by J. T. Edson
While talking the men saw to their horses’ needs. Off-saddling their mounts, Red and Dusty put them into stalls. Betty tended to her roan, which had been brought along roped at the rear of the wagon. Helped by the two now willing old timers, Dusty and Red unhitched the wagon’s team. As they finished off the feeding and watering, Dusty learned about local conditions. Apart from the usual inter-ranch rivalry there was no hostility between the local spreads. Neither Mobstell nor Cordova showed any interest in occupying the Lazy M during Seth’s lifetime and, in fact, tended to regard it as a buffer-state between their outfits. Reserving his judgment until after he met the two ranchers, Dusty brought the meeting to a close.
‘We’re going to stay in town a spell, Cactus,’ he said. ‘How about you?’
‘I reckon we’ll ride back and tell the others that they’ve still got a home, Cap’n,’ the old timer replied. ‘And after that Damon hombre showing up, I’ll have the boys keep their eyes open real careful.’
‘That’d maybe be best,’ Dusty agreed. ‘I’ve a feeling this business goes a whole heap deeper than we know.’
Chapter Eleven
Dusty had decided to visit the local doctor. From what the two old timers told him about the doctor, Dusty concluded that he might expect answers to his questions only if accompanied by somebody of local importance and official standing. Catching the sheriff on the verge of returning to the county seat, Dusty explained what he wanted and together they went to the doctor’s house.
Doctor Hugo Paczek was a slim young man with an air of constantly being in a hurry. Cultivated during his time in medical school, the air made most people believe him to be waiting to set about some urgent business of saving a life. Standing at his desk—he always interviewed people on his feet as a further aid to his pose—the doctor looked at Dusty and the sheriff.
‘I’m expected on a house-call, gentlemen,’ he stated.
‘This won’t take long, doc,’ Washboume replied. ‘We want to know a few things about Seth McGraw.’
‘How’d you mean?’
‘Cap’n—Marsden here’s been asking me about it.’
‘Captain?’ Paczek repeated, eyeing Dusty in a disbelieving manner.
‘You’ve heard of the Texas Ranger, I reckon,’ Washbourne answered.
‘Of course,’ Paczek agreed and studied Dusty with fresh interest.
Everybody in the Lone Star State knew that the Texas Rangers had been reorganized to replace the disbanded Davis Government’s State Police. Unlike their inefficient, unlamented predecessors, the Rangers wore no uniform and kept their badge of office hidden until needed. Maybe that small Texan looked like a nobody, but a captain in the Texas Rangers packed a whole heap of weight in the State.
‘What do you want to know, Captain?’ Paczek inquired politely.
‘How did Seth die?’
‘Of acute appendicitis.’
‘What’d that be, doc?’ Washboume asked.
‘An inflammation of that part of the large intestine called the appendix,’ Paczek replied.
‘Have you seen many cases of it, doctor?’ Dusty said.
‘Er—a few.’
‘Did the folks you saw die from it?’
‘Some did. The damage can be repaired by removal of the appendix, but it is a serious, dangerous operation.’
‘You’d know how to do that operation?’
‘I’d know, but I wouldn’t want to chance it,’ Paczek replied cautiously. ‘In this case the need did not arise. By the time I saw him, Mr. McGraw was too far gone for me to save him.’
‘You knew that he’d got this appendicitis though?’ Dusty continued.
‘Of course. All the symptoms were there.’
‘Do they show real plain?’
Watching Dusty question Paczek, Washbourne felt his conscience ease. Maybe Captain Fog had no official connection with the Texas Rangers, but he sure knew a peace officer’s work. Certainly Paczek did not suspect that the sheriff had evaded his unasked question concerning Dusty’s position and right to ask into McGraw’s death, although he looked a might impatient.
‘Plain enough,’ the doctor answered. ‘It begins with pain in the upper abdomen and then the pain sinks to the right lower quadrant of the abdomen. There is nausea and later vomiting, excessive perspiration. Until the appendix ruptures—bursts, that is—the patient has a fifty-fifty chance of recovery if he can be operated on in time. Unfortunately by the time I arrived the rupture had occurred and McGraw died before I could do anything.’
‘How’d you know about the pains and the rest, doctor?’ Dusty wanted to know. ‘They wouldn’t show that late, or would they?’
