by J. T. Edson
‘If it wasn’t for us gals, there wouldn’t be any dog-hounds, or fool men to chase after them,’ Pauline replied calmly.
Grinning, Scobie walked back to the fire. That girl had sand to burn and knew how to string words together. She would make some man a good wife and be a damned sight better off than working in a saloon. At which point he saw Flax Fannon’s face and noticed that the young Texan had retreated to the fire.
‘Something wrong, Flax?’
‘Don’t you tell anybody, but I just can’t stand seeing anything being born.’
‘A lot of folks can’t, there’s no shame to it,’ Scobie replied. ‘Now me, I just can’t stand the sight of looper caterpillars or bear one of them to touch me.’
‘Folks are funny,’ Flax stated, accepting a cup of coffee,
‘Sure are,’ agreed Scobie. Take the gal there. She allows to have seen Jervis Thorpe kill a man.’
Young Flax Fannon might be, but he had learned to keep a pretty fair grip on his emotions. Only for a moment did the coffee-cup hesitate on its way to his lips and a flicker of interest cross his face. He tensed slightly and threw a glance in Pauline’s direction.
‘Do you believe her?’ the Texan asked.
‘Skerrit was after her, and those other two fellers. Which means somebody wants her dead real bad.’
‘Zimmerman sent those pair after her,’ Flax pointed out.
‘But he didn’t hire Skerrit,’ Scobie countered. ‘Why’d he waste money on a top hired gun when he could have had it done cheaper closer to home?’
‘There’s that,’ admitted Flax. ‘Who was the feller she allows Thorpe killed?’
The head teller from the Cattlemen’s Trust in Cheyenne, Scobie replied, and saw the other’s increased interest. ‘She says that Thorpe shoved the blade of a sword-cane into his back.’
‘A long, narrow blade shoved through his kidneys from behind,’ Flax said, half to himself. ‘I’ve seen one of them swordcane’s blades, Scobie.’
‘So have I. Well, that’s what the girl says.’
‘Would she be lying?’
‘Why should she?’ asked Scobie. ‘Or if she was lying to get a ride out of town, you’d expect her to pick a better one than that.’
‘Sure. The money and bonds from that robbery never did show up again. Did she see Thorpe take the teller’s keys?’ ‘Allowed he just killed the teller after talking and walked away.’
‘Which doesn’t mean a thing. Could be the robbery was done to stop folks thinking too much about the teller being killed. You know, everybody thought he’d been killed for the keys to the vault.’
‘It could be.’
That robbery never sat right with me, though,’ Flax drawled. ‘Killing the teller and taking his keys isn’t the Wild Bunch’s way.’
That’s for sure,’ Scobie agreed. They’d’ve come in with guns to hand and bandanas over their faces – and started spending the money afore now. I never saw one of them who could keep a dollar in his pocket for two long days together.’
‘But Jervis Thorpe—’
‘It sure don’t seem like his way either,’ Scobie said. ‘Schuster might kill; has killed in what passed for fair fights, but not Thorpe.’
‘Thorpe might if he’d a good enough reason,’ Flax pointed out. ‘And he just might have that reason.’
‘What’d it be?’ asked Scobie.
‘I’ve been up in Wyoming for the past six months, living like a longrider, spending free and doing no work. Happen anybody checks on a couple of things I let slip, the sheriffs concerned know what to say. Anyways, I’ve got to know some of the Wild Bunch and they’ll talk to one of their kind. Especially when cash’s short for them and he’s willing to buy the drinks. From what I’ve heard, I figure there’s a real smart brain behind all the law-breaking in Wyoming and the neighboring States—’
‘I’ve read the Police Gazette too,’ Scobie interrupted.
‘This’s for real. That story in the Police Gazette sure handed everybody in the Wild Bunch a lot of laughs. Fact being, that was when I first started hearing about the Planner.’ ‘Who’s he?’
‘Nobody knows. It could be Schuster, or somebody behind him. The Planner doesn’t run the Wild Bunch or any of the other outfits, but he sells information to them about where to hit. Fellers I’ve spoke to tell how he lets them know when and where to hit and that if they follow his word, they get away without any fuss.’
