by J. T. Edson
‘That don’t mean they was fresh come from off a boat from Europe, though,’ Doc objected, despite guessing the youngster had reached a similar conclusion. ‘A lot of folk who didn’t come from England are like’ to talk the language of their old country when they get het up or spooked. I’ll give you one thing, though. It’s not only their boots. Their hands are way too soft for them to be working cowhands.’
‘I wouldn’t say they was hired guns, either,’ Waco declared, willing to concede that the first point raised by the Wedge hand was valid. ‘Had they been, both of them’d’ve been toting Winchesters.’
‘Hi there, Tom!’ Beauregard greeted, before the discussion could be continued, seeing the oldest of his deputies coming through the gathering crowd of spectators. ‘I thought you was off some place with Chow Willicka fighting the Battle of Chapultepec all over again.’
‘Could be I’m apple polishing, or bucking for promotion,’ the elderly peace officer replied. He had been having a celebration with the cook of the Wedge and a couple more companions who had served in the Mexican War. On hearing the shooting he had come to see if his services would be required. Ambling forward, he looked at the bodies and went on, ‘It’s two of them, huh?’
‘You know them, Tom?’ Dusty inquired.
‘Not to go up ’n’ say, ‘Howdy’ to ’em by name, Cap’n,’ the newcomer admitted. ‘But I was on depot watch when they come in.’
‘How many of them arrived?’ the small Texan asked, aware that Beauregard had continued the policy he originated of having deputies at the railroad depot when trains came in to keep watch for undesirable visitors.
‘Four,’ the elderly deputy answered. ‘I thought, first off, they was Injuns. Only they called themselves ‘Bohemians’ when they checked in at the Grimsdyke.’
‘Bohemians, huh?’ the marshal said pensively. ‘That’s a country in Central Europe, from what I remember. Didn’t you have some fuss a while back with a bunch from around thereabouts who were trying to get rid of their king, Dusty?’
‘Not from Bohemia itself,’ the small Texan corrected. ‘It was Bosgravnia and he was their Crown Prince, not a king.’
‘Did you get all the crowd who were after him?’ Beauregard wanted to know.
‘There were two different bunches in on it,’ Dusty answered. ‘We took out all we knew to be over here.’
‘Maybe some of their amigos are after you looking for evens?’ the marshal suggested. ‘If so, they could’ve hired help from Bohemia. Except, before anybody asks me, that don’t explain why they’d come to Mulrooney instead of Texas looking for you.’
‘Unless whoever hired them figured we’d be bringing a herd here,’ the small Texan offered. ‘So they were told to start looking at Mulrooney, then head south along the trail if we hadn’t come.’
‘We could maybe find the answer at the Grimsdyke,’ Beauregard asserted. ‘Would you like to come along, Dusty?’
‘Gracias,’ the small Texan assented, having hoped the offer would be made.
Leaving his deputies to arrange for the bodies to be taken to the undertaker, the marshal set off with the Texans. However, before they reached their destination, they saw flames rising and heard a commotion. Hurrying onwards, they found the second floor of the Grimsdyke Temperance Hotel was rapidly being consumed by a fire. If they had gone around the building, they might have seen Walter Johnson hurrying away.
Eight – Cowhands and Dudes Don’t Mix
‘Good morning, Captain Hart, Captain Fog,’ Walter Johnson greeted, coming to the table at which the trail boss of the Wedge and the small Texan were seated in the Fair Lady Saloon. Then, glancing at the remains of what was clearly their lunch before them, he continued amiably, ‘I suppose I should be saying, “Good afternoon”. We city dwellers don’t rise as early as we should, I suppose. Am I interrupting anything?’
‘Nothing important,’ Stone Hart replied. ‘Pull up a chair and join us in coffee. Or would you prefer something stronger and a meal?’
‘Coffee will be fine, sir, and I’ve already eaten at the hotel,’ the New Englander declared, drawing out and sitting on a chair. ‘May I ask if anything further has developed with regards to the attempt on your life last night, Captain Fog?’
