away.’

  ‘It says right in the Good Book that the laborer’s worthy of his hire,’ Dusty pointed out. ‘Which I don’t reckon any of you fellers who live here’s wives need to take in washing to help buy your bacon and beans.’

  ‘I admit it’s profitable.’ the Russian replied. ‘But some are making more than the others.’

  ‘Drop those guns’’

  Muffled by the thickness of the walls and door, Lampart’s shouted words came to Dusty’s ears. They were followed by four shots which sounded as a very rapid roll of detonations. ‘What the hell!’ Basmanov spat out in Russian, leaping towards the door.

  About to follow him, Dusty became aware of another factor entering the game. The front door flew open and Cowper burst in with a revolver held ready for use. At the sight of Basmanov, he seemed to hesitate. That cost him his life. Dusty’s left hand had already commenced its movement towards his right side. Steel rasped on leather, being all but drowned as the off side Colt came from its holster, lined and crashed.

  With his mouth opening to yell something, Cowper received a bullet between his eyes. Back snapped his head, while his feet continued to advance. The latter left the floor and the former struck it with a shattering thud which the outlaw did not feel.

  ‘Watch that one!’ Dusty barked, springing by Basmanov.

  On trying the office’s door, Dusty found it to be locked. Although he had kicked an entrance into a room on occasion, he doubted if he could do so with that sturdy door. Bare feet slapped on the floor at the rear of the passage. Clad in a robe donned hurriedly after leaving her bed, Giselle darted in. Skidding to a halt, she stared from the smoking Colt in Dusty’s hand to the body lying half in and half out of the front door.

  ‘What’s—?’ the brunette began.

  ‘Do you have a key for this door?’ Dusty demanded.

  ‘No,’ Giselle answered, with surprising calm under the circumstances. ‘But why should—?’

  ‘There’s no other way out of it?’ Dusty interrupted.

  ‘Of course not!’ Giselle declared. ‘What is happening, Edward?’

  ‘There’s been some shooting in the office,’ Basmanov explained. ‘We want to get in to investigate.’

  ‘You could try breaking down the door,’ Giselle suggested, still not displaying any concern for her husband’s safety.

  ‘You’d best get some of the Regulators at the windows before we try it,’ Dusty told the Russian. ‘But if they’ve got Mr. Lampart alive, we’re in trouble.’

  At that moment, the lock clicked and the door opened. Instantly Dusty pushed Giselle along the passage with his right hand and lined the Colt with his left. Holding the revolver from his desk, Lampart stood in the doorway. Fear showed on his face as he found himself staring down the barrel of Dusty’s gun.

  ‘Hey! ’ Lampart yelped feebly.

  ‘Are you all right, Mr. Lampart?’ Dusty asked, lowering the revolver.

  ‘Yes,’ the mayor confirmed and looked relieved. He stepped back, pointing with his empty hand. ‘I’m afraid I had to kill them both.’

  Entering the office and holstering his Colt, Dusty looked around. Gripping a revolver in his right fist, Glover sprawled on his back. Blood oozed from the two holes in his chest. Eel hung face down along the line of boxes to the left of his boss, his gun on the floor and his back a gory mess where two bullets had burst out. Going closer, Dusty noticed that the hammer, of each dead man’s revolver was still at the down position and Glo
ver’s forefinger extended along the outside of the trigger guard. Two padlock keys lay in front of a box.

  Allowing Basmanov and Dusty, to make their examination of the office, Lampart went to his desk. He flopped into his chair and laid the revolver in its usual place. Walking over, Dusty leaned on the desk to place a hand upon the mayor’s shoulder. At the same time, his other hand rested on the cold metal of Lampart’s Colt.

  ‘Are you all right, sir?’ Dusty asked gently.

  ‘Y—Yes,’ Lampart answered. ‘I had to do it, Ivan, Ed.’

  ‘Likely you did, sir,’ Dusty drawled. ‘Best tell us all that happened.’

  ‘We came in and I did as I always do when somebody is drawing out money, sat behind the desk here. They went to their, box, then turned and drew their guns. I had to start shooting. It was them or me.’

  ‘You did the right thing, sir,’ Dusty declared. ‘Don’t you reckon so, Mr. Basmanov?’

  ‘Yes!’ grunted the Russian. ‘But why would they try it?’

  ‘They were almost out of money, ’ccording to what was said at the saloon,’ Dusty pointed out. ‘Taken with their amigo coming busting in at the front door, when he was supposed to be along at the doctor’s place with them hurt fellers, I’d say it all points to them figuring on robbing Mr. Lampart.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Basmanov admitted sullenly, aware that several people had arrived and were listening.

  So was Dusty. Figuring that some of the arrivals would be outlaws, he went on. ‘And not just Mr. Lampart. Had they got away with it, they’d’ve emptied all our boxes to take with them.’

  ‘Without the keys?’ Basmanov asked, trying to salvage something from the death of Glover.

  ‘Why not?’ challenged Dusty. ‘They likely aimed to keep Mr. Lampart quiet while they bust the locks. It could be done without too much noise. Quietly enough not to be heard outside, anyways.’

  Seeing that, for the time being at any rate, he could not use the incident in his campaign to unseat the mayor, Basmanov raised no further objections. Instead, he set about his duty as head of the Regulators and attended to the removal of the bodies.