‘That’s mighty profitable for him,’ Scobie said.
‘You don’t know just how profitable,’ Flax drawled. ‘Who suffers when a bank is robbed and its vault cleaned out?’
‘The banker, stock-holders—’
‘And depositors,’ Flax finished. ‘Say a feller’s running a business, doing fairly well and meeting his note at the bank. Then one day Butch Cassidy, the Sundance Kid, or somebody comes along and cleans out the bank. That feller loses all his savings and can’t meet the mortgage note any more. The bank forecloses and a going business is sold cheap.’
‘To the same folks each time?’
‘Nope. They’re too smart for that. Each time they put a feller in to run it for them, only he makes like he’s done the buying and has the deeds in his name—’
‘Which same could be risky,’ Scobie remarked’ ‘If the feller had the business in his name, what’s to stop him selling it and running.’
‘A jasper called Suggit took up a general store cheap in Sheridan when the bank foreclosed on its owner after the big robbery up there. About a month later he disappeared and in about three weeks another feller showed up with papers all nice and legal showing that Suggit sold out to him. Three months passed and the Kansas City marshal’s office found Suggit hanging in a hotel room.’
‘Suicide?’
‘Everything looked that way.’
‘And the feller who bought the store?’
‘He run into a mite of bad luck,’ Flax explained. ‘Started off well, putting good money into the bank every week. First off a bunch of drunken cowhands got to fighting in his place and did plenty of damage. Then somehow kerosene got spilled over his food. To cap it all, a wagon hauling barrels of beer to the saloon lost a wheel outside the store. Barrels crashed into its front, bust the door and windows up bad. Only then the feller’s luck changed again, things stopped happening to him – and he stopped banking his takings.’
‘So?’
‘Take the hombre in Gillette who took up a barber’s shop after its owner lost all his money in their bank’s hold-up. That feller got to be real popular, started courting a pretty lil saloon gal all sweet and loving. Gave her some mighty fancy and expensive jewelry and spent money on her. One night somebody come on him lying in a side-alley looking like a hoss trampled on his face. He allowed to have fallen off the sidewalk, only wouldn’t say why he did it three or four times. The “fall” made him see the light, give up his free-handing ways’ And the gal left town without any of her fancy presents.’
‘What’s it prove?’ Scobie asked.
‘Taken separate, the two of them don’t prove a thing,’ admitted Flax. ‘But you take them with maybe a dozen similar incidents in Wyoming, Utah, the Dakotas and Montana and things change a mite.’
‘Have they been happening?’
‘Over the past eighteen months or more. Waco’s been gathering word and he made me read reports until I thought they’d start coming out of my ears.’
‘And you figure this Planner jasper’s behind it?’
‘Near on every hold-up that’s been well planned has left at least one small business on the market.’
‘There’s nothing to say that Thorpe’s mixed up in it,’ Scobie pointed out.
‘No,’ agreed Flax. ‘But whoever the Planner is, he’s a man who can learn things. A man who can come and go among the richest folks in the State. When he sells a hold-up, everything’s there; the best time to hit, what law there is, the way to go to escape. That sort of information doesn’t come easy – but a jasper like Thor
pe could get it.’
‘What do you want me to do?’ asked Scobie.
‘The gal might have the key to the whole business,’ Flax replied. Why else would they want her dead so bad?’
‘If she did see Thorpe kill that feller—’
‘Who’d take the word of a saloon-girl against an important jasper like him?’ Flax interrupted. ‘He could claim that it was a pack of lies thought up by his political enemies. But suppose he is the Planner, or close to him, then he’d not want word like that even starting. Likely Thorpe knows that Waco’s been called in to clean up Wyoming and, mister, nobody sells Waco short.’
‘Them who did soon wished they hadn’t,’ Scobie drawled. ‘Would Thorpe be any more worried about Pauline talking even if he is the Planner?’
‘I think he would. The girl’s story would give Waco a start. Then he’ll keep on pushing and digging until he comes up with the answers. Those hired hands might spook if they heard a US. marshal was nosing around and a scared man’ll talk. Happen Thorpe’s the Planner, or works for him, they daren’t chance giving Waco that much of a start.’
