The Floating Outfit 42: Buffalo Are Coming!

by J. T. Edson

  ‘Why don’t you ask me to bet night doesn’t follow day?’ Freddie replied with a smile. ‘I’ll say one thing about you, darling, you really want an edge when you offer a bet. Although I will admit that Waco in particular can be a bit more original than that when there’s an excuse to be made.’

  ‘That he can,’ Dusty agreed, but there was neither sting nor animosity to the words. Like all the other members of the floating outfit, he regarded the blond youngster as a favorite younger brother. ‘But he claims he wasn’t nearly so ready a liar before he met up with us.’

  ‘I can well imagine that,’ the Englishwoman declared, watching the quartet turning to leave the sidewalk and cross the street. Then, seeing the Ysabel Kid reel and lose his hat, even though she was unable to hear the crack of the rifle from the left side alley, she guessed what had happened and gasped, ‘My god, somebody’s shot Lon!’

  Having reached the same conclusion, the small Texan did not reply. Instead, cursing himself for having left his gunbelt in the bedroom with his other property, he reached down to twist the key in the lock of the French windows. Telling Freddie to get the ‘elephant gun’ from the cabinet for him, he lunged through. As he arrived on the verandah, a bullet was fired from behind the sign board on the roof of the building at the other side of the street.

  Five – They’ve Got Dusty As Well

  Despite being taken completely unawares by the shot, Mark Counter, Waco and Doc Leroy were not frozen into immobility by panic!

  Having spent much of their lives in precarious situations, the three Texans reacted rapidly and in accordance with the way they respectively believed the situation should be dealt!

  The Ysabel Kid was sent staggering by the bullet to collide with the blond giant, but he hardly so much as swayed under the unexpected impact. Instead, scooping the crumpling body of his black dressed amigo into his arms with no more apparent effort than if lifting a newborn baby, he swung and raced for the shelter offered by the corner of the building they had been passing. While doing so, such was the intense loyalty the members of Ole Devil Hardin’s floating outfit felt for one another, he twisted his massive torso to act as a shield in case the unknown assailant meant to continue firing in their direction.

  Throwing a quick glance, Waco discovered that the Kid had been hit. Although he now only rarely employed the profanity which had accompanied practically every sentence before he had joined the elite core of the OD Connected ranch’s crew, an obscenity burst from the youngster. However, he did not restrict himself merely to cursing. Even as he was speaking, sending both hands to sweep the staghorn butted Colt Artillery Model Peacemaker revolvers from their contoured holsters, he sprang from the sidewalk. Armed and ready to open fire by the time he alighted, he set off across the street. Running swiftly at an angle over the wheel-rutted surface, he was making for the alley from which the shot had come.

  With the ivory handled Colt Civilian Model Peacemaker seeming to join his right fist in midair, so rapidly did he bring it from its holster, the Wedge trail hand was on the point of accompanying the departing blond youngster. His medical training had not yet been completed, but the instincts he had already acquired caused him to change his mind before he could put the first inclination into being. Knowing the Kid had shown signs of being struck in the head by the bullet, the gravity of the situation was all too obvious to him. He was aware that, should the wound not be fatal, seconds delayed in starting to attend to it could spell the difference between life and death. Therefore, he turned and dashed after Mark instead of going with Waco.

  Making for the opening, seeing the barrel of a Winchester rifle being withdrawn beyond the end of the Fair Lady Saloon, the blond youngster’s attention was diverted to the flood of light which appeared through a window on the second floor as the drapes were drawn open. From his recollection of the building’s lay out, he concluded it was originating from the sitting-room of Freddie Woods’ private living accommodation.

  Almost as if wishing to verify the assumption for Waco, having jerked open the French windows, Dusty Fog came into view on the verandah!

  Before the blond youngster could call out to the small Texan, coming from behind him this time, he heard another rifle shot!

  Once again, Waco discovered that he was not the intended target!

