The Floating Outfit 24 by J.T. Edson

Author:J.T. Edson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: w, piccadilly publishing, jt edson, the ysabel kid, dusty fog, western 1880s, mark counter, old west ranch wars, colt 45 and winchester rifle, the floating outfit westerns
Publisher: Piccadilly

Chapter Nine

Keep Back Or I’ll Kill You

Dusty Fog turned in his saddle and looked back along the trail to Barlock. What he saw satisfied him and he slid the Winchester carbine back into its saddle-boot.

‘They’re not following us,’ he remarked.

Rusty Willis scoffed at the thought. ‘Course not. They know I’m along.’

‘You don’t smell that bad yet,’ grunted Mark. ‘How you feeling, Morg?’

The young cowhand from the north country managed a wry grin and tried to ease his aching body on the buckboard seat. He didn’t want the men, all well known members of his trade, to think him a whiner.

‘Like one time a hoss throwed me off then walked over me. T’aint nothing but half a dozen or so broken ribs, all us Montana boys are tough.’

This brought howls of derision from the others. Freda watched them and smiled, wondering if cowhands ever grew up so old as to take life seriously. She also gave a sideways look at Morg Summers; he seemed capable and honest, not bad looking either if it came to a point.

‘Say Freda, gal,’ Mark went on. ‘Morg here’s looking for a riding chore and you’re looking for a hand or so. Must be fate in it somewhere.’

‘I’d have to be able to call him something more than just Morg,’ she replied.

‘Why?’ grinned Mark, watching the flush which crept to the girl’s cheeks. ‘All right. This’s Morgan Summers, from Montana, ’though why he’d boast about that I sure don’t know. Morg, get acquainted with Freda Lasalle; my pard Dusty Fog; and this pair are from the Wedge, but don’t hold it again ’em. They answer to Rusty Willis and Doc Leroy and if you can’t sort out which’s which you north country hands are even less smart than I allow you are.’

‘Rusty Willis’s the best looking one,’ Rusty prompted.

‘Howdy Rusty,’ Morg replied, looking at Doc. ‘I’d recognize you from your pard’s description.’

All in all Morg allowed he had made the right impression on the others. He wanted to make a good impression on them all—especially the girl who sat so close besides him and handled the ribbons of the buckboard so competently.

‘I think we can manage to hire you,’ Freda stated, wondering if her father would agree, then she looked towards Mark in a coldly accusing manner. ‘What started the trouble in town?’

Leaving Mark to explain, or to keep the girl occupied, for his explanation in the first place bore little resemblance to the truth, Dusty turned his attention to the two Wedge hands. He had not seen them in a couple of years, but they looked little different. Doc still looked as studious and frail as ever, and most likely could still handle his gun with the old speed and skill. Rusty clung to his old Dance Brothers revolver, a Confederate .44 caliber copy of the Dragoon Colt and he did not look any less reliable for that.

‘Where at’s the herd?’ Dusty asked.

‘Down trail a piece,’ replied Doc. ‘Rusty and me cut on ahead to Barlock to pick up some makings.

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