Wacos Debt

by J. T. Edson

  ‘Thing being how’s Talbot stand with you boys,’ Waco interrupted Mary Anne’s angry speech.

  ‘Mean cuss, like I said. Don’t take to cowhands at all. Real nester lover.’

  Waco grinned. He knew that Larry, as a cowhand, disliked the man for some reason. It could be a valid one or it could be that Talbot’s ideas of fun did not run to cowhand rowdiness.

  This matter here at the ranch did not come under the province of the town marshal for it happened well beyond city limits. However, Waco always tried to stay friendly and do things right by the town law. The killing of the nester was a matter for the county sheriff’s office and they should be informed unless there was a deputy sheriff in town. The town marshal’s duties were concerned with the town itself and out beyond the town limits he held no jurisdiction.

  ‘Who’s County Sheriff?’ he inquired.

  ‘Vince Cole. Real nice gent from all I’ve seen. Don’t come down this way often.’ Larry was acting as spokesman for the ranch crew.

  ‘He got a deputy in town?’

  ‘Ole Lafe Sanger does most of the deputising for him up this end of the county. Ain’t often much to do though.’

  ‘Then it’s old Lafe who’ll be doing the investigation here.’ Waco was relieved. Sanger was an old friend and would be fair in his judgment of the situation. There was more, far more, to this raid than first met the eye.

  He laid the gun on the table and came to his feet. ‘Bring a lamp along, Red. I want to go and take a look out there.’

  Red knew full well Waco’s skill in the reading of sign. The Ysabel Kid was a masterhand at the reading and following of sign and in Waco the Kid found an apt pupil. If there was any sign at all out there Waco would find it.

  The rest of the ranch crew followed Waco and Red out, staying by the side of the house and watching as the two young men went to where the burned-out torches lay, showing the exact place of the raid. By light of the lamp Waco examined the churned ground, going over it with care. He was nearly sure that there would be no chance at all of finding anything to help him. The ground was too hard, too churned up by the hooves of not only the raiders’ mounts but by the remuda of the ranch too. He knew his guessing was correct for all of that. The men who’d ridden this way were not nesters. He knew some nesters could ride well, but not with the easy grace those men showed. Ben Silver was drunk, that was plain to see. The other men were not. Waco was almost sure he could lay down the full idea behind this raid but he did not aim to show his suspicions until he was sure of them.

  ‘Rusty gal,’ he said, as he and Red walked back to the others, ‘We’ll tote that hombre into town tomorrow. I want the hood put back on again. We’ll make like we did not look to see who it was. I’m going to see Doc Smethers when we hit town.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Red wounded one. He’s going to need some treatment. If he goes to the doctor we’ll know who he is. Doc Smethers wouldn’t be scared of any cheap gunny and he’ll tell us. Then we can start to make a move.’

  ‘All right. I’ll let you handle it. See what sort of a mess you get us in.’ Mary Anne ruffled Waco’s hair. ‘What do you want us to do?’

  ‘We’ll all go in to town tomorrow. All the crew. I want to show whoever’s causing the trouble you’ve got a crew that’ll stand by you.’

  The girl nodded. She could see Waco was capable of handling her affairs. She wondered at the change in him. When he’d left home she was sure he’d end up as another Wes Hardin. The finished product pleased her. It would have amazed her if she’d seen him in the days when he rode for Clay Allison. Then Waco was a sullen, truculent youngster with an edgy temper and readiness to fight in his heart. The change in him since joining up with the Rio Hondo gun wizard, Dusty Fog, was amazing. His intimate friends noticed it far more than did the girl.

  ‘Say, Mary Anne.’ The girl turned and found Larry standing by her side. ‘We’re sorry about the way we acted when you first came in the bunkhouse. We’re cowhands, not gunfighters but we’re ready to stick by you now.’

  ‘I know that.’ The girl smiled back at the young cowhand. She made sure Waco was not near enough to hear, or his two friends. ‘Waco’s a real good man to follow and the other two are almost as good. We’ll make out.’

  ‘Why sure.’ Larry went into consultation with the others then turned to the girl. ‘Ole Waco ought to be talked out of dumping you in the water-trough. We have to wash in that water.’

