While Vaza’s attack freed her, she lacked the ability to put all her weight behind the elbow blow; and Javelina was tough as a hickory rail. Although he took a pace to the rear, he neither lost his hold of the knife nor suffered any serious effect. So, while free, Vaza could not get far enough from the man to be safe.
With a roar of rage, the half-breed flung himself forward. He knew he was going to die and wanted to take his revenge. There would be no chance of reaching Dusty, so Javelina struck at the nearest person—Vaza. Around lashed the half-breed’s knife arm in the terrible back-hand slash so favored in a fight. Even as Dusty lunged upright, firing as he did, he saw a crimson gash open in Vaza’s throat and blood gush from a wound that would be fatal.
Just in instant too late Dusty’s bullet caught Javelina. It knocked the man backwards, but the damage had already been done and Vaza collapsed to the ground. Mad with grief and rage, Dusty ignored the sight of Baise rushing forward and raising the Colt. Four more times Dusty fired, ripping the bullets into Javelina’s reeling body, oblivious of the fact that any one of them would have killed the man.
In the violent reaction at seeing Vaza’s fate, Dusty ignored the warning his subconscious mind screamed to him. While he emptied his gun into Javelina, Baise lined the Colt on him. Jarrel held the carbine, swinging around to face Baise, but the outlaw figured on Dusty being the more dangerous and made no change in his aim. Flame licked from the Army Colt’s barrel even as Dusty sent the fifth bullet into the doll-rag torn body of the half-breed. Something struck Dusty on the side of the head and burning pain knifed through him. Through the whirling agony mists, he saw Jarrel line and fire the carbine, Baise jerk under the impact of a flat-nosed .44 bullet, let the Colt fall and drop. Then Dusty saw the girl’s body on the ground, a growing red pool soiling the golden blonde hair.
“Vaza!” he shouted as the scene blurred and pitched before his eyes.
Then everything went black.
Sixteen – A Dream?
Dusty woke lying in his bedroll. For a moment he remained still, eyes blinking at the morning sun. Then memories flooded back to him and he jerked himself erect.
“Vaza!” he began. “Va—”
Nearby the embers of the fire showed black and cold, his own coffeepot—unused during the trip from Bainesville—standing by it. To one side the paint, its feet hobbled, grazed peacefully.
But nothing more.
No wagon and team horses. No sign of Javelina, Moon, Tetley or Baise’s bodies. No Adek, Jarrel or Vaza . Not even a sign of the blood which had been shed in the clearing.
Thinking of blood brought another thought to Dusty. Reaching up his hand, he touched the side of his head. No bandage or furrow of bullet-lacerated flesh met his exploring fingers, only hair and flesh apparently untouched by lead.
“What the hell?” he breathed.
Unable to think what might have happened since he collapsed unconscious, Dusty went over every inch of the clearing in a desperate search to find some proof of the fight. Not a sign remained, only the tracks of his paint and those he would have made while setting up a camp for himself. Failing to find any mark that the wagon should have left, Dusty took out first one Colt from his holster, then the other, and found both to be fully loaded, clean, showing no sign of recent use.
Running his fingers through his hair, Dusty stood for a moment and looked around the clearing. Slowly he returned to the dead fire and gave way to a nagging thought at the back of his mind.
“A dream?” he said. “Could it all have been a dream?”
Yet it had all seemed so real. He could remember every detail—or could he? Memories stirred in his head, thoughts of a lonely ride overland after leaving the town of Bainesville, and something inside him seemed to be telling him that nobody could do the things which Adek, Jarrel and Vaza did. People could not read each other’s thoughts as the trio appeared to do. No company in the United States had managed to put up meals which required only heating to be ready to serve. Horseshoes wore out, which those of the wagon team showed no signs of doing. So many other things could not have happened.
Slowly Dusty returned to his bedroll and began to pack it. Bent’s Ford lay a day’s hard ride away—it would have been longer accompanying a wagon—and he decided to waste no time in reaching the hospitable place. With the coffeepot packed, bedroll strapped into place. Dusty freed and saddled the paint. Just as he swung into the saddle, his paint gave an explosive snort and showed signs of nervousness. Looking around, Dusty saw a bear rise among the bushes across the clearing. A big grizzly bear with a ragged, bullet-torn left ear. Only for a moment did it stare, then it acted as he might expect it to under the circumstances. There could be only one or two natural reactions; either the bear would charge, or run. With a sigh of relief, Dusty saw the grizzly choose the latter. Giving an explosive “whoof!” it turned and crashed away through the bushes.
“What the hell did I expect?” he mused as he started the paint moving. “It must have been a dream.”
It would be many years before the first author wrote fiction, or prophesied facts, about the possibility of travel between planets and through space. Dusty had therefore nothing to lead him to believe that such a thing be possible and knew nothing of beings from another world, possibly much further advanced scientifically than his own. Nor had he ever heard of posthypnotic suggestion; planting an idea in the subconscious so that it became accepted as a fact.
