by J. T. Edson
As it was, knowing the defendant had raped and murdered his only child no matter what the findings of the court had been, Oakes was—albeit reluctantly and without satisfaction—ready to inflict the death penalty himself.
Raising the adjustable leaf of his rifle’s rear sight and setting it for the something over four hundred and forty yards separating him from his objective, Oakes studied the situation with the experienced eye of one who had served successfully as a sniper with the American Expeditionary Force in France during what was now known as the ‘Great War’. Although the crowd which had gathered in front of the courthouse had been swelled by those fortunate enough to be inside during the latter stages of the trial, the whole of Marlin’s small police force and several deputies from the Falls County Sheriff’s Office had ushered all of them sufficiently far away for them to be in no danger from his shooting. There was only one car parked in the vicinity. It was at the sidewalk, facing the steps leading to the front entrance of the building and would be used by the Texas Rangers to transport Foote to Texarkana where he and the men who had supplied his “alibi” would stand trial for the supposed purchase of the illicit liquor. Even if the other two were with the gang leader, neither could be mistaken for him. Oakes was confident, therefore, he could kill Foote before the safety of the vehicle was attained and without putting the lives of the escorting peace officers at risk.
A keen sportsman, whose love of hunting had encouraged him to keep up the target practice which made him such an efficient sniper during his military service, Oakes was a dead shot and the old Winchester was his favorite firearm. Its ninety-eight grains charge of black powder might lack the power of the later “smokeless” cartridges, but he knew it would do all he required of it. The load produced a muzzle energy of one thousand, six hundred and fifteen foot pounds with which to propel the three hundred grain, .50 Express caliber bullet at a velocity of one thousand and fifty-seven feet per second. Using the weapon with which he was most familiar, he not only had the requisite skill to send the bullet where it would best serve his purpose, but there were ten more rounds waiting to follow the first should they be needed. 38 He did not believe any of them would be. Blunt-nosed, as a precaution against a chance jolt causing the round ahead in the tubular magazine to be detonated, the lead tended to mushroom on impact in a way which would be almost certain to produce a fatal wound when striking any part of the human torso.
Being fully engrossed in watching for Foote to emerge from the courthouse and deeply perturbed by the enormity of what he meant to do, knowing it was a very different matter from the sniping he had performed during the Great War, Oakes was unaware that the key was being pushed from its hole. Nor did he pay any attention to the faint click of the lock being operated from outside the room. The stealthy opening of the door went just as unnoticed and, as when the key fell, the carpet on the floor allowed the animal which entered to approach silently until announcing its presence in no uncertain fashion.
Hearing the menacing growl which rumbled from close behind him, Oakes looked over his left shoulder. Although what he saw brought him to his feet in a hurry, he made no attempt to point the Winchester as—keeping the chair between himself and the source of the sound—he turned. Even without discovering that the dog which was confronting him was not alone, he would have known better than to make any threatening gestures.
Possessing considerable experience in such matters, Oakes needed only one glance at the dark bluish-gray coloration—liberally speckled with numerous irregularly shaped black spots—the black head and saddle, to identify the big dog as an exceptionally fine bluetick coonhound. 39 However, its size implied it had been bred specifically for hunting larger and more dangerous animals than the semi-arboreal raccoon which supplied part of the breed’s name. Being capable of tackling jaguar, cougar, black and even grizzly bear when running in a pack, it could protect itself against a man. 40
From all appearances, the bluetick was ready to take immediate aggressive action if this was needed. Having halted just within leaping distance, it was standing stiff-legged and as tense as a tightly compressed coil spring. A ridge of hair bristled menacingly along its back and, rigid as a poker, its tail rose in a forward crescent. Although it was no longer growling, it was displaying a mouthful of impressive teeth in a lip-curling, if soundless snarl.
The man who had effected the unauthorized entry and followed the dog into the room was tall and as lean as a steer raised in the ‘greasewood’ country. However, apart from implying he could be fairly well on in years, his leathery brown face gave little indication of his actual age. There were wrinkles at the corners of his keen blue eyes and narrow gash of a mouth which were suggestive of a dry sense of humor, but they gave no hint of levity at that moment. In fact, what little expression showed seemed more sympathetic and understanding than anything else.
