by J. T. Edson
‘We’d surely hate to have that happen on our account, amigo,’ the spokesman asserted, knowing the possibility of losing such trade was not the reason for the suggestion. However, despite being consumed by curiosity, he put duty to his ranch first and continued, ‘Come on, boys. Let’s go and stop those knobheads of our’n locking horns with each other over who-all’s going to get to use the hosses first.’
Leaving the four segundos to attend to keeping the peace between the members of their respective crews, McKie strolled along the street in the direction of his shop. Approaching the alley in which he did not doubt the two hard-cases who had been watching for him would be lying incapacitated, he decided to go and find out what had happened to them. Before he could do so, he heard swiftly moving hooves. A few seconds later, he saw three horsemen galloping towards him. One he identified as the local deputy sheriff. While the others were strangers, each was displaying the silver five pointed star in a circle badge of the Texas Rangers.
‘God blast you, Abe Minsey!’ the elderly leatherworker growled bitterly, looking in the direction from which the whistle had originated. He realized it would be too late to recall the young Texan, who was already riding away as swiftly as only a Comanche was able. What was more, with the far from amicable mood the cowhands would be in over the scattering of their horses, it was probably unsafe for the Kid to return unless he had successfully completed his self appointed mission even with the peace officers present. Returning his gaze to the approaching riders, McKie went on, ‘Why the Sam Hill couldn’t you and them two Rangers’ve gotten here half an hour sooner?’
‘Mr. Handle, I’d like a word with you outside!’
Never the most amiable of men when things were not going as he required, the New Englander swung around glowering in annoyance as he heard himself being addressed in what—despite the way in which the request was worded—sounded closer to a command than a suggestion.
Regardless of his wishes, Philo Handle had made no progress in acquiring replacement mounts for the rescue attempt. The livery barn at Wet Slim held no more than half a dozen suitable animals and, such was the unanimous eagerness of the cowhands to set off after the scattered horses, there had been much heated discussion over which of them should be allowed to do so. Alarmed by the possibility of losing their personal property, particularly the saddles so vitally important in their working lives, every one of them had been determined that he should be allowed to go after the ‘Comanche’ as soon as possible and was disinclined to chance the recovery being made by anybody else.
The arrival of the segundos for the four spreads had prevented an eruption of physical violence as claims were made to precedence in the hiring of the livery barn’s few horses, and were countered by statements expressing a greater right to go and retrieve the stolen property. Although the cowhands had calmed down and listened to their respective leaders, without having split into opposing factions, Handle had concluded there would be a much greater delay than he had hoped would be the case before he could leave for Escopeta. Despite what he had been told by Jock McKie, he had believed a hurried pursuit of the ‘Comanche’ would result in the return of sufficient stolen animals for his venture to be commenced.
It had become apparent from the comments of the segundos that they held little hope that Handle would be able to set out before the following morning at the earliest. Certainly he would be unable to depart that night as he had intended. Or, if he did, it-would be without the assistance of the cowhands from the other ranches. At that moment, earlier eagerness notwithstanding, they were all more concerned by the possible loss of their property. Even his own men had similar sentiments. With the exception of himself, Jacobs and Andy Evans, they too had had their mounts outside the River Queen Saloon. What was more, unless he was misjudging them—in spite of being hired primarily as fighters rather than workers of cattle—they would refuse to accompany him unless supported by the majority of assistance which he had promised to produce for them.
Although the rancher identified two of the men who were standing at the open double doors of the livery barn, he realized neither had addressed him.
At first sight, apart from the wearing of a familiar badge of office, the speaker did not appear to be particularly imposing. No more than of middle height, in his mid-thirties, he had a sun-reddened face of almost cherubic lines and gave an impression of corpulence. A white ‘planter’s’ hat perched at the back of thinning curly brown hair. His brown two-piece suit was rumpled and travel-stained and he had removed the collar of his white shirt, while his Hersome gaiter boots were more suitable for walking than riding. In spite of the indication that he was a Texas Ranger, he was not wearing a weapon of any kind in plain view.
