The Floating Outfit 35: Hell in the Palo Duro by J. T. Edson

Author:J. T. Edson [Edson, J. T.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Piccadilly Publishing
Published: 2019-04-30T23:00:00+00:00

Ten – If You Wasn’t Wearing Them Guns

‘Ed Caxton!’ Emma Nene said accusingly, bearing down on Dusty as he entered the Honest Man Saloon with Lampart, le Blanc and Santiago. ‘What have you told those two boys of yours?’

With the dinner at an end, the party had started to split up and go their separate ways. First to leave had been Basmanov’s faction, including the scowling, still angry Glover. Dusty had noticed that two of the men who had been with the Russian earlier stayed behind. Others, whom the small Texan had marked down as fence sitters, showed a more open friendship towards Lampart. Already, it seemed, the fact that the mayor was apparently winning the support of ‘Ed Caxton’ was bringing its rewards.

There had been some after-dinner talk, then the men had decided to make their way to the saloon. Clearly Lampart had no intention of allowing his rival to make friendly advances towards Dusty and intended to reduce the chances of a successful attempt to assassinate the small Texan. The mayor had asked Dusty, along with le Blanc and Santiago, to be his guests at the saloon after they all had escorted Giselle home.

For all the deficiencies of its signboard, the Honest Man Saloon came up to the high standard set by the rest of the town. On a dais at the left side of the room, the piano which had guided Dusty, the Kid and Waco to Hell combined with three guitars, two violins and a trumpet to beat out a lively dance rhythm. Before the dais was a space left clear for dancing. At the moment of Dusty’s arrival, it was hidden behind a wall of laughing, cheering Mexicans, members of Santiago’s gang. Several pretty, shapely girls, white, Mexican and Chinese, in no more scanty attire than would be seen at a saloon in a normal town, mingled with the sixty or so male customers. Behind the bar counter, two Mexicans and a burly, heavily mustached white man served drinks from the extensive range of bottles gracing the shelves of the rear wall. Mexican waiters glided about carrying trays. Two tiger-decorated faro layouts, a chuck-a-luck table, a wheel- of-fortune and three poker games catered for the visitors who wished to gamble. At each end of the bar, a flight of stairs led up to the first floor.

Clearly Emma Nene did not apply the almost sedate clothing standards to herself. She wore a flame-colored dress with an extreme décolleté which left no doubt that all under it was flesh and blood, and which clung to her magnificently feminine body like a second skin. Its hem extended to her feet, but was slit up the left side to the level of her hip. One leg, made more sensual by a covering of black silk, showed through the slit in a tantalizing manner. Her eyes held a puzzled, yet admiring, expression as she addressed the small Texan.

‘How do you mean, ma’am?’ Dusty answered, although he could guess.

‘I thought they’d

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