Juan Antonio Lopez Smythe, you’ve come a long way from the deserts of Mexico. Turning back in the opposite direction and lifting his chin slightly, he admired the way the coat camouflaged the pistol. Are you a handsome devil or what?
Jack smiled, held his lips back and ran his finger over his teeth. He was about to adjust his new broad brimmed black felt hat when the hotel room door crashed open. He whipped the pistol out and dropped into a crouch, prepared to fire. Edson stood at the door, wide eyed.
“Dang you, Edson. Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Jack’s heart pounded in his ears. He’d almost shot a good friend by accident. He walked over to the bed and sat down hard, fumbling the pistol in his hands as if not knowing what to do with it.
Edson stared back and slowly let out the breath he’d been holding. “Jeez, Jack. I’m sorry, I won’t do that again, that’s for sure—but have I got a story to tell. You’re just not going to believe it—no way, no how.”
“Well then, don’t tell me,” Jack said sarcastically as he shoved the pistol back into his belt.
“But it has to do with Ferdie Lance.”
Jack’s head came up. “What? You saw Ferdie Lance? Where?”
“No, I didn’t see him. But I know where he sleeps when he’s in town. It’s over to that woman’s clothing store across from the gunsmith shop. You know, across the street from where we bought these new pistols? He gambles and recruits men at the Iron Front Saloon.”
“Wait a minute, Edson. Why don’t you start from the beginning and tell me everything.”
Edson hesitated, contemplated a way to avoid telling the whole truth, but decided against it. Jack would see through him. Edson had never been a good liar, but he was not interested in having his morals judged, even by Jack.
“Well, I’ll tell you everything, but if you start pokin’ at me about what I’ve been doing, I’ll just have to whup on you.”
Jack stared at Edson. Whatever was bothering him, he was dead serious about it. Jack nodded. He would refrain from judgment, at least until after he’d heard the whole story. “All right, then. No poking.”
Edson began slowly, hesitating. Then gushed the remainder of the tale, including the part about Dixie Lee Potts, how she was the wife of the governor’s chief of staff and how Mary Sue Doss had informed him of Ferdie’s involvement in the train attack.
Jack was stunned. Not about Ferdie and his evil doings, but of the actions of the two women. He tried to visualize two women working on Edson and themselves at the same time, but could not. “I had no idea women were capable of such things.”
Edson smiled. “Well, it shouldn’t be surprising. Women have the same needs as men, least ways far as I can tell. They just keep them under control a whole lot better. Security of family and respect in society normally mean more to them than foolin’ around, but if those concerns are removed, you can expect them to behave with just as much passion as a man. Not as often, maybe, and not in the same way. Then, there are those women like Dixie Potts who love danger and will take more chances than others. I seem to run into that type with regularity.
Anyway, I have no intention of letting their cat out of the bag. A lot of people would be hurt, so you’d better promise me you won’t tell.”
“You have my word. But what were you doing fooling around with this Doss woman in the first place? You were supposed to be buying a present for Lydia.”
“Now, dang it all, Jack. You said you wouldn’t poke on me. I’m going to hold you to it. Besides, it weren’t my fault. The woman just jumped me. What was I supposed to do, walk away with her holdin’ on to my pump handle? Dang, Jack. It’s a curse with me. Everywhere I go, women beat a path to my door. I figure as long as I’m still single, I’ve got to help ‘em out. It ain’t right to walk off and leave ‘em like that.”
Jack began to choke. His laughter had taken his breath away and brought on a bout of hiccups. He was now pounding his fists into the bed pillow in an effort to stem the spasms wracking his body. “Ha, ha, ha - hic, hic –“
Edson began to stiffen, and then pout. But laughter is contagious and he finally began to crack a smile. “I guess it is funny … a little.”
The more frantic Jack became, the more Edson came to appreciate how incredible the entire episode seemed. He felt a smile coming over his own face, but was not about to give Jack any more satisfaction.