Something over six foot tall, in his early twenties, wide of shoulder and lean waisted, the second Texas Ranger seemed more in keeping with the reputation earned by that efficient law enforcement force. He had rusty red hair and a face which, despite a badly broken nose, a scar over the left eye-brow and a thickened left ear, was ruggedly good looking. Dressed in the style of a working cowhand, he was carrying in the fast draw holster of his gunbelt a Colt Civilian Model Peacemaker with stag horn grips. 35 All in all, he was a far more impressive figure than his companion and clearly not a man one could cross or defy with impunity.
‘Who are you?’ Handle asked.
The name’s “Anchor”,’ replied the man to whom the question was directed, his Texas drawl still charged with a polite authority which warned there was far more to him than met the eye. ‘“Sergeant Brady Anchor, Company B, Texas Rangers”, in full. This-here’s my nephew, Ranger Jefferson Trade and I reckon’s how you know these other two gents?’
‘I do,’ the New Englander affirmed, nodding with what appeared to be cordiality to Jock McKie although the words he directed at the stocky, middle-aged local peace officer were more complaining than cordial. ‘We could have done with you here earlier today, Deputy Minsey.’
‘So I hear,’ Deputy Sheriff Abel Minsey replied. ‘And I’d’ve been here if I hadn’t had a telegraph message saying the sheriff wanted me over to the county seat. I met Brady and Jeff along the way and they said the sheriff’d sent them over to see me, which got me to thinking maybe the message was a fake.
Same being a way owlhoots sometimes use to get the law out of town while they do some robbing, I came straight back with them.’
‘Do you know who sent the fake message?’ Handle inquired. ‘Nope,’ Minsey admitted. ‘But it wouldn’t be hard to do happen whoever did it knew sic ’em about handling wire cutters and a telegraph key.’
‘I suppose not,’ the New Englander conceded, then returned his gaze to the senior of the Texas Rangers. ‘What can I do for you, sergeant?’
‘Like I said,’ Brady replied. ‘I want to have a talk with you and figure we can do it best outside.’
‘Certainly,’ Handle assented.
‘You’d best send those boys of your’n down to the River Queen,’ Brady went on, as Ira Jacobs and the second man who had been on the bandstand at the saloon started to follow their employer. ‘We found a couple of your riders laying hog-tied and stove up some in an alley.’
‘Go and see to them, Mr. Jacobs!’ Handle ordered, after he and the two hard-cases had swung glares filled with suspicion at the elderly leatherworker. Returning his gaze to the stocky sergeant, he went on, ‘Who did it?’
‘The same jasper’s run off the horses, likely,’ Brady replied blandly, giving no indication that he had been informed of by whom and why this was done. ‘Which it’s right lucky he did it. Run off the horses, I mean, not whomped those boys of yours bowlegged. Because, Mr. Handle, happen you’d’ve took out after your niece, Peraro’d’ve known you were coming almost afore you crossed the Rio Grande. Which being, your niece would’ve been dead and not in a nice, quick way, even should you’ve been able to fight your way into Escopeta.’
‘Andy Evans could’ve told you that,’ McKie stated, nodding to the shorter of
the departing hard-cases.
‘He said there was that danger,’ Handle admitted. ‘But he also claimed he believed he could get us through by a way they wouldn’t be watching.’
‘He’d’ve done more good happen he’d told you to pay,’ the elderly leatherworker growled. ‘He’s been around the border country long enough to know Peraro would’ve sent Miss Mavis back safe and pronto as soon’s the money got to him, such being his way.’
‘He told me that,’ the New Englander answered. ‘But he also told me what would happen to her if I didn’t pay promptly, within the time stipulated and—!’
‘And what?’ Brady prompted as the explanation trailed to an end.
‘And, gentlemen,’ Handle replied in a voice scarcely louder than a whisper. ‘As things stand, I can’t pay him!’
