The Floating Outfit 46 by J.T. Edson

Author:J.T. Edson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: colt 45, texans, action heroes, piccadilly publishing, jt edson, the floating outfit, dusty fog, best western ebook
Publisher: Piccadilly

Ramon Peraro looked around the now-silent cantina with disgust. His men were all drunkenly asleep, lying on the floor, or across the tables. He rose and crossed the room, a tall, lithe man wearing expensive, silver-decorated clothes and belting a silver-mounted Colt in an ornate holster at his right side and an ivory-handled finely-chased knife at the left. His face was fattening now, but still handsome, the eyes hard and cold.

He was almost at the door, meaning to go to his room, when he realized that Perez was not back from inspecting the horse. A suspicion came to him. Perez had taken a fancy to the gringo girl and might be with her, trying to force his attentions upon her. Peraro was not averse to such things—and, if the ransom was not paid, would have given his consent—but he would not allow it before the appointed time of payment came round.

He stamped out of the cantina. Then he stopped, staring at the open stable door and the still shape illuminated by the lamp. Anger filled him that a member of his gang would so flout his authority by sleeping, when he should be guarding. Peraro crossed the space fast; he was still some distance away, when he realized that the guard must be dead. He knew the man as an inveterate sleeper on duty; but one who could sleep so lightly that approaching him and catching him were next to impossible.

Stepping over the body as of no consequence, Peraro entered the stable and a savage curse broke from his lips. The two stalls were empty; both his prized black and another good horse he’d stolen recently had gone. Peraro spun round on his heel, intending to rouse his men and scour the country around for the thief. Then he saw the guns and quirt on the floor and the knife-pinned message on the door. With a savage hand, he tore the paper down and held it in the light, so that he could read it.

“Peraro,”—the writing was sprawling and awkward—”I am writing this in English so none of your bunch can read it, if they find it first. Bring the gringo girl across the Rio Grande to the place where Tortilla used to meet the arms-seller. I have Perez, the Alcalde and your two bosses. A fair swap.” There was no signature, but Peraro had not been expecting one. He stood silently in the night, an angry snarl on his lips. Then, slowly, he took out a match and lit it, burning the paper and crumbling the ashes. There was no doubt about one thing: he must take the girl back. The gang were getting restless—and, already, Santovel was growing too big for his breeches. Without Perez to back him, Peraro knew he could not long hold down the other members of the gang. Nor could he handle the ransom of the girl alone; and, if the gang discovered her, they would demand revenge.

It was still dark enough for him to collect the girl and get her out of town without being seen.

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