by J. T. Edson
Wondering what had brought the two men to the mansion and if it was connected with the killings of the afternoon, Marlene became conscious of the powerful muscles in Mark’s forearm. Clearly he was a man of considerable strength. Yet he moved lightly on his feet and without any suggestion of clumsiness. In all probability, he would be a very capable fighting man.
Glancing up at her escort, Marlene reached a decision. She would exercise all her charm upon him. If she could win him over, he might prove a very useful weapon and a more loyal ally than Harlow Dolman. Such a man, properly handled, could be invaluable in her future dealings with her husband. He might also be capable of dealing with Dusty Fog if the need arose.
‘Howdy, Rupe, Lon,’ the small Texan drawled, not knowing that he was the subject of Marlene Viridian’s thoughts. Having studied the two men since first seeing them, he had guessed that they were bringing bad, or disturbing, news. ‘What’s the trouble?’
‘You-all allowed he’d figure there’d been trouble, but I told you he wouldn’t,’ the Ysabel Kid stated, eyeing the marshal as if he had proved a point instead of just the opposite. ‘I knew he’d reckon we’d come to join in all these high-toned doings and fancy foot-stompings.’
‘Is he like this all the time, Dusty?’ Marshal Rupert Grillman asked, in tones redolent of mock resignation.
A tall, red-haired, angular man in his early thirties, the peace officer wore a town-dweller’s suit, shirt and tie, but sported a white Stetson, range boots and a gun belt that carried an Army Colt in its fast-draw holster. There was an air of quiet competence about him that the law-abiding citizens of Fort Worth were finding most reassuring after the corruption and inefficiency of the State Police.
‘Only when he’s awake,’ the small Texan replied. ‘Which’s never when there’s any work to be done.’ Then he became more serious. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Trouble, like you figured,’ Grillman answered. ‘Let’s take a walk in the garden so’s we can talk in private.’ His eyes flickered at the Kid and he went on, ‘Company I’m keeping. I’d’s soon not go anywhere’s I’ll be seen by folks who know me.’
‘That’s not why he won’t go inside,’ the Kid informed Dusty. ‘He don’t want folks saying, “Who-all’s that ole saddle-tramp with the Ysabel Kid?” And I’m not keen on going in, neither. Being seen with low-class folks like him wouldn’t do me no good socially.’
‘Who taught you to say words like “socially”?’ the marshal challenged.
‘I know a heap of other long ’n’s as well,’ the Kid warned. ‘Happen we’d more time, I’d use ’em, not that you’d know what they mean.’
‘I don’t mind Rupe standing here jawing about nothing,’ Dusty growled. ‘The good tax-paying citizens of Fort Worth hire and pay him, but you’re working for the OD Connected and this’s on our time.’
‘Somebody’s trying to tell us something, Rupe,’ drawled the Kid, unabashed by the small Texan’s cold-eyed scrutiny. ‘Let’s get going.’
Looking into the room, Dusty’s eyes came to rest on Marlene and her partner as they danced by. If anybody had been watching, they might have noticed that the blond giant darted what might have been an inquiring glance at the small Texan and apparently received a quick, but negative, shake of the head in return.
If the by-play had meant anything, Dusty did not mention it as he walked away from the building with his visitors. Finding a secluded part of the garden, he got straight down to business.
‘What’s this blasted varmint been up to this time, Rupe?’ Dusty demanded.
‘Me!’ yelped the Kid, contriving to sound amazed and indignant, while looking as innocent as a pew filled with choirboys singing for the bishop.
‘You,’ Dusty confirmed.
‘Anybody’d reckon’s I got into trouble’s regular’s Red Blaze, when it ain’t never but two-three times in any one week,’ the Kid protested. Then, dropping the levity, he told the small Texan about the trouble at the Post Oaks Saloon. He tried not to forget any of the details and concluded by saying, ‘I had to kill ’em both. There wasn’t time for nothing fancy like trying to take ’em alive for questioning. Couldn’t find hide nor hair of them other two, neither, what with having to wait until the law got around to coming ’n’ asking what all the fuss was over.’
‘I mind the time when you wasn’t so all-fired eager to wait around for the law,’ Grillman commented, thinking back to the days when the Ysabel family had been engaged in smuggling along the Rio Grande. ‘But I’m—’
‘They was better days, too,’ grunted the Kid. ‘I didn’t have to wait—’
‘Like I was going to say, when I got interrupted,’ the marshal went on. ‘But I’m right pleased there’s been a change for the better.’
