Ten Guns from Texas

by William W. Johnstone

  Duff accepted the offer of a cigar and a glass of Glenfarclas Scotch.

  “I can’t help but feel guilty about the governor’s daughter,” Bellefontaine said, holding a match to the end of Duff’s cigar. He then lit his own and took a few puffs before he spoke through the smoke that wreathed his head. “If I hadn’t insisted that he get the law passed about cutting fences on public land, she wouldn’t have been taken.”

  “Nonsense. It isn’t your fault at all,” Duff said. “And I’m sure she hasn’t been harmed. It would nae serve Kendrick’s purpose to harm her in any way. I just wish I knew where they were keeping her.”

  “I’ve heard that the Fence Busters keep a cabin on the Blanco River. I don’t know that they have taken her there, and even if they had, I’m not sure exactly where the cabin is, other than somewhere on the Blanco River. Eighty miles, and the cabin could be anywhere along the whole course of it. And to tell the truth, I’m not even sure about that. I have heard, however, that they do have such a place. If you were to ask a few questions around town, you might find someone who has a better idea.”

  “Yes, that’s a good idea,” Duff said. “In fact, I know just where to start.”

  “You are going to question the men you captured at the cabin where they were holding Miss Ireland,” Bellefontaine said. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement validating what Duff was about to say.

  “Aye,” Duff replied.

  “Good idea, that’s exactly where I would start, as well.”

  * * *

  The next morning, Elmer learned that a steer was about to be slaughtered to provide meat for the ranch. He asked Sam, “How do you plan to kill it?”

  “The way we kill all our beeves. We’ve got a catch stall that we put them in, where it’s too narrow for them to turn, then Tim smacks them right between the eyes with a sledgehammer. It’s the most humane way of doin’ it, ’cause it kills ’em right away, faster than shootin’ ’em would.”

  “Before you do that, I would like to talk to my friend, Mr. Wang, for a few minutes.”

  Sam frowned. “You want to talk to Wang before we kill the steer?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why? What does he have to do with our killing a steer?”

  “Just hang on a second, ’n I’ll let you know,” Elmer said.

  He and Wang exchanged a few words in Mandarin.

  “What the hell are they jabberin’ in?” one of the cowboys asked.

  “That’s called Chinese,” Kelly said. “Elmer can talk Chinese.”

  “He can? Damn, I ain’t never know’d no white man that could jabber in Chinese. I know some that can talk Mex, ’n even some that can talk a little Injun, but I ain’t never met no one who could talk Chinese. What is it they’re a-talkin’ about?”

  “I don’t have no idea,” Kelly said.

  “Shi,” Wang said, nodding his head in the affirmative.

  Elmer walked over to where Post, Kelly, and the others were standing as they had watched in curiosity the conversation between him and Wang.

  “What was that all about?” Post asked.

  “I’ve talked my friend Mr. Wang into givin’ us a little show,” Elmer said a moment later. “There is no need for O’Leary and his hammer. Wang can kill the steer with his bare hand.”

  “What? The hell he can,” Post said.

  “Believe me, he can,” Elmer said.

  “Yeah, well, even if he can, and I have no idea how he could do such a thing, I just told you that we want to do it in as humane a way as possible,” Post said. “There’s no sense in letting the creature suffer.”

  “It’ll be as quick as O’Leary hitting the cow with a sledgehammer,” Elmer promised.

  Post, O’Leary, and all the Slash Bell cowboys laughed. Post noticed, however, that Kelly, Simmons, and Decker didn’t laugh.

  “What the hell? You boys don’t think he can do it, do you?” O’Leary asked the three men who had come with Elmer and Wang.

  “I don’t know that he can,” Kelly said. “But by damn, I don’t know that he can’t, neither.”

  Post snorted what might have been a laugh. “For a moment there, I thought you were being serious,” he said to Elmer.

  “I’m serious enough to put a little money on it,” Elmer replied.

  “How much?”

  “It depends on how many of you want to bet,” Elmer said, “and how much you want to bet. I know what a cowboy’s wages are, ’n I wouldn’t want to be takin’ away money you might use to have a drink or a nice meal in town. But I’d be willin’ to cover ever’one’s bets.”

