The Floating Outfit 14

by J. T. Edson

‘Anybody who goes hunting the Wycliffes for evens is either loco, or tough and real good with a gun. You’re not loco. From what I’ve heard, you’re strong and tough. That gunbelt tells me you're good with a gun.’

  ‘I can take ’em out fast enough when I have to,’ Mark admitted. ‘And hit what I aim at as long as it’s not too far off. You want for me to show you?’

  ‘Later maybe,’ grinned Pegler. ‘When I’m sure I can trust you. I reckon I’ll have a better chance of doing that when I’ve told you some about me.’

  ‘Go right ahead and tell me,’ offered Mark. ‘I’ve nothing but time right now.’

  Although Pegler did not go into details, he hinted that he came to Texas on the run from the law. A trained engineer, he did not dare to chance following his profession even in frontier Texas. However he possessed enough money to set up as a trader. Seeking an area where he would not come into too great contact with other white men, he settled on the headwaters of the Pedernales. At that time the Kaddos maintained an uneasy peace with the white brother and his business grew steadily.

  Then Bear Killer brought in some raw silver to trade—and knew something of its value. The chief refused to take anything but a repeating rifle and ammunition for the silver and hinted that he could bring in more to buy other weapons. However he declined to disclose the source of the silver and warned against any attempts to find it.

  ‘Most folks’d’ve gone ahead and looked, either getting killed or turning the Injuns against them,’ Pegler stated smugly. ‘But not me. No sir. I traded guns for silver and added a few jugs of whisky when asked. Guns and bullets were the main thing. I didn’t want the Kaddos getting liquored up and starting a scalp-hunt—at least until I was ready for it.’

  ‘You wanted to have time to light out before they began?’ Mark suggested.

  ‘Something like that.’

  From the mocking grin on Pegler’s face, Mark guessed a deeper motive was involved. As Pegler clearly wanted to tell the story in his own way, Mark refrained from asking questions. He eyed the trader up and down. Something over middle height, brawny, he would still be no more than child’s play for the blond giant to handle when a chance arose. Until then Mark aimed to learn all he could and keep Pegler believing in his support for whatever the trader planned.

  Continuing his story, Pegler told how he gained the chief’s confidence and became accepted by the tribe. With the aid of chloroform and other scientific wonders the Indians had never seen, backed by predictions of carefully arranged accidents, he won the reputation of a medicine man. Backed by his newfound position, he demanded to be shown where the silver originated. Unwilling to go against popular opinion, Bear Killer brought Pegler to the canyon and showed him the hidden entrance of a cave. Inside Pegler found many sacks holding the raw silver and a sizeable stack of rocks bearing veins of the precious material. Seeing and recognizing the primitive press, he rebuilt the windlass and prepared to start mining operations.

  At which point he discovered that the original miners—Spanish explorers from the days before Texas gained her independence—suffered a cave-in which fetched down all their workings.

  ‘There’s a fortune in silver to be brought out,’ Pegler informed Mark. ‘But the Kaddo won’t let me mine it. This’s a medicine place, they wiped out the greaser miners for digging here. It was all I could do to get them to let me work the rock from the cave. One thing they won’t do is give me permission to bring in the modern equipment to get the mine working again.’

  ‘There went my fortune,’ Mark said dryly.

  ‘Maybe not,’ Pegler replied. ‘I still plan to mine that silver.’

  ‘With me holding off the Kaddo while you do it?’ Mark scoffed. ‘Mister, are you sure you didn’t reckon I was crazy enough, not tough or fast enough to go after the Wycliffes ?’

  ‘Nope. When we come here to start mining, there won’t be any trouble from the Kaddos.’

  ‘Just how do you figure that out?’

  ‘The U.S. Army’ll have tended to them for us.’

  ‘Why should they?’ Mark demanded. ‘The Kaddo’re reasonably peaceable and nobody wants this neck of the woods bad enough to come after it.’

  ‘I’ve spent time priming the Kaddos for trouble,’ Pegler said quietly. ‘One of the reasons they kept the peace was because they wanted guns before starting to make war. Another was that they figured no white folks wanted their land. Now they’ve got the guns—and figure somebody’s after the land.’