“Jack, you can lie around here all day laughin’ and hickin’ till you chuck up your breakfast, but I’m going see if Mobley’s awake. He needs to know what we’ve found out. Then I’m going out to check at the Iron Front Saloon. Ferdie comes in there now and again, according to Mary Sue, and I could use a drink anyway. It’s a rough place, they say. I won’t hold it against you if you decide it’s too dangerous a place for a poor little old Mexican bandit.”
Jack was holding on to his stomach, still cramping from laughter, but it was clear he would follow along. He nodded and got up off the bed. He occasionally snickered and snorted a hic as Edson led the way out of the bedroom and into the living room where Mobley’s bed had been placed.
Gertrude Sweetgrass sat on the side of the bed spooning hot soup into Mobley’s mouth. He was awake, but his eyes still looked hollow and weak. Gertrude turned and glared. Edson immediately stiffened, felt guilty, as if they had interrupted something of great importance.
“Be quiet,” she said sharply. Her little eyebrows were pinched together, blue green eyes serious. “Mister Mobley needs to eat and get his rest. My mom will be mad if you upset him.”
Mobley smiled weakly. “Better do as she says, boys.
She’s got a tall temper, just like Lydia’s. But come on in. We’ll be finished here soon, and then you can fill me in.”
Edson glanced at Jack, who shrugged and moved toward the small sofa. Edson sat astraddle a dining table chair and watched as Gertrude continued her ministrations. He’d seen many five year old girls in his life, but none with the quick, natural intelligence, wit and maturity he’d seen in Gertrude Sweetgrass. The way she’d taken over to help her mother with Mobley’s care had impressed everyone, but Edson sensed there was more to the child than any of them knew. He believed her to be possessed of an ancient spirit, a traveler who refused to move on to the next level, preferring to remain in human form from one life to the next. He knew not all spirits had this ability, for most had no choice but to move on. A few special ones, chosen by the Great Sun, could return in perpetuity, choosing their own form and destiny. One day, when the time was right, he would consult with Bowl on the matter. At some point, she must be made aware of her power, learn how to use and control it. But only one person would be able to do it, a person special to her.
Gertrude spooned the last drop of soup for Mobley, and then gently wiped his mouth with a napkin. “There, all better?”
Mobley smiled again, reached out and gave Gertrude a hug. “Thank you, young lady. I don’t know what I would do without you. When I finally get well, I’m going to get you a special present.”
Gertrude’s eyes lit up. “A present?”
“Yes. But you may have to wait a long time. There’s no telling how long it might be before your mother decides to let me up.”
“Oh, it won’t be too long. Momma told me you’re doing real well, and should be up and about in a week or two at most.”
“She did? Well, that’s good news. When she wakes up, you tell her how great that makes me feel. Now, I need to talk to Jack and Edson in private. Why don’t you go get that new book your mother gave you, the one about Cinderella. I’ll read it to you after they go out. I’m afraid if I sleep much more, I won’t ever be able to get out of this bed.”
“Oh, that’ll be fun.” Gertrude picked up the serving tray, balanced it precariously in one hand and skipped out of the room. Edson held his breath, thinking she would drop the whole thing on the floor, but she didn’t.
* * *
They made quite a sight in their new outfits. Jack walked straight-backed, trying to ma
tch the swagger his father had used when in public trying to impress the masses. People nodded greetings as they walked to catch a ride on Austin’s new horse drawn trolley.
Austin had become a substantial city, a bustling capitol filled with legislators and businessmen of all types, but Edson was struck most by the number of black soldiers stationed at various locations around the town. He’d heard Governor Davis had recruited freed slaves into his state police and was allowed the use of a company of the 10th U.S. Cavalry, an all black unit, for guard duty in and about the city, but the sight of them strolling calmly about in this thoroughly southern city was very strange.
“Looks like the war ain’t over in Austin. I haven’t seen so many soldiers since the Battle of Chickamauga.”
“Chickamauga? What battle was that?” Jack knew little or nothing about the battles of the Civil War. At the time, he’d been living from hand to mouth in the Sonoran desert and could have cared less.
