Death Mask

by Cotton Smith

  Now at Carlow’s side, the wolf-dog growled at something unseen in the forest as they headed for the barn.

  “What is it, boy?” Carlow said, peering in the direction of the dark woods. “I don’t see anything.”

  Clicking to his horses, Tanneman headed out of the forest. “Aho, the cabin,” he yelled in his best Missouriladen voice. “Kin I be a’sleepin’ in yo-al’s barn tonight? Nothin’ will I be a’usin’. Bin a long day, sure nuff. Got no place to stay.”

  He grinned, then forced himself to remove the smirk. He was well enough known in the region now; it wouldn’t seem strange that he was riding at night. Or seeking lodging. The hidden fingers of his right hand assured him that his gun was close, if needed.

  Carlow took two quick steps to his right and peered into the night, holding his hand carbine with both hands.

  Chance continued his deep growl, his back hunched and ready.

  “Steady, Chance. Steady.”

  The fierce animal continued to growl.

  A few seconds behind, Kileen drew his pistol and aimed it at the advancing clatter of hooves, wagon and harness. Bridgeport pointed his shotgun at Waulken.

  “Jolly what, that’s just the bloody peddler,” Bridgeport responded. “Been around for a week or so. Selling stuff to farmers and ranchers,” Bridgeport informed the Rangers. “A little goofy in the ‘ead, I suppose, but ’armless. ‘Eard he was from somewhere in Missouri. Sounds like one of them. Looks like the war took a good piece o’ ‘im.”

  “What’s he doing out here at night?” Carlow asked, lowering his gun to his side.

  Still growling, Chance moved next to Carlow and rubbed against his right leg.

  Carlow leaned down to scratch Chance’s ears, without taking his eyes off the advancing wagon. “It’s all right, boy. It’s all right.”

  “Blimey! Who knows where ‘e bloody stays when ’e’s around?” Bridgeport responded. “Looking for a place to doggo this night, it sounds like.”

  Confident of his abilities, yet on edge with the importance of the performance, Tanneman pulled up a few feet from the group, keeping his face in the shadows as best he could, and avoided looking directly at either Ranger. The eyes could reveal what was hidden elsewhere, he thought.

  “Would yah mind if’n I be a’sleepin’ in yur barn tonight, suh? There’s a bit o’ a chill in the air. I won’t be usin’ nuthin’, I promise. Got my own oats fer me hosses. Be gone afore daybreak, I will.”

  Waulken stared at the lawmen, then shrugged his shoulders. “Ja. Du may to sleep there.” He started to add more, then decided against it.

  “I sure does thank yah. Yes, suh, I does,”

  He was certain now it was the two Rangers. He would kill them in the next day or so, then leave for San Antonio. If he could do it without arousing suspicion, it would be a most rewarding trip. Inside he was tense, yet totally energized. This was the ultimate performance! A reckless move, of course. Unnecessary. But that was what made it so exciting. He wanted to tell Portland what was happening, but knew he must wait until these people were gone.

  “Waulken, since you won’t tell us where the bank money is,” Bridgeport announced, refocusing his attention on the German farmer, “I’m going to ‘ave my posse search your place from top to bottom.” He grimaced. “Might mess things up a bit. Like I said, it would be easier on you if you told us where you ‘ave it ’idden.”

  “I haff nein geld. I haff told du that before.” Waulken frowned and jerked on the handcuffs in frustration. “Does our haus look like a place wit geld?”

  Kileen turned toward Margareitte and spoke softly. “Ma’am, we be sorry to have to be doing this. It be our duty, ma’am.”

  Both Carlow and Bridgeport were surprised at the caring statement.

  She nodded and wiped away the trace of a tear from her cheek. A stoic firmness came to her face and she continued to walk.

  Shifting his weight on the wagon seat, Tanneman touched the spider jar and asked, “Have I a’come at a bad time, suhs? I see yah be lawmen. Rangers two o’ you be. I kin be movin’ on.”

  Bridgeport was the first to respond. “No, peddler. That’s fine. Mr. Waulken has given permission to sleep in the barn. A kip. Ah, a bed in the barn. No food. No going into the Waulken home. We’ll be ‘ere for a few minutes and then be leaving.”

  He turned toward Carlow. “Would you be a fine lad and go tell the posse we’re coming? They’re waiting out by the big rocks.”

