The floating outfit 59, p.15
The Floating Outfit 59, page 15
‘Your animosity is justified, young lady,’ Stubel told her in a pained voice. ‘But, please, not “fat”. I prefer the term “well-padded”.’
‘Have it your way,’ Calamity grinned. ‘You’re a cool one, I’ll give you that!’
‘Cool, maybe. But hardly as smart as I believed. Of course, Captain Fog, it was pure good fortune which led you to the right place at the right time.’
‘Not all the way,’ Dusty objected. ‘We arrested two of your men in Trail End and learned about the other places you’d bought. Working from them, it wasn’t hard to figure you were headed west along the Deccan Valley. Got the map, picked these farms and made for them. The rest was easy.’
‘May I congratulate you on your performance?’ Stubel asked. ‘Possibly a little overdone in retrospect, but adequate, sir, most adequate.’ He gave a low sigh. ‘And anyway, if I may say so without causing offence, one finds it difficult to reconcile your appearance with your reputation.’
‘What the hell’s that mean?’ demanded Calamity.
‘That one might expect Captain Fog to be a man of greater, more imposing stature, my dear,’ Stubel explained. ‘He does, if he will pardon me saying it, lack height.’
‘You know something?’ Calamity said soberly. ‘I never noticed that.’
Part Three
Monday Is A Quiet Day
‘You’ve sure got to hand it to the Yankee Army,’ Mark Counter growled after reading the letter handed to him by Dusty Fog. ‘Damned if they don’t want us to take their deserters back as well as catching them.’
After turning over the land-swindlers to the county sheriff and seeing Calamity Jane depart about her own business, the Texans had continued the work of cleaning up Trail End. In addition to combating the efforts of the dishonest element among the town’s residents, Dusty and his deputies found other peace officer work demanded their attention.
On Friday morning, a week after Dusty’s return from the Deccan Valley, a professional informer called Mousey arrived with news. He claimed that four deserters from the United States Army were in town, celebrating the theft of a shipment of Springfield carbines on its way to Fort Debdale. Descending on the hog-ranch where the quartet were relaxing after a night of debauchery, the Texans captured them without fuss or bloodshed. When he sent a telegraph message to the Fort, informing its commanding officer of the capture, Dusty thought he need only hold the men in jail until a military escort arrived to collect them. Instead a soldier brought a letter from the colonel in command, asking that the town’s deputies deliver the deserters to the Fort. A full-scale review and inspection by top brass from Washington called for the presence of all personnel, preventing the Fort from providing its own collection party. However the colonel felt an early start should be made at interrogating the quartet about the theft of the carbines and hoped Dusty could oblige him.
While Dusty appreciated the colonel’s difficulties, he wished that some other arrangements had been made to take the men off his hands. With four such desperate men in the jail, Dusty had insisted on two deputies remaining at the office instead of the one who could handle the usual run of drunks and minor offenders which mostly occupied the cells. That had meant handling the town on Friday and Saturday with only two men at his back. Only by constant patrolling did they hold the celebrating visitors under control and prevent complaints from the City Fathers. Dusty did not wish to continue working under such a handicap.
‘What’ll we do then?’ Waco inquired.
‘We’ll have to send them back like he asks,’ Dusty replied. ‘I can’t keep two of you tied down in the office and the sooner we get rid of them the better.’
‘Who’ll be going?’ Mark wanted to know.
‘You, Lon and Waco.’
‘Three of us …?’ the Kid put in.
‘There’s four of them,’ Dusty pointed out. ‘And Mousey was back last night to say he’d heard the feller they sold the carbines to figured to get them free.’
‘That means the boy and me guarding them,’ Mark told the Kid. ‘And you riding circle to make sure nobody sneaks up and takes them away from us.’
‘Fear not!’ declared the Kid, striking a pose much favored by dramatic actors of the day. ‘I’ll protect you.’
‘That’s what we’re fearing,’ grinned Waco. ‘Anyways, if there is a try to get ’em loose, it’d be better happening out of town.’
‘Yeah,’ agreed Doc. ‘Happen another bunch tried it, folks might start to reckon we don’t make our prisoners comfortable in jail. A thing like that could ruin us socially.’