‘Just what have you in mind?’ Scobie inquired, studying the Texan with admiration and interest. One way and another young Flax Fannon had grown into a real smart man and a credit to the fine peace officer who trained him. v
‘Keep her with you and keep her alive until Waco can reach you. He’s down in Utah, just waiting for something like this to give him a start.’
‘How about you?’
‘I can’t take her with me. It’s taken too much work and money to get me in with the owlhoots and my place’s among them so that I can learn everything possible ready for the big clean-up.’
‘Can you get word down to Waco?’
‘The Wells Fargo agent at Witch Creek’s working with me. He’ll telegraph Waco in code and tell him everything. Happen you’ll get an answer in Desborough.’
‘That’s where I’m taking the girl.’
‘Keep her with you if you can,’ Flax requested. ‘She may be what we need.’
‘How about this pair?’ Scobie asked, indicating the bodies. ‘We’ll have to bury them and hide their gear where it won’t be found. With luck Zimmerman’ll think they took his money and run out instead of coming after you’’
‘Let’s get started then.’
After telling the girl what they meant to do, Scobie and Flax removed the bodies for burial in the woods. On their return, they off-saddled the dead men’s horses and turned the animals loose, then concealed the saddles and other gear. When playing such a dangerous game, with Flax’s life at stake, they could not worry about the niceties. Packer and Spice lived by the gun, dying in a murder attempt and might have considered themselves lucky to receive any burial. With that attended to, Scobie brought all his considerable knowledge to bear in removing signs of the shooting.
‘Give it a spell and nothing’ll show,’ he said on finishing his work.
‘With luck you’ll have a day,’ Flax guessed. ‘Zimmerman won’t start worrying about them not coming back until around noon. Then it’ll take him some longer to make a move. I’d say it’ll be getting on for sundown afore anybody comes out this way. He’ll want to let Kale Schuster know what he’s done and might not make another move until he gets his orders.’ What Flax did not know was that, after hiring and dispatching the two longriders, Zimmerman visited the Wells Fargo office with its clerk and sent a telegraph message reading:
Schuster, Cheyenne.
Salesman killed before making sale.
Have arranged a replacement.
Zimmerman. Braddock.’
If the telegraphist felt any surprise at the cryptic message, he hid it. A man in his position did not ask questions and learned to keep his mouth shut; especially when dealing with messages addressed to that particular source.
However, Flax guessed correctly on one point. After sending the message, Zimmerman returned to the saloon, checked its take for the night and went to bed. Although the saloonkeeper usually slept late on a morning, he was roused at nine o’clock by the Wells Fargo agent. Taking the message form, Zimmerman read the printed words and a feeling of anxiety bit at him. The message was blunt, to the point, and not one calculated to fill its recipient with joy.
‘Zimmerman. Braddock’, it ran ‘Coming. Schuster.’
Eight – My Father Was a Hound Dog Man
A sleepy-looking Pauline walked towards the fire in the cold grey light of dawn. Looking up from the frying pan he held over the flames, Scobie nodded a greeting and Flax Fannon grinned amiably.
‘Eight of them,’ she said. ‘One died and another needed some work but will live. I haven’t touched the others, so I don’t know whether they’re dogs or bitches.’
‘They’ll likely be one or the other,’ Scobie answered. ‘I don’t go much on handling new-born pups for the first few days.’ ‘You’ll have to handle them,’ Flax pointed out. ‘It wouldn’t be safe for you to stay on here.’
That’s for sure,’ Scobie said. ‘I reckon we can fix up the wagon so Vixen’ll ride comfortable, can’t we, Pauline?’
‘We can try,’ the girl replied. ‘My pappy always said the only comfortable ride he ever had in the Army was in a Rocker ambulance.’ She reached up a hand to shove a trailing strand of hair from her face. ‘Lord, I bet I look a sight.’
‘Stream’s there,’ grinned Scobie, eyeing the girl’s smeared make-up and unkempt hair. ‘Time you’ve washed up, I’ll have breakfast ready.’
‘I’d best be riding as soon’s I’ve fed,’ Flax remarked.
‘You came by just at the right time,’ the girl put in.