  Trying hard not to show his displeasure at the condescending request, Carlow glanced at Kileen, then headed into the darkness. Chance followed, eager to keep up. The young Ranger stopped and turned back. The wolf-dog bounded on for a few steps, then halted.

  “Thunder, do you want me to bring your horse?” Carlow thought for an instant and added, “How about you, Marshal?”

  “A nice lad, it would be.”

  “Thank you, son. One of the possemen is ‘olding mine. A gentle brown walking ‘orse, he is,” Bridgeport said. “Better it is to be calling out to the vedettes when you get closer.” He rubbed his chin. “Ah, riders on sentry duty. Some of those mates might be bloody jumpy.” He waved his hand. “Welcome you are to get into the candy in my saddlebags. Some fine caramels.”

  As Carlow resumed his walk, his gaze sought the peddler again. Did he know this man? From where? Probably he and Kileen had passed such a peddler along the way. He resumed talking to Chance as he walked.

  False dawn was touching the wood-framed buildings as the two Rangers rode toward the main intersection of Strickland and to the city jail. Alongside, in the buckboard, rode a silent Waulken and his wife, with Marshal Bridgeport driving and munching on caramels. Behind the wagon was tied the gray. Inside the wagon bed was the black coat, Pedersoli rifle and a wooden mask. And Chance. It had been Carlow’s idea to let his wolf-dog ride there. He hadn’t asked for permission.

  Strung out behind them was the posse, who had decided searching in the dark was a waste of time. A return to the Waulken cabin in the daylight would yield better results.

  Sleep was flirting with Carlow and he had caught himself dozing in the saddle several times. A few minutes ago, the Celtic cross on the silver chain had slipped out from under his shirt, clinked against the saddle horn and jerked him awake.

  He was always amazed at the stamina of his uncle, who never seemed to tire. At least not when he was on duty. The big Ranger had taken at least three swigs from his flask during the ride. That, too, had not seemed to bother his endurance. Carlow had seen Bridgeport nod off once and Waulken had nudged him with his elbow to awaken him.

  “Do ye recall if we first be seein’ the new moon lookin’ to our right—or to our left?” Kileen broke into Carlow’s sleepy mind. ‘ “Tis a bad thing to be seein’ from our left. Or through a branch. Did we see it through a branch?”

  “Thunder, I really don’t remember. Honest, Uncle, I don’t.”

  “Aye, well, take out one o’ your coins an’ spit on it. Both sides. Do it now, laddie. Just in case.”

  Carlow’s shoulders jerked slightly, but he knew better than to delay. It would only mean the next problem they had would be attributed to his lack of compliance with whatever his uncle felt was necessary to change the forces of nature.

  Kileen was already spitting on his coin in an exaggerated ceremony as they rode. The young Ranger reached around his gun belt and secured a coin from his pants pocket. Feeling quite silly and hoping no one in the wagon turned around, or any of the possemen behind them noticed, he quickly spit on the money and pushed it back into his pocket.

  “Aye, that be a close one,” Kileen muttered. “Be glad we did not see it through a window.”

  Carlow shook his head and decided not to ask what such an action might bring.

  Music from a tiny saloon piano accompanied them for a block, then stayed behind. A shout of gambling achievement burst from another saloon and both Rangers swung guns in the direction of the noise. A woman’s forced laugh from inside released th
em from the distraction. A drunken cowboy stopped to watch the silent riders pass, then slipped back inside.

  A similarly inebriated townsman, dressed in a suit of blue velveteen and now crusted with dirt and dried vomit, watched them. As they rode by, he raised his half-filled glass of beer in tribute, burped, then stumbled and sat down hard on the planked sidewalk. He looked around to see who had yanked him. Seeing no one, he drank the rest of his beer from his new sitting position.

  Carlow glanced at the hotel and wondered if he and Kileen would get a nice sleepover before heading to San Antonio. They needed to wire McNelly to update him on Mirabile’s death, the bank robbery and the subsequent arrest. Carlow planned on asking him to check into Tanneman’s supposed death. He looked over at Kileen and saw that he, too, was gazing at the hotel. Whatever was going through the big Ranger’s mind caused his broad shoulders to rise and fall with its passing.

  Both Rangers’ moods were dark. Part of it was the lateness of the hour; part was the absence of any sense of victory. Neither expressed his thoughts as they rode into the mostly quiet town.

