Hart the Regulator 8

by John B. Harvey

  ‘How long will you be away?’she asked, turning to face her husband.

  Hardin shrugged. ‘Week, ten days.’

  ‘Selling stock?’

  ‘Of course. I … don’t cross-question me!’

  She moved past him, taking the kettle towards the pump. ‘I was just showing an interest. I thought that was what a good wife was supposed to do.’

  Hardin wondered at the sharpness of her voice. It was unlike her to answer back in that way. He watched as she bent over the pump, her body framed by the door. He wanted to feel lust for her but could not; it had been a long time since he had and then only with the aid of too much whiskey, too many thoughts of other women. Still, time enough when he was away...

  ‘You will be back by Christmas?’

  ‘Does it matter?’ he asked, seeking to hurt her.

  Jane stared at him a moment, then set the kettle on the stove. ‘For the sake of the children,’ she said.

  Hardin nodded. ‘I expect so. ‘Less I get snowed up some place.’

  ‘Shall you bring back a tree?’ she asked a few moments later.

  He didn’t reply; perhaps he didn’t hear her.

  Jane touched her belly self-consciously and then went red for fear that he might have seen her. As soon as it was dark they would go to bed and unless he drank a great deal more he would roll on to his side, present her with his back and leave her alone apart from his light snoring. She knew that when he went off there were other women, whores from the dance halls and saloons he and his friends frequented. At first she had thought she could smell them on him when he returned, their cheap perfume and their used bodies, but it had been nothing more than her imagination. Now all she feared was that he should catch one of their diseases and bring it back to her.

  Lying there, listening to her husband sleep, Jane Hardin smiled sourly at the thought that that might be the only present he would bring her home, this Christmas.

  ~*~

  In the morning he was up and cleaning his guns before daybreak. She cooked his breakfast and roused the children, feeding them quietly, snatching glances at her husband now and then. He swallowed down a cup of coffee and started to the door.

  ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can,’ he said briskly.

  She could only just bring herself to look at him. Some of the baby’s food dribbled back from his mouth and she wiped it on the edge of her apron.

  ‘If your gentleman friend comes,’ he began.

  She looked at him then, her face fierce.

  Hardin laughed, opening the door. ‘Remember to give him my message.’ And he slammed the door shut. Immediately both children began to cry. Jane Hardin held them to her and listened for the sound of the horse moving away, muffled soon by the snow that was beginning to fall. She wondered how wicked it was that part of her hoped against hope that he would never ride back.

  Chapter Eleven

  East Texas, spring 1877

  Lamar’s face was red with excitement, his voice beginning to show signs of hoarseness. The bottle close by was more than two-thirds empty. They’d been holed up in Galveston for three days already and it could be as long again before they got what they were after and were able to leave. If they ever got it. So much time sitting around waiting for something to happen, for a man to make a wrong move, for someone to see an opportunity for getting his revenge or making a wad of extra money. So many hands of five-card stud, so many yarns about women and horses and fights that became more and more elaborate with each retelling.

  ‘. . . damn whale was the biggest I ever saw, bigger than you could imagine. I’m tellin’ you, she comes towards the boat so fast and so damn huge she fair blocked out the sky. It was like one minute it had been the midst of day an’ the next it was night and there you were with this small boat reelin’ an’ rockin’ and the harpooner’s hands tremblin’ as he struggled to get the thing aimed right. We’d lost two men overboard and the whale was right upon us so close you could see its great jaw openin’ and that minute the harpooner got swept clear out of the boat by this sudden wave.’

  Lamar paused long enough to wipe the sweat from his face and take a quick swig at the bottle. Ollie Halverton leaned his thin body back against the thin hotel room wall and waited for the tale to reach its climax.

  ‘There was nothin’ else to be done. I pushed my way to the front of the boat and grabbed the harpoon, swingin ’it up an’ round. Just as the whale lunged its great ugly mouth towards the boat I …’

  The board along the corridor creaked under a man’s weight. Both Rangers sprang to their feet, pulling pistols free as they did so. Ollie slipped behind the door and Lamar put space between himself and the table.