‘When do we start?’ Mark asked.
‘Tomorrow, just afore sun-up,’ Dusty replied. ‘No sense in letting too many folks know you’ve gone. All goes well, you should be back here by noon Tuesday.’
‘Easy enough,’ Mark said. ‘Reckon you and Doc can handle things here?’
‘I reckon we can. There’s no fresh trail drive expected until Wednesday at the soonest and you’ll be back by then. Monday’s a quiet day, so we should be all right.’
‘Life’ll likely be more peaceful with you three gone,’ Doc went on after Dusty had finished his views on the matter. ‘You fixing to tell Mayor Galt about sending the boys off, Dusty?’
‘If he asks about ’em,’ Dusty answered. ‘Given just a mite of luck, he’ll never know they’ve gone.’
Despite the care exercised by the floating outfit, the departure had one witness. In fact Wally Wade had spent the night hiding in an empty shack behind the jail watching for it. From his place, he saw the sullen-faced prisoners led out, mounted on the waiting horses and secured in the saddles.
‘Don’t you pair work yourselves too hard while we’re gone,’ Wade heard Waco say as he, Mark Counter and the Ysabel Kid swung into their saddles.
‘Not them,’ the Kid went on. ‘They’ll be sat back nice and easy while we do all the work.’
‘The Good Lord knows who deserves the most,’ grinned Doc Leroy. ‘Don’t make too much noise riding off, I’m going back to bed.’
‘Don’t know why you troubled to get up,’ Mark told him. ‘Let’s go. Take a point, Lon.’
Wade watched the Kid ride off into the gray light of the dawn, followed by his two companions and the prisoners. Waiting until Dusty and Doc had returned inside the jail, Wade rose and backed away from the window. He grunted a little at the stiffness of his legs, then a grin crossed his unshaven face.
‘Damned if ole Chesil didn’t pull it off,’ he thought. ‘I’d best go tell him that three of ’em’s gone.’
Leaving the shack, he slouched off in the direction of the livery barn. Only at the moment of exit did he show any caution. Once clear of the building, he walked along openly. A tall, lean, sun-bronzed man in worn range clothes, he looked little different from the usual run of trail hand who came north with the Texas cattle. Certainly the Negro at the barn saw nothing suspicious nor alarming in his appearance and arrival at that early hour.
‘That was some night I’ve had,’ Wade remarked as he collected his horse and saddle. ‘This town’s all I’ve heard it was.’
‘Yes, sah,’ replied the Negro disinterestedly and Wade realized that he need not bother going further in explanation of his pre-dawn departure. All the stable hand wanted to do was see him go and return to an interrupted sleep.
Nobody showed any interest in the sight of Wade riding out of town. However, once clear he set his horse moving at a fast pace and avoided human habitation as he headed west. At last, after keeping clear of the occasional farm, he rode towards a good-sized cabin sheltered on the banks of a stream in a valley.
A chance onlooker, knowing Wade’s purpose to be dishonest, might have felt puzzled at his making for such a prosperous, respectable looking place. That was the chief charm of Gus Tibor’s farm as a hideout for the select few outlaws who knew of it. Other places often advertised their main source of income by the owner’s prosperity clashing with the decrepit, neglected state of the property. Not so Tibor. He ran his farm efficiently and never spent money in excess to what he could have earned legitimately. While he charged a high price for his services, those who used them regarded the money well spent.
Leaving his horse in the barn, Wade went to the house and entered the kitchen. Seated around the table, the other members of his gang greeted him and waited eagerly to hear his news. They looked like a cross-section of trail end town visitors. Tall, elegantly dressed in the cutaway coat, fancy vest and frilly fronted shirt of a professional gambler, Hiram Chesil had a handsome face that, graced with long mustachios, once won him acclaim as a villain in the theater. However the pearl-handled Colt in the contoured holster at his right side was no mere actor’s prop. Herb Snell and Pip Russon looked like a couple of brawny gandy-dancers from a railroad construction crew. Short, stocky, bearded Seth Turner might have been a freight wagon driver, with his buckskin jacket and pants tucked into heavy, low heeled boots and a bull whip thrust into his waist band. Last of the party, Jackie White was a typical trail end town loafer. Tall, lean, young, he wore cowhand dress and might have passed as one to untutored eyes. Having lost his gunbelt and revolver in a poker game before being invited to join the gang, he carried a battered 1860 Army Colt in his waistband.
