Waco's Badge

by J. T. Edson

  Nor had the conclusion resulted solely from the arrival of Martin.

  One of the arguments against the suggestion put forward by the deputy—and which he had intended to raise himself if it was not made—had been that there were only four male Summer Complaints and the evidence of the victims indicated the woman who robbed them was supported by five men.

  Studying Fiona Crenshaw as she was acting as second for Sarah between the rounds, Franks had resolved the discrepancy to his own satisfaction. Remembering the attire, particularly the yellow “fish” slicker worn by the “man” who had—apparently later than was expected—brought the horses upon which the gang had departed, he had drawn the correct conclusions. Such a garment would have been most uncomfortable in the heat and, as there was no suggestion of rain to require its waterproof protection, its only purpose was to have hidden the fact that the wearer was not of the masculine gender.

  Deciding to postpone releasing the horse and sending it and its saddle—which he had also retrieved when collecting it from the stable to go down to the ranch until after Martin had returned to Marana, Franks rose with the intention of going to make sure the animals were secured for a longer wait than he had anticipated.

  “They do say great minds think alike, Doc,” commented a voice, in an amiable Texas drawl, although the Easterner had not heard anything to indicate there were other human beings close by.

  “Why sure, Waco,” answered a second speaker who was just as clearly from the Lone Star State. “Which Jed there must have figured out things just the same as me.”

  “My, this just isn’t your lucky day, Dennis darling,” Sarah Siddenham purred with blatantly mock commiseration, hauling the pile of assorted male and female garments across the table toward her. “Three of a kind doesn’t beat even an itty-bitty straight like mine.”

  “I’m not much luckier,” Fiona Crenshaw commented, before the even more sullen looking and now naked loser of the boxing bout could reply. Showing no sign of embarrassment, despite being clad in only a pair of black stockings, she went on, “If this keeps up, I won’t have a stitch left to wear.”

  “Don’t worry, dear,” Sarah replied, acting equally unconcerned although her sole attire was a pair of lace frilled and, for the period, daringly brief scarlet knickers. “I’m sure you and I can make a trade for th—!”

  The reply was brought to a halt by the noise of a crash as a lock was kicked open; the front door of the ranch house burst inward!

  Holding respectively a Colt Storekeeper, a Civilian and an Artillery Model Peacemaker—the latter one of a brace—three masked men in cowhand clothing came swiftly across the threshold!

  The armed intrusion could hardly have come at a more inopportune moment as far as the Summer Complaints and Deputy Sheriff Jackson Martin were concerned!

  Although the news he had brought was not entirely satisfactory, Sarah had considered the deputy was still of too much importance and possible use to be sent away discontented. Furthermore, she realized that he knew far too much to be allowed to leave in a frame of mind conducive to betrayal. Therefore, she had asked whether he was free to stay for the night and, as an inducement, added there was to be a poker game. Having participated in such events, he had been only too willing to accept. Apart from other considerations, he had known he would have any losses he incurred returned; but would be allowed to keep his winnings.

  After supper, the Summer Complaints and their guest had begun to play poker. At first, the stakes had been money. However, they had soon begun to wager the clothing they were wearing. This, as Martin had been aware when agreeing to join the game, was a prelude to a sexual orgy in which the girls gave themselves to the men with casual abandon and eagerness.

  Unfortunately for the anticipation experienced by Martin as everybody began to divest garments, the latter stage had not been reached when the intrusion occurred!

  “Nobody moves!” snarled the man with the Storekeeper Peacemaker, his voice harsh and suggestive of a citizen of Brooklyn in its timber. “The first to dies slow and painful!”

  It said much for the composure of Jedroe Franks that he retained sufficient presence of mind, despite being startled by the sight of five men and two women around the table, none wearing more than some form of underclothing, to do as had been arranged.

