Waco 6

by J. T. Edson

  ‘I can’t recall anybody having asked you to make that decision,’ Lindrick commented, looking straight at the speaker.

  For a moment, Czonka met the boss gun’s cold and challenging eyes. Then, although he was still nursing his Spencer carbine and the other’s hands were empty, being aware of his limitations, he dropped his gaze. In spite of his submissive behavior, a dull red tinge crept to his cheeks and his brows creased in a scowl at the humiliation.

  ‘I don’t like having to repeat myself,’ Lindrick said quietly, satisfied that he had re-asserted his superiority over his subordinate and knowing he had aroused the other’s enmity, but not greatly perturbed by the thought. ‘I’ll do it this time. One of the quickest ways you’ll find to bring down the law in an affair of this kind is to start making trouble for people who aren’t actively involved.’

  ‘Law?’ Japhet snorted. ‘Dirk Damon throwed in his sheriff’s badge and there’s nobody else wanting to take it up.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Lindrick conceded. ‘But don’t sell him short. He didn’t quit because he was scared, but because he knows there’s right and wrong on both sides.’

  ‘Is that how you figure it, Mr. Lindrick?’ Frank Maudlin inquired, having learned that the boss gun did not encourage anybody to adopt a first name basis.

  ‘I’m not paid to care whether there is, or isn’t,’ Lindrick answered evenly. ‘Only to do what I’m hired for. See your father comes out the winner.’

  ‘Which you’ve said all along and I’m happy with,’ Maudlin declared, throwing a frown at his oldest son, ‘So we’ll hear Mr. Lindrick out.’

  ‘There’s more than the local law to be taken into consideration,’ the boss gun went on.

  ‘Davis’s stinking State Police?’ Japhet scoffed, bringing his father’s disapproval in his direction.

  ‘Don’t sell them short, either,’ Lindrick advised, after the youngest son had been quelled by Maudlin’s angry order to “keep shut”. ‘I know what a lot of them are like. But Governor Davis is one smart politician. He’s seen the money that’s been brought in already by trail drives and knows there’ll be more coming. Enough to start setting Texas back on her feet fast. Davis knows what that could mean. So he’s trying to make people forget how the State Police have been acting and show he’s trying to bring fair and upright law and order. To do it, he’s taken on some mighty smart, tough and capable peace officers.’

  ‘Who’s worried about them?’ Japhet grumbled, then cringed as his father’s furious gaze whipped around at him.

  ‘I’m not,’ Lindrick admitted. ‘But your father is. He knows that his affair has to be settled locally and without drawing too much attention—’

  ‘That doesn’t worry me too much,’ Maudlin objected, but there was a lack of conviction in his voice.

  ‘It’s your decision,’ Lindrick answered. ‘But you hired me to give you advice on this sort of thing. One thing I’ve learned is not to let the other have something they can use to turn public sympathy against you. Making fuss for, or letting harm come to a man as popular and important to the district as Doctor Leroy would be the quickest way to do that.’

  Eleven – I’ll Do What I Have To

  ‘Was I a suspicious man,’ Dirk Damon declared, looking from the five cards he had just been dealt to the youngest of the four players in the poker game that was taking place in the dining-room of Doctor Eldridge Jason Leroy’s combined office and home, ‘I’d maybe get to wondering how I have a three of spades I saw on the bottom of the deck when I made the cut.’

  In spite of the nature of his comment, there was a grin on the rugged, freckled face of the red-haired former sheriff of Lampasas County. Big, burly, clad in range clothing, he was a powerful and commanding figure even when—as at that moment—relaxed and in the company of trusted friends.

  ‘It’s not sporting to peek at the bottom card when you cut,’ Doc Leroy protested, without offering to deny the implication of the peace officer’s words. ‘Is it, Joe?’

  ‘According to Hoyle—’ began the man to whom the question had been addressed, guessing what had happened even though he had failed to detect the move when it had been made.