‘There’s some’s’d say it was for the worser,’ the Kid sniffed. ‘If I hadn’t waited—’
‘Or that any change in you’d have to be for the better,’ Grillman continued. ‘What do you reckon set ’em after him, Dusty?’
‘Were they drunk, Lon?’ the small Texan inquired.
‘Not so’s it showed,’ answered the Kid. ‘And I don’t recollect ever having crossed their trail to’ve got ’em all riled up at me.’
‘Way you told it,’ Dusty said pensively, ‘they seemed tolerable set on stopping you talking about trailing herds to Kansas.’
‘That’s how it sounded to me. Unless they was just feeling ornery and on the prod ’n’ figured it’d be a good way to start trouble,’ the Kid replied and darted a defiant glance at the marshal. ‘Which, afore I gets asked, I don’t believe neither. Maybe the young cuss’d’ve done it, but the other two would’ve been too slick for such foolishness. They wasn’t yearling stock. Happen they’d just been on the prod, they’d’ve wanted somebody’s’d’ve been a damned sight safer than me. Especially with the company I was keeping.’
‘Much’s I hate to admit it, I’ll go along with you on that, Lon,’ Grillman stated. ‘What do you make of it, Dusty?’
‘Going by what Lon’s just said,’ the small Texan replied, ‘it could be tied in with those three jaspers who tried to jump me.’
‘I thought you figured they were trying to rob you?’ Grillman objected.
‘That’s how it looked at first,’ Dusty admitted. ‘But I wasn’t too sure about it all along. I couldn’t see why they would try to rob me, I didn’t look like I’d be carrying anything worth stealing. On top of that, they hadn’t robbed the rancher before they came after me. I’d seen one of them looking around the corner then duck back like he didn’t want to let me know he was there. They’d have had time to empty Dover’s pockets before they came.’
‘Maybe they wanted to make sure you didn’t get to the alley and see what they was doing,’ the Kid suggested.
‘So why did all three of them come?’ Dusty wanted to know. ‘One could have been robbing Dover while the other two ‘tended to me.’
‘I only asked the question,’ the Kid protested. ‘I didn’t aim to answer the son-of-a-bitching thing.’
‘Why thank you, ‘most to death,’ Dusty said sarcastically. ‘I was even more sure that it wasn’t just for robbery when I heard what the undertaker and the doctor had told you, Rupe.’
While laying out Dover’s body, his wife having decided to let him be buried in Fort Worth’s graveyard, the undertaker had noticed considerable discoloration on the abdomen and testicles. On being called to investigate, the doctor had confirmed that both areas were badly bruised. He had informed the marshal, who had passed on the news to Dusty.
‘Them injuries had me worried,’ Grillman confessed. ‘He must’ve been unconscious, or so close as made no difference, when that bastard shot him.’
‘He sure aimed to kill him,’ the Kid went on. ‘Shot and missed once, then made damned sure it didn’t happen again.’
‘And that was at a feller who couldn’t’ve done anything to stop him,’ the marshal continued.
‘But could have identified him,’ Dusty point
ed out.
‘So could you,’ the Kid reminded him.
‘I could say what he looked like,’ Dusty corrected. ‘Maybe Dover could have put a name to him.’
‘What’ve you got in mind about this, Dusty?’ Grillman demanded.
‘Not a whole heap,’ the small Texan answered. ‘Just a few loose ends that’re starting to tie together. I’d just been talking to Dover about trailing to Kansas and he seemed eager to have a whirl at it. And Kansas was the first thing mentioned when the feller who got away came up to me. Has the posse come back?
‘Nope,’ Grillman growled. ‘And I’m not expecting them to find anything, for all Dolman’s big talk. We should’ve gone along, Lon.’
‘You’re needed here in town, Rupe,’ Dusty said. ‘And, to be fair, Dolman had him a point when he said he’d got a track-reader who he’d worked with before and knew.’
‘So you reckon those fellers jumped you because you’d been telling Dover about trailing to the railroad, huh?’ the marshal asked, reverting to the main subject of the conversation. ‘That means he must’ve told them you’d done it.’