So, while everything appeared to have been so real, he accepted the growing thought that he had only dreamt of meeting the travelers. If he had gone over the rim into the next valley, he might have found further cause for confusion and uncertainty. At the foot of the slope, a great round patch of blackened earth and vegetation showed that recently some searing heat had been applied.
Night had fallen when Dusty led his leg-weary paint, as was the privilege of an old friend, into Duke Bent’s private stables. While he cared for the horse, he heard the doors open and, turning, found Mark Counter and the Ysabel Kid approaching.
“You’re a day late,” the Kid accused. “Who was the girl? Or are you going to try to tell us that you went out with a posse after those four prisoners who escaped on the way to Fort Smith?”
“Four prisoners?” Dusty repeated.
“Vic Tetley, Buck-Eye Baise, Tom Moon and my good old amigo Javelina,” explained the Kid. “Haven’t you heard about it?”
“If you haven’t,” Mark drawled, “just where’ve you been?”
Dusty sucked in a long breath and did not reply for some time. At last he shook his head and said, “Maybe I’ll never know.”
THE FLOATING OUTFIT 21: THE FAST GUN
By J. T. Edson
First published by Corgi Books in 1968
Copyright © 1967, 2018 by J. T. Edson
First Smashwords Edition: March 2018
Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information or storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.
This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book
Series Editor: Ben Bridges
Text © Piccadilly Publishing
Published by Arrangement with the Author’s Agent.
About the Author
J.T. Edson was a former British Army dog-handler who wrote more than 130 Western novels, accounting for some 27 million sales in paperback. Edson’s works - produced on a word processor in an Edwardian semi at Melton Mowbray - contain clear, crisp action in the traditions of B-movies and Western television series. What they lack in psychological depth is made up for by at least twelve good fights per volume. Each portrays a vivid, idealized “West That Never Was”, at a pace that rarely slacke
ns.
If you enjoyed the westerns of J. T. EDSON, you may also enjoy the westerns of
BEN BRIDGES and MIKE STOTTER:
BEN BRIDGES:
APACHERIA SERIES:
Apacheria
Lockwood’s Law
ASH COLTER SERIES:
Gunsmoke Legend
Ride the High Lines
Storm in the Saddle
COMPANY C SERIES:
Hit ’em Hard!
To the Death!
HELLER SERIES
Heller
Heller in the Rockies
JIM ALLISON SERIES:
Rattler Creek
Blood Canyon
Thunder Gorge
JUDGE AND DURY SERIES:
Hang 'em All
Riding for Justice
Law of the Gun
Trial by Fire
Barbed Wire Noose
Judgment Day
MOVIE TIE-INS:
Day of the Gun
O’BRIEN SERIES:
The Silver Trail
Hard as Nails
Mexico Breakout
Hangman’s Noose
The Deadly Dollars
Squaw Man
North of the Border
Shoot to Kill
Hell for Leather
Marked for Death
Gunsmoke is Gray
Cold Steel
Mean as Hell
Draw Down the Lightning
Flame and Thunder
THREE GUNS WEST (Writing with Steve Hayes):
Three Rode Together
Three Ride Again
Hang Shadow Horse!
WESTERN LEGENDS (Writing with Steve Hayes):
The Oklahombres
The Plainsman
THE WILDE BOYS SERIES:
The Wilde Boys
Wilde Fire
Wilde’s Law
Aces Wilde
STAND-ALONE WESTERNS:
Ride for the Rio!
Back With a Vengeance
Blaze of Glory
Tanner’s Guns
Coffin Creek
The Spurlock Gun
All Guns Blazing
Cannon for Hire
Montana Gunsmoke
Starpacker
Cougar Valley
SHORT STORIES:
Five Shots Left
MIKE STOTTER
McKINNEY WESTERNS:
McKinney’s Revenge
McKinney’s Law
BRANDON AND SLATE SERIES:
Tombstone Showdown
Tucson Justice
STAND ALONE WESTERN as Jim A. Nelson:
Death in the Canyon
SHORT STORIES:
Six Trails West
MOVIE TIE-IN as Nelson Hunter
Vengeance is the Spur
The Floating Outfit Series by J. T. Edson
The Ysabel Kid
.44 Caliber Man
A Horse Called Mogollon
Goodnight’s Dream
From Hide and Horn
Set Texas Back on Her Feet
The Hide and Tallow Men
The Hooded Riders
Quiet Town
Trail Boss
Wagons to Backsight
Troubled Range
Sidewinder
Rangeland Hercules
McGraw’s Inheritance
The Half-Breed
White Indians
Texas Kidnappers
The Wildcats
The Bad Bunch
The Fast Gun
... And more to come every month!
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More on J. T. EDSON
i Told in The Fastest Gun in Texas, The Devil Gun, The Colt and the Saber.
ii Told in The Ysabel Kid.
iii Told in Quiet Town and The Trouble Busters,
iv The date was 1692.