The Floating Outfit 13

by J. T. Edson

  ‘Would you?’ said the Kid dryly. ‘I sure hope those fellers in the other places watch their backs.’

  Before sending the men to their positions, the Kid had lectured them on Comanche tactics and hoped that his warnings had sunk in. Rising, he once more crossed the corral and heard the crackle of shots from the main building. He reached the front of the corral in time to check the men there and prevent them from wasting bullets by firing at the fast riding attackers who struck at the flank of the blacksmith’s shop. Any objections the soldiers might have felt at not being allowed to help their comrades died as they saw the Waw’ai pull back.

  For a time the Waw’ai made darting rushes which halted before coming in too close, yet kept the defenders on the alert, drew fire and wasted Army bullets with little effect. Once in a while an Indian would be hit, but not often enough to repay the number of bullets used and which failed to strike home. Manners saw that and took advantage of a lull in the rushes to yell a warning.

  ‘Hold down the shooting, Sergeant O’Neil!’ he yelled. ‘Make sure you’re going to hit something afore you throw lead.’

  ‘Yo!’ came O’Neil’s reply from the barn.

  ‘You hear me, Corporal Saggers?’ Manners continued.

  ‘Yo!’ answered the non-com in command of the party in the forge.

  However it seemed that the Waw’ai had given up their tactics, for no more rushes came. Time dragged by and the Kid searched the range anxiously. After such a string of victories, it hardly seemed likely that Sidewinder’s men would give up so easily. By now there would be deaths to avenge and each brave had the inducement of obtaining repeating carbines should they over-run the soldiers defending the station. No sir, the Kid knew they were far from being out of the wood.

  Then it happened!

  Down swarmed by far the largest body of Waw’ai horsemen so far seen at one time. The ground shook under the thunder of hooves and the massed bunch headed for the main building. To do so they must run through the horseshoe curve formed by the barn, forge and corral. Having been heavily overgrazed and constantly worn at by countless wheels and hooves, the immediate area surrounding the station held only a sparse coating of grass. The dry earth churned up into rolling clouds of dust under the Waw’ai horses, swirling around the attackers and making them difficult targets. In the main house Manners shot at a blurred shape, saw it slide from its horse—or thought he did, for the horse still carried a rider.

  In the face of such a concentrated attack, the men at the front of the forge emptied their carbines. After watching the rear for a time, the soldiers turned to help their comrades at the front. There had been no sign of attackers at the rear and so the soldiers wanted to throw their weight where it would do must good. O’Neil swung around, meaning to drive the men back to their posts and caught a chance Indian bullet between the shoulders. Left without a leader, the soldiers gathered at the front and overlooked the fact that a door and two large windows faced the rear.

  Darting forward on foot, a dozen or so Waw’ai arrived unseen at the rear of the barn. Some of them came around the outer side and all held firearms of one kind or another. Glass shattered as the braves smashed the windows, then the door burst in. Although the soldiers turned, lead ripped into them. Three men fell with their weapons pointing out of the front, two more died as they tried to turn and fight. Firing at the Waw’ai, one of the remaining pair sought cover in a stall. His companion cut down one before a rifle blasted through the window at his back and he fell. For a time the soldier in the stall fought, but his Spencer only held seven bullets fully loaded and he had been using it at the attackers before the building. Sighting at a brave who dived through the window, the soldier heard a hollow click instead of feeling a recoil kick and catching the sound of the exploding powder’s roar. Dropping the empty carbine, he reached for his Army Colt and a bullet from a Winchester rifle ripped into his head. The barn was now in Waw’ai hands.

  Much the same happened at the forge. Being more open than the barn, the men at the rear saw everything that happened and decided that they would be better employed helping at the front instead of watching the rear. To their amazement, they suddenly found themselves assaulted from the rear and sides by braves on foot. A savage, bloody little struggle took place in the forge as rifle butts, knives and even the shoeing-hammers were wielded. Up close like that firearms were of no use and soldiers, out-numbered as well as taken by surprise, fought gallantly but with little hope of victory. Two of their number, seeing the others go down, made a dash for the main building. Down swept a brave carrying a U.S. Army lance and its head skewered the nearer soldier. Two bullets struck his companion and he crumpled into the churned-up dirt.