  The steps halted outside the door. It was a long couple of seconds before they heard Hart’s voice. Both men released their breath slowly and Ollie reached forward and slid back the bolt. Hart came in briskly and took off his hat, skimming it across on to one of the narrow beds. His slicker was shiny black with rain. As he stood there water ran down on to the threadbare rug.

  ‘Anything?’ asked Lamar.

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘You got a line on him?’ asked Ollie.

  Hart nodded and tugged the wet slicker over his head. He dropped it down close by the door. ‘There’s a cattle buyer name of Reardon,’ he said. ‘He’s done business with a man goes by the name of Swain. J. W. Swain.’

  ‘You reckon that’s Hardin?’ interrupted Ollie.

  ‘Sounds a lot like him. Same appearance, claims to come from Alabama but sounds pure Texas. Wears a gun like he can use it and for all that he’s successful, there’s something about him that never quite relaxes. Like he’s always expectin ’to be jumped. Won’t walk into a business meeting without having the place checked out first by one of the men who rides with him. Hardly ever travels without three or four men to back him up and although they’re supposed to be partners in business, none of them ever says a whole lot. All they do is keep their eyes skinned and let it be seen they’re well-armed.’

  Lamar offered the bottle to Hart, who shook his head and sat on the side of one of the beds.

  ‘You show him a picture of Hardin?’ asked Ollie.

  ‘Yeah. He wasn’t too certain when he saw it. But maybe he was gettin’ a mite jumpy by then.’

  ‘So what’s next?’ Lamar said.

  Hart leaned back, taking his weight on his elbows. ‘This Reardon, he’s got a partner name of Caldicott. The pair of ’em have met up with Swain two or three times in the past few months, settin’ up deals an’ such. Cattle and horses. They’ve done a little gambling ’to pass the time. Swain, he takes his cards real serious.’

  ‘That sounds right for Hardin,’ put in Ollie.

  Hart agreed. ‘Caldicott’s due in Galveston tomorrow unless anything happens to delay him. Reardon reckons he’ll talk with us, take a look at the picture. If he says Swain and Hardin are the same man then it’s pretty definite.’

  ‘Except,’ said Lamar, ‘that in the last year we’ve had three others who were definite, too.’

  ‘Yeah. Only this time I got a feelin’ we’re gettin’ close.’

  ‘Want him bad, don’t you, Wes?’ said Ollie.

  Hart didn’t reply right off, maybe didn’t want to admit it. Finally he nodded and sat forward. ‘He said how he was goin’ to kill me, said it in front of witnesses. He ain’t going to forget that an’ neither am I. The longer he’s running loose, the more time there is for us to meet up again and maybe next time he’ll get the drop on me good. I don’t want to risk that.’

  ‘Hell! You ain’t afraid of him? Just on account of he’s got a reputation?’

  Hart shook his head. ‘I ain’t afraid of no man face to face.’ Ollie broke the mood with a sudden laugh. ‘Just like Lamar ain’t feared of no whale. Not even one big enough to blot out the sun!’

  ~*~

  Reardon and Caldicott were cautious men, especially when it came to talking to Texas Rangers who were acting outside their jurisdic
tion. They agreed to meet Hart in an eating house three blocks from the harbor on the condition that he went alone. Hart went along with the plan, but decided to use Lamar and Ollie as back-up just in case. He didn’t think either of the two cattle buyers was about to set up a trap for him to walk into, but it wasn’t out of the question for them to panic and refuse to talk. If that proved to be the case, Hart wasn’t above using a little pressure and so having some men on hand to follow Reardon and Caldicott back to their hotels wasn’t a bad idea.

  The building was between a laundry and a dry-goods store, the street narrow and poorly lit. The wind was coming up from the south and Hart could smell the ocean as he dismounted and tethered his horse to the hitching rail. The place was a two-story chop house with a long bar divided from a dozen tables on the ground floor by a heavy green curtain that hung from brass rings on a brass rail. The stairs were towards the rear at the right-hand side and led up to sixteen tables, half of which were in curtained booths.