  Bare headed, with his black hair graying at the temples to add to his aura of dignity, Joe Brambile looked and spoke more like a wealthy pre-War Southern plantation owner than a successful professional gambler. His lean and aristocratic features were tanned and sported such a neatly trimmed moustache and goatee beard, they might have been given attention by a master barber. The set of his grey cutaway jacket, frilly bosomed white silk shirt and black satin bow tie would have gladdened a tailor’s heart. Nor could any fault be found in his matching trousers and black boots which were shined almost to a mirror glossiness. Only a slight bulge on his left side showed where a Colt Pocket Pistol, similar to those carried by Hayden Paul Lindrick, hung horizontally, instead of vertically, in a ‘directional draw’ shoulder holster. He was remarkably fast and accurate with it.

  ‘As far as I know, Hoyle himself never even heard of poker, much less wrote about it,’ Doctor Leroy put in, suspecting that his son had employed one of the techniques learned from Brambile to form die cause of Damon’s comment. Like the gambler and the former sheriff, he had noticed the way in which Doc had held the deck while dealing, but nothing else. ‘I just reckon you’re a sore loser, Dirk.’

  ‘I’m a sore winner!’ Damon corrected, indicating the stacks of chips heaped before him. ‘There’s all of three dollars here and I sure want to hang on to it, not get skinned by some juvenile card-shark’s looks like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.’

  ‘Hey, momma,’ Doc called, showing no offense at the comment. ‘Didn’t you always tell me to treat guests same as I do the family?’

  ‘I did,’ agreed the taller and slimmer of the two women sitting at the other side of the room watching the play with considerable amusement.

  Brown haired and pallid, Aline Leroy was a maturely beautiful woman. The gingham dress she wore showed off her slender figure. Like her husband, she had earned the respect of most people in Lampasas County. When needed she handled the duties of midwife, or assisted in the surgical operations performed by Leroy with an efficiency that matched his own.

  Three uneventful days, at least as far as the town of Lampasas was concerned, had gone by since the peccary hunt. While the Damons were the Leroy family’s closest friends and frequently exchanged visits in the evenings, the arrival that afternoon of the other guest had precipitated the poker game which was taking place. Nor had the men waited until after dinner before settling down to it.

  Ever since Leroy’s skill had saved Joe Brambile’s life, following a disagreement with a bad loser in a card game which had resulted in his side being torn open by a knife, the gambler had become a welcome visitor. While he was honest himself, he had of necessity learned the ways and methods of cheats. During the period of his recuperation, stating that the knowledge might come in useful later, he had taught Doc much about both sides of his trade. Learning of Brambile’s treatment at the family’s hands, other gamblers had continued the youngster’s education along those lines when passing through Lampasas.

  Always eager to improve his manual dexterity, Doc bad spent many hours—especially when the weather was too inclement for outdoor activities—working in front of a mirror to perfect the various gambling tricks he had been shown. How well he had done was proven by the way he had contrived to deal several cards from the deck he had previously marked, without either the move or the signs he had applied being detected by his original tutor. Nor did he have any conscience troubles over having done so. For all the stacks of chips on the table, the stakes were very modest. Furthermore, he had decided to hand over any ill-gotten gains—plus donations from the other players as the price of his silence over having tricked them—to his mother to be donated to Reverend Gazem’s collection for a new church.

  ‘There now!’ Doc ejaculated, with the air of one who stood completely exonerated. ‘I
’ve already cheated Sir John once tonight. So it wouldn’t be right if I didn’t do the same to you two guests.’

  ‘He gets it from his mother's side of the family,’ Leroy informed the other men, in a stage whisper which was intended to carry beyond their hearing.

  ‘Shall we go and see if their food’s ready for them, Mary?’ Aline Leroy inquired, in tones redolent of resignation.

  ‘Do they deserve any?’ asked the plump and merry-faced Mrs. Damon, enjoying all that was going on.

  ‘No,’ Aline admitted. ‘But things could be worse.’

  ‘How?’ Mrs. Damon wanted to know.

  ‘They might stop playing their silly card game and make a barber’s shop quartet,’ Aline explained, loudly enough to make sure that her words would carry to the table. She rose to her feet. ‘And, if they do that, they’ll start singing.’