  Guessing from the comments, which had come as such a surprise, that no harm was intended to him, the Easterner had greeted Waco and Doc Leroy with pleasure. Then he had learned why they were present. The blond had said that, being acquainted with Belle Starr, he knew it was not her who had led the hold up of the stagecoach. Wanting to do a favor for a friend, like Franks, he and Doc were seeking to bring the real culprits to justice. It had become apparent that they had drawn similar conclusions to those of the Easterner from what they had heard in Marana. However, they had adopted different means to put their suppositions to the test.

  “We allus do things the hard way,” Doc had declared. “Which being, we concluded to follow the gang’s tracks to where they was headed.”

  “It wasn’t easy, even for a feller trained by the Ysabel Kid,” Waco had supplemented. “Fact being, for ‘a bunch of useless, no-account, Eastern remittance yahoos ’n’ their women, who’re no better’n they should be,’ they’d done real good at hiding where they was headed.”

  “You talked to the owner of the livery barn?” Franks had guessed, remembering the description he had been given of the Summer Complaints.

  “Nope,” the blond had answered. “But you did while we was ’tending to our hosses inside—!”

  “I don’t go ’round listening to folks when they’re talking private,” the pallid Texan has asserted. “But there’s some around who don’t have my good manners.”

  “Anyways,” Waco had continued, as if the interruption had not been made. “When I saw how hard it was going to be keeping after ’em, which some folks’s’ve good manners had found it all along, we concluded to come on over to the spread and say, ‘Howdy, you-all’ to the Summer Complaints.”

  “Only we come on two hosses hid away like somebody didn’t want them seen from the trail,” Doc had drawled. “And, recognizing that crowbait from the hold up, I figured it was you who’d brought them and we might as well drop by to give you the carpetbag of yours they carried off. The money’s gone, natural’, but there’s some other gear in it.”

  “Thank you,” Franks had said, with genuine gratitude. “And, although I doubt if either of you have ever had this said to you before, am I pleased to see you.”

  Finding his comment had been received in the spirit it was offered, the Easterner had described what he had seen. While the Texans had agreed that everything pointed to their mutual suppositions being correct, they had also concurred with his statement when he said they still did not have any evidence to support their beliefs. After discussing ways of obtaining it, they had settled upon a plan of campaign and made preparations to carry it out.

  As Martin was at the ranch house, the Texans had donned clothing from their warbags which he had not seen. Although Doc had discarded his jacket and Waco the distinctive brown and white calfskin vest, they had retained their gunbelts and revolvers. Neither was carrying spare handguns and, with the scheme they were contemplating, they were disinclined to rely upon their Winchester Model of 1876 rifles for protection.

  Waiting until night had fallen, the three young men had moved in on foot. Reaching the front porch of the ranch house without being detected, Waco had employed a technique learned as a peace officer to gain admission without announcing their arrival and waiting for the door to be opened.

  There were, Martin discovered, few more disconcerting sensations than to be confronted in such a fashion when wearing nothing more than a pair of “long john” underpants. Under different circumstances, he might have noticed and even drawn conclusions from the way in which the uninvited visitors were armed, if not from their attire. As it was, all he could do was join the Summer Complaints in showing amazeme
nt and alarm at the intrusion. However, also like them, he paid attention to the warning and sank back on to his chair instead of rising.

  “Now that’s better, you bums!” Franks asserted, refusing to allow himself to be distracted by the far from unattractive sight presented by the two all but naked girls and retaining the accent he had adopted. “Not that doing it’s going to help you one way or the other. We’ve been paid to kill you.”

  “T—To kill us?” Thomas O’Carroll yelled, with Fiona, Martin and the other male Summer Complaints vocally registering an equal alarm at the prospect although neither he nor they made any attention to rise.

  “Nobody has any reason to pay you for killing us!” Sarah claimed, no less perturbed than her companions, yet keeping her outward appearance under control.

  “You try telling the jasper who owns the next ranch that he hasn’t,” Franks countered. “He was figuring on buying this one and it got him riled as all hell when you snuck in ahead of him to get it.”