‘Usually the patient can describe them—’
‘Only this time he couldn’t.’
‘No, captain. However Mr. Towcester at the saloon described them. You see, I’d been out of town attending a confinement and when the news reached me I could not leave the mother. When I did arrive at the saloon, it was too late for me to question McGraw. Mr. Towcester told me how McGraw complained of the pains and was sick at least once during the evening, then collapsed.’
‘How’d man get this appendicitis, doctor?’ Dusty asked. ‘I mean, can he catch it like typhoid?’
‘Certainly not. The most probable cause is an obstruction to the normal emptying of the appendix.’
‘And there’s no way it can be made to happen, deliberately I mean?’
‘Not that I know of,’ admitted Paczek, then realized what the question implied. ‘You don’t think that Mr. McGraw was murdered?’
‘Somebody tried to kill Mr. and Mrs. McGraw in San Antonio, doctor,’ Dusty replied, watching Paczek’s face. ‘So it started me wondering how his uncle died—’
‘It’s all in the coroner’s report,’ Paczek answered.
‘You opened him up to make sure it was appendicitis, doctor?’ Washbourne asked.
‘Well—I—’ Paczek began, then indignation glowed on his face. ‘Sheriff, I’m the only doctor at this end of the county. There’s always enough work to do on the living without—’
‘You didn’t open the body then, doctor?’ Dusty interrupted.
‘I was too busy!’ Paczek snapped. ‘There was that mother and baby, and a cowhand at the Rocking Rafter was gored by a bull. You know that in the heat we had at that time we had to bury the body quickly. Everything pointed clearly to a case of acute appendicitis, so why should I—?’
‘Take it easy, doctor,’ Dusty said gently. ‘As long as you’re sure he died of natural causes, that’s all we need to know.’
‘I’m sure!’ Paczek stated, maybe just a shade too confidently.
‘Then we don’t need to take up any more of your valuable time,’ Dusty told him. ‘I’d be right obliged if you kept this visit to yourself, doctor.’
‘You can rely on me for that!’ Paczek assured him.
Outside the doctor’s home, Washbourne looked at Dusty. ‘Damn it, Dusty! He wasn’t sure at all.’
‘Nope,’ Dusty agreed. ‘But a feller like him would bust a gut before he’d admit that to a couple of uneducated jaspers like us.’
‘If he was wrong—’ growled the sheriff.
‘It starts a man thinking, doesn’t it,’ Dusty drawled. ‘I reckon I’ll look in at the saloon. What do you know about the feller who runs it?’
‘Not much. He bought it maybe six months back. Fixed it up real good, runs it dead fair. I’ve had no complaints about him, or the place. Do you want for me to come with you?’
‘This’s one time when I don’t want official backing,’ Dusty smiled. ‘I reckon that Red and I can learn more that way. How’d I reach you if I have to?’
‘See Frenchy Becque at the Wells Fargo office, he’ll let me know.’
After the sheriff left, Dusty made his way to the general store. There he found a bored Red idly examining a Winchester rifle, while Betty stood in the center of a group of local women. Laying aside the rifle, Red joined Dusty and showed no reluctance to
visit the saloon. So they interrupted the women, told Betty that they had business to attend to along the street and left the store.
Entering the saloon, the cousins paused just inside and looked around them with considerable interest. Having seen such places in a variety of towns, Dusty and Red could estimate the upkeep and cost of the Golden Goose’s fittings. They exchanged glances as each reached the same conclusion. A saloon of that quality did not belong in a small range town.
Across the room Mobstell’s four hands sat moodily glaring at the glasses of beer which were all their finances ran to. With no danger of trouble, the girls no longer offered to entertain the quartet, giving attention to the other customers in the room.
‘How’s about having a drink, Stevie?’ asked Bob Lynn as the girl approached his table.
‘Not right now,’ she replied. ‘Beer’s bad for my complexion.’
An angry scowl creased Lynn’s face, for he had spent the majority of his last month’s pay entertaining Stevie. Not a bad-looking young man, he fancied himself as something of a lady-killer and the girl’s indifference annoyed him. Nor did his feelings improve when he saw Stevie make for Dusty and Red.
‘If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, forget it,’ Stevie told Red with a smile as he looked up at the chandelier. ‘The last three men who tried to bust it went out here on a shutter.’