‘But not who you was,’ the Kid went on, looking at the small Texan. ‘They’d never come after you that ways had they known.’
‘That’s for sure,’ Grillman conceded without hesitation. ‘So it looks like Dover knowed them fellers, or was stopped and asked about Kansas. Either’s likely. Near on everybody in town’s talking about it. Which do you reckon. Dusty?’
‘Either’s likely,’ Dusty agreed. ‘Which means that somebody doesn’t want folks thinking it can be done and’re set on stopping the notion that it can.’
‘But who the hell’d want to do that?’ the marshal demanded. ‘If it can be done and Colonel Charlie’s right about them wanting so much beef in the East, the money it’ll bring in’s going to set Texas back on her feet.’
‘There’s some’s wouldn’t want to see that,’ the Kid warned. ‘Soft-shell bastards’s hates us for fighting for the South. Carpetbaggers and scalawags who’re getting good pickings while folks don’t have any money. What’d ole Carpetbag Davis reckon about it, Dusty?’
‘He won’t commit himself one way or the other,’ the small Texan replied. ‘But I don’t reckon he likes the notion. Once Texas gets back on her feet, we’ll get back the franchise and he’ll be out of office.’
‘So it could be him and the rest of his Reconstruction scum!’ growled the marshal. ‘I can’t think of anybody else.’
‘How about the hide and tallow men?’ Dusty inquired.
‘Hell yes!’ Grillman ejaculated. ‘If the ranchers can sell their cattle for a good price at the railroad, they sure as hell-and-a-half won’t take what the factories’re paying.’
‘I’m not saying there’s anything in it,’ Dusty drawled. ‘But I was just now talking to Mrs. Viridian and she didn’t sound any too taken by the notion of folks trailing herds to Kansas.’
‘Viridian?’ the marshal repeated, frowning. ‘You mean her whose husband does all the killing for the Pilar Hide & Tallow Company?’
‘Sure.’
‘Is her husband in town?’
‘Nope. She allows he’s stayed at home. Why?’
‘Because,’ Grillman said soberly, ‘apart from the clothes, he’d fit the description of the feller’s got away. I couldn’t figure who that one put me in mind of when you first told me about him.’
‘Her husband, huh?’ Dusty asked.
‘The height, heft ’n’ color of his hair’re the same,’ Grillman confirmed. ‘I couldn’t swear to the kind of boots he wears, but he totes an ivory-handled Remington New Model Police revolver in a cross draw rig.
Dusty nodded his acceptance of the points made by the peace officer. While Grillman might not have paid any attention to Viridian’s footwear, he was certain to have noticed how the man was armed and carried the weapon.
‘Only,’ drawled the Kid, ‘happen the lady’s telling the truth, her husband’s not in town.’
‘That’s what she said,’ Dusty agreed. ‘But she doesn’t seem sure why he stayed at home. She told the Governor that he’d sprained his wrist, but reckoned he was in bed with the grippe when she was talking to Mrs. Fitt.’
‘Whooee!’ the Kid ejaculated. ‘If she was lying that-a-ways, he could be in town right now.’
‘Or left after he’d killed Dover,’ Grillman went on, darting a look around the garden to make sure that they were not being observed.
‘Or he’s had nothing to do with it,’ Dusty drawled. ‘There could be other reasons why she didn’t tell the same story about him.’
‘Sure,’ Grillman admitted. ‘But—’
‘But there’d be a few things explained if it was Viridian,’ Dusty finished for the marshal. ‘He’s a hide and tallow man and likely wouldn’t want Uncle Charlie’s notion to come off. So he could’ve come here to try and make sure that it didn’t. Maybe Dover used to sell cattle to their factory, which’d explain how Viridian knew him—and why Dover was killed. Figuring a deputy’d been shot, Viridian wouldn’t want anybody around who could put a name to him. He showed that when he gunned down his own man.’
‘You’d seen him up close and could recognize him again,’ the Kid pointed out having forgotten that he had already raised that point.
‘But I couldn’t name him,’ Dusty repeated. ‘That’s where the difference lies. And you didn’t give him the chance to make sure of me.’
‘Thing being,’ Grillman said, ‘where’s he at now?’
‘In town somewheres,’ the Kid suggested. ‘Or headed for Pilar’s fast’s his hoss can carry him.’