  “Why didn’t he make us an offer for it?” Sarah inquired, more to gain time in which to try to think of a way out of the predicament than through any real desire to learn the reason.

  “He figured, happen he did, you’d heft up the price,” the Easterner explained. “So he concluded it’d be a sight cheaper to pay us boys to drop in and gun you down like it was done in a robbery.”

  “We—We’ve got money here—!” Dennis Orme croaked.

  “S—Sure we have!” Stanley Crowther supported in a quavering falsetto squeak, waving a hand at the table top. “T—Take it all and let us l—live!”

  “Why that wouldn’t be right ’n’ honest by the gent who’s hired us,” Franks answered. “’Specially for the chicken-shit you’ve got there.”

  “Th—Th—There’s a lot more you can have!” Kenneth Alan Taylor offered and the other male Summer Complaints nodded agreement.

  “Tell your boss that we’ll sell!” Sarah snapped, glaring at the men with a mixture of anger and disgust for their cowardice.

  “Oh sure!” Franks scoffed. “And lose all that good pay he’s going to give us for killing you off?” He paused and glanced around the table, then continued, “Rufe, start with that son-of-a-bitch with the swelled up nose!”

  “Yo!” Waco responded, the single syllable word offering no clue as to his place of origin.

  “N—No!” Orme squealed, rising as the masked blond walked toward him cocking the staghorn handled Artillery Peacemaker. “N—No! For god’s sake, Sarah! Give them the money from the hold—!”

  “How much do you want to leave us alive?” the taller girl asked, before her former opponent could complete his suggestion.

  “We come high,” Franks warned.

  “How high?” Sarah said sourly.

  “Five thousand dollars ought to do it,” the Easterner decided. “With what’s on the table, that is.”

  “We don’t—!” Sarah began.

  “Kill him!” Franks ordered.

  “No!” Orme screamed and lunged across the table with his hands reaching for the taller girl. “Give it to them, you ‘mother-something’ bull-dyke!”

  Shoving back her chair, Sarah rose before the panic stricken man could touch her. Throwing a look of disgust at him as he sprawled face down on the pile of clothing she had been gathering after winning the pot, she gave a sigh of resignation and said in a bitter voice, “I’ll fetch it for them, but don’t start whining at me for doing it.”

  “Go and watch her, Jesse!” Franks instructed. “And keep this in mind, Big Apples,1 should you try anything sneaky, we’ll cut down every last son-of-a-bitch here and both of you gals, after we’ve done funning with you.”

  “Do just what they tell you!” Crowley commanded, although—knowing the taller of the girls—the words sounded closer to pleading.

  With the other poker players reiterating the advice, Sarah walked dejectedly away from the table. Followed by Doc, who halted in the doorway, she went into the bedroom she shared with Fiona except when giving her favors to one of the men. Taking the key from inside her pillow, she pulled a small strongbox from beneath the bed and unfastened it. Raising the lid, her eyes went to the Merwin & Hulbert Army Pocket revolver on top of the money. However, knowing it would not serve her purpose, she made no attempt to reach for it.

  “Five thousand, wasn’t it?” the girl asked, turning her head.

  “Back off and stand facing the corner,” Doc answered, putting a snarling timber to his voice and raising it to a higher than normal pitch.

  For a moment, Sarah thought of grabbing for the revolver. Then, once again, common sense overcame the desire. She knew that, although she might—in fact, probably would—kill the man in the doorway, the other two were sure to get her. Certainly she could not rely upon any of her companions, with the possible exception of Fiona, risking a similar fate to come to her assistance. Yielding to the inevitable, she did as she had been told. Halting in the corner, she stood looking over her shoulder. She was seething with impotent rage as she watched Doc removing and tucking the money into the front of his shirt. It was obvious he was not counting it to obtain the sum agreed upon, nor had she expected him to. When he had removed all the contents, he backed out of the room with the Merwin & Hulbert dangling in his left hand. Following him, she found all her companions had been sent to stand facing the wall farthest from the table and the other two masked men were pocketing the not inconsiderable amount of money which had remained on it.