‘The thought never entered my head, ma’am,’ Red grinned, removing his hat and looking the girl over with interest.
‘You’re new here, aren’t you?’ Stevie inquired.
‘Just now got in. I’m—’
‘Sandy McGraw, the new owner of the Lazy M,’ Stevie interrupted. ‘And you are—’
‘Marsden’s the name, ma’am,’ Dusty answered. ‘Ed Marsden. Sandy and me rode in the same outfit through the war.’
‘I’m Stevie Cameron,’ the girl introduced herself. ‘Come across to the bar, you must meet the boss.’
‘You’ll have a drink with us, ma’am?’ Red asked as the girl walked with them by the four cowhands’ table.
‘It’d be a pleasure,’ Stevie smiled back. ‘Wine, if that’s possible?’
‘If they’ve got it, it’s yours, ma’am,’ Red assured her.
However Towcester insisted on standing the first round of drinks on the house. Red warned that he would not be staying long, due to having his wife waiting to go out to their new home, but Towcester laughed it off.
‘This’s a real nice place you have here,’ Dusty commented, looking around.
‘I always wanted my own place,’ Towcester replied. ‘And I figured that if I was setting up, I ought to do it right.’
‘You’ve sure done that,’ Dusty said, glancing at the fittings.
‘It pays. Fellers come here instead of the county seat on paydays. That way San Garcia draws more trade. Why I wouldn’t be surprised if one day we don’t take over as county seat.’
Knowing cowhands, Dusty decided that they would be willing to ride the extra few miles to drink in such a fancy saloon. He could also see how the town benefited by the Golden Goose’s presence. Studying Towcester, Dusty concluded that he was a shrewd businessman likely to keep both eyes on the profit and loss columns of his books. However, before Dusty could make a start at learning of Seth McGraw’s illness, an interruption came.
At his table, Bob Lynn scowled at the cousins as they stood talking with Stevie and Towcester. When the girl laughed at something Red said, Lynn started to rise. Shooting a hand out, Avon caught his companion’s arm and held him in the chair.
‘Easy there, Bob,’ he warned. ‘That gun-slick’d blow your ears off starting in the middle.’
‘That’s for sure,’ Shanty agreed.
‘There’s a way ’round it,’ Lynn growled, dropping his hands to his belt buckle. ‘We’ll soon show Stevie what that pair’s like.’ Hearing his plan, the other three admitted it possessed a number of virtues and offered to help put it into action. After making certain adjustments to their dress, they rose and walked towards the bar.
‘Yes, Miss Stevie,’ Red was saying. ‘I’m sure looking forward to living here in San Garcia.’
‘So you’re Sandy McGraw,’ Lynn interrupted. ‘Waal, I’m Bob Lynn.’
‘Now we know each other,’ Red replied.
‘We’ve knowed each other a fair whiles,’ Lynn informed him. ‘Fact being, the last time we was here, I tossed you into Tres Manos Creek.’
‘Ole Bob sure licked you good that time,’ Shanty went on. ‘’Course you didn’t have that gun-slick backing you then.’
Suddenly the cousins realized that none of the four cowhands wore guns. Dusty felt sure that he would have noticed during his study of the quartet as they stood behind their boss in the plaza what amounted to a phenomenon in the State of Texas. Looking further, he concluded that the cowhands had been drinking. Not much, but sufficient to make them truculent, quarrelsome and dangerous. At Dusty’s side, a ruddy tint crept into Red’s cheeks. Knowing the signs, Dusty prepared for trouble.
‘Now me,’ Red said. ‘I don’t recall getting licked at all.’
‘Which’s just the same as calling Bob a liar,’ Clayd put in.
‘I’d chance doing it too,’ Shanty commented, ‘was I facing a man who ain’t heeled and backed by that gun-slick.’
‘That’s soon settled,’ Red stated and started to unbuckle his belt.
‘Your hired gun’s still wearing h—’ Lynn began.
The words trailed off as Lynn saw that Dusty was also unbuckling his gunbelt. Even while doing so Dusty cursed his luck. Most probably he could prevent a fight if the cowhands knew his true identity, but he wished to keep that a secret for as long as possible. One thing Dusty did know. Red would not back water, so he must help his cousin and let the cards fall where they would.
‘Shall we debate the matter further, senator?’ asked Red, laying his gunbelt on the bar and removing his hat.