  Before the youngster could feel any relief over not having been selected by the second would-be assailant, who was—he deduced from the sound—situated well above ground level, alarm flooded through him as he saw another member of the floating outfit was pitching sideways!

  ‘Oh my god!’ Waco breathed, his voice filled with torment. ‘They’ve got Dusty as well!’

  ‘So much for that white bastard, Johnson!’ ‘Hugo Budapest’ announced, twisting himself and his smoking Winchester Model of 1873 rifle behind the right edge of the signboard after having seen Dusty Fog plunging out of the light from the open French windows on being fired at by him. ‘Getting the beef-head son-of-a-bitch was easy!’

  ‘The hell you got him!’ contradicted ‘Ivan Boski’, keeping watch from the other end of the convenient hiding place on the roof overlooking the frontage of the Fair Lady Saloon. ‘You missed the bastard and he’s only dived into the shadows. Pass me the rifle and I’ll soon show you how to finish him off.’

  ‘I will not, you could’ve bought one for yourself and didn’t!’ the Osage refused, only approving of the ‘share and share alike’ philosophy preached by his kind when it would be himself on the receiving end. ‘I’ll give him another, if it’ll make you feel any easier. But I know I’ve already nailed him.’

  ‘Then do it, instead of just talking!’ the Creek commanded savagely. ‘Somebody below will have heard you shoot—!’

  ‘You get scared awful easy!’ ‘Budapest’ sneered, but being equally aware of the possibility he decided against a delay that was merely intended to show his disinclination to take orders from a member of what he considered a lesser tribe to his own.

  The brief, yet acrimonious, conversation was typical of the attitude all four Indians displayed towards one another. Although supposedly united in a common cause, age-old tribal rivalries and their own selfish, self important natures made each determined to exhibit what he considered to be his superiority over the others. It was a realization of the danger posed to the scheme by their mutually argumentative behavior which had led the men financing them to insist upon Walter Johnson being in command of the party.

  Earlier that afternoon, faced by the pessimistic assessment of their chances by the New Englander, the younger conspirators had grudgingly conceded he possessed a far greater local knowledge than any of them. Therefore, they had reluctantly given up the idea of hiring men to remove what they still insisted was a threat to the scheme, especially as they had no idea of how to hire local gunman. Instead, goaded by an ill-advised remark from Johnson, who had made it obvious he doubted whether any of them possessed the necessary ability or courage to deal with the causes of their concern, they had declared they would do it themselves. Although he had stated his disapproval and repeated his assertion that there was no reason for any such attempt, he had discovered they were adamant and would go ahead without his assistance if necessary. Therefore, he had concluded that self-preservation dictated he should not leave the planning of the venture in their hands.

  Everything the New Englander knew about such matters warned him of the very grave danger which was likely to be encountered when up against men with the considerable experience of gun fighting possessed by Dusty Fog and the Ysabel Kid. Even discounting the practically unavoidable participation by their almost as competent companions, either would prove an exceptionally capable and dangerous adversary. Nothing Johnson had seen of his associates led him to assume that, collectively or individually, they were even close to being a match for such high class and effective competition.

  Having had such a consideration in mind, while willing to have devoted the majority of his wiles towards helping the young men to achiev
e their purpose, Johnson had also decided it was mandatory to direct a proportion of his attention to lessen the chance of being implicated personally in case of failure. With the latter point in mind, he had been grateful for the precautions already taken to prevent his connection with the Indians from becoming known. At his instigation, he, Kevin Roddy and Francis Morrell had arrived at Mulrooney the day before the 4Bohemians’.

  Paying the visit to the Grimsdyke Temperance Hotel, he had contrived to reach their rooms without being seen by the desk clerk or anybody else on the premises and had intended to ensure his departure was just as unobserved.

  There had been suspicious looks from the four Indians when informed by the new Englander that he and the other two white men would not be playing an active part in the proposed assassination. He had pointed that, if any of them were to do so and should be seen and identified, it would prove detrimental to the remainder of the scheme. Playing upon their pretense of being fully trained warriors, despite knowing none of them had acquired the requisite skills to justify the claim, he had persuaded the quartet that they possessed a knowledge of fighting which he and the two younger Easterners lacked.