  Mary Anne was not slow on the uptake, she smiled back at the circle of faces around her. ‘Yeah, he should at that,’

  Waco, all unsuspecting, was standing discussing the plans for the ride into town on the following day with Red and Doc. He paid no attention to the ranch crew and the girl as they gathered around him. Then the girl gave a yell and they hurled forward. Waco was hit by a flying wedge of bodies. There was a wild and hectic struggle in which Red and Doc lent a willing hand. Bucking, struggling, held by arms and legs Waco was lifted and carried to the water-trough. The splash as he went in was like music to Mary Anne’s ears.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A NEAR FATAL MISTAKE

  THE five men pitching horseshoes behind the livery barn turned as they heard the sound of hooves. They studied the rider, seeing a tall, slim and studious looking young man, who sat his limping black stallion with easy grace. They also noted that he wore an ivory-butted gun in a fast man’s rig, trigger-guard left clear for the easy insertion of the trigger-finger. He brought the horse to a halt, swung down and lashed the pigging thong of his holster, then bent and lifted the black horse’s foot and looked at the loose shoe on it.

  One of the horseshoe pitchers grinned at the others and winked. He was a tall man, handsome and dressed in the style of a range dandy, buckskin shirt with long fringes, tight-legged trousers carefully tucked into his shining boots; Around his waist was a gunbelt supporting a brace of pearl-handled Colts, their butts flaring handily to his grip. His eyes took in this studious-looking young man, who was acting, or trying to act, like a big, fierce gunman. Swinging from the others this big man stepped forward towards the newcomer.

  ‘You looking for somebody, bub?’

  Doc Leroy turned and looked the gunman over with cool contempt, every working cowhand held for a man who lived by selling his guns to the highest bidder.

  ‘Man’d say you were right.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The gent who owns the forge there. Likely it’s not you though.’

  ‘You working hereabouts, bub?’

  One of the other men stood waiting for the dandy to take his throw with the horseshoes. ‘Leave him be, Cholla. Come over here and take your toss.’

  Cholla Jocelyn grinned and shook his head. He was an arrant bully with gunspeed to back it up, and picking on a mild-looking pale-faced dude like this was always good fun. ‘I said who do you work for?’ Jocelyn held his voice hard.

  ‘S.S.C.,’ Doc answered mildly.

  There was an instant change among the men. They let the horseshoes fall and moved forward to flank their friend. Doc knew he’d made him a mistake but it was one he could soon correct.

  ‘Work for the S.S.C. do you?’ Jocelyn sneered the words out. ‘Now that’s a real unlucky spread to work for, Man’d do better if he just got on his hoss and rode out, got clear of it.’

  ‘That the truth?’ Doc sounded interested in a polite way.

  ‘The living truth, boy. So you can just start in by handing me that fancy-looking gun.’

  ‘This gun?’ Doc’s attitude suggested he was not even sure if he was wearing a gun or not. ‘Why, I couldn’t rightly do that, suh. See, I’m buying it on time and it still isn’t paid for.’

  Cholla Jocelyn grinned and winked at the other men who stood by him. They were standing here more with the expectation of having a good laugh than with any thought of their assistance being needed. That was the rig of a real fast gunman, but this pallid-faced youngster could not be one. Only one of them was in the least worried. He was thi
nking of another pallid, inoffensive-looking man who talked like this one, with a sleepy southern drawl. That one was Doctor John H. Holliday, the deadly dentist of Dodge City.

  Jocelyn did not know the notorious Doc Holliday and would not have taken this young man for him anyway. He held out a hand and snapped out: ‘All right, hand it over.’

  ‘If I don’t?’ There was a slightly different sound in Doc’s voice now, and a slight difference in the way he stood.

  ‘I’ll just take it from you, bub.’

  ‘Oh!’ Doc answered gently.

  Jocelyn moved forward, hand reaching out. Doc Leroy’s thin, almost boneless-looking hand made a sight-defying flip and the sun caught the glint on the four and three quarter inch blue barrel of his Colt. The gun was clear, lined, the hammer drawn back under a skilled thumb. The gunmen froze, all of them. Jocelyn halted with his right loot raised from the ground and hands still half reaching out, looking like a rabbit mesmerised by a snake. The dandy gulped. That draw was as fast as he’d ever seen and he’d seen fast men. Here was no pasty-faced dude dressed up in range clothes. This was the real, full growed and ready for stud thing.