  “Was there enough for us?” Franks inquired.

  “And more,” Doc confirmed, deliberately keeping his response brief in spite of using the assumed tone.

  “Let’s go then,” the Easterner instructed. “I don’t reckon, dressed so fancy, any of you good folks will be figuring on rushing straight out after us. But, happen you get the notion to start shooting our way as we’re pulling out, I wouldn’t was I you. If you do, we’ll come back and burn this place down ’round your ears.”

  “Well,” Waco said, as he and his companions reached their waiting horses without there having been any hostile reaction from the house. “We’ve got a fair piece of the loot back. Which same, afore anybody tells me, we can’t prove’s how it is the loot. So we’ll just have to count on them going after some more, the same way they got it.”

  Chapter 14

  WHAT IS YOUR INTEREST IN HIM?

  “M’SIEUR LE COWBOY FROM TEXAS, WILL YOU PLEASE carry my baggage to ze best hotel for me, veuillez?”

  Hearing the words in a feminine voice which could only be directed at him, Waco turned from where he was pretending to read a notice on the board by the front door of Arizona State Stage Line’s depot in Phoenix. Although they had been uttered with a strong suggestion of a French accent, there was something about the voice which struck him as familiar. Wondering why this should be, he ran his gaze over the speaker as she descended with the aid of the shotgun messenger out of the stagecoach from Tucson which had just arrived.

  Such were the alterations Belle Starr had made to her appearance since they last met, it took the young blond a couple of seconds’ close scrutiny to identify her!

  Not only had the lady outlaw changed the blonde wig for one of black hair held in a chignon, discarded the gold-rimmed spectacles—worn to establish her character in Tucson and also vary her appearance from the last occasion when she had met Waco1—and stained her skin an olive brown pigmentation, but she was clad in a much more eye-catching and colorful fashion. No longer was she attempting, or rather giving the pretense of attempting, to hide her magnificent figure. The travelling costume she had on was revealing to the point of being risqué. What was more, much expensive looking jewellery glinted and glistened ostentatiously on her ears, neck, wrists and hands.

  “Why it’d surely be a pleasure, ma’am,” the blond asserted truthfully, controlling his surprise as well as the lady outlaw had expected would be the case and also justifying her confidence in his intelligence by giving no sign that they were acquaint
ed. “Just point her out when she’s took off and I’ll tote her where-all ever you want.”

  “You will be most careful with them, m’sieur, won’t you?” Belle asked, pointing to the two expensive looking brown leather portmanteau which the driver was removing from the rear boot of the vehicle and placing upon the sidewalk with much greater care than was usually the case with his unloading. “The rest of my jewellery is in them, as is the five thousand dollars I have brought for travelling money.”

  “You’re toting five thousand dollars around, ma’am?” Waco inquired, noticing the words had been uttered far louder than might be considered advisable if such a sum was in the portmanteau.

  “But doesn’t everybody?” the lady outlaw countered.

  “I for sure don’t, ma’am!” the young Texan declared, also speaking louder than was necessary. Glancing along the sidewalk while picking up and discovering that the bulky portmanteau were heavy enough to be well filled, he went on in no quieter a tone, “Fact being, I’ve never even seen a whole five thousand dollars in one pile.”

  “I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw you as the stage was coming in,” Belle stated, in a much lower tone and resuming her normal Southern drawl, as she and Waco were walking away from the depot. “And I’m really pleased to see you.”

  “Now it’s real pleasurable to hear you say so,” the blond drawled. “’Cause this’s the second time it’s been said to me in less’n a week.”

  “I suppose there has to be a first time for everything,” the lady outlaw smiled. “Are Mark, Dusty and Lon with you?”