There was nothing impressive about the newcomer’s attire. He wore a battered and ancient looking Texas style J.B. Stetson hat which had once been white, but was now a greenish-gray, a somewhat baggy brown coat, a gray shirt buttoned to the collar although a necktie was absent, and washed-out Levi pants with their legs hanging outside scuffed black Justin boots. While there was no sign of him being armed in any way, the dully glinting and dented badge of a Texas Ranger was pinned to the left breast pocket of his shirt. In his left hand was a small metal object which resembled a golf iron club.
‘Put down the rifle, Mr. Oakes!’ the elderly peace officer requested, his voice gentle yet commanding, as he walked forward in a leisurely seeming fashion which was nevertheless much swifter than it appeared. ‘That's not the answer!’
‘What—Who—?’ gasped the would-be dispenser of summary punishment, making no attempt to comply and, despite recognizing the metal object carried by the newcomer, he went on, ‘How did you get in here?’
‘It wasn’t so all-fired “deafer-i-calt”,’ the peace officer replied and gestured with the object before dropping it into the pocket of his jacket. ‘Fact being, anybody who’d got him a lock-pick like this ’n’ could’ve done it just’s easy’s I did and without you knowing until too late.’
‘But how did you know I was here?’ Oakes asked, wondering if there had been something left unsaid in the explanation.
‘We’ve been sort of keeping an eye on you ’most ever since you hit town,’ the newcomer admitted. ‘Which you for sure didn’t have that old Winchester hid anywheres near so well’s you figured and it didn’t take too ail fired many brains to figure out what you might’ve got in mind. So, when you didn’t show in the courthouse today to hear the “vere-dict”, we sort of “ester-minated” what you-all was concluding to do should it come out “not guilt-ery” and reckoned you’d best be stopped doing it.’
Having crossed the room until close enough to do so while speaking, the peace officer halted and reached without any suggestion of hesitation, haste, threat, or concern for his own welfare, to take hold of the rifle. Even without the menacing presence of the big dog, being a law abiding citizen, Oakes would not have resisted. In fact, a feeling close to relief assailed him as he allowed it to be taken from his hands. The moment he was relieved of the weapon, he noticed a remark able change come over the bluetick. All the alert watchfulness left it and, flopping on to its side as if suddenly overcome by weariness, it lapsed into a somnolence which formed a vivid contrast when compared with the appearance it had presented when he first set eyes on it.
‘Hey!’ Oakes ejaculated, the big dog’s behavior having sparked off a memory. ‘You’re Sergeant Jubal Branch, aren’t you?’
‘That’s who-all I’ve the “mis-honory-bull” to be,’ the elderly peace officer confirmed, retreating a couple of steps and holding the Winchester with both hands and at arms’ length in front of him. ‘Which ain’t nothing “hey-tall” to be proud of being. Do you feel like sitting down again?’ 41
‘God damn it!’ Oakes spat out bitterly, glancing through the window instead of sitting as had been suggested a
nd seeing the two Texas Rangers escorting the murderer of his daughter from the courthouse. ‘That son-of-a-bitching bastard’s got clean away with it and been set free.’
‘Not “eggs-hack-shally”,’ Branch corrected, looking in the same direction. ‘He’s still got to stand his trial for buying that bootleg liquor, which same’s going against the “Pro-hibit-si-cal” law—!’
‘And what will the murder ring bastard get when he’s tried for that?’ Oakes demanded indignantly. ‘A lousy fine which won’t even start to make a cent in his bank-roll, or at most a few months in jail.’
‘I’m not gainsaying it,’ Branch admitted, working the Winchester’s lever to extract the round from the chamber and following it with the other ten out of the magazine. ‘But it’ll likely give us time to see happen we can learn the “truthfulness” about the way he got his-self found “not guilt-ery”.’