‘I don’t reckon he’d chance staying in town,’ Grillman declared. ‘Not with his missus telling folks he’s back at home with whatever ails him. I could telegraph the constable at Pilar and ask if he is there, but I’ll likely get told he is, no matter what’s the truth of it. The town belongs to the Company.’
‘There’s another way of checking,’ the Kid remarked, looking hopeful as he saw an opportunity of leaving Fort Worth before he could be drawn into some kind of social activity that might entail dressing formally. ‘I could be there ’n’ back in two-three days, riding relay.’
‘Happen Viridian pulled out straight after the killing, he’d beat you to Pilar,’ Grillman objected. ‘And he’ll likely not be travelling slowly. Not even you and that blasted Nigger hoss of your’n could get there ahead of him.’
‘I wouldn’t be that far behind,’ the Kid grunted.
‘Likely,’ Grillman conceded. ‘But he’d be there already and, happen he recognize you—which he’d be likely to do—I don’t reckon he’d show his good ole Northern hospitality.’
‘You didn’t see the feller who stayed outside the Post Oaks, Lon?’ Dusty put in.
‘Not clear enough to go and say, “I know you, come ’n’ have a drink”,’ the Kid replied. ‘He kept back in the shadows. Do you reckon it was him?’
‘It could be,’ Dusty drawled. ‘If it was, that’d be another reason for having those yahoos jump you. He wouldn’t be holding too many friendly feelings for you after what happened.’
‘So he could still be around town,’ Grillman growled.
‘Or somewhere close by,’ Dusty answered. ‘I don’t see a feller that mean giving up easily. So he might be staying on, ready to keep stirring up more trouble.’
‘If he is,’ the Kid commented, ‘he’s likely needing some more hired help. What say we drift on over and say “howdy” to good ole Ram Turtle, Rupe?’
‘I’d say that, for once in your life, you’d had a right smart notion, Lon,’ the marshal declared.
‘Let me go and say “good night” to the Fitts,’ Dusty requested knowing the nature of Ram Turtle’s establishment and also that Grillman had no official standing there. ‘And I’ll come along.’
‘Ram’ll sure be honored,’ grinned the Kid, eyeing Dusty’s attire. ‘With you-all dressed so fancy, he’ll figure you’ve done it for him.’
Chapter Eight – Your Badge Don’t Mean A Thing
ALTHOUGH MIDNIGHT HAD PASSED, lights were blazing and considerable noise suggested that people were up and about in the Snapping Turtle Saloon. Halting their mounts at the edge of the clearing in which Ram Turtle’s establishment was situated, Dusty Fog, the Ysabel Kid and Marshal Rupert Grillman studied the two main buildings and the surroundings. A number of horses lined the hitching rail and more were moving around in the corral at the rear. Not far from the enclosure was a three-holer backhouse, and a light which showed from beneath one of the doors suggested that the cubicle was occupied.
‘There’s a fair crowd still around,’ the Kid remarked, lounging comfortably on his magnificent white stallion’s low horned, double girthed Texas saddle. The animal looked almost wild, yet remained attentive to its rider’s slightest indication of what would be required from it next. ‘No decent, law abiding folks’d be a-whooping ’n’ carousing this late.’
‘You expected maybe to find law-abiding folks here?’ Grillman demanded.
Sitting a big bay gelding, the marshal was dressed in what he regarded as suitable attire for visiting Ram Turtle’s saloon. Before leaving Fort Worth and setting off on the two-mile ride, he had visited his office to collect certain items which he had believed might be required. One of them was the long Confederate States’ Cavalry cloak-coat which he had donned.
‘I was here a couple of times with pappy,’ the Kid pointed out.
‘So what does that prove?’ the marshal challenged.
Before the Kid could comment, the batwing doors which gave access to the main barroom were thrown open. A tall, well-built young man lurched out, moving with the gait of one who had taken a drink or two too many. Dressed in dandified range clothes, he had a revolver with a set of fancy, silver-inlaid Tiffany grips in an unusual type of holster. Stalking to where a fine-looking chestnut gelding was standing, he fumbled with its reins and, cursing audibly, managed to unfasten them from the hitching rail. He almost threw himself into the finely carved, dinner-plate horned Mexican saddle and snatched at the animal’s mouth to make it turn. Then he used his spurs and set it into motion. From his attitude, he was riled about something and wished to leave the vicinity as quickly as possible.