by J. T. Edson
There had been another aspect which Tragg had regarded as likely to reduce the danger of the subterfuge being detected. He had seen its advantages as soon as. he learned of Reece Mervyn’s vacation. If the lawyer had been present in Austin when the rumor of Joel Meeker’s interest in Brixton’s Canyon instigated by the Major reached his office, he might have ascertained it was unfounded. As it was, Tragg had felt sure Wilfred Plant would be disinclined to assume such a responsibility and, on contacting his employer by telephone for instructions, would be told to call Softly to pass on a warning that the geologist would arrive to carry out a secret investigation and must be delayed until after legal action was taken to prevent it. Having heard of the antipathy with which many of Turtle’s middle management men regarded Plant and suspecting Softly—having known him elsewhere—could be included in their number, the Major had deduced that a mutual hostility might prevent them from engaging in any too fruitful and informative a discussion on the matter. If that proved to be the case, it was unlikely they would draw any conclusions which could put the furtherance of the scheme at jeopardy.
Tragg had warned Alvin that his arrival in the town as Otis J. Hollingshead and his pretense of having a desire to remain incognito, was likely to produce some indication to support their supposition of illegal activities taking place in and around Brixton’s Canyon. Whatever form these took, they could not be happening without the knowledge and approval of Hogan Turtle’s senior man-on-the-spot. Nor, as he almost certainly exercised control over the local law enforcement officers, would Softly hesitate before taking action if he considered the newcomer might pose a threat to his employer’s interests. On the other hand, the Major believed it was unlikely he would go to the extremes with which the cowhand had been dealt. Not only would the intended victim be thought to have the backing of an unscrupulous, but wealthy and influential financier, there was to be a Texas Ranger who was aware of his identity in the vicinity.
So, having set his superior’s plan in motion with Scrapton’s assistance and remained in the hotel room until his partner arrived to help continue it, all that remained for Alvin to do was carry on as he had been instructed and see if there were any developments.
Glancing around and taking mental note of where each item was positioned, so he would be able to tell at a glance whether his property had been disturbed and possibly searched in his absence, the small Texan left the room and locked the door. Then, having made sure there was nobody in the vicinity to see what he was doing, he set about employing a ruse which his paternal grandfather had learned from Belle Boyd, the legendary Rebel Spy, [56] and put to good use, to ensure he would know if there had been an unauthorized entry while he was away. [57] Taking a piece of black thread from the right hand pocket of his Norfolk jacket, he fastened one end to the top of the frame and the other to the upper edge of the door. Satisfied that he had done all in his power to preserve the secret of his identity, he strolled towards the stairs. As he was descending to the ground floor and crossing the lobby, he wondered when—if at all—something would happen to confirm Major Tragg’s suspicions.
‘Y-You want a m-meal, sir?’ asked the plump and pompous-looking desk clerk, when Alvin inquired about the possibility of obtaining lunch in the hotel. Throwing a glance redolent of apprehension at the door inscribed, MANAGER’S OFFICE, PRIVATE and which stood slightly ajar, he continued with a noticeable hesitancy. ‘Y-You can have one here if you wish, but the dining-room is closed and you will have to eat it in the bar.’
‘Gracias,’ the small Texan replied, darting an equally surreptitious gaze in the direction to which the other had looked without managing to see if they were being watched or overheard. ‘I’ll do just that.’
‘Y-Yes, sir,’ the clerk gulped, once more throwing a hurried peep over his shoulder. ‘I-If you go in and sit down, a waiter will attend you.’
Despite the casual way in which he had given his acceptance, Alvin was far from relaxed as he walked towards the door offering access to the barroom. It was obvious to him that the desk clerk had been ill at ease and believed they might be under observation from the manager’s office while supplying him with the information. Drawing conclusions from the nervous attitude, he decided that the precautions which had been taken for his protection might soon be put to the test.