‘Nothing that helps a whole heap,’ Dusty admitted. ‘It seems likely the fire at the Grimsdyke was mixed in with the try at Lon and me, but I’m still no closer to knowing why those jaspers came after us in the first place.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Johnson claimed with what appeared to be genuine sincerity, although the opposite was the case.
The last thing the New Englander wanted was for either the small Texan or the local peace officers to discover why the abortive ambush had taken place!
Having been a criminal since childhood, Johnson had learned early that one of the best ways to keep out of trouble with local law enforcement agencies was to study their way of working. Being aware that the enterprise upon which he was currently engaged was far from legal, he had continued to take this precaution on coming to Mulrooney. Knowing of the ‘depot watch’ duties carried out by the deputies serving under Town Marshal Kail Beauregard, he had been able to envisage the full extent of the danger caused by the way in which ‘Hugo Budapest’ was killed. He had felt certain the arrival of the four young Indians had not gone unnoticed by whichever peace officers were present when they came in on the train, and he was equally convinced that, their physical appearances being sufficiently distinctive to have aroused interest, steps would have been taken to discover where they had found accommodation and who they claimed to be. Therefore, even if their pretence of being immigrants from Bohemia had been accepted, the marshal was sure to go to the Grimsdyke Temperance Hotel with the intention of questioning the other three.
Standing in the crowd which had gathered outside the Fair Lady Saloon after the failure of the ambush, much to the New Englander’s relief, he had heard nothing to suggest that any of the deputy marshals accompanying Beauregard had been on the depot watch duty when the ‘Bohemians’ had arrived from the East. Nevertheless, he had also appreciated that it was only a matter of time before the identification was made. Having no doubt that ‘Ivan Boski’ would try to obtain leniency by implicating himself, Kevin Roddy, Francis Morrell and the other Indians if arrested for the murder of ‘Budapest’, Johnson had known this must not be allowed to take place. He had further realized that he alone must prevent it.
Considering it would be highly unwise to trust even his two white associates more than was absolutely necessary, particularly where the far from legal measures which would be required to ensure the silence of the Creek Indian was concerned, the New Englander had not mentioned his full intentions to either of them. Instead, he had claimed that he was going to make sure the rest of the ‘Bohemians’ did not fall into the hands of the local law as a result of ‘Budapest’ having been killed in such a fashion. He had countered a suggestion that either Roddy or Morrell should accompany him by pointing out they would be more usefully occupied if they remained in the crowd and listened for anything suggesting there were further developments which might put them and the scheme in jeopardy. Although he had suspected that the possible threat to themselves, rather than their enterprise, was the primary consideration, for once they had yielded to a suggestion he made without argument.
Caring little for what might have motivated the acceptance, being grateful that it had happened, Johnson had set out alone for the Grimsdyke Temperance Hotel. He had been relieved when he had not heard anything to indicate that the peace officer sent by the marshal to investigate the rear of the buildings opposite the Fair Lady Saloon had seen, caught up with, or even only chased and lost ‘Boski’. When the shooting had commenced from a different direction, he had concluded that the same did not apply where ‘Peter Romanov’, ‘Rudolph Petrovich’ and their young pursuer were concerned. He had also deduced, from revolvers having been used after the rifle and another handgun were fired, that the Yakima and t
he Onondaga had missed the blond Texan.
The Winchester had remained silent after its single discharge, so the New Englander had decided that ‘Romanov’ must have paid the penalty for a lack of accuracy. As there was no further shooting of any kind, remembering what he had heard about Waco’s ability as a gunfighter, Johnson had assumed the same might apply to ‘Petrovich’. Being convinced they would prove just as lacking in loyalty as ‘Boski’, Roddy, or Morrell, if captured, he hoped that neither was taken alive, able to answer questions. Considering he had no other choice, regardless of whether they talked or not, the New Englander had elected to make the most of whatever time was being granted to him before a deputy who had been on the appropriate depot watch duty arrived to identify the ‘Bohemians’. He decided to continue with his original plan.