  Leaving the men to finish the hand without further interruptions, the two wives went into the kitchen. The meal was in the capable care of Molly Down-Stream, the Leroy’s maid. A large, fat and cheerful half Mexican-half Tenawa—Down Stream—Comanche woman, she had attached herself to the family after Leroy had found and cared for her following an accident which had caused her to be deserted by her people. She had repaid the kindness by becoming exceptionally competent in her household chores. In addition, she had taught Doc much about the Indians’ use of various herbs, roots, leaves and plants to produce various potions for treating illnesses of different kinds.

  In spite of the younger’s successful manipulations, Brambile won the pot. Before they could continue with the game, the maid entered.

  ‘You fellers want food, let me get at table,’ Molly demanded. ‘None of you play poker worth a damn anyway.’

  ‘You know something,’ Leroy asked the other men, shoving back his chair. ‘The Comanche men have better sense than we do. They beat their women.’

  ‘Why you think I stop here, live with you white folks?’ the maid countered.

  Laughing and giving the woman best, the men left the table and gathered in front of the fireplace.

  ‘What’s happening up this way nowadays?’ Brambile inquired, lighting a cigar after having handed his case around.

  ‘Nothing much,’ answered Damon, as the question had been directed at him. He knew what aspect of local affairs had provoked it. ‘Not in town, anyways. I don’t know about on the range, though. But, if anything’s doing, they’re keeping it out there.’

  ‘Haven’t you been trying to find out?’ the gambler asked, being aware of how efficiently the other had always carried out his duties as county sheriff and noticing that the badge of office was no longer pinned to his vest.

  ‘I can’t say that I have,’ Damon replied, looking uncomfortable as he made the admission. A conscientious peace officer, he hated to confess even to such good friends that he was being remiss in the performance of his work. ‘I’ve turned in my badge, Joe.’

  ‘You’d have a good reason for doing it,’ Brambile declared.

  ‘I see it that way,’ Damon stated. ‘Boone Wensbury and Taylor Maudlin’ve both stood by me any time I’ve needed to call on them. But neither will listen to reason. Way I see it, neither of them’s all the way in the right, or the wrong. So the best I can do is get killed by one or the other, thinking I’m favoring the opposite side.’

  ‘I advised Dirk to do it,’ Leroy put in. ‘And to send for the State Police.’

  ‘It’s what I’d have done myself,’ Brambile declared. ‘There’s no way a local man can stand in the middle when two bunches of hot heads get to feuding. They’ll never think he’s playing fair with their side.’

  ‘That’s why I want Dirk to call in the State Police,’ Leroy pointed out.

  ‘I’d back you on that,’ Sir John,’ Brambile drawled. ‘They’d have the authority to deal with it. And, anyway, let some of them get shot trying to do the work they’re paid for. It’ll make a change.’

  ‘There’re some real good men being taking on in the State Police now,’ Damon protested. ‘And most who do get sent west where—’

  ‘The pickings aren’t so good and the risks are greater,’ Brambile suggested, before the other could finish by saying, ‘they will do most good’. He raised his right hand in a placatory gesture. ‘I know, Dirk. No decent peace officer likes to hear it said there are dishonest ones around. And with good cause. It pleases some people to think that every man wearing a law badge is tarred with the same brush, but don’t count me in their number.’

  ‘You have to admit the State Police haven’t been what could be called an efficient outfit so far,’ Doc pointed out. ‘It’ll be a fair time and need a heap of working at before folks change their minds about them.’

  ‘That’s the truth,’ Damon admitted, mollified by the gambler’s statement. ‘Anyways, I might not be sheriff now, but I’m still the town—’

  ‘Listen!’ the maid called, cocking her head on one side and looking across the room towards what was the front of the building. ‘Riders coming!’

  Hearing Molly’s warning, the men stopped their conversation. As she had claimed, somebody was approaching. However, only the rumbling of fast moving hooves reached their ears and they could not make out how many horses were involved. For all that, the pace at which the animals were being ridden through the darkness suggested the matter bringing them was one of great urgency.

  An exchange of glances flashed between the men. Although none of them voiced the subject, the same thought was running through their minds.

  Was this the first of the area’s trouble to be brought into the town?