The first thing to strike the small Texan as he entered the barroom was that business had improved since his earlier visit. While it was still far from packed, there were now several customers present. They were either standing by the bar or, as in Branch’s case, sitting at the tables. Seeing them caused Alvin to feel a sense of relief. Although the elderly sergeant’s official status might not be known, with so many potential witnesses around, whatever might have been arranged for his discomfiture was unlikely to be too serious. He doubted whether it would entail gun play and was confident that he could protect himself for a sufficient length of time in the event of a bare-handed attack to allow his partner to intervene and save him from injury. On the other hand, should he be in error with regards to the use of firearms, Branch would be just as able to defend him on the pretext of wanting to safeguard the other customers rather than himself specifically.
The small Texan was left in no doubt over where he was expected to position himself. While some of the other tables were unoccupied, only one was covered with a clean white cloth and had a complement of silverware to indicate it was intended for dining rather than merely drinking illicitly-sold liquor. So, catching his partner’s eye, he gave a brief and negative shake of his head. Branch was supposed to rise and greet Alvin as Mr. Hollingshead, but he took the hint and remained on the chair he had selected so that his back was to the wall. Nor did the big blue-tick stir from where it was lying apparently asleep beneath its master’s table.
Studying his surroundings as he was walking forward, Alvin could not detect anybody other than his partner who was displaying an especial interest in him. The lack of curiosity appeared to extend to Softly, who was still carrying out the function of bartender and gave him no more than a quick glance before looking elsewhere. There were four places set at the table, so he selected the one which put his back to Branch as this allowed him to keep the rest of the room under observation.
On sitting down, the small Texan saw Softly look at the Mexican waiter who was standing near the kitchen door and nod in his direction. Although the recipient of the signal was not doing anything else, Alvin thought he seemed reluctant to carry out what had clearly been an order. In fact, it was not until Softly started to walk towards him that he moved forward. As he approached in a reluctant manner, the small Texan thought he was exhibiting a similar nervous fashion to the desk clerk, and apparently shared the knowledge that had created the latter’s apprehension.
‘How’s the chili con carne?’ Alvin inquired after a brief perusal of the menu he had been given, having a liking for that particular fiery delicacy. He gave no sign of noticing the waiter’s thinly disguised agitation,
‘I-Is not ready yet, señor,’ the waiter replied in somewhat stilted English, darting a look pregnant with concern towards the counter.
‘Then I’ll wait until it is,’ Alvin stated, in a tone which suggested he would not welcome an extended conversation.
‘B-But that won’t be—’ the waiter commenced, sending another worried glance to where Softly was engaged in serving a customer. His voice was pitched to little more than a whisper which, nevertheless, still throbbed with urgent anxiety.
‘Goddamn it!’ the small Texan growled, not only contriving to feign annoyance without speaking sufficiently loud for his words to reach the man behind the bar, but managing to be equally unobtrusive where the other customers were concerned. He realized that by doing so he was preventing his partner, being some feet to his rear, from gaining information about the situation and he accepted this rather than chance putting the Mexican’s life in danger. Going on, he continued to adopt a similar low tone, ‘Do you-all want me to tell the manager you’re so
blasted work-shy that you’re trying to turn me from eating here and won’t need to serve me?’
‘N-No, señor,’ the waiter gasped, making no attempt to conceal his alarm at the suggestion. Yet, despite his feelings, he continued, ‘I just thought—’
‘Don’t think, just do as you’re told,’ Alvin advised, sitting back on his chair with the air of one who considered the last word had been uttered on the subject. He did not like behaving in such a fashion, but knew it must be done. As the Mexican seemed on the verge of saying something more, he noticed that Softly was looking in their direction and went on in a more audible tone that had lost its assumed timbre of irritation, ‘I’ll have a bowl of chili and some refried beans [58] on the side.’