  Firing his rifle fast, the Kid tumbled the lance-carrier just an instant too late to save the soldier. Then he realized what had happened. Yelling to the men around him to carry on, he turned and ran through the horses to the rear. He came in time to find the men preparing to leave their posts so as to help those at the front.

  ‘Watch those bushes!’ the Kid roared, his rifle coming up and roaring.

  ‘Any doubts the defenders might have felt ended as they saw a Waw’ai buck rear up into sight, spin around and fall. Then more of the Indians burst into view; only they were uninjured, armed and making a determined charge.

  ‘Pour it in to ’em!’ roared the Kid, right hand blurring the Winchester’s loading lever.

  Not that he needed to give the order, the men with him saw their danger and acted on it. Shot after shot tore into the charging attackers and the soldiers fired with the carbines rested on the corral fence rails to gain added accuracy. Aiming at an advancing brave, the Kid heard the awesome scream of an angry stallion followed by the cry of a man in mortal pain. He squeezed off the shot, saw his man crash to the ground and swung towards the origin of the scream. While he could see nothing but whirling dust and milling horses, the Kid guessed what had happened. Obviously the Waw’ai played the old Comanche trick of coming to the attack with a number of braves riding double and the man at the rear slipping unnoticed, if he could, off the horse at an opportune moment.

  One such brave had reached and entered the corral. Unfortunately for him, he came across the Kid’s big stallion. While Thunder remained peaceable and allowed the soldiers to move by him as long as they kept their distance, the same did not apply to a Waw’ai making a sudden appearance close up when he stunk of hate.

  Slipping between the corral rails, the Kid darted along the outside. His rifle spat twice, tumbling a charging brave into the dirt, Then he reached a point where he could see the braves of whom Thunder’s victim had been one. Seeing the fate of their companion, they remained outside the corral and moved around to take the soldiers at the front by surprise.

  Flame spurted from the Kid’s rifle and its lever moved like a blur. Two of the braves fell, then a third spun around as a bullet caught him. The rest of the small group whirled about to meet the fresh danger and the Kid shot twice more while the nearest soldiers heard their danger and also cut in. Under such a hail of lead the Waw’ai broke and darted away.

  When forming his plan, Sidewinder counted on the soldiers being armed with the usual Springfield carbines. Instead, his men ran into the rapid-shooting Spencers and broke before the repeated fire. Whirling their horses, they retired the way they had come. Scooping up fallen, wounded companions, or men who had ridden up behind companions before fighting on foot, the Indians withdrew.

  Not all though. The braves who took the barn and forge remained in their positions and most of them held firearms. A bullet ripped the air over the Kid’s head and he dived into the corral. Swiftly he fed ammunition through the Winchester’s loading slot until its magazine was full once more.

  ‘We’re in trouble,’ stated the soldier at the Kid’s right side, a grizzled veteran with long experience to guide his summing up of the situation.

  ‘Looks that way,’ the Kid agreed as a bullet from the forge sent splinters of wood flying. ‘I do
n’t reckon we can hold out here.’

  While their position in the corral had been reasonably safe before, the loss of the barn and forge changed all that. Instead of having friends giving covering fire from the two buildings, the Kid’s party now found themselves in inadequate shelter and being fired on,

  ‘Looks that way,’ admitted the soldier.

  ‘Hey, Jeff!’ yelled the Kid.

  ‘Yes?’ came Manners’ reply from the house.

  ‘We’ll have to come over there and chance losing the hosses. They’ve got the barn and forge.’

  ‘Hold hard until I can organize covering fire.’

  ‘Yo!’ answered the Kid and looked at the soldier. ‘Go bring in the men from the other side.’

  Even as he spoke, the Kid knew just how little time they had. Already the Waw’ai formed up once more. Another rush, backed by the men at the forge, would see the corral guard wiped out and the horses freed. Then the Waw’ai could withdraw without loss of face, having gathered up loot and counted coup. Bitter disappointment filled the Kid as he scanned the enemy ranks in the hope of seeing Sidewinder. The chief still did not make an appearance and the Kid cursed. It seemed that he would either die, or be driven into the house, without having a chance to kill his old enemy.