  Lamar won the toss of a coin with Ollie and got to sit up to the bar and swop lies with the bartender while he drank enough whiskey to be a good customer and not so much that his reactions would begin to slow.

  Ollie stationed himself out in the street, leaning against the side wall of a bakery, a couple of yards down into the alley. He hunched his narrow body into a wool coat and kept his head down, hat pulled hard on his ears. His hands were deep in his pockets and he was cursing the night for being cold and Lamar for winning the inside spot. He was certain that he’d been cheated but couldn’t work out how.

  Hart had deliberately arrived a little after the time of the meeting, wanting to come upon the two cattlemen already seated and settled. Not that either one of them looked composed as he came up to their central booth, concern clear on both faces. Reardon’s face was florid as ever, the anxiety showing in his eyes and the way he never allowed the fingers of his hands to settle and be still. Caldicott was taller, more smartly dressed, a generous-sized cigar pushed into the side of his mouth. His cheeks were sucked in and close to chalk-white and when he shook Hart’s hand the tremble was all too evident.

  ‘You ordered?’ Hart asked, sitting alongside Caldicott and opposite Reardon.

  ‘Yes, we ...’

  ‘We didn’t know …’

  ‘That’s okay.’

  A waiter appeared and Hart surprised himself by ignoring the steaks and asking for a rack of lamb, potatoes and tomatoes. He joined the two men in a glass of beer. Reardon made a little small talk and his partner joined in with a few quiet remarks. Hart was mostly content to listen, in no hurry now that his informants were in place. Besides, he was hungry and sensed that if he brought the conversation to the point too hastily the meeting might break up before he could finish his meal.

  The lamb, when it arrived, proved to be a good choice. Half a dozen linked chops, tender and juicy and almost sweet. Hart savored them, amused at the lack of pleasure either of his dining companions were getting from their steaks.

  At last, Hart leaned back and started his second glass of beer. Most of the other booths were full and the murmur of conversation stirred around them. He looked with some interest at a tall woman wearing a floor-length blue dress as she was escorted to a table opposite and allowed himself a half-smile. He refused one of Caldicott’s cigars and rolled himself a cigarette.

  When it was alight, he leaned forward again and said, ‘Let’s talk about Mister Swain.’

  Caldicott gestured with his hand to suggest Hart had spoken too loud and Reardon shifted edgily on his seat. Hart reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope; when he drew a wanted poster from within that and began to unfold it, he thought Caldicott might return his dinner to his empty plate right off.

  ‘Don’t you think,’ began Reardon, ‘a little more caution?’

  Hart ignored him and held the flier in front of Caldicott’s face, the likeness of John Wesley Hardin between the words of print. Caldicott blinked and the cigar bobbed up and down in his mouth. His face looked whiter than ever; it seemed to shine in the subdued light of the booth.

  ‘Well?’ Hart insisted after a few moments.

  ‘I’m not …’Caldicott stuttered to a halt. He took the cigar from between his teeth and applied a match to the end even though it was still alight.

  ‘Spit it out!’

  Reardon leaned across the table and said: ‘What do you think, Jed?’

  Caldicott still looked like he was on the verge of bringing back his steak.

  ‘You can read the figure at the bottom okay?’ asked Hart with a sharper tone.

  Caldicott nodded.

  ‘Four thousand dollars,’ Hart said, just in case.

  Caldicott and Reardon exchanged glances and Hart could see the greed beginning to overcome their mutual fear.

  ‘You’re sure that we will be the, er, beneficiaries of this reward?’ asked Reardon. ‘I mean, we are taking a considerable risk here.’

  Hart sat back. ‘I ain’t so sure about the risk. But as for the rest, you can see what it says - for information leading to the arrest of. You put our hands on Hardin and that four thousand dollars is yours.’

  ‘But, Mr. Hart,’ began Reardon.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘If Swain and Hardin are one and the same, it does seem that he has turned his back upon Texas for good. And is leading a law-abiding life.’