‘Si, señor,’ the waiter assented, after pausing for a moment as if contemplating some further remark. He did not give a shrug of resignation, but the gesture was implied in his demeanor. Then, becoming aware that his employer was watching he went on quickly, ‘Can I fetch you anything to drink while you’re waiting?’
‘Nothing,’ the small Texan refused. ‘I’ll have some coffee with the meal, though.’
Watching the Mexican turn and make for the kitchen, walking with a stiff-backed posture that expressed righteous indignation over having taken a not inconsiderable risk while attempting to do a favor and having had his efforts spumed by their intended recipient, the small Texan was grateful for the warning he had been given. Silently promising to make amends for his apparently inconsiderate behavior at a propitious moment, he decided to subject the other occupants of the barroom to a further surreptitious and more extensive examination while waiting for the meal to be delivered. By doing so, he might learn what was intended and who would be involved.
As he was commencing, Alvin thought wryly how much easier his task would be if he possessed Leon Gonzales’ encyclopedic knowledge of, and faith in, the science of physiognomy. After dinner one evening, during a brief visit to Polveroso City the previous year, the famous Spanish criminologist—who, with his associates, George Manfred and Raymond Poiccart, [59] had been touring the United States giving lectures to law enforcement agencies and, while in Austin, made suggestions which led to the formation of Company “Z”—had spoken at length of employing a study of the shape of the human skull, features and expressions, as a guide to detecting a criminal nature or intentions. Although neither he nor his father—who had met and become friends with the trio while in Britain with the American Expeditionary Force prior to going on active service in France—had considered the methods were as infallible as their guest implied, the small Texan felt his present situation would have offered an expert physiognomist an ideal opportunity to give a demonstration.
Lacking such specialized ability, Alvin was compelled to rely upon his own judgment and had to admit it did not help him to draw any conclusions. The customers appeared to be the usual cross-section of the population found in any small town throughout the Texas’ range country. With the exception of three cowhands who were standing at the bar, their attire suggested they were either the owners or employees of Grouperville’s various businesses. None of them looked in any way sinister, suspicious, or as though they were paying any more discernible attention to his presence than they had on his arrival. Certainly he could see nothing to lead him to select the man, or men, who might pose the threat that he was expecting, to his continued well-being. Nor could he detect the slightest indication of what, if anything, was being contemplated.
Wondering if he might have read something more sinister than actually existed into the behavior of the desk clerk and the waiter, perhaps even allowing his imagination to run riot as Major Tragg and Branch had warned might happen while engaged upon such a deception as he was carrying out, the small Texan brought his gaze to rest on the three cowhands. Unlike some peace officers he had known, he had no antipathy where their kind were concerned and therefore was not automatically led to assume they were the men he was seeking. For all that, as they were the exceptions in the room as far as appearances went, he considered it advisable to devote a longer scrutiny to them than he had given any of the other customers.
Tall and well built, none of the trio exceeded Alvin’s age and they were wearing what was clearly their working clothing. As they were standing with their backs to him, he was only able to see their faces reflected in the far from spotlessly clean mirror behind the counter. This prevented him from acquiring much information, other than his guess at their ages, but he decided the tallest and shortest, although there was only a couple inches difference, were sufficiently alike to be brothers. They were blond haired and their companion was darker in complexion. While their features were pleasant rather than surly, none appeared to be in a cheerful mood. Taken with the way in which they were merely sipping at their schooners of beer and kept glancing from the clock on the wall to the street door, the fact that each had retained his batwing chaps [60] suggested they were waiting for somebody rather in town on an extended visit. Just about the only thing which could be considered even remotely out of the ordinary was that a pair of rubber galoshes [61] were standing on the floor between the tallest and shortest of them.