Arriving in sight of the Grimsdyke Hotel, Johnson had discovered that he had approached faster and by a more direct route than the man he was seeking. Waiting until the Creek had gone inside through the rear entrance, the New Englander had followed him upstairs and into his room without either of them having been seen by anybody else on the premises. It had come as no surprise to Johnson when he was told that ‘Boski’ had flight from Mulrooney in mind. Putting to use his considerable skill as a confidence trickster, such being his specialized field of criminal endeavor, the New Yorker had lured the Creek into a sense of false security by apparently being in complete agreement with his decision to leave and drop out of any further plans organized by Johnson.
Knowing the chances of a successful escape were practically nil, where a man so inexperienced and of such a distinctive appearance was concerned, Johnson had prepared, and had on his person the means by which the would-be deserter could be eliminated. Although he had not been armed when meeting the Texans for the first time, aware of their ability to detect such things and wishing to avoid arousing suspicion, he had felt the need for a weapon might arise when he was unable to dissuade his fellow conspirators from trying to kill Dusty Fog and the Ysabel Kid. A thrust into the kidney region with the gambler’s push-knife he had drawn from its place of concealment up the left sleeve of his jacket had toppled the Creek dying to the floor, unable to raise an outcry.
With ‘Boski’ dead, listening all the time for any indication that the marshal had learned where the ‘Bohemians’ could be located and had come in search of the survivor, Johnson had made preparations to dispose of anything they might have in their belongings which could lead to him. Although it had never been one of his regular sources of illicit income, he had engaged upon a couple of swindles involving arson and had known how to produce the result he required. Using stuffing from the mattresses and kerosene out of the lamps as the main fuel, he had set off a blaze in both rooms rented by the Indians—a skill he had acquired at picking locks during his criminal career having given him access to the second—which he had felt sure would destroy whatever evidence there might be of his connection with them. Having waited until satisfied that each fire was going well enough to ensure the desired conflagration, he had once again taken his departure from the premises without anybody other than his now dead confederate knowing he had paid the visit.
On rejoining Roddy and Morrell at the Fair Lady Saloon, much to his satisfaction, the New Englander had been informed that neither ‘Romanov’ nor ‘Petrovich’ had lived through their encounter with the blond youngster. In return, Johnson had told his two surviving associates that he had arrived at the Grimsdyke Temperance Hotel to find the second floor was burning and, although he had not seen ‘Boski’, believed the fire had been started in the rooms occupied by the four Indians with the intention of destroying their property before it could be examined by the marshal. He had further asserted that, in his opinion, the conflagration had had such a hold before being discovered that no evidence would be left.
Being unaware of the New Englander’s cold blooded readiness to kill when necessary, or of his previous involvements with arson, the two young Easterners had accepted his story. Nevertheless, as they too had believed the Creek would betray them if arrested in the hope of saving his own neck, their sole concern had been that he might be captured by the local peace officers, and they had stated their intention of leaving Mulrooney before this could happen.
While the New Englander would have been quite content to part company with Roddy and Morrell under different circumstances, in view of the way in which the situation had developed, he considered it was now imperative they stayed together. Their selection to accompany him had been made by the principal financial backers of the scheme, to whom they were closely related, without even having asked whether he was in agreement. Therefore, feeling sure the wealthy Eastern ‘liberals’ who controlled the purse strings would not otherwise prove any more loyal or trustworthy in a crisis than his present companions, he had seen the advisability of taking precautions to ensure their continued support. If the truth about the fire at the Grimsdyke Temperance Hotel should be discovered, being able to claim that the pair had been willing accessories before and after the fact would render it extremely unlikely their kinfolk—afraid of being implicated in turn—would try to disassociate themselves from him. Rather they would do everything possible to help him reduce, perhaps even evade completely, the consequences of what he had done partially on their behalf.