  Word quickly spread that Elmer would cover all bets, and all the cowboys but Post and O’Leary—fifteen of them—put two dollars apiece down. Post and O’Leary put down five dollars each.

  “That’s forty dollars, Gleason. Can you cover it?” Post asked.

  “I can. There’s no need for me to, but I can.” Elmer put forty dollars down on the table. He looked over at the three men who had come with him. “You boys want in on this? And if you do, which side?”

  “Elmer, you know there ain’t a one of us that’s got a nickel to our name,” Kelly replied. “Even if I did, I don’t think I’d want in on this. I’m not sure the Chinaman can do what you say, but I wouldn’t want to bet ag’in ’im, neither. I think I’ll just watch.”

  “Yeah,” Decker said. Simmons nodded his agreement.

  Duff and Bellefontaine were summoned for the “show” and fifteen minutes later, they joined the cowboys, Elmer, Kelly, Simmons, and Decker to watch Wang’s demonstration.

  “Which one is it you’re a-wantin’ to kill?” Elmer asked.

  “We’ll get ’im over here,” O’Leary said.

  A moment later, the steer was in a stall, then hooked up in a harness so he could be lifted up to be butchered after he was killed.

  “There he is,” Post said, pointing the animal out to Wang. “What are you going to do? Choke him to death?”

  The others laughed.

  “When do you call it off and admit that it is all a joke?” Bellefontaine asked with a chuckle.

  “Oh, it’s no joke,” Duff replied.

  Wang stepped in front of the steer, then held his open hand down by his side. He took a few deep breaths, then raised his hand over his head. “Kiayah!” he shouted, bringing the knife edge of his hand down to the steer’s head, striking it right between the eyes.

  The steer shuddered once, then fell down, lying perfectly still.

  “Holy cow!” Post shouted.

  “You mean dead cow, don’t you?” Elmer replied with a little chuckle.

  “I’ve never seen such a thing in my entire life!” Bellefontaine said. “How the hell did you do that?”

  “Wushu is here,” Wang said, pointing to the side of his head. “Not here.” He held out his hand.

  “Can all Chinamen do that?” O’Leary asked.

  “Only those who have studied for many years,” Wang replied. “I began to study when I was a small boy.”

  “How long did you study?”

  “My study has not stopped.”

  “Yeah, well, there ain’t none o’ you goin’ to learn how to do this just by jawin’ about it,” Post said. “Get this cow cut up. That is, if you’re wantin’ to eat anythin’ over the next couple weeks.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Merrill Town

  “Sheriff Wallace, I would like to talk to your three prisoners, please,” Duff said when he stepped into the sheriff’s office later that same day.

  “It isn’t visiting hours,” Wallace replied.

  “Perhaps that is so, Sheriff, but this will nae be a social visit. I just need to get some information from them.”

  “Do you expect me to let just anyone come in off the street and question my prisoners?”

  “Nae, but as I showed you when I brought the prisoners to you, I’m nae just anyone off the street. I am a constable, duly authorized by the governor himself, with authority and jurisdiction t
hroughout the state of Texas. That means in this town and in this county. Now, will you be for letting me talk with your prisoners? Or do I take you prisoner and lock you in your own jail for obstructing justice?”

  “What are you talking about? You can’t do that,” Wallace replied.

  “Oh, but I can and I will, if you dinnae let me talk with the prisoners.”

  “They aren’t here.”

  “You have moved them? Why would you do that?”

  “I didn’t move ’em.” Sheriff Wallace was quiet for a moment, then he added, “I let ’em go.”

  “You let them go? And would you be for telling me, my good man, why in the name of Robert the Bruce would you have let them go?”

  “Because I didn’t have nothin’ to hold ’em on. I wasn’t a personal witness to anything they may have done. I don’t know how you do things in England—”

  “It’s Scotland, you dobber, not England,” Duff said, barely controlling his anger.

  “Yes, well, here in America, we do have laws. And the law says I can’t keep anyone in jail without charges being filed. And, as no charges were filed, I made the decision to release my prisoners.”

