The Floating Outfit 39 by J.T. Edson

Author:J.T. Edson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: heroic action, assassination, colt 45, piccadilly publishing, ole devil hardin, dusty fog, the floating outfit western, western 1800s, jt edson westerns
Publisher: Piccadilly

‘So you don’t know of any reason why anybody would want to kill Mr. Scargill, ma’am?’ Sheriff Tim Farron asked.

‘I’m afraid that I do not know, m’sieur,’ Charlene de Petain replied, glancing from the peace officer to Dusty Fog in a none too successful attempt to discover what they were thinking. When granting the interview, she had decided her attitude should be that of a member of the nobility who, in spite of being distressed by the evening’s events, was willing to render every assistance to the forces of law and order. ‘Of course we are little more than chance acquaintances. We had never met until we were on the ship coming here.’

Just under an hour had elapsed since Walter Scargill’s screams had aroused the other occupants of the Lone Star Hotel.

Summoned from his home, where he had gone to change into more suitable clothing for the performance of any duties which might arise out of his nephew’s activities, Farron had hurried to the hotel. His arrival was shortly after the four members of the OD Connected’s floating outfit had come on the scene. Already there, the town marshal had done the preliminary work. The copperhead snake had been killed and, along with its victim, removed from the premises. All the guests had been induced to return to their rooms and order was restored.

Taking charge of the situation, the sheriff had listened to the marshal’s report and Dusty’s description of what had occurred at Francisco Castro’s cantina. Then he had set about organizing the investigation into Scargill’s death. Knowing that Mark Counter, the Ysabel Kid and Waco had all served as peace officers and were competent in such work, he had assigned them to help the marshal in trying to discover how the poisonous reptile had been brought into the building. Then he and his nephew had gone to interview the Comtesse. They had found her awake and, although haggard in appearance, she had expressed her willingness to be questioned straight away rather than in the morning.

‘Did he mention that anybody might be wanting to take his life, ma’am?’ Dusty inquired, studying the woman’s face with as great an interest as she had examined his own.

‘Not in so many words,’ Charlene replied, conscious of the scrutiny and, having drawn very favorable conclusions with respect to the small Texan’s intelligence, not caring for it, ‘Of course, like all these liberal-intellectuals, he probably believed that the sinister secret police of what they refer to as the “Establishment” were after him. He did hint of it, I seem to remember.’

‘Huh huh!’ Dusty grunted noncommittally, producing two documents he had been concealing behind his back and holding them towards the woman. ‘Then I shouldn’t reckon there’s any chance you’d know this handwriting?’

Having all too unpleasant recollections of an identical sheet of paper, it took every bit of the Comtesse’s will power to accept the two she was being offered. Nor could she refrain from glancing at the ashtray in which she had dropped the burned remnants of the letter she had received from Beguinage.

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