  ‘You going to take it right now?’ Doc’s voice was still the same but there was mocking irony in it. ‘The name, bub, if you’re interested, is Marvin Elldridge Leroy. Better known under the sobriquet of Doc.’

  ‘Doc Leroy of the Wedge?’ Jocelyn gulped the words out.

  ‘Once, now permanently riding for the O.D. Connected and temporarily on loan to the S.S.C.’ Doc watched the men, knowing they were well aware of his reputation. ‘Although you seem all fired set to have me leave the S.S.C. You still wanting my gun, bub?’

  Jocelyn gulped. The gun was back in leather again, gone back in that same flickering, lightning-fast move. The thin hand lifted and once more he looked as he did when he first rode in. There was one slight difference though. They knew how good with a gun he was. Jocelyn stood very still. He knew the other men would back his play to the last bullet, that gave him no comfort at all. There were fast men here, one at least he would say was faster than himself. But not one of them, nor any other man Brarsand hired, could face Doc Leroy’s speed and walk away from the fight. There were five of them here, more than any one man could handle and live to boast of it. If they called the play that way Doc Leroy was a dead man, but before he died he would get at least two of them and probably three. They would kill Doc but the chances of survival were no more than two to one. In Jocelyn’s case the odds were even lower. He knew when Doc Leroy drew, the first shot would end Cholla Jocelyn’s life.

  ‘Doc, can’t you go no place without getting into trouble?’

  The voice was an easy southern drawl, a cheerful sounding voice. Cholla Jocelyn looked at the side of the building and knew war was long out of the question. There were two young men standing out from the side of the building and by the wall three of the S.S.C. hands. It was the first two who gave pause to Jocelyn. He could read the signs right then showing as well as the two cowhands showed them. He noted the two guns each wore and knew that here was just as real a thing as Doc Leroy. The big, handsome blond boy might look young, but so did William Bonney.

  Red Blaze and Waco studied the scene before them. They’d been waiting for Doc to return to them and come to see what was delaying him. They’d observed most of what happened and took a hand to prevent killing for they knew without needing proof how good Doc Leroy was.

  ‘They abusing you, Doc?’ Red inquired.

  ‘Gent here wants to take my gun and warned me how unlucky it was to work for S.S.C.,’ Doc answered.

  ‘Didn’t you tell him you still owed for it?’ Red watched the gunmen all the time, hoping for a fight.

  ‘Nope. You can just bet he didn’t,’ Waco said as he watched the owner of the livery barn and the blacksmith who were standing and studying all this with obvious pleasure. ‘Now why’d it be unlucky to work for the S.S.C. friend?’

  ‘Hell, we were just funning,’ Jocelyn replied. He knew he was licked and the feeling hurt.

  ‘Man could die doing just that.’ Waco’s voice was grim. ‘I work for S.S.C., so does Red here. You all aiming to take my guns?’

  ‘Hell friend, we was only funning. We—’

  ‘We’re not stopping you from doing anything, are we?’

  Cholla Jocelyn took the hint. He did not need a yard high sign to tell him that stopping on would be both dangerous and asking for bad trouble. He turned on his heel and walked away, his men following him. They did not resume their half done game of horseshoes but walked away, headed for the saloon. Brarsand was going to need to know that S.S.C. was led by three real fast men with guns. It would clear the air about a few things which were bothering the saloon keeper.

  Doc watched the gunmen walking away and grunted in disgust. ‘You pair’s always spoiling things for a man, now aren’t you?’

  The owner of the barn and the blacksmith came ambling over. They were much alike, being twin brothers. Seamus and Mike Reagan looked only a little different from when Waco last saw them. They’d been big, grey haired and hard looking then. They weren’t much different now, just a little more wrinkled. Seamus looked hard at Waco, studying him.

  ‘I should know you, friend. Never forget a face. You working for Mary Anne out at the S.S.C.?’

  ‘Only when she’s looking. Rest of the time we’re sleeping for the S.S.C. The name’s Waco.’

  ‘Waco?’ Seamus rubbed his jaw, then his eyes bulged out. ‘You mean you’re—’

  ‘Yeah. I’m the one. How’s things—?’

  ‘Red!’ Larry came around the corner fast, skidding to a halt. ‘The great siezer’s coming up fast. Shotgun and all.’