‘I yield to the gent with the real big mouth,’ Dusty answered, his matched Colts and Stetson joining Red’s property on the bar top. ‘He’s put up the bill before the house. Let him make his choice.’
‘You aiming to fight us?’ Shanty inquired. ‘No guns, tooth ’n’ claw?’
‘Now me,’ Dusty replied. ‘I’d say that was up to you?’
‘It’s a mite uneven,’ Avon pointed out. ‘There’s four of us and two of you.’
‘Maybe,’ Red answered. ‘But we don’t have time to wait for you to get more help.’
‘Why you—!’ Lynn began.
‘Just hold it a mite, Bob, boys!’ ordered the bartender, producing a sawed-off twin-barreled ten-gauge shotgun from under the counter. ‘I ain’t objecting to you fighting. But on the plaza, not in here.’
‘Anyways you want it, friend,’ Dusty said. ‘Keep your eye on our belts for a spell. It shouldn’t take us long.’
‘I’ll see to them like they was my own,’ promised the bartender.
Chairs scraped back and men rose as the two cousins walked by the Rocking Rafter cowhands and across the room. Followed by the quartet, Dusty and Red passed through the batwing doors and on to the sidewalk. Stepping forward, Lynn linked his fingers and crashed both hands down towards the back of Red’s neck. Instinct and a pair of quick ears saved Red from what, in cowhand circles, was a perfectly legal attack. Although he moved forward and avoided the full impact, the blow still staggered him towards the edge of the porch. However Red retained control of himself. Hooking an arm around the nearest supporting beam of the porch, Red swung around it, ducked under the hitching rail and slammed his own fists behind Lynn’s neck as the cowhand charged after him. With a yell of mingled surprise, pain and anger, Lynn shot off the sidewalk and went sprawling to his hands and knees on the street.
Even as Lynn attacked Red, Avon lunged forward and clamped hold of Dusty’s neck from behind. Just what he intended to do next nobody ever learned. Most people would have pulled away from the grip, but Dusty did not. As soon as he felt th
e hands touch him, he leaned backwards. That had the effect of easing the grip on him. Up and back whipped Dusty’s hands, closing on Avon’s wrists. At the same moment Dusty used his right foot as a pivot and turned his entire body to the left. Jerking the hands from his throat, Dusty carried Avon’s right arm upwards and drew the left underneath it. By forcing down the right arm on the left and throwing his own weight forward, Dusty caused Avon’s feet to leave the ground. The cowhand’s body turned a somersault, flew off the sidewalk and struck the dirt of the plaza with a satisfying thud. Only the fact that he possessed considerable ability as a rider of bad horses saved Avon. Skilled at taking unexpected falls, he landed with enough force to jolt the wind from his body, but avoided injury.
To give them their due, Clayd and Shanty did not intend to cut into the fight. Removing their gunbelts had merely been to prevent the cousins using their being armed as an excuse for not fighting. However seeing their friends handled in such a casual, easy manner caused them to change their minds. The honor of the Rocking Rafter was at stake and they started through the batwing doors with the intention of upholding it.
‘Dusty!’ Red snapped, seeing the danger.
‘Give ’em a spin!’ Dusty replied, also turning.
Much to Clayd and Shanty’s surprise, Dusty darted behind his cousin instead of at them. In passing, Dusty extended his left arm and Red caught his wrist in both hands. Swinging around, Red heaved at Dusty’s arm and lent impetus to his cousin’s speed. Already turning to meet the advancing cowhands, Dusty leapt into the air and drove out both feet. Powered by Red’s heave and his own velocity, Dusty’s boots thudded with considerable force into Clayd and Shanty’s chests. Clayd shot backwards through the batwing doors and disappeared into the saloon. Crashing into the wall alongside the door, Shanty bounced off and towards trouble. Red released Dusty’s arm as soon as the boots did their work. Around lashed his left hand, ripping a punch almost wrist-deep into Shanty’s advancing belly. An explosive croak burst from the burly cowhand and he doubled over. Up whipped Dusty’s right knee, full into the bearded face Red’s punch conveniently presented for that purpose. Lifted erect again, Shanty once more collided with the wall. For a moment he hung up against the wall, his face a blank mask, then he slid down to sit motionless on the sidewalk.