Lowering his head sadly, Edson wished he had not mentioned it. “It was in Tennessee—1863. The Rebs were trying to retake Chattanooga, right down near the border with Alabama in East Tennessee. They fought real hard and kicked the Union troops off the field. If it hadn’t been for General Thomas holding the Union left, it would have been a total disaster. Even so, it was a skedaddle for the Union.
They call Thomas the Rock of Chickamauga now, and he deserves the respect. Captain Marsten and I fought in that battle and several others in Tennessee before we were moved further west. We were lucky that day, lucky not to have been killed. The death toll was horrible. Over eleven thousand Union troops died. They say even more Rebs were killed … as many as seventeen thousand. You could smell death for over fifty miles if the wind was right.”
Jack said nothing. He could see the memory was painful for Edson, but even as he watched he could tell the man was shaking it off and trying to think about something else. By the time they reached the trolley station and climbed aboard the garishly appointed one horse carriage, Edson was in good spirit. Jack sat near the rear side bench between two black soldiers. Edson nodded greetings to the two men and sat down opposite them.
Jack began to relax. He thought to ask the teamster how far it was to the Iron Front Saloon, but held his tongue as he saw Edson’s eyes widen. In a blur, Edson jumped up and drew his pistol.
BOOM!
Edson fired between Jack and the soldier on his left. The soldier fell to the floor, screaming. Jack ducked, eyes stinging from the pungent smoke. His ears rang and thrummed from the sudden explosion and the pounding of his heart. He turned. A skinny man in a black suit stood on the sidewalk pointing a pistol. All Jack could see of it was the huge hole of the muzzle. It was aimed directly between his eyes.
The second soldier yelled, turned and tried to bring his long rifle to bear. Other passengers dove for the floorboards. Jack shifted to his side and came up with his own pistol. Edson continued to fire.
The skinny man was obviously startled by Edson’s reaction. Edson’s first bullet nicked the man’s left bicep and impacted the brick wall behind him. The man’s own shot missed Jack and smacked into the shoulder of the second soldier, causing him to drop his rifle and curse. Pandemonium broke out.
The horse screamed, jerked forward in a wild-eyed panic, dragging the heavy carriage forward. Passengers spilled into a pile at the rear. By the time Jack could untangle himself and help Edson up, the skinny assassin was nowhere to be seen.
“Should we go after him?” Edson yelled.
“Why not? You’re supposed to be able to track a cockroach through a wall. Show me your stuff.”
“Well, I ain’t never tried to track a man in a city with paved streets and sidewalks, but what the heck, there’s always a first time. I don’t think all these alleys are paved, so he’s bound to leave a mark or two. Let’s go look.”
As they exited the trolley, climbing over and around several passengers as they did so, Jack issued a command to the conductor. “I am United States Deputy Marshal Jack Anthony Lopes. Get these people to a doctor as fast as you can and report this attempted murder to the City Marshal. We’re going after the miserable back shooting swine that did this.”
CHAPTER 36
Edson searched up, down, and around on the brick sidewalk to see if he could find any evidence of the direction the man had taken after the shooting. He noted a small drop of fresh blood and some strands of black cloth near the spot where the man had stood, then another spot of blood by the corner some twenty feet away. The scrape of a hard rubber boot heel indicated that the man had made a left turn.
Edson broke into a run, Jack right behind, and did not stop until he reached the next block. Again, he searched the ground. After a few seconds, Edson ran across the street to the far corner. He examined mud and water collected in the gutter. He turned right, broke into a run and did not stop for two blocks, slowing only slightly to look at the mud of the first cross street before he continued on.
Jack was fascinated. The speed with which Edson made his decisions and the places he looked for clues was amazing. A mud puddle here, a sidewalk there, even down on his knees to sniff when there were no obvious clues. Jack could see nothing, but from the certain look on Edson’s face, he knew they were headed in the right direction.
Several more blocks of running, stopping, looking, and sniffing ensued. Edson made one last turn, cautiously pulled up against the wall of small wooden building, and drew his pistol. He motioned Jack up close and pointed to the next narrow alley.
“He’s in there. I can smell him. He’s probably tending to his wound. I don’t think he knows we’re here, but let’s be real careful.”