  Getting his way on the vital issue of active participation, Johnson had stated that the quartet would carry out their assignments dressed as cowhands. All the necessary attire and firearms could be purchased without difficulty in the town and the disguise would prevent the real motive being suspected when the local peace officers, who he had warned were led by a man far from being a stupid country bumpkin, questioned witnesses. To further ensure their acquiescence and co-operation, he had promised that he would pay for everything they required out of the funds put at his disposal by their backers to cover the incidental expenses of the trip.

  To give Johnson his due, even though motivated by the proviso he had set for his own welfare, he had done everything he could to give the Indians the best possible chance of achieving their purpose!

  Having arranged to meet the four ‘Bohemians’ elsewhere later, so as to explain how the assassination was to be carried out, the Easterners had been successful in leaving the hotel without being seen by any of its other occupants. On returning to the Fair Lady Saloon, he had discovered that the Texans with whom he had spoken earlier had left to attend to their respective affairs. Then, without any of the donors realizing they were being pumped for it, he had continued to put to use all his considerable experience to set about acquiring the rest of the information he required. From what he had learned about the present locations and most probable future activities of the intended victims, backed by a careful study of the surrounding terrain, he had been able to concoct a plan which he had considered would fulfill their needs.

  Leaving Roddy and Morrell at the saloon to watch out for the two Texans, Johnson had attended the rendezvous with the Indians. Although he had given them sufficient money to purchase the necessary clothing, plus a handgun and Winchester Model of 1873 rifle apiece, he had found that only ‘Budapest’ and ‘Peter Romanov’ had obtained the shoulder arm. Having done as the New Englander instructed, by going to different stores to fill their respective needs, ‘Boski’ and ‘Rudolph Petrovich’ claimed the prices were so high at the establishments which received their custom that they could only afford a secondhand Colt Cavalry Model Peacemaker each after having purchased their cowhand style attire. Refraining from stating his belief that they were lying and had pocketed the difference, Johnson saw that they had all taken one piece of advice he had given. Knowing that wearing the specialized footwear of a cowhand required considerable use to ensure ease of movement, he had warned against buying high heeled, sharp toed boots, and none had done so. Grateful that they had obeyed him up to a point, he had told them where to go and how to achieve their purpose.

  Basing his plans upon what he had learned and seen, Johnson had known from which direction the Ysabel Kid was almost certain to return from the livery barn. Making a shrewd guess that he would not cross the street earlier, the New Englander had instructed ‘Petrovich’ and ‘Romanov’ to lie in wait down an alley near the Fair Lady Saloon. He did not know that, wanting to make their task as easy as possible, they had selected a position much closer than he had intended.

  ‘Budapest’ and ‘Boski’, on the other hand, had done exactly as they were told!

  Having learned that Dusty Fog would be in Freddie Woods’ private living accommodation at the front of the saloon, the New Englander had taken advantage of the second floor of the building opposite being unoccupied after sundown. An investigation had informed him that access to the flat roof was rendered less difficult by an outside flight of stairs leading to one of the offices at the rear. Following orders, the Osage and the Creek had attained their hiding place from which they had kept watch until their selected victim appeared on the verandah to investigate the shooting of his companion.

  From what they had heard on the street below their position, and from the sight of the small Texan coming through the French windows, the two young Indians concluded that Johnson had been correct in his assumptions. However, they were in less accord over the result of the shot fired by ‘Budapest’.

  Easing himself and the Winchester cautiously from behind the edge of the signboard, the Osage gave a hiss of satisfaction when unable to locate Dusty Fog. Then he became aware that the owner of the saloon had come on to the verandah. What was more, she was already lining a weapon in his direction. Noticing it had double barrels, he decided there was no cause for concern. At the distance which was separating them, he felt convinced the cloud of shot she discharged would have spread to such an extent that he was unlikely to be hit. Or, even if any of the tiny balls should do so, they would be almost at the end of their flight and travelling too slowly to do any harm.