  ‘Meaning Wycliffe and his bunch?’

  ‘Meaning Wycliffe and his bunch. One of my men brought me word that they’d learned about the silver and were coming after it. A stinking peddler found out and sold the news to Churn Wycliffe. My man stayed long enough to learn what Wycliffe planned and then high-tailed it to me with the word. So I reckoned the time had finally come for me to kill off Joe Pegler.’

  ‘You burned your own place down?’ Mark said.

  ‘What better way to make sure that nobody could identify the bodies?’ the trader asked. ‘I had a couple of half-breed helpers and a pair of white trash. Between them they'd been robbing me blind for years. So I figured I might as well make them pay for it and be more use to me dead than they ever were alive. I couldn’t leave them alive and talking, and they’d’ve been nothing but trouble if I fetched them along.’

  Hooves drummed outside and the two men rose to look through the door. A party of braves rode into the camp area, heading for the chief’s tepee.

  ‘Who’re they?’ Mark asked.

  ‘Scouting parties. Bear Killer must’ve called them in.’

  ‘Why’d your men be trouble had you brought them here?’

  ‘One of their pards, a breed, used to come with me, but he laid hands on a Kaddo girl. I thought I was a goner then. The chief figured to hand the breed head down over a fire, only I showed him a better way. It was just after we’d rebuilt the windlass. I put the breed in the slot and we lowered that big block of granite down on to him. He held it off for nearly a minute before it got him. The sight satisfied the braves and kept them off me.’

  ‘So you figure to start the Kaddo on the warpath, then the cavalry’ll be sent to wipe them out, or shove them on to a reservation?'

  ‘Sure. Then we’ll come here, having already taken out the mineral rights to this area. I’m not good with a gun, that’s why I want somebody like you backing me.’

  Fury rose inside Mark as he looked at the trader. Even as he tensed to hurl himself at Pegler and finish the man with his bare hands, Mark heard a considerable commotion outside the tepee. Once again they went to the door, seeing Bear Killer and an elderly man approaching. From the excellent quality of his clothing, the designs on it and the buffalo skull headdress worn by the chief’s companion, Mark decided he must be a senior medicine man of the tribe. A moment later Pegler confirmed the conclusion.

  ‘Damn it!’ the trader snorted. ‘That's Moon Watcher. He was their boss medicine man afore I took over and hates my guts. What in hell does he want here?’

  Coming to a halt, Bear Killer spoke to Pegler and Mark could see that the words did not please the trader.

  ‘What’s up?’ Mark inquired.

  ‘Seems that some bucks were killed last night and they figure to take the warpath,’ Pegler answered. ‘Only that old bastard, Moon Watcher wants a sign that the Great Spirit favors war.’

  At that moment a group of braves appeared from a tepee dragging Churn Wycliffe between them. He looked in poor shape, half naked, hair and beard matted with blood, one arm crudely bandaged and a raw gash showed through a tear in his right trouser leg. Making nothing of Wycliffe’s feeble attempts to struggle, the braves dragged him to the end wall and thrust him into the slot. Looking at the windlass, Mark saw four braves stood at the handles and the block of granite hung over the slot’s mouth.

  ‘What the hell?’ Mark growled.

  ‘Moon Watcher asked for a sign, we’re going to give him one,’ Pegler replied. ‘When we put a fell
er under that block one time I told the Kaddos that they’d crush the white men like the rock crushed him. Bear Killer allows that Wycliffe’s a real strong feller and he’s putting him to the test. They’ll lower the block down easy. If Wycliffe can save himself, they’ll call off the war. Fact being, that’s why Bear Killer had you took alive, figured you’d give his boys some more sport. I warned him that you just might spoil his medicine, so he handed you over to me to soften up for later. Come on, this’s always worth watching.’

  Fifteen – A Slender Change to Keep the Peace

  Mark and Pegler walked forward, mingling with the Indians who stood before the canyon wall. Already the block started to sink down, the braves at the windlass strained against the drag it imposed upon the spindle. Crouched in the slot, Wycliffe suddenly became aware of the interest showed by the crowd. Looking up, he saw the block. A low moan of terror broke from his lips and he tried to move out of the slot. Standing ready to deal with such an action, two braves used their lances’ points to drive him back again.