  “Bloody hell. They weren’t your prisoners. They were mine, and as such, it was nae your decision to make.” Duff glared at Wallace so intensely that the sheriff couldn’t meet his gaze. Duff turned on his heel and left. His next destination was the CSS Alabama Saloon.

  “Mr. MacCallister, good to see you again!” Prescott poured a shot of Scotch.

  Duff lifted the drink and held it out in salute toward Prescott. “To all the lads who sleep in the sea.”

  “A noble toast, my friend,” Prescott replied. “A noble toast.

  Duff tossed the drink down, then set the empty glass on the bar. Prescott picked up the bottle to pour another.

  “Nae,” Duff said, putting his hand over the glass. “One is enough. Tell me, Mr. Prescott, what do you know of a group of disreputable gentlemen who call themselves the Fence Busters?”

  “I know that when you call them disreputable gentlemen, you are only half right. They are disreputable, but they aren’t gentlemen.”

  “I’ve heard that they are headquartered in a cabin on the Blanco River. Do you know if there is any truth to that?”

  “I can’t vouch for it, for a fact, but I’ve heard that same thing mentioned so often that there must be some truth in it. Why do you ask?”

  “You do know that they are the ones who took the lovely wee lass that is the governor’s daughter?”

  “I suspected as much.”

  “A few friends and I are looking for her.”

  “I pray that you find her. You sure you don’t want another drink?”

  “No thanks. I’ll have a cup of coffee, though.”

  “It’s a good man who knows to appreciate, and not abuse a fine liquor,” Prescott said. “I’ll just step into the kitchen and get you a cup.”

  After Prescott stepped away, Duff used the mirror to study everyone in the room.

  Four men were playing poker at one of the tables, the game being kibitzed by an attractive young bar girl. At another table, three men sat drinking, engaged in earnest conversation. A smiling cowboy was sharing a drink with a bar girl at another table, while three more tables were occupied by solitary drinkers.

  One of the solitary drinkers got up and left just before Prescott returned with the coffee.

  * * *

  Quinn was leaning against the bar of the Hog Pen Saloon, clasping his beer mug with both hands. He had come to town the day before, first to see if he could find out any information about MacCallister, and also to recruit some men for the job he was planning.

  So far he had recruited no one, but shortly after he had arrived, he told a man named Creech that he was looking for MacCallister. He thought back to that conversation.

  * * *

  “What for?” Creech asked. At one time, he had been a cowboy for Bellefontaine, but he was fired when it was learned that he had stolen a couple beeves to sell.

  “What do you care why I’m lookin’ for ’im?”

  “I don’t care why you’re lookin’ for ’im. I was just wonderin’ is all. And bein’ as he’s a friend of that sumbitch Bellefontaine, that means he sure as hell ain’t no friend o’ mine.”

  “Maybe I’m lookin’ to kill ’im,” Quinn said.

  “I think you’re funnin’ me.”

  “What makes you think I’m just funnin’ you?”

  “MacCallister ain’t been here all that long, but from what I heard, he ain’t that easy to kill.”

  Quinn smiled. “If he was easy, it wouldn’t be no fun to kill ’im now, would it?”

  “You mean you’re serious?”

  “Will you help me find him? I’ll make it worth your while.”

  “You’ll pay me for it if I find ’im for you?”

  “Yes.”

  “How much?”

  “One hundred dollars.”

  “All I have to do is find ’im and point ’im out to you, ’n you’ll give me one hunnert dollars? Hell, yeah. Damn right I’ll help you find ’im,” Creech replied exuberantly.

  * * *

  Quinn had neither seen, nor heard from Creech since their conversation.

  He took another swallow of his beer, then made a face. “Hey, Hog Jaw. What the hell do you put in this beer, anyway? It tastes like horse piss.”

  The bartender moved down to Quinn, picked up his mug, and took a swallow. “Damn, you’re right. I’ve got to talk to the Dutchman about that. Today is the day he is supposed to use mule piss.” Pouring the rest of the beer out, Hog Jaw held the mug under the barrel, pulled the handle, and refilled the mug. He set the glass with a high standing head in front of Quinn. “See if this one isn’t just a little better.”

