Free .44 Caliber Man by J.T. Edson Page A

Scots among the soldiers, all
highly delighted to see their native dress again. Nor did their
delight lessen when Colin admitted to having a set of bagpipes in
his baggage. Encouraged by the Scottish soldiers and his
companions, he had collected the bagpipes and entertained the
customers of the saloon to a selection of Highland tunes.
    On their return
to the hotel, the Kid had asked Colin to change rooms with him
explaining that seven was a bad luck number for the Comanche,
whereas room twelve, which Colin rented, was guaranteed to give a
member of the Pehnane good fortune. Although slightly amused at
such primitive superstition, Colin had agreed to the exchange. He
did not realize that the Kid had really made the request in case of
a visit by the Flores brothers.
    ‘ Where’re Dusty, Mark and the Kid?’ Colin inquired as he
buckled on his belt.
    ‘ Over to the livery barn, tending to their hosses,’ Kenny
replied and indicated the pistol case. ‘That’s a right fancy pair
of hand-guns you’ve got. Don’t you have a revolver?’
    ‘ No.’
    ‘ It’ll likely be best for you to stick with the kind of guns
you know,’ Kenny admitted. ‘Let’s go. Ma’s waiting breakfast for us
and don’t take to being kept from her victuals in the
morning.’
    The weather
being mild, Colin dispensed with jacket, vest and plaid. Appearing
in one’s shirt appeared to be socially acceptable, so he went along
with the local custom. After sliding the pistol in the loop on the
left side of his belt, with the dirk still in place at the right,
he put on his bonnet.
    Grinning, Kenny
watched Colin set the hat at its usual jaunty angle. On first being
told to go and guard the Scot, he had felt a touch resentful,
figuring a feller who wore a skirt could not be masculine. From the
first meeting, though, he had revised his opinion. While he figured
that Colin needed educating in some matters, he now regarded the
Scot as a man to ride the river with.
    On leaving the
hotel, Colin received his first day-light view of Fort Sawyer. It
was not an impressive sight. The town’s main business premises,
stores, saloons and such, shared the main street with the Overland
Stage line’s depot and the building which housed the local law.
Behind the street lay the homes of the citizens, scattered without
any worry about civic planning. Although the front of the livery
barn opened on to the street, its corral was at the rear.
    ‘ We’ll go collect Dusty, Mark and the Kid,’ Kenny remarked as
he and Colin stood on the sidewalk. The corral’s on the way to our
house.’
    ‘ Lead on,’ Colin answered, looking along the street. ‘The Black
Bear opens early.’
    Following the
direction of the Scot’s gaze, Kenny nodded. A horse stood tethered
in front of the saloon and its main doors were open.
    ‘ Harve Jute’s the owner,’ Kenny commented. ‘He don’t take to
missing the chance of trade. Has the place opened soon after
sun-up. A feller can go in, buy a drink and watch the gals eating
breakfast has he a mind to.’ He grinned. ‘We’ll go there if you
like.’
    ‘ Not if your mother is waiting breakfast, for us,’ Colin
decided.
    ‘ I do admire a man with good sense,’ Kenny chuckled. ‘Come on,
afore that lil sister of mine eats everything off the
table.’
    ‘ That’s a fine-looking horse,’ Colin remarked as they walked
across the street in the direction of the livery barn, indicating
an animal hitched to the rail before the end of a general store
next to the barn.
    ‘ The bayo naranjado?’ Kenny replied. ‘It’s not bad. I like mine
a touch less flashy.’
    As he spoke,
Kenny’s eyes automatically took in certain details about the horse.
First he noticed the single-girthed saddle with a horn the size of
a dinner-plate. No Texan normally rode such a rig; and few Mexican
vaqueros owned such an expensive outfit. Then Kenny became aware
that the reins hung over the hitching rail instead of being tied
around it. Putting the two facts