by J. T. Edson
Suddenly the two men moved. Coming to his feet, the taller of the pair grabbed at his holstered Colt. No less swiftly, the second man sent his chair flying backwards and fanged a hand towards the gun on his hip. They moved fast and might have taken the advancing trio by complete surprise except for one small, but vitally important detail.
Being trained and experienced peace officers, Dusty and Dale approached the man they meant to question in the correct manner; ready to handle any violent objections he offered to them. So the first hostile move, even though it came from an unexpected area, triggered off an instant response.
Dusty’s hands crossed in a flickering move so fast the eye could barely follow it. Steel rasped on leather as the bone-handled Colts came clear, turning their barrels outwards and lining on the two men. Flame lashed from each of Dusty’s Colts and the crash of both charges of exploding black powder sounded so close together that they came as one single sound. For all that, the man at the right spun around to fall with a bullet between his eyes and the second took lead in his chest. Reeling backwards, the second man caught his legs against the thrown-over chair and went down with his revolver dropping from his hand. So fast had Dusty moved that, while their guns cleared leather, neither man found time to shoot.
On the heels of Dusty’s shots, Dale and Red brought out their guns and saw