  The old soldier brought the other men forward and they lay in what cover they could find. All understood the gravity of the situation and their set faces told the Kid he did not need to emphasize it.

  ‘All right,’ he said quietly. ‘As soon as the folks at the house start shooting we’ll run. Go like hell—and go shooting.’

  Before anybody could reply, a Waw’ai let out a wild yell and the whole bunch came racing forward in a rush that sought to crush the Kid’s party by sheer weight of numbers.

  Chapter Fifteen – A Chance To Make A Lasting Peace

  Something hissed through the air over the Kid’s head and exploded above the charging Waw’ai. An. instant later a different hissing sounded and he saw a strange, smoke-trailing object curve from behind him to strike the ground ahead of the attackers and erupt in a cloud of flame. Men and horses had gone down under the first mid-air explosion and the Waw’ai tried to rein their mounts to a halt. Rearing, sliding, emitting screams of fear, the horses slammed into each other and only superb riding kept the Indians astride.

  On a rim nine hundred yards away, Dusty Fog watched through his borrowed field glasses. To one side of him a soldier slid another Hale Spin-Stabilized rocket into the launcher, checked his aim and fired it. Not quite so quick to reload, the Mountain howitzer to Dusty’s other side bellowed out as the rocket streaked its eerie way through the air. Using spherical case shells, which exploded in mid-air by means of a time-fuse, the howitzer gunner showed his skill. Again his charge exploded right where it did most good, just over the heads of the disrupted Waw’ai. With only a light bursting charge in the case, the shell lacked power, yet its moral effect was great and it did put down a couple of men and a horse or so each time.

  Far more effective, for once, proved the rockets. Using an incendiary charge which threw up a sheet of flame on impact, the Hale rocket served to throw the already disrupted Indians into a panic.

  ‘We only just came in time,’ Dusty said to Mark Counter who stood at his side. ‘Here comes the cavalry.’

  Across to the left of the Waw’ai, a troop of cavalry came into sight and launched a charge. After their repulses at the station, followed by the howitzer and rocket bombardment, the Waw’ai needed only to see the arrival of the cavalry to conclude their medicine had gone completely bad. Long before contact could be made with them, they burst into fast-riding fragments, tiny groups of men speeding away at full speed and with only one aim in mind, to save their necks.

  At the corral the Kid saw what happened and rose, ducking through the rails. ‘Come on!’ he yelled. ‘We’ve got to clear those yahoos out of the barn.’

  Already the Waw’ai in the barn and forge knew their danger. True to their Comanche upbringing, a party of braves tried to bring mounts to their friends. The Kid and his companions risked death to shoot at the riders, for he knew that no greater disgrace could befall a Comanche warrior than to leave living friends to fall into enemy hands.

  Although not sure just how the help came to be on hand, Manners wasted no time in leading a rush of men from the main building, charging at the barn—half of the party making for the forge. Faced with such opposition, the Waw’ai broke and ran, to be picked off by the soldiers. Not one brave who left either place reached safety and none were taken prisoner. Sidewinder’s raid had ended. After such a crushing defeat he would need long days of medicine-making before he might hope to induce the braves to follow him.

  ‘Are you all right, Lon?’ asked Dusty, having come tearing upon his big paint stallion.

  ‘Sure,’ the Kid replied, seeing the relief on his two friends’ faces as they dropped from their horses and advanced on him. ‘You pair come just in time.’

  ‘It looked that way,’ drawled Mark.

  ‘How’d you get here just right?’ the Kid inquired.

  ‘That soldier you left with the wounded cowhand used his head,’ Dusty explained. ‘The two of them rode double, aiming to reach the Fort and had some luck. They picked up a hoss that’s been turned loose to range-graze and made good time. From what the cowhand told us, General Handiman figured you might need some help and we had a talk with Long Walker. It was him who told us where to come. Lord knows how he knew, but he was right.’

  While Dusty and Mark stood talking with the Kid, soldiers entered the barn or forge. Soon the men came out once more, gathered in a group close to where the Texans stood. Anger showed on each soldiers’ face, for all had lost friends when the two positions were over-run.