  ‘Sorry I can’t stop, Seamus. Let’s go.’ Waco turned on his heel and walked away followed by Red.

  ‘Tend to my hoss, Colonel, will you?’ Doc jerked his head to the big black stallion. ‘Needs shoeing.’

  Without waiting for confirmation of his request, Doc joined the other two and headed for the street where Mary Anne was waiting for them with the wagon. The S.S.C. hands, all except a couple who were on guard at the ranch, were forming a protective circle around the girl. They were sitting their horses and facing a man who walked towards them. The man was tall, thin and looked as lean and vicious as a weasel. His face was pointed, the nose looking sharp enough to plough with. His narrow-set eyes were black and glittered. His mouth was tight as a rat trap and looked like it was permanently set in a sneer. He wore a cutaway coat with a marshal’s badge on it and around his waist was a gunbelt with a Colt butt forward in the holster at his right side. In his hand he held a ten-gauge shotgun which he hefted as he came to a halt in front of the wagon.

  ‘You bunch in town to hooraw it?’

  ‘Not yet.’ Waco’s voice was flat and even as a crowd started to gather. ‘We brought a body in.’

  ‘Body?’ The marshal’s narrow eyes appeared to get even more so. ‘What body’s that?’

  ‘Under the tarp in the back.’ Red jerked his hand towards the wagon where Mary sat by Lee Chan. ‘Take a look at him.’

  ‘Just who might you be?’ The marshal made no move to go and see the body, but stood looking them over. He could read the signs and knew that here was a real hard trio, gunhardy and dangerous to tangle with.

  ‘We ride for the S.S.C.’ Red’s quick temper started to pop up at this breach of Western etiquette. ‘Miss Catlan’s ranch. Who are you?’

  ‘Name’s Talbot. Lyge Talbot. Town Marshal here.’ Shoving back the side of his coat, Talbot showed his badge more plainly. ‘Like I just—’

  ‘You don’t seem interested in the body back there, mister. You know who he is, or something?’

  Talbot stiffened as Waco spoke. There was a fair-sized crowd gathering now, townspeople and nesters from the look of them. Waco was looking at the crowd. He saw a white-haired, thin and miserable looking old man wearing a sober black suit standing with a smaller, plump and cheery-looking nester. His eyes next wen
t to the tall, tow-haired youngster who was standing by these two. There was worry and fear in this young man’s eyes. Next his eyes went to three men who stood just clear of the crowd. Three hard-faced, hard-eyed men wearing range clothes, two of them with low-tied guns. The kid, a stocky man of medium size, better dressed than the other two, was not wearing a gunbelt. Instead, an ivory-handled Colt was thrust into his waistband, pointing towards the left. The reason for this was plain, his right arm was held in a sling.

  Talbot was watching Waco, reading the signs right. It was something he’d not seen since he worked with the Earps in Dodge City as one of the noble, fearless Kansas law and order group. There he’d seen men like this youngster. Texas men, men whose names were legends. Clay Allison, Dusty Fog, Ben Thompson, King Fisher, Wes Hardin, all of them had the same look as this soft-talking boy. It was the look of a man supremely confident in his skill with a gun. Since taking over as town law here Talbot gained a reputation for being tough. He wore the halo of the Kansas trailend town law proudly. The young cowhands here were not gunfighters and he’d never been called on to prove himself. Now he knew there were three men in town who were no respecters of Kansas lawmen.

  With this in mind he walked to the rear of the wagon and pulled the tarpaulin from the shape which lay beneath it, looked down and then up at Waco. ‘He’s got a hood on.’

  ‘Now me, I thought it was a beard,’ Red scoffed.

  ‘You, make another remark like that and I’ll bend a gun-barrel over your head.’

  For a threat or a bluff this remark fell singularly flat. Red Balze grinned savagely, his hands stayed at his sides, the palms turned slightly out, fingers spread and ready to lift his guns clear of leather. ‘That so?’ he asked. ‘Any time you think you can, whup ahead and start into doing it.’

  Talbot backed down, climbed down faster than he liked doing. He knew that his ten-gauge- shotgun did not scare this freckle-faced heller any more than it scared the blond boy. He knew he must act fast, get this over with before he lost any more face. He reached out a hand, drawing the hood from the head.