Waco's Badge by J. T. Edson Read Free Book Online

was obviously revulsion and, going to the edge of the trail hurriedly, wiped them clean on the grass. Stepping back as soon as he had handed over the belt, he rubbed his palms vigorously against the legs of his trousers and gave a sigh of relief.
    â€œHey!” ejaculated the outlaw who had acted as spokesman, gazing across the range. “Where the hell as Fio— Fred got to? S—He should be coming by now.”
    â€œHere he is,” the woman replied, laying great emphasis upon the second word, as she turned to look in the same direction. “All right, Tommy Crane, get up on the box and empty the guns.”
    Having been compelled to divert his attention from the long haired outlaw by the need to unload his carpetbag from the luggage boot beneath the driver’s box, Franks found the comments sufficiently intriging to decide he would see what had caused them. He discovered that a rider leading four saddled horses was coming from one of the clumps of woodland which, unbeknown to him, had been studied with misgivings by Benjamin Eckland prior to the hold up.
    Shorter than the woman and the male outlaws, the newcomer appeared to be very stocky in build. This, Franks concluded, could be due as much to clothing as physical characteristics. A low crowned black Stetson was pulled down sufficiently to hide the hair inside it and a bandana covered almost all of the face.Worn despite the heat, with the exception of black gloves and Levi’s trousers tucked into smallish brown riding boots, a voluminous yellow “fish” slicker concealed whatever lay beneath it.
    â€œWhere the hell have you been?” the spokesman yelled angrily, as the newcomer brought the horses to a halt some thirty yards away.
    â€œIt’s not that important, blast you!” the woman stated, before any reply could be made. “Have you-all unloaded those guns yet, Tommy Crane?”
    â€œNot yet!” the long haired outlaw answered with asperity, from the box of the stagecoach. Tipping the shells from the twin barrels of the shotgun he had broken open, he continued with no trace of his earlier guttural accent, “I’ve only got one pair of hands, you know.”
    â€œThen use them instead of talking, you stupid half-breed son-of-a-bitch!” the blonde ordered and returned her attention to the victims of the hold up. “If you know what’s good for you, you-all won’t try loading those guns until we’re well out of sight. Just let us see any of you-all so much as look like that’s what you’re figuring on doing and we’ll come back to give you-all exactly the same as that fat jasper there got.”
    â€œHere it is!” Max announced, waving the bulky carpetbag he had been given by the young passenger. “I’ll get—!”
    â€œFetch the god-damned thing with us!” the woman interrupted. “We’ve wasted too much time already.”
    Backing away as she was speaking, followed by the spokesman and Max, the woman made for the horses. Dropping the shotgun and snatching up the Colt Peacemaker discarded by the driver, Tommy Crane tucked it into his waistband. Then, clambering down with haste, he scuttled rather than merely hurried after them. While this was happening, the second long haired outlaw looked to where Eckland was struggling dazedly into a sitting position. Swinging the right hand revolver he had unloaded, he laid the barrel with savage force against the side of its owner’s head. As the shotgun messenger subsided once more, he gave a laugh and, tossing down both Colts, strode rapidly to join the rest of the party.
    â€œDon’t try it!” Franks advised urgently, his anger at losing the carpetbag containing all his savings and other items of property he prized highly being swamped by hearing Tract rip out a profanity on seeing what happened to Eckland and make as if to go after the assailant.
    â€œYou’re likely right, young