‘It worked,’ Wade announced. ‘Fog sent Counter, the Kid and that young un off with the deserters.’
‘Just as I expected,’ Chesil replied. ‘I thought he would send three of them at least when he heard that whisper I started about a rescue attempt.’
‘When do we take the bank?’ Jackie demanded eagerly. Chesil studied the young man in a pained manner. Only sheer necessity had caused the one-time actor to take Jackie into his confidence. However the young man’s part in the affair called for no great exercise of mentality. He would hold the horses for the other members of the gang and act as lookout while they did their work. It seemed from his question that Jackie had forgotten everything Chesil had told him about the conduct of the robbery.
‘Tonight, as we planned,’ Chesil answered. ‘And not until after we’ve made sure that Fog and Leroy can’t interfere.’
‘What if we don’t get them?’ Turner inquired.
‘We leave it!’ Chesil stated. ‘That’s the way we planned it from the start. Let me tell you again. First, the bank’s manager works late every Monday. He’ll be leaving at around half after nine. We can grab him as he leaves, go back in, empty the safe and be out of Trail End before ten—as long as Fog and Leroy aren’t around.’
‘We could take them—’ Jackie began.
‘There’re dead men from here to Texas who thought that,’ Chesil interrupted. ‘Since they took over, Fog has had two of his men around each Monday to see the banker gets away safely. I don’t want them there when we make our move.’
‘And you reckon we can get them?’ Russon growled. ‘How d’you know they’ll be making the rounds separate instead of together?’
‘I admit it’s guess work,’ Chesil replied. ‘But it’s a better than fair chance. Fog won’t want it known he’s sent three men out, so he and Leroy’ll circulate and show themselves regularly around town. It’s Monday and should be a quiet night, so they’ll work separately instead of going around together.’
‘You want them taken alive?’ Snell said doubtfully.
‘If we can. Without shooting or too much noise anyway. Don’t forget, the penalty for killing a peace officer is a whole heap more severe and permanent than for robbing a bank.’
‘Kill Fog or Leroy and you’ll never know another safe day as long as you live,’ Wade warned. ‘Every friend they’ve got won’t rest until they’ve nailed our hides to the wall. And they’ve got friends I don’t want hunting me.’
‘Or me,’ Turner breathed fervently. ‘I was working for Lanton down to Azul Rio and know. Fog passed the word and King Fisher, Ben ’n’ Billy Thompson, Wes Hardin and damned near every top gun in Texas come running to help him.’ xv
‘Just remember that!’ Chesil went on grimly. ‘I, for one, want to use my share of the loot on good living; not have to spend it hiding out. All right, it’s time to get moving. You and Pip go first, Herb. Leave your horses in that hollow I showed you and walk into town, we’ll bring them with us when we come. Stick around the railroaders’ places until it’s time to meet me—and stay sober.’
‘Sure,’ Snell replied, feeling a little rankled at Chesil’s repetition of the warning. Anyone would think that the fancy-talking tinhorn alone had experience as an outlaw, or the ability to do some smart figuring. ‘Let’s go, Pip.’
‘Walt, you stay clear of all of us until sun down. Then meet Seth as if by accident. I’m counting on you two to take Dusty Fog out of the game.’
‘We’ll do it,’ Wade promised. ‘His office’s the last place he’ll expect to find trouble.’
‘Fog’ll be the biggest danger,’ Chesil emphasized. ‘When we’ve got him, we’ll go after Leroy.’
‘How about me?’ Jackie asked.
‘You’ll be with me,’ Chesil told him. ‘The manager at Stoeger’s thinks I’m going to run a private poker game in my room and he’ll take you for my steerer.’
Any objections Jackie felt at being assigned such a minor role died unsaid. Looking around, he saw that the other members of the gang whole-heartedly approved of Chesil’s decision. Annoyance nagged at him, but he kept it under control. The time would come, he felt sure, when he could prove his worth and make the rest of the bunch eat crow.