  A part of Carlow half hoped to see Ellie Beckham and her young son, Jeremiah, standing on one of the wood-planked sidewalks to welcome him. But the rational side of his mind knew that didn’t make any sense. She was married and lived in Bennett. Still, he watched the mostly empty streets as they rode. His face wasn’t readable to anyone except Kileen.

  He glanced again at his uncle. The big man’s twisted face was a telltale sign he was bothered by something and not just tired. Impulsively, Carlow reached into his vest pocket to touch the acorn where it was jammed alongside extra cartridges, two pieces of hard candy and an old silver watch. Kileen had given the acorn to him with the observation that carrying it would give him good luck and a long life. It hadn’t helped Shannon Dornan, Carlow had told himself.

  In his other pocket were two tiny, flat stones, darkly stained with long-ago blood. A large chip was gone from one of them, where it had deflected a bullet. His Ranger badge was in that pocket now, too.

  Carlow loved the hulk of a man riding beside him; he was the father he had never known. To receive praise from Kileen was his greatest reward and letting him down was his worst concern. Right now, he couldn’t read what was on Kileen’s mind, but it was definitely worry, not lack of sleep.

  Just as soon as the thought passed, Kileen gave an indication of his concern. “Mrs. Waulken, with your husband’s permission, we will be seeing you to the hotel. Late it be, but they will be giving you a room.”

  She turned her shoulders toward him slowly. “I have no money for such. I vill be sleeping here.” She pointed toward the wagon bed. “If der volf vill let me do so.”

  Kileen swallowed and looked like he had been slapped in the face.

  A freight wagon rumbled past on its way north. The driver spat and nodded his head as a greeting. The driver’s eyes slid toward Chance, and he shook his head as if disbelieving what he saw. Carlow returned the greeting with his own nod and rode on. They stopped at the hitching rack in front of the small city marshal’s office. The weary possemen continued, headed for their respective homes. None paid any attention to the wolf-dog watching them from the wagon bed.

  Swinging down, the young Ranger told Chance to remain and waited for Bridgeport to climb down. Carlow patted the long-barreled .56 Sharps rifle in its saddle sheath and drew his hand carbine instead.

  Bridgeport and Carlow helped the manacled Waulken from the wagon. Dismounting quickly, Kileen attempted to assist Margareitte, but she ignored the courtesy and climbed down without help, saying something in German to her husband, which no one else understood.

  “Mrs. Waulken, you will ‘ave to wait outside until we put your ‘usband behind bars,” Bridgeport announced. “Because of the lateness of the ‘our, you may stay in one of the other cells if you wish, for this night only. I will not be able to allow you to remain there after that.” He touched the brim of his hat, then offered her a caramel from the nearly depleted sack.

  Straightening her shoulders, she nodded politely and waited.

  “Ranger, perhaps you can wait with Mrs. Waulken?” Bridgeport asked, looking at Carlow.

  The young Ranger bit his lower lip and saw that Kileen was nodding. “Sure, that’ll be fine.”

  “Thank you, son.”

  Bridgeport and Kileen disappeared inside the office with Waulken a few steps in front of them.

  Standing near his black horse, Carlow stroked its head and tried to think of something to say. His mind was dark. Tired. Too tired.

  It was Margareitte Waulken who spoke first. “I vant du to know I understand vhy du must do this. But I vant du to know—on mein vord of honor—these things are nicht mein husband’s.” She motioned toward the wagon bed and the gray horse standing behind. “We knew nicht how they got into our barn. I swear it, Ranger.”

  Carlow was uncertain how to respond. Of course, most criminals claimed their innocence. There was nothing new in that. But there was something in her voice, in the way she talked, that made him wonder.

  “Well, Mrs. Waulken, how do you think they got there?”

  She stared into his face with a quiet resolution about her. “Der man who did those awful things put them in our barn—to make mein husband der one du arrest.”

  “I see.” Carlow wasn’t sure how else to respond. He was too tired to work at it. He didn’t even want to ask her about Tanneman Rose. Not now. Maybe in the morning. When he could reason clearly. It was probably just a dumb idea anyway, like his uncle thought.

  “Du think about this,” Margareitte continued. “Mein husband ist afraid of horses. He does not ride der horse. Ever. He had der bad…ah, accident, as a boy. In der old country. Ah, Germany. He nicht ride since then. Only use der wagon. Like tonight.”

  Before Carlow could respond, a weary Kileen came through the door.

  “Ma’am, there be a place for ye to sleep now,” he said in his gentlest voice. “Blankets be there. No pillow, I be sorry to report, but I rolled up one o’ the blankets. Real tight an’ nice.”

  Margareitte studied his craggy face, smiled thinly and accepted his held-out arm.

  “Danke,” she murmured and looked back at Carlow. “Please to be remembering vhat I haff told du. Ja?”

  Nodding politely, Carlow said, “I will, ma’am. I promise.”

  “Guten. That vill bring der freedom to my Alben. I am certain.” Her smile was gentle, like that of a mother addressing her son.

  With that, she disappeared inside the jail, holding on to Kileen’s arm.

  Walking over to his horse, Carlow stroked the mount’s neck. His mind didn’t want to work, only to sleep. Was Waulken’s wife just making up an alibi? Who wouldn’t try to save a loved one? Or was someone behind this? Was that possible? Was it Tanneman Rose?

  Chance jumped down from the wagon, bounded over and rubbed Carlow’s leg. The tired lawman leaned over and scratched the wolf-dog’s ears. “Yeah, it’s been a long day, my friend. A long day.” His hanging cross fell out of his shirt again and he pushed it back.

  Kileen came out of the door. “Me lad, Marshal Bridgeport suggests we be sleeping here for what’s left of the morn. In another of the empty cells it be.” He motioned with his huge right hand. “Hisself says we can be leaving our hosses here—and the wagon. Take them to the livery we be—after we get up.”

  “I was wondering if you and the marshal were going to leave the Waulkens alone?” Carlow asked. His shoulders rose and fell. “I’m not going to leave Shadow and Chance here on the street. Shadow deserves to be unsaddled and rubbed down. Some grain. Water, too. I’ll take him over the livery. I can sleep there, Thunder.”

  “Oh. Well, if that be your choice.”

  “It is.” Carlow studied his uncle. “An’ you will be sleeping with Margareitte Waulken.” A smile slipped onto his weary face.

  His neck reddening, Kileen coughed and said angrily, “Ye be careful about your wordin’, me lad. Lark an’ me be gua
rdin’ the prisoner.”

  Carlow swung easily into the saddle. “Don’t let any birds inside.”

  It was a tease about the superstition that a bird coming into a house was a sign of impending death.

  “Don’t ye be jokin’ o’ such,” Kileen blurted. “Your sainted mither—God bless her sweet soul—herself not be likin’ such words from her only son.”

  Leaning down, Carlow yanked free the reins of Kileen’s horse. “I’ll take your horse, too.” He straightened himself in the saddle. “Just kidding, Thunder. Didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “Me knows ye didn’t, me son. A bit edgy I be,” Kileen said, almost in a whisper. “Thank ye for takin’ me hoss.”

  Carlow swung his great horse away from the post, with the reins of Kileen’s horse in his left fist. His shoulders rose and fell, and then he told Shadow to stop.

  “Ya know, Mrs. Waulken told me her husband was afraid of horses,” he said, suddenly feeling more tired than ever. “Never rides, except in a wagon. Like tonight.”

  Kileen licked his lips, felt for the flask in his pocket, then dropped his hand to his side. “How did that bleemin’ gray—and the other stuff—be gettin’ into his barn?”

  “Good question, Thunder. Wish I knew. Maybe Tanneman set this whole thing up. Think about that.” He nudged his horse into an easy trot, leading Kileen’s tall mount. A whistle to Chance brought the wolf-dog eagerly following.

  The older Ranger watched his nephew ride away. He loved the young man as if he were his son, maybe more. Down deep, it pleased him Carlow wasn’t superstitious like he was. It reminded him of his sister, Time Carlow’s late mother. In their younger days together, in Ireland, she had always been scolding him about his irrational ways, then giving him a soft kiss on his cheek.

  But the younger man’s comment about Waulken churned his exhausted mind. Something about this arrest wasn’t right. Or maybe it was too right and he was just too tired. He wiped his nose with his coat sleeve and headed toward the jail. The earliest blush of dawn was flirting with the town. Somewhere an owl hooted and Kileen shivered.