Fourteen – A Throat Just Meant for Cutting
‘God damn it!’ Jock McKie protested, as a reduction in the volume of the conversation and other sounds inside the livery barn indicated that an acceptable division of the available horses had been reached and that saddling was being commenced. ‘That isn’t what you was telling th—us down to the River Queen!’
‘I know it wasn’t,’ Philo Handle replied, apparently failing to attach any significance to the way in which the elderly leatherworker had amended his comment. ‘But I don’t keep anywhere nearly so large a sum as ten thousand dollars in cash at the ranch, or in the town house either. Nor, particularly so soon after the other ranchers have drawn out the pay for their crews, does the bank here in Wet Slim hold anything like that much on the premises for me to draw and use.’
‘Likely,’ McKie said quietly, being willing to concede the point with regards to the financial reserves held by the local bank. ‘But why did you let on’s you’d got it to hand all ready for sending down to Peraro?’
‘Because of who I am, Mr. McKie,’ the rancher answered, showing no discernible objection to what might be considered unofficial questioning. ‘I’m a stranger here and not so well liked as I might be, which I’m willing to admit may be at least partly my own fault for bringing in my own crew.’ His gaze swung to the two Texas Rangers and he went on, ‘Without going into too many details, gentlemen, I followed advice as this is my first venture into the cattle business and the type of men I’ve brought with me have left my motives open to misinterpretation. You all know what cowhands are like. If I’d told them the truth, they would have thought, “That god-damned money-grabbing Yankee son-of-a-bitch is too tight fisted to hand over the cash to get his niece released.” Pretending I had it and would have been willing to hand it over, but for my misgivings in another direction, gave me what I considered to be my only chance of persuading them to help me.’
‘It did that for sure,’ McKie admitted, before any of the peace officers could speak. Aware that the kind of men brought in by the New Englander had aroused suspicion of his intentions among the other ranchers, although none of the suppositions over the reason for their employment had come to fruition, he decided Handle was equally correct in his assessment of how the local cowhands would have regarded the explanation of why the ransom could not be paid. ‘But surely you’d been told how dangerous it was going to be for Miss Mavis should you head down there and try to rescue her?’
‘I’d been told,’ the New Englander agreed somberly. ‘And, gentlemen, I assure you I did not reach my decision without much thought and soul-searching. However, remembering what happened in New York shortly before I left, I considered Mavis would be in as equally grave a danger whatever the circumstances. That is what made me resolve to make an attempt to rescue her.’
‘Just what was it happened in New York to make you think that, Mr. Handle?’ inquired Sergeant Brady Anchor, having studied the speaker as well as the light allowed while the explanation was being made in a voice which throbbed with emotion.
‘There was a spate of kidnappings,’ Handle replied. ‘And the victim of the first was murdered in a particularly brutal fashion because her family delayed in sending the ransom money. As I, or other members of my family seemed to be likely targets, I took great interest in their activities and hired the Pinkertons for our protection. They told me that in their opinion, which was subsequently proven correct, the first victim had been selected deliberately and had been butchered—!’ A shudder accompanied the word and he continued, ‘Believe me, that is close to a literal description of how the young woman was killed. And it was done as an example which would frighten the families of their later victims into paying without hesitation.’ Although it was difficult for the four Texans to see much of the New Englander’s face, due to him standing with the light from the open door of the livery barn behind him, McKie concluded there was a vast change in his demeanor from that which had been in evidence at the River Queen Saloon. Deputy Sheriff Abel Minsey also decided he was showing none of his usual confidence and self assurance. While his expression was not discernible, his bulky frame seemed to have shrunken. All in all, he gave the impression of being under considerable strain caused by the remembrance of how the kidnapping in New York had ended in tragedy as a result of the payment not having been made as promptly as was demanded. It appeared he was so deeply concerned for the welfare of Mavis Dearington, he had been trying to take the only line of action he believed would offer her a chance of salvation.
‘I reckon a thing like that’d do it for sure,’ Ranger Jefferson Trade remarked. ‘What I’ve heard, though, Peraro’s been kidnapping folks for years now. Your niece isn’t anywheres near his first victim.’