Studying the young man, Chesil felt a resurgence of his misgivings. Wade, Turner, Snell and Russon were all experienced outlaws with reputations for reliability if not brilliance. Such men could be relied upon to keep their heads and follow orders. To Chesil’s mind, Jackie formed the weak link in the chain. However time and circumstances did not permit them to look for a more capable replacement.
‘We’ll be going,’ Snell said, standing up and turning from the table.
‘Don’t forget,’ Chesil replied. ‘Do what I told you and make sure you keep sober.’
If Chesil had seen the angry scowl which twisted Snell’s face, he might have regretted repeating the often-made warning on the matter of sobriety. However he was too full of his thoughts on how well the affair was progressing to realize that his air of superiority had riled at least one member of the gang.
‘Town’s quiet enough so far,’ Dusty remarked, watching Doc Leroy light the office’s lamp.
‘It mostly is on Monday,’ the slim cowhand replied and hung the lamp in its place above the desk. ‘Let’s hope it stays that way.’
‘I wish we’d a jailer,’ Dusty remarked. ‘Way we are, I’ve either got to leave one of you boys here, or have the office empty while we make the rounds.’
‘Galt allows the town can’t afford any more law,’ Doc said. ‘I’ve filled all the lamps. We don’t want them going out on us.’
‘That’s for sure. I reckon we’d best start showing the folks their lawmen’re doing the job.’
‘There’s nothing like contented tax-payers,’ Doc grinned. ‘I reckon I’ll drift down to the railroad depot and watch the train come in.’
‘Then I’ll stick on the other side of town,’ Dusty decided. ‘If you need help, shout for it.’
‘Count on me for that,’ Doc answered and walked from the office.
Doc’s visit to the railroad depot went by uneventfully. No undesirable characters were travelling on the train to demand his attention and it pulled out leaving Trail End at least no worse than when it arrived. After a moment’s thought and a study of the quiet streets, Doc directed his feet towards Annie Gash’s hog-ranch. Not that he expected to find any trouble there, but felt a visit would be worthwhile. In addition to running the plushiest and most honest brothel in town, Annie served up delicious turkey sandwiches and the best cup of coffee Doc had tasted since the Wedge disbanded. More than that, she could be relied upon to produce both should a hard-working peace officer call in.
‘There’s some’d call it bribery and corruption,’ Doc mused. ‘But I allow it’s appreciation for devotion to duty.’
With his conscience salved, Doc visited the brothel and enjoyed a meal. Hunger staved off, he headed towards the busier part of town. His route took him towards the rear of Stoeger’s hotel and by a deserted but open blacksmith’s shop. Pausing long enough to discover that the owner had merely left the shop to quench his thirst at a saloon, he walked on towards the hotel.
A low groan came to Doc’s ears and drew his eyes to the corner of the building. Leaning against it and sagging down, a man let out another moan of pain. Instantly Doc’s leisurely attitude changed and he strode forward fast. Seeing another human being apparently in pain, his instincts as a doctor over-rode those of the peace officer. No matter how he came to be in such distress, the man sounded like he needed medical attention and Doc went to give it to him.
Despite Chesil’s warnings, or maybe because of them, Herb Snell drank just a little more whiskey than was safe. While not sufficient to make him openly indiscreet, the raw liquor’s bite increased animosity against his leader.
‘Damned tinhorn!’ Snell muttered as he and Russon approached the rear of Stoeger’s Hotel. ‘Does he reckon he’s the only smart cuss in the world?’
‘Acts like it,’ Russon admitted.
‘Well he ain’t!’ Snell snorted. ‘I’ve worked with—Down the alley, quick!’
That had been their intention in the first place, so Russon wondered what caused the other man’s hurried command. Before he could ask, Snell caught him by the arm and jerked him into the darkness of the alley.
‘What’s up?’ Russon hissed.
‘Look out there,’ Snell replied, peering cautiously around the corner. ‘By the blacksmith’s shop. Don’t show yourself.’
Impressed by the other’s excitement, Russon obeyed. He saw a tall, slim Texan standing before the blacksmith’s shop and reading a notice fastened to its open door. Even before the Texan turned and the shop’s lights glinted on a badge pinned to his jacket, Russon recognized him.