  Tor the last time,’ said Hart, ‘that don’t matter none. A couple of years dealin’ in cattle don’t wash away the past. And that’s even allowin’ for cattle dealin’ bein’ an honest profession.’ Reardon gave him a hard look but he didn’t feel strongly enough about it to speak out. ‘As for not comin’ back to Texas,’ Hart went on, ‘well, that’s where his killin’ was done and that’s where he’ll have to be tried. But if he won’t come to Texas, then Texas’ll have to come to him.’

  ‘But surely you have no legal rights as law officers across the border?’ asked Caldicott.

  Hart grinned: ‘I’m here now, ain’t I? An’ if we catch John Wesley Hardin fair an’ square and get the drop on him, I don’t see how any amount of legal hoo-ha’s goin’ to stop us from takin’ him back to Texas.’

  The two cattlemen exchanged more nervous glances; Hart decided it was time to push matters home. He allowed a movement of the tall woman’s arm opposite to distract him momentarily and then thrust the flier at Caldicott again.

  ‘Is that the man you been doin’ business with as J. W. Swain or ain’t it?’

  Caldicott nodded and opened his mouth without speaking.

  ‘Well?’

  He nodded again.

  ‘I want to hear it,’ insisted Hart. ‘Good and loud.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed the man reluctantly. ‘That’s the same man. I’m ... I’m ... sure of it.’

  Hart nodded, folded the poster and pushed it from sight. He sat back and glanced at both men. ‘You deliver him to us and the money’s yours.’

  Caldicott dropped his cigar from his mouth; Reardon jerked his arm sharply and knocked a spoon clattering to the floor. The woman in blue glanced across at their table and Hart smiled at her but she swung her head back without acknowledging him.

  ‘We understood—’Reardon finally spluttered.

  ‘You understood what?’ Hart snapped.

  ‘That if we positively identified Swain as the man you were looking for then...’

  Hart pointed a finger at Reardon and from the expression on the cattleman’s face it might as well have been a gun. ‘You want that reward, you’re goin’ to have to earn it better than that.’

  ‘Keep your voice down, please,’ said Caldicott, leaning across the table.

  Hart ignored him; he knew he was doing well enough. ‘We want to know where he’s going to be on a particular day, a particular hour. We want that information an’ you can give it to us.’

  ‘The risk!’ said Caldicott, fumbling with his cigar.

  ‘There’s no risk!’ hissed Hart savagely. It was all he could do to stop h
imself from reaching across and grabbing Caldicott by the collar and shaking some sense into him forcibly. ‘No risk at all.’ He turned his attention back to Reardon. ‘Here’s what you do. Wait until there’s a meeting arranged with Hardin, Swain, and let him make the plans as usual. Don’t do a thing to make him suspicious. As soon as it’s all set up, you let us know at Rangers’ headquarters. We won’t make a move until it’s all over and you’re both well clear. He’ll be pleased the deal’s gone through and more relaxed than before. That’s when we’ll take him.’

  Hart stared at Reardon and waited for the man to reply.

  When he didn’t, Hart tapped the poster inside his pocket and said softly, ‘Four thousand dollars. That’s a lot of cattle.’

  Reardon looked quickly at Caldicott and then nodded his head, sweat shaking from his red face and dripping on to the table. Hart could smell the fear on the pair of them and he knew that it was only the money that would prevent them from changing their minds after he’d gone. He wasn’t positive that it was enough, but there was nothing else he could do.

  ‘The information,’ said Hart, already sliding out from the booth, ‘you have it addressed care of Captain Armstrong. That understood?’

  Reardon acknowledged that it was. Caldicott just stared in front of him, saying and doing nothing.

  Hart straightened up. ‘Thanks for the meal, gents. I trust well do business again someday.’

  He turned on his heel and glanced at the woman in blue but she was intent on close conversation with her escort. He went smartly down the stairs and nodded towards Lamar at the bar. He was in the street and untying the reins of his mount when Lamar came out.

  They walked together, leading their horses, to where Ollie was waiting.

  ‘You took your time,’ the thin man said grudgingly.

  ‘The food was too good to rush,’ said Hart with a grin.

  ‘Whiskey, too,’ laughed Lamar.

  Ollie cursed the pair of them roundly and they both laughed some more.