  Satisfied that he had nothing to fear from the beautiful and elegantly clad woman, ‘Budapest’ returned his attention to searching for what he had no doubt would prove to be the lifeless body of the small Texan.

  Ivan Boski had drawn a more accurate conclusion than either his companion or Waco with regards to the shot fired by ‘Budapest’!

  Hearing the eerie ‘splat!’ caused by what he knew to be a bullet splitting the air close to his head, Dusty Fog responded to the emergency with an alacrity equaling that shown by his companions a few seconds earlier!

  Being without weapons of any kind, until Freddie Woods could carry out his request by delivering the British-made Holland & Holland double barreled rifle from the cabinet in the sitting-room, the small Texan threw himself towards the bench seat on the right side of the French windows. Although it did not offer either shelter or protection from the man on the opposite roof, he was more concerned with getting out of the light coming from behind him and into the shadows alongside the wall.

  Still inside the building, the beautiful black haired woman was also made aware of the danger. The bullet which had so narrowly missed Dusty passed between her and Babsy Smith as the little Cockney started to dash forward. Instead of letting out screeches and descending into a state of terrified immobility—practically the only responses to gun fire allowed a heroine in the majority of action-escapism-adventure fiction—each continued to follow the course to which she had committed herself.

  Jerking open the doors of the glass fronted cabinet, Freddie snatched out the weapon requested by Dusty. Drawing back its hammers with deft skill, while striding swiftly through the French windows, she called for the little blonde to fetch the Purdey shotguns in case they too should be required. Furthermore, in keeping with her birth and upbringing as a member of one of Britain’s oldest noble families, she did not restrict her activities to merely handing over the firearm and withdrawing to safety. Realizing she might not be presented with an opportunity to do so, she was ready, willing and capable of taking action herself.

  Like the small Texan and the blond youngster on the street below, the Englishwoman had assessed the general direction from which the shot had come. Almost as soon as she emerged from the sitti
ng-room, aided by her summation, she set about the task of locating the would-be killer. Deciding the signboard on the roof of the building at the other side of the street was the most likely possibility, she turned her gaze immediately in that direction. For a moment, she thought that she was wrong. Then a movement drew her attention to its right side. Watching the straight line of the edge start to develop a slight bulge, she realized how this was caused. The man had withdrawn behind the signboard for some reason after shooting at Dusty, but was looking around it once more.

  The discovery convinced Freddie that there would not be sufficient time for her to pass the Holland & Holland to the small Texan!

  The sound of the weapon across the street had been characteristic of a Winchester, not one of the various single shot rifles of larger caliber!

  Therefore, the would-be killer was practically certain to have several more bullets ready for immediate disposal!

  What was more, anybody on the verandah was in a most exposed position from the opposite roof!

  Swinging up the Holland & Holland, with the smooth speed indicative of considerable practice, the beautiful Englishwoman was completely oblivious of how incongruous her behavior—taken in conjunction with the elegant and revealingly form-fitting gown she had donned for the evening’s entertainment downstairs—might have struck a chance onlooker. She had no thoughts for anything other than what she was doing. By the time she had settled the brass butt plate against her thinly covered right shoulder, while her right thumb was instinctively operating the manual safety catch positioned conveniently on the top tang of the stock, she was already gazing along the rib between the twin barrels.

  A moment after her employer had located the would-be killer, Babsy came through the French windows. Showing a surprising grasp of the situation, she had amended the order she was given. While she was carrying one of the Purdey shotguns in her right hand, the left was grasping the ivory handle of a Colt Civilian Model Peacemaker. Turning her worried gaze to where she had seen Dusty disappearing in a plunging dive, she gave a gasp of relief on discovering her fears for his well being were unfounded. However, instead of delaying until she had expressed her feelings verbally, she swerved in his direction holding forward the weapons.