  Sucking in a deep breath, Mark thought of things the Ysabel Kid told him about Indians. One thing all the fighting tribes had in common was their belief in good and bad medicine. When making ready for war they consulted the medicine men and asked for guidance, preferably a sign that the Great Spirit favored their line of action. Let anything happen to spoil their chosen medicine and they would not go out to fight.

  All too well Mark knew the horrors of an Indian war. Sure the U.S. Army possessed the weapons to whip the Kaddo, but first many white folk would die. After the Kaddo being so long at peace, the settlers around their country were unlikely to expect trouble. Unless something could be done to stop it, there would be murder, arson and looting—and a tribe of Indians, poor dupes of an evil white man, most likely wiped off the face of the earth.

  Only one thing could stop it happening, for the Kaddo’s medicine to be broken. Mark knew the only way that could be done and aimed to make a try at doing it.

  Before Pegler realized what he planned, Mark lunged forward. He went through the crowd like it did not exist, sprang forward to brush aside the lance-armed guards and went towards the slot. Shooting out his right hand, Mark caught Wycliffe by the neck and heaved him from beneath the rock. A low rumble of anger rolled from the crowd, then died as they realized that Mark did not merely save the other white man from being crushed.

  Turning, Mark backed into the slot. He bent his legs slightly, bowed his head forward and let the weight settle on his shoulders. Slowly and carefully he moved up his hands, placing the flat of his palms against the rough bottom of the block then bracing himself. The meal and rest in Pegler’s tepee had given him a chance to regain his full power and he knew that he was going to need every ounce of strength in the minutes ahead.

  Excited comments rose from the watching crowd. The braves at the windlass left the handles and moved to the edge of the ledge to see what happened. Giving a low snarl of rage, Pegler started to move forward. He guessed what Mark planned and fury filled him at what he regarded as the blond giant’s treachery. A powerful hand closed on the trader’s arm and halted him. Turning, Pegler looked into the cold eyes of the chief.

  ‘Leave him, Hair Face!’ Bear Killer ordered. ‘If your medicine is good, it cannot fail.’

  Something told Pegler that he had better not force the issue. Then he gave a shrug. Although he did not mention the fact to Mark, the block had been used to crush men more than once. After the first demonstration the Kaddo used it on their own law-breakers or other Indians who fell into their hands. No man ever survived the crushing weight of the block. With the big man dead, the Kaddo would take to the warpath and Pegler ought to be able to slip away in the confusion. Skilled fighting men had never been in such short supply in Texas that he could not hire other help to push through his plans.

  After stopping the rock’s downward movement, Mark studied the situation and made a shocking discovery. It had been his intention to tip the rock forward from the slot and found it to be impossible. The old Spanish miners knew their work. To prevent accidents they cut the slot narrower at the front than against the wall and carved the block accordingly. So it could not be turned out at the front and must go back through the top.

  That left only one way out of the problem.

  Slowly Mark started to thrust upwards with his hands and shoulders while his powerful leg muscles fought to straighten him up. At first nothing happened, the block remaining exactly where it had been when the braves released the windlass handles. Then slowly, so slowly at first that even the eagle-eyed Bear Killer failed to detect the movement, the mass of granite began to rise. Mark’s legs straightened, bracing apart on the rocky ground. Gradually the weight on his shoulders eased but it grew upon his arms.

  Much as he wanted, Mark knew he must not stop his attempt at lifting. If the weight sank down he could never raise it again. Before his eyes swam a picture of blazing cabins, screaming women and children being killed, all the horrors that would be turned loose should he fail. He could not hear the excited chatter of the braves as they watched that great block of granite slowly move upwards.

  Pegler’s eyes bulged in disbelief as he watched the darker mass of the block show above the level of the ledge. First an inch showed, then two, three and more. The trader realized what Mark’s actions meant. If the blond giant lifted the block back on to the ledge, the Kaddo would consider their medicine bad. Even now only the young, hot-headed bucks called for war. Older, wiser heads debated long, with many calls to follow the Comanche’s lead in making a permanent peace. Given the sight of their prime war medicine broken, those who sought peace could present an argument even the most hob headed buck understood.