  ‘Best take a look and find out,’ Damon announced, striding towards the door which gave access to the building’s entrance hall.

  ‘Four of them, sounds like,’ Doc remarked, as he, his father and Brambile followed the other guest out of the sitting-room. ‘They’ve past the jailhouse, could be coming this way.’

  ‘Could be,’ Damon agreed, lifting his Confederate States’ Cavalry weapon belt—with an Adams Army revolver in its open topped holster—from where he had left it hanging on the hat-stand by the front door.

  ‘It doesn’t have to be somebody from one of the ranches,’ Leroy pointed out, as his bulkier guest strapped on the belt.

  ‘Nope, it doesn’t,’ Doc agreed, duplicating Damon’s actions with his rig which had also been left on the rack. ‘Only, like Dirk, I’ll feel a whole heap more comfortable dressed until I know for sure.’

  ‘The trouble with you, young feller,’ Brambile remarked, watching Doc buckle on the belt, ‘Is that you’ve got no faith in human nature.’

  ‘I do so have,’ Doc objected, starting to tie the thongs around his right thigh. ‘It’s just people I don’t trust. Anyways, I don’t see you-all showing good faith by buttoning your jacket.’

  ‘The weather’s a mite warm for that,’ the gambler drawled, although—as his audience knew and approved of—his real purpose in keeping his jacket open was to allow unimpeded access to the weapon beneath the garment. ‘There’s no doubt in my mind that they’re coming here.’

  All traces of levity left the men as they listened to the horses drawing to a halt in front of the building and heard the creaking of leather which suggested that the riders were dismounting. Opening the door, Leroy stepped on to the porch and Doc went after him. In spite of having been the first of the party to leave the sitting-room and arm himself, Damon remained with Brambile in the hall. Furthermore, both of them adopted positions which would keep them concealed from the visitors.

  One glance was all Doc and his father needed to suggest that their fears might have a firm basis of justification. Two of the riders beyond the picket fence that surrounded the garden were already helping the third from his horse. On the ground by that time, holding a large bandana handkerchief to his brow, Hayden Paul Lindrick was striding swiftly along the path.

  ‘I’d be obliged if you’d close that door before I come any closer, Doctor,’ the boss gun requested, coming to a sto
p while still in the darkness and beyond the pool of light from the building. ‘Under the circumstances, it might not be advisable for my men and I to let ourselves be seen too clearly.’

  ‘I’d say that’s understandable,’ Leroy answered dryly, being able to make out sufficient detail to know that the bandana was held in a not entirely successful attempt to staunch a flow of, blood from the boss gun’s forehead. Then he turned his gaze to where the other two were half carrying and half dragging their companion from the horses. ‘Go along that path to the right. It will take you to the door of my office and let you stay out of the light.’

  ‘Gracias,’ Lindrick replied. ‘I’ll go and take the horses—’

  ‘You’ll do as I tell you!’ Leroy corrected.

  ‘We haven’t been followed, as far as I know,’ Lindrick began, ‘but—’

  ‘I don’t give a damn whether you have or not,’ Leroy interrupted. ‘You’ve come to me for medical treatment and I’ll do what I have to.’

  ‘The Circle W might not take kindly to you doing it for us,’ Lindrick warned. ‘But you can count on—’

  ‘I’d rather not.’ Leroy stated definitely, anticipating the other’s offer of protection. ‘I don’t work for the Lazy M. Get going, man. You’re hurt and it’s clear you’re not the only one.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Lindrick confirmed, glancing behind him as he turned along the junction of the path which led to the right side of the building. ‘But he’s in a worse condition than I am. Get a move on, there.’

  ‘Not too damned fast!’ Leroy snapped, as the two men began to increase their pace and brought a groan from the third. ‘God only knows how much damage he’s suffered so far, but don’t make it even a little bit worse now he’s this close.’

  ‘Go help your daddy, boy,’ Damon suggested, sotto voce and without revealing himself, after Leroy had led the newcomers away. ‘Joe and I’ll keep an eye on things from in here.’

  ‘Gracias,’ the youngster replied, stepping from the porch.