Not until that moment did either man realize that the girl had been so busy with the whelping bitch that she knew nothing of their plans for her future. Flax glanced at Scobie and caught an almost imperceptible shake of the other’s head, so said nothing. For his part, Scobie decided to withhold the news of Flax’s position until he and the girl were on the trail’ Once they started moving, he could tell her everything.
‘It’s lucky for me that he did,’ Scobie said.
‘Well, I’ll go and take a wash,’ the girl said. ‘I need one.’
On going to the wagon to collect her towel and soap, she noticed a pair of long, sharp scissors placed handy in case the bitch failed to open a pup’s bag, and not needed. Reaching up, she touched her hair once more. Four days in a wagon would ruin the work done on it and she could not hope to keep it tidy in its present length. Besides, a change would alter her appearance and might help to avoid any other man sent after her.
Walking to the stream, Pauline went along the bank until she found a deep hole surrounded by bushes. After glancing back and finding herself hidden from the wagon, she stripped naked and waded into the water. A sudden shock and chill ran through her, for she failed to realize how cold the water would be. However, after a moment she began to enjoy the sensation and bathed herself. With that done, the girl reached for the scissors. For a moment she hesitated, then sucked in a deep breath, shook free her hair and began to cut it. Using the water of the pool as a mirror, she trimmed off her hair until only short curls remained. When finished, Pauline dressed and returned to the wagon. Flax had already eaten and ridden off in the direction of the Witch Creek relay station to send word to his employer.
‘It was real lucky him happening along just at the right time,’ she remarked, taking the plate of food Scobie offered. ‘Or did he just happen along?’
‘Nope. He followed that pair of jaspers,’ Scobie replied. ‘You look a whole heap better with your hair short and none of that paint on your face.’
‘Is that a compliment, or to have me mind my own business?’
‘A compliment. Flax’s a deputy U.S. marshal, although he’s not wearing a badge and wouldn’t want anybody to know it.’
‘Tell me about it while I eat. Then I’ll feed Vixen. She’ll be needing slops for a few days.’
Watching the girl make up a sufficiently
soft meal to meet the bitch’s post-natal requirements, Scobie again found himself wondering where she gained her knowledge of such matters. However he did not ask at that moment, being more concerned with telling her of Flax’s news and the plans made for her future.
‘That’s all depending on you, though,’ he finished. ‘Will you stick with me until Waco gets here?’
‘Can he do anything?’ she countered.
‘I don’t know, gal, and that’s for sure,’ Scobie said quietly, ‘One thing I do know, though. Come hell or high water, he’ll surely make a try. And he’ll give you all the protection he can.’
Listening to Scobie, Pauline found her confidence growing in the capability of the U.S. marshal. Of course she had heard much about Waco. To her generation, Waco was what Dusty Fog had been to the youngsters in the years following the Civil War. Peerless cowhand, master gun-fighter, fearless lawman of the finest kind, Waco’s name rode high in all honest folk’s esteem. So she felt that she could trust Scobie not to steer her wrong in the matter. If she co-operated with the U.S. marshal, she would be protected and he might even be able to remove the menace to her life.
‘I’ll do it,’ she decided. ‘I can work my way, do some cooking, help feed the pack—’
That’s not necessary—’ Scobie began.
‘It is for me,’ she finished. ‘Now go tend to your chores and leave me to get on with mine.’
After feeding the bitch and chasing off such of the other dogs which gathered at the smell of the meal, Pauline left Scobie to hitch the team while she gathered squaw-cabbage and made up a fresh bed out of burlap and dried vegetation. The original mattress would be of no further use, so the girl burned it before dousing the fire.
Making a comfortable and safe nest in the wagon, Pauline asked Scobie to bring Vixen in. While he carried the bitch, Pauline transported the squirming newborn pups and put them with their mother. A satisfied smile came to the girl’s face as she watched the litter gather at their mother’s belly and start to feed.
‘They’ll do,’ she said.
With everything ready, Pauline climbed on to the box alongside Scobie and he started the wagon moving. The pack loped all around, running off their excess energy before settling down to the business of traveling. Looking the dogs over, Pauline asked a number of questions which again showed her surprising considering her place of employment – knowledge. She identified each hound’s breed correctly and showed interest in their working qualities.