Such had been their state of alarm, it had called for all Johnson’s powers of persuasion to prevent the two young Easterners from immediately taking flight. It was only be pointing out there was no train in either direction that night, then warning of the dangers of trying to leave by some other means of transportation, that he had induced them to agree to wait at least until the following morning. He had strengthened his argument by pointing out how trying to rent a rig, or saddle horses, at such an hour would arouse suspicion and lead to questioning during which their connection with the ‘Bohemians’ might be established. Faced with such a possibility, they had given grudging concurrence to his suggestions. Having gained this, he had explained how he was hoping to turn the introduction to Dusty Fog and the Ysabel Kid to advantage. Nor had he been lying on that matter. It had been one of the factors he had taken into consideration when deciding ‘Boski’ must be silenced, and subsequent developments had shown signs of proving it was correct.
Before the Texans had returned to the Fair Lady Saloon, the New Englander had taken the precaution of sending his companions back to their suite at the Railroad House Hotel. He had been satisfied that he had frightened them sufficiently to ensure they would follow his instructions and stay there. Relieved of the possibility of inadvertent betrayal by one or the other, he had gone to greet Dusty Fog and express congratulations over the failure of the ambush. Conducting the questioning with all his skill, his judgment of human nature had quickly reassured him that his connection with the ‘Bohemians’ had not occurred to either the small Texan or the local peace officers. Nor, as far as he had been able to ascertain, had the truth about their true racial origins been even suspected, much less discovered.
Johnson had been much relieved by what he had discovered and deduced. On rejoining Roddy and Morrell at the hotel, he had not been lying when assuring them there was nothing to fear. However, without telling them the real reason, he had had no intention of taking unnecessary chances. He had decided to use the possibility of acquiring support for the Society for the Preservation of the American Bison from Ole Devil Hardin as an excuse to keep up his association with Dusty Fog. By doing so, he hoped to receive a warning in advance if there were any developments in the investigation which might lead in his direction.
Although the New Englander had set out with the intention of meeting the trail boss of the Wedge and implementing the next part of the scheme, finding the small Texan was also present had offered him what he considered to be an excellent opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. He was pleased that he had decided against bringing Roddy and Morrell with him. Having no faith in either’s courage or intelligence, he was relieved by having avoi
ded the danger of them inadvertently giving a hint of the truth to a man for whose intelligence and perception— outside appearances notwithstanding—he had formed considerable respect.
‘You said the fire at that Temperance Hotel might have been connected with the men who tried to kill you and the Kid,’ Johnson continued, his tone suggesting nothing more than a casual interest. ‘Have you heard whether that was the case?’
‘The whole upper floor was burned out and it was still too hot in what was left for a search to be made last night,’ Dusty replied. ‘But Kail Beauregard said he’d have it looked over when things cooled down enough.’
‘That could be why he’s coming now,’ Stone Hart remarked, glancing to where the town marshal was walking through the batwing doors of the front entrance.
‘Howdy Dusty, Stone, Mr. Johnson,’ Beauregard greeted, striding briskly to the table. ‘I reckon we’ve found the fourth of those Bohemian jaspers. At least, we found the remains of a body at the Grimsdyke and everybody else who was rooming on the second floor has been accounted for.’
‘Excuse me for butting in, marshal,’ Johnson requested, remembering something he had read about the small Texan in Eastern newspapers and his manner implied a willingness to help. ‘But why do you say they were Bohemians!’
‘That’s what they told the desk clerk they were when they checked in,’ the peace officer explained. ‘Do you know something about them? ’
‘Not at first hand,’ the New Englander lied, but with an air of veracity which was most convincing. ‘However, before I retired, I used to do a fair amount of business with Polish and other Mid-European immigrants and I seem to remember hearing that Bohemians were highly thought of as hired assassins. As Captain Fog said he had never seen any of them before, perhaps they were following their trade from the Old Country like so many other immigrants do.’