  That could not be allowed to happen. With a fortune in silver waiting, nothing must happen to ruin Pegler’s plans.

  Forcing himself to act calmly and walk with a nonchalant air, Pegler stepped away from Bear Killer. Then he made his way towards the wall, eyes on Mark all the time. Already the block stood well over halfway out of the slot. Strain contorted Mark’s face and his muscular frame quivered in its giant effort. If anything happened to ruin his concentration, the granite would crush him to the ground. With that thought in mind, Pegler slid the knife from his belt sheath. He held it so the Indians could not see the blade in his hand.

  Mark saw the knife and understood its purpose. Gathering himself, he put every last ounce of strength he possessed into a final surging thrust. Up shot the block, tilting forward at the top of the slot. For a moment it hung motionless and then the weight dragged it over. Mark felt the pressure leaving his arms and heard the wild shouts of the crowd.

  Knife held for a belly-ripping slash, Pegler lunged towards the slot. Then he sensed rather than saw the black mass tumbling towards him. Maybe if he had continued forward he might have saved himself. Instead he dug in his front foot and tried to throw his body back to safety. Down came the block, four hundred pounds of granite, on to Pegler. He screamed once, then bones crushed and blood burst from ruptured flesh as the block squashed him into the ground.

  Weak with exhaustion Mark fell against the back of the slot. Though sweat half blinded him, he saw and heard enough to tell him what happened to Pegler. Much as he felt the man deserved to die, Mark pitied him and nausea rose at the sight of what lay under the block.

  The sight caused even the Indians to draw back and stare with horror-filled eyes. Before any of them recovered, hooves drummed loud, coming along the canyon.

  A huge white stallion thundered up. Seated on it was a tall, lean man who wore only a blue breechclout and moccasins, with a gunbelt supporting a Dragoon Colt at one side and bowie knife on the other about his waist. Maybe he had shorter hair than any Indian brave, but he carried a war lance in his right hand and his face bore the savage lines of a warrior on the rampage.

  Bringing his stallion to a rump-sliding halt, the rider landed on his feet between Mark and the Kaddo. Amazement showed on their faces as they stared at
the apparition and superstitious awe rose in every breast for none could think from where the newcomer sprang.

  On backtracking Mark’s stallion, the Ysabel Kid had read the story of its flight and finally reached the trading post. Again the sign told him all he needed to know, that his amigo had been taken a prisoner by the Kaddo. Then the Kid stopped being a white man and turned into that most deadly of fighting machines, a Comanche Dog Soldier.

  Although he travelled light, he carried, as always, a pair of moccasins and the breechclout of his mother’s people. Stripping off his white man’s clothing, he donned the dress of a pehnane who rode to war Pukutsi—and when a pehnane rode that way he aimed to raise all hell and shove a chuck under it. Dressed and armed in a fitting manner, with his other clothes bundled on the blood bay’s saddle, he set off to rescue the blond giant or die in the attempt. When a pehnane went Pukutsi there were no half measures, he could only succeed or be killed to stop him.

  To a man of the Kid’s ability there was no difficulty in following the tracks of Mark’s captors. Even when it became too dark for him to read sign, his ears showed him the way.

  On arrival at the canyon, the Kid saw Mark take Wycliffe’s place under the block and guessed what might be happening. Before leaving his grandfather’s new camp, the Kid heard a medicine woman tell of the unrest among the Kaddo. How she knew, he could not imagine, but she claimed the other tribe believed they possessed medicine to crush the white men. If Mark knew of that, he might be trying to break the medicine.

  Another alternative came to mind. Occasionally Indians would give a prisoner they admired a trial of strength or courage by which he could win his freedom. In such trials the chances of success were negligible, but the Kid knew better than interfere. To charge down in a do-or-die rescue attempt might distract Mark, cause him to weaken his hold and bring the rock upon him. So the Kid sat and watched, amazed despite his knowledge of Mark’s great strength. From his place the Kid could not see Pegler clearly enough to recognize the danger. Before he realized what the trader intended, the rock fell and saved him from further concern on that score. Setting his horse running, he charged down to make sure that Mark received his winner’s due.