‘And what can happen to him even should you be able to do it?’ the bereaved father challenged in an angry voice. ‘I might not be a tophand legal shyster like that fancy talking bastard who got the son-of-a-bitch off, but I’ve read enough about the law to know a man can’t be tried twice for the same crime, no matter how he got away with it the first time. Which’s why I was figuring on—!’
‘Hold hard there!’ Branch commanded, taking his left hand from the rifle and raising it in a prohibitive gesture which brought the other’s tirade to a halt. ‘I’m not saying’s how we ’n’s could haul him back in front of a judge should we get proof this trial was rigged all ways, on account of that’d “double jeopard-isical” him against the Constitution of the good old U.S. of A. Only your way, should you have had it in mind, isn’t the answer neither. What I’ve heard tell about you when you was in France with the A.E.F. and as a hunter, you could likely’ve made wolf bait of him from up here. 42 But, had such been your “intent-erations” and you’d gone ahead ’n’ done it, one of us peace officers’d’ve had to haul you in to stand trial for his murder no matter how much we could understand why you’d thrown down on him.’
‘No jury would blame me for doing it,’ Oakes asserted, but his whole demeanor showed he was ill at ease. ‘Not after what he’d done to my lil gal.’
‘They wouldn’t blame you, but they’d sure’s sin’s for sale in Cowtown 43 have to find you “guilt-ery” of doing it,’ the elderly sergeant pointed out, despite feeling sure this had occurred to the disconsolate man. ‘And, even should they go against all the “heavi-dense” ’n’ let you off, do you reckon your good lady—or your daughter, comes to that—would want you with his blood on your hands?’
‘I know my Martha wouldn't,’ Oakes admitted, taking another look out of the window. He found that the peace officers had already set off in the car with Foote and realized the suppliers of the “alibi” could not be traveling in the vehicle. Seeing his cousin approaching hurriedly, he gave no thought to the omission. Returning his gaze to the peace officer, he went on with what he believed to be the truth. ‘She didn’t even know I was fetching along that old Winchester of mine, but she begged Cousin Bill and me not to do anything loco should that son-of-a-bitch Foote get away with it. Well, I’m ready to go with you and I won’t give you any trouble. But I’ll be obliged if you’ll take me out the back way.’
‘There’s plenty’s might say’s how your good lady gave you some right smart “had-vice-erables”,’ Branch drawled, paying no attention to the other’s last two sentences and refraining from mentioning that Mrs. Martha Oakes had notified the sheriff of Falls County of what she suspected upon discovering her husband’s favorite rifle was missing from the gun rack in his study. ‘You-all should ought to’ve “tooken” it.’
‘There’ve been plenty of other times when I should have and didn't, then came to wish I had,’ Oakes confessed and, hoping to save his cousin from sharing the consequences of his thwarted attempt to take revenge, he continued as he stepped forward, ‘Well, like I said, I’m ready to go with you.’
‘Who-all’s going any place just yet?’ Branch inquired, as—apart from raising its head slightly—the big bluetick gave no indication of knowing the other was moving. ‘Sit down again. You look like you need to.’
‘God damn it, this was all my idea!’ Oakes protested, slumping dejectedly into the chair. ‘Do you have to take in Cousin Bill as well?’
‘As well’s who?’ Branch asked.
'Me!’ Oakes answered, jerking his right thumb towards his chest.
'You?’ the elderly sergeant queried. ‘Now what makes you reckon’s how I’d be wanting to take you in. Or needing to, comes to that?’
‘Blast it, man!’ Oakes barked angrily, his temper rising as he was subjected to what he considered must be some form of cat-and-mouse game by the peace officer. ‘You caught me getting ready to—!’
‘I caught you sitting over by the window, holding this old Winchester is all,’ Branch interrupted. Thrusting the rifle’s lever down and up, he pressed the trigger and, as the hammer fell with nothing more than a dry click, continued amiably, ‘Which, looks like to me, it’s empty. And, so far’s my “hex-perry-mence” of such goes, that’s not again’ the legal law in this here great ’n’ Sovereign State of Texas.’