Despite Alvin’s assumption that he was in danger, or soon could be, he was unable to change a lifetime’s habit of pondering over anything that he found to be unusual. Nor did he attempt to stop himself in the prevailing circumstances. Having failed to locate any evidence to support the supposition that he might be in jeopardy, he was willing to let his thoughts be diverted from the main issue for a while. He had found adopting a similar course on other occasions was beneficial to concentration, particularly when—as at that moment—the subject responsible for the change seemed sufficiently trivial to avoid causing any marked relaxation of his general vigilance. By allowing his attention to turn elsewhere, his mind might link apparently unconnected pieces of information it had instinctively absorbed and produce a solution to his dilemma.
Sitting with every appearance of being completely at ease, the small Texan gave his consideration to whether there might be a special significance to the presence of the galoshes. While they were not old, they had been subjected to sufficient wear to rule out the possibility that they were freshly purchased in the town, which might have offered a reason for them being in the barroom. Thinking of the deductions he had formed with regards to the trio’s imminent departure, he wondered if the galoshes could have been brought so as to be available for use in whatever task was awaiting them when they left the hotel.
Suddenly another possibility, spawned out of the latter consideration, sprang to Alvin’s mind!
It was one which created the gravest implications!
Although sometimes bought by men whose work frequently entailed standing or wading in water, galoshes were far from a generally accepted style of footwear in the range country of Texas. As Alvin knew, many cowhands tended to consider their use implied an effete and less than manly attitude no matter how wet the task concerned might be. In fact, the average member of that hard-working fraternity was inclined to treat those who wore them with something close to contempt.
The small Texan had never earned his living as a cowhand, apart from when he had supplemented his spending money during school vacations, but he had grown up among them. So he was aware that, although they no longer wore handguns openly except when working on the range, and increasingly used motor vehicles for purposes which had formerly been performed on horseback, the cowhands of the present were little different in temperament from their predecessors who had ridden with his paternal grandfather and the other members of the OD Connected ranch’s legendary floating outfit. [62] In general, they were still as fun loving as ever and inclined to play with a zest similar to that with which they carried out their frequently long and often grueling hours of work. A visit to town could produce antics just as wild and irresponsible (backed by an equal generosity when paying compensation for any damage or inconvenience that ensued) as would have a trail crew celebrating the end
of a cattle drive from Texas to the shipping point on the railroad in Kansas during the mid-1800s.
Having witnessed many examples of the ebullient nature of cowhands, the small Texan appreciated how nothing was considered to make a resounding success of a spree in town than having a good fight. So, if it had not been for the way they were dressed and were behaving, he might have believed they had brought the galoshes in the hope of provoking a derogatory comment to which offence could be taken as an excuse to start a brawl. Only, in this instance, there could be a more sinister motive.
When what appeared to be a chance fracas started, Alvin could be injured even though not ostensibly involved. In that way, he could be rendered incapable of performing the supposed investigation in Brixton’s Canyon for long enough to allow an injunction preventing it legally to be brought into effect. He remembered how an illustrious ancestor, Ole Devil Hardin, had employed similar tactics to deal with a group of potential dissidents during the final stages of Texas’ struggle to free itself from Mexican domination in 1836. [63]
Even as the small Texan was arriving at that unpalatable point in his train of thought, he saw the tallest of the cowhands glance into the mirror behind the bar and address a brief sotto-voce remark to the others. Although he was unable to hear what was said, they all began to turn around.
Tensing slightly, so as to be ready to rise and defend himself at the first suggestion of trouble, Alvin realized he was not the object of the trio’s attention. They were staring not at, but past him to where a thickset, white haired and cheerful featured man entered from the street.
Studying the newcomer’s attire, as the tallest cowhand raised a hand to wave a greeting, the small Texan concluded that—in spite of the way he was dressed—he could be the person for whom the trio were waiting. Bareheaded, he had on a collarless gray flannel shirt and faded blue bib overalls, the legs of which were tucked into a pair of earth-encrusted, calf high, low heeled boots. If he worked on the same ranch, however, it seemed unlikely to be in a capacity that entailed much riding. He walked stiffly, in a manner which suggested he had at some time sustained a sufficiently serious injury to have brought his days as a horseman to an end.