‘That may be the case,’ Handle countered. ‘But, according to Mr. Evans, she’s his first victim taken from Texas. Isn’t that so, sergeant?’
‘He’s never taken anybody from north of the border afore that I’ve heard of,’ Brady admitted.
‘And that’s why I believed it was imperative for me to make a rescue bid!’ the New Englander claimed, with something close to defiance returning to his worried tone. ‘The time I was being allowed to send the money was so short, I suspected Peraro was hoping I wouldn’t be able to deliver before it ran out. That way, he could kill my niece as a warning to the families of other victims he was meaning to take.’
‘So you figure he’s going to take more folk from Texas?’ Brady asked.
‘It seems very likely to me,’ Handle replied. ‘There has to come a time when he runs out of victims in Mexico and needs to look elsewhere. Which only leaves north of the Rio Grande. I and my family, being newcomers and Yankees to boot, would be just what he would want for his first victims. He’d consider there’d be less risk of arousing public hostility by taking one of us than if he kidnapped—say the wife of Bilson of the Box L.’
‘You could be right in what you’re saying,’ Brady claimed. ‘Then you’re in agreement with what I was hoping to do?’ the New Englander stated rather than asked.
‘I wouldn’t go so far’s to say that,’ the stocky sergeant corrected. ‘Fact being, happen we’d been here earlier, my nephew and I would’ve backed Abe in stopping you.’
‘Why?’ Handle demanded, returning to something of his previous hardness.
‘First off, to stop you getting your niece killed,’ Brady replied. ‘Which, no matter what you was told, there wasn’t one chance in a million of you being able to keep that from happening. Secondly, should you have tried, there’d have been a whole heap more than just her lose their lives.’
‘I don’t understand you!’ Handle asserted.
‘No matter what you was told,’ Brady elaborated with grim certainty. ‘The way Peraro’ll have his scouts spread between the border and Escopeta, you couldn’t’ve got anywheres near without him knowing you was on your way. Which being and should you be right about him being figuring on grabbing off more folks from up here, he’d aim at scaring off anybody else who might get taken with the notion of going to the rescue and he’d have got it set so you’d be cut to doll rags long before you came even close to your niece. If you’d come back with a quart
er of your men alive, you’d be lucky.’ Pausing as if to make sure the full implications of what he had said would sink in, he continued, ‘And there’s another reason why we couldn’t’ve let you gone.’
‘What is it?’ the New Englander wanted to know.
‘Even if by some mighty slender chance you’d pulled off the rescue, there’d’ve been killing to do it,’ Brady explained. ‘There’re politicians on both sides of the line would’ve called the way you did it an armed invasion of Mexican soil and they’d be ready to raise all hell over such having happened. So, being duly sworn and appointed of the law, we’d have been duty bound to stop you doing it.’
‘Even though refusing to let us go was going to cost my niece her life?’ Handle challenged. Then he gave a shrug indicative of bitterness and resumed his less aggressive way of speaking. ‘Not that it matters now. With the horses gone and no chance of getting the ransom to Peraro on time, my niece is as good as dead already.’
‘Well now,’ McKie put in quietly. ‘I wouldn’t go so far’s to count on that.’
‘How do you mean,’ Handle growled, swinging in a furious fashion to glare at the elderly leatherworker. ‘Count on that?’
‘Easy now,’ McKie requested, raising his right hand in a gesture of pacification. ‘No offence meant, Mr. Handle. I just said that bad. What I mean is, maybe your niece won’t get hurt. Fact being, she could even be back here safe and sound tomorrow.’
‘She could be what?’ the New Englander demanded, showing little sign of being mollified by the words and gesture. ‘I don’t follow you!’
‘Doc and me wondered whether you’d have so much cash on hand to pay out when we read the ransom letter Hettie Bonaparte brought in,’ the elderly Scot explained. ‘Then, when that yahoo, Jacobs, came around trying to scare me out of going to the River Queen and warning what would happen to your niece—!’