‘Gracias, Jubal!’ Oakes breathed, exuding genuine contrition, as his gaze dropped to the eleven cartridges which had been ejected by the elderly peace officer prior to making the experiment and remembering the significant way in which some of the other’s previous comments were worded. Letting out a long sigh of relief, he went on, ‘I reckon you and that fool old hound dog of yours stopped me doing something which I reckon I’d have regretted for the rest of my life.’
‘I’m not about to ask what that might be,’ Branch declared and there was a timbre in his voice which warned he had better not be told.
‘Whatever you say,’ Oakes assented, drawing the correct conclusions and far from displeased by the way in which the potentially precarious situation was developing. For all that, he was unable to prevent himself from taking yet another look out of the window and remarking, ‘But it surely goes against the grain to think that that murderous son-of-a-bitch should get off so lightly when we both know he was guilty as all hell.’
‘I’d like to be able to come right on out and tell you’s maybe he won’t,’ the elderly sergeant said somberly, going to lay the rifle on the bed and sitting alongside it. ‘Only it wouldn’t be right of me to—!’
The words came to an end as the door was thrown open!’Why the hell didn’t you—?’ began the man whose hurried arrival had caused the peace officer to stop speaking and who, on becoming aware that the person he was addressing was not alone, sent his right hand swiftly beneath the left side of his jacket.
Neither the question nor the gesture were completed!
Instead, the newcomer skidded to a halt and stood as if suddenly turned to stone!
There was a very good reason for the cessation of activity! Although its master continued to sit apparently at ease on the bed, shedding its posture of somnolence, the big bluetick had come to its feet in a rapid bound. Almost instantaneously, it returned to the menacingly alert attitude of readiness to attack it had displayed on its arrival.
‘Well now, Mr. Shelby,’ Branch drawled, employing the same tone as when warning Oakes against making any incriminating statements. ‘I wouldn’t say’s anything was going to be done, nor even “conter-perlated”.’
‘Hey!’ William Shelby gasped, staring at the badge of office worn by the elderly Texas Ranger and allowing his empty right hand to swing back to his off side without provoking hostility from the watching dog. ‘You’re not Butch Cope!’
‘I can’t mind ever saying’s how I was,’ Branch replied calmly, despite knowing the man in question was Foote’s second in command and had been in the courthouse during the earlier stages of the trial. ‘Fact being, we don’t look nothing alike, I’m right “pleasure-abled” to say.’
‘But when I remembered he wasn’t in court this morning and you hadn�
��t—!’ Shelby commenced, directing the words at his kinsman.
‘Could be said Mr. Cope had something to ’tend to “other-wheres”,’ Branch interrupted, before the new arrival could make an indiscreet disclosure with regard to his cousin’s intentions. ‘Shut the door and sit down, Mr. Shelby. And, happen you gents don’t reckon’s how I’m taking a “libert-ical”, seeing’s how this here’s your room ’n’ all, I reckon I’ll just stay and visit a whiles with you.’
‘We’re not figuring on taking out after Foote, happen that’s what’s worrying you!’ Oakes asserted, watching the bluetick settle down once more and, apparently, fall asleep at once. ‘But you’re welcome to stay just as long as takes your fancy.’
‘Gracias, that’s right neighborly of you,’ Branch answered, as Shelby closed the door and went to sit on the other chair in the room. ‘Anyways, I wasn’t figuring’s how you’d got the notion to take out after him. But feelings’ve been running kind of high and, folks being the way they be, somebody else might figure on doing it.’
‘Who would that be?’ Oakes put in, frowning in genuine puzzlement.
‘What we’ve heard, there’s some of the other owlhoots haven’t been any too “pleasure-abied” about the fuss he’s caused to be stirred up,’ Branch explained. ‘Trouble being, should somebody try to do meanness to him over it, you’d strike some folks’s being the most likely suspect. So, like that fancy legal spouting shyster showed was the case with good old “Handi-some Phil”, there’s nothing so “comforti-ficating” as having a real good strong “ally-biceral” to show’s it couldn’t’ve been you’s did it.’
Coming almost like an echo to the cryptic—if puzzling—comment, several shots were fired from somewhere outside the hotel!