  ‘Them damned Injuns!’ one of the soldiers spat out. ‘And to think we’re feeding ’em at the Fort and’re ready to make peace with ’em.’

  ‘I say we ought to go back and hand them the same as they gave our boys,’ another went on.

  ‘Soldier!’ the word cracked from Dusty’s lips and drew every eye to him. ‘It was one of those Indians back at the Fort who told us where to find you. Then, so that we could get the howitzer and rockets here, some more of them loaned us their best pack horses. They did it even though they knew it would get some of their people killed, Some of them even guided us out here. We’d never’ve reached you in time without their help.’

  ‘So?’ asked the first speaker sullenly.

  ‘So this,’ Dusty answered. ‘I don’t know what you figure your life’s worth. But whatever you figure on it, that’s just what you owe to Long Walker and the other Comanche chiefs.’

  Having been one of the Kid’s party at the corral, the soldier knew just how slight his chance of reaching safety had been. He looked at Dusty, then to Mark and the Kid. Something in the Texans’ eyes warned him not to take the matter further, even though he could not see the people Dusty claimed to have helped them.

  One of the men from the main building, not appreciating the danger of the corral party, felt less inclined to accept the Texans’ words.

  ‘That bunch we’ve been after for the past two days sure had a strange way of wanting peace,’ he stated.

  ‘There’re good and bad in every race, soldier,’ Mark replied. ‘Those Waw’ai didn’t want peace. But there’re white men who feel the same way. Only they don’t go out and raid, they just supply the Indians with guns and let them do it.’

  ‘Why’d they do that?’ demanded the soldier.

  ‘To make folks feel like you do now,’ Dusty explained, ‘To make them hate all Indians, even the ones who want peace.’

  While the Texans put a different complexion on the matter, the soldier did not feel entirely assured.

  ‘That bunch didn’t want peace,’ he repeated

  ‘They will after the mauling you handed them,’ Dusty answered. ‘And it was you here at the station who licked ’em. Sure we helped chase them off. But you men held them here, kept
them so busy that they didn’t see us coming. It’s you who’ve broken Sidewinder’s medicine. His men won’t follow him again.’

  ‘Which same I never saw Sidewinder,’ the Kid said bitterly. Looking across the range, he knew that there would be no chance of finding the chief’s tracks among the many which left the area. If he had known the tracks of Sidewinder’s horse the Kid might have accomplished something. Without that knowledge, he could only guess at which fleeing group included the chief. It seemed that once more Ka-Dih favored Sidewinder and allowed the chief to slip through the Kid’s hands.

  ‘Hey. Look there!’ yelled one of the soldiers and pointed off across the range.

  On turning, Dusty, Mark and the Kid saw a welcome sight. Colonel Goodnight rode towards them, accompanied by Long Walker, War Club and four other elderly Comanches, driving a large bunch of riderless horses.

  ‘Those’re your Indians who don’t want peace,’ Dusty told the soldier. ‘Long Walker and War Club, two chiefs of the Pehnane. The others are the chiefs of the Yap-Eaters, Liver-Eaters, Water Horse and Burnt Meat Bands. They’re the ones who told us about the raid,’ Dusty felt he could tell a small lie under the circumstances, ‘and who got us here in time to help you out.’

  ‘How’d they know about the raids?’ asked the soldiers.

  ‘Likely got the word from a medicine man,’ the Kid put in. ‘And don’t sell them short, soldier. They know things that no fancy Eastern professor can explain.’

  ‘No matter how they knew,’ Mark went on. ‘They got us here and it looks like they’ve brought in all the horses the Waw’ai picked up on the raids.’

  ‘That won’t bring back the folks those other Indians’ve killed,’ protested the soldier who had done most of the talking.

  ‘Look around, you, soldier!’ Dusty ordered. ‘There are fifty or more dead Waw’ai hereabouts, not counting any the others carried away. Just how many more lives do you want?’

  No reply came from the soldiers and they stood in a silent group. Yet Dusty knew he had given them food for thought. Then Manners came out of the barn, face haggard and body drooping in tiredness. Slowly he walked over to the Texans.