Edson risked a quick look around the corner, and then leaped forward into the light mud of the alley. He promptly slipped on his butt and rolled onto his back.
Jack was right behind, but did not slip. He saw panic in the eyes of a skinny pock-faced man facing him some fifty feet away. Ferdie Lance. The delay caused by Edson’s slip allowed Ferdie time to get off the first shot. It impacted short, in the mud between Jack’s legs, spraying him with muck. Jack fired back but did not see the impact of his bullet. It clearly missed, for the man turned and disappeared around the corner before Jack could adjust his aim.
“Damnation! This cabron lives a charmed life.”
Edson struggled to his feet and looked down at the new Colt’s pistol in his hand. “It’s these danged new Colt’s. I don’t think they shoot the same as the old cap and ball, so don’t aim low. They shoot pretty true.”
Jack looked at the weapon in his own hand. Edson was probably right. He’d instinctively aimed low, for the exploding cap of the old pistol and the loosely packed powder often combined to create a double recoil before the bullet actually left the muzzle, making it difficult to judge the impact point. The new .45 did not suffer from this problem. Blast! They should have taken time to practice.
Edson started down the alley. “Come on, Jack. I’ve got his track now. He’ll play hell getting away as long as we don’t give up.”
“All right, move on ahead. Try to stay on your feet this time.”
“Dang you, Jack.”
Edson sprinted to the corner and carefully peered around. “There he goes. He turned right at the next block. You go on straight down this alley. See if you can catch him or see which way he turns at the next corner. I’ll stay on his track.”
Jack ran straight across the street and on down the alley. He reached the next cross street in time to see Ferdie turn left. The man was now running straight away from him about a half a block away. Jack raised his pistol to shoot, but decided against it. There were too many innocent people on the streets.
Edson burst around the corner hot on Ferdie’s tail. Jack decided to try again to get ahead of the fleeing man by taking a right turn at the next cross street.
The chase took them out of the built-up area of Austin, and Jack found himself in a colony of poor Mexican workers. Jack could see the typical things one might see
in a Mexican village, whitewashed adobe brick buildings, old ladies with shawls, naked little children running about, but he had no time to dwell on them. Ferdie burst around the corner ahead of Jack, coattails flying. He’d turned the wrong way. Ferdie was now running directly at Jack.
“Ferdie Lance! Stop where you are.”
Ferdie did not stop. He turned hard left in the muddy street, slipped down on one leg and fired. Jack flinched and snapped off his own shot. It hit short, spraying mud in a tall spout at Ferdie’s feet. He fired again. Dad blast this gun.
Ferdie bounded up and was off, firing wildly over his shoulder as he fled. He burst through the doorway of a small cantina as Edson arrived, panting. “Cover the rear of the building, Edson. I’ll go in this way.”
Jack charged into the dimly lit cantina, turned left and ducked left behind a support post, pistol scanning for a target. A stool wielded by an angry bartender glanced off his shoulder. The man swore in guttural Spanish as he tried to hit Jack a second time, but stopped in mid-swing as Jack responded with his own special Mexican oath. At that moment Jack heard another shot, an oath yelled from the rear of the building, the unmistakable sound of a horse pounding off into the distance.
Jack disengaged himself from the bartender and ran to the back door of the cantina. Edson was standing slump-shouldered, pistol hanging loosely at his side. The skinny man galloped away, mud spattered coattails flying in the wind.
“That had to be Ferdie Lance,” Jack panted. “Skinny, ferret faced, carrying a big knife.”
“Good bet.”
Edson instinctively looked down, examining the horse’s track for markings. He noted several distinctive features, pointed them out, and then stared as Ferdie Lance disappeared over the horizon.
“Should we keep after him?”
Edson shook his head. “By the time we get horses and gear of our own for a chase, he’ll have a good head start. My guess is he’ll be back in town within a few days. It’s his best chance of hiding out. He has no supplies for survival on the prairie. I take him to be a city slicker, not a country boy. He’ll be back, and he’ll show up at the boutique. Then we’ll nail him.”
Mobley's Law, A Mobley Meadows Novel Page 26