  Quinn chuckled. “You’re full of horse crap, you know that?”

  “That’s what my ol’ mama used to tell me,” Hog Jaw replied with a smile.

  “Tell me, Hog Jaw, have you ever heard of a feller by the name of MacCallister?”

  “You mean the Scotsman?”

  “Scotsman. Yeah, I reckon he is a Scotsman at that. Have you ever heard of ’im?”

  “Heard of ’im? Why, Quinn, I seen ’im in action. He kilt Woodson ’n Jenkins right here in this saloon. ’N he was a-standin’ right there where you’re a-standin’ now when he done it.”

  “What do you mean he kilt ’em both? You mean at the same time?”

  “Yes, sir, at the same time.”

  “Hog Jaw?” someone called from the other end of the bar.

  “’Scuse me,” Hog Jaw said as he walked away.

  Quinn lifted his mug to see if the beer tasted any better than the first. Before he could take a swallow, however, he saw Creech come into the saloon. “Where the hell you been? I thought maybe you’d rode out of town or somethin’.”

  “No, I been doin’ what you told me to do. I’ve been keepin’ my eye open for that feller we talked about, ’n now I got somethin’ to tell you.”

  “Not here, standin’ at the bar,” Quinn replied. “Grab a beer and come to the table.”

  Quinn left the bar and found a table by the stove, which, being summer, was cold. He watched as Creech ordered a beer, then came over to join him.”

  “What have you got for me?” Quinn asked as Creech sat down.

  “He’s here in town, right now,” Creech said.

  “How do you know he’s in town? Did you see him? Do you know him?” Quinn replied.

  “Yeah, I seen ’im. He’s down there in the Alabama, right now. I can’t say as I know ’im to talk to, but I know what he looks like. I seen ’im the other day with Bellefontaine ’n that Sam Post.” Creech took a swallow of his beer, then made a face. “Damn, this tastes like horse piss.”

  “Mule piss,” Quinn corrected. “What about MacCallister? Was there anyone with him?”

  “You talkin’ about the older feller and the Chinaman? No, there warn’t neither one
of ’em with ’im. None of the ranch hands was with him, neither. He’s just over at the Alabama all by hisself, standin’ at the bar, not talkin’ to nobody ’cept sometimes Prescott.”

  “You’re absolutely positive it’s him?”

  Creech nodded his head. “Oh, it’s him all right.”

  “Good.”

  “So, now that you found ’im, are you plannin’ on killin’ ’im?”

  “I’m not just plannin’ on killin’ ’im, I am a-goin’ to kill ’im,” Quinn replied easily.

  “What about the one hundred dollars?”

  “What one hundred dollars?”

  “You know what one hundred dollars! I’m talkin’ about the money you promised me if I’d find MacCallister for you. Well, I found ’im, ’n I told you where he was. So I want my money.”

  “I’ll give it to you after.”

  “If you got it, I’d like it now.”

  “Look here, Creech. You ain’t tellin’ me you don’t trust me, are you? ‘Cause I don’t think I’d like to hear that.”

  “Oh, I trust you all right. It’s just—”

  “It’s just what?”

  “What if it’s you that gets kilt, instead o’ MacCallister? Iffen that was to happen, they wouldn’t be no way I’d be able to get my money.”

  Quinn laughed out loud.

  “What is it you’re a-laughin’ at?”

  “You, Creech. I’m laughin’ at you. I’m just real touched ’bout you worryin’ ’bout me, but you don’t need to worry none ’bout it. I ain’t been kilt yet, ’n I don’t expect to be kilt this time, neither. I tell you what. I’ll buy you another beer when I leave, but I can’t pay you now, ’cause I don’t have a hunnert dollars. But I’ll pay you when I get my money.”

  “What do you mean, when you get your money?”

  “I’m gettin’ paid for killin’ ’im.”

  “You plannin’ on killin’ ’im all by yourself?”

  “Yeah, why? Are you offerin’ to help? If you are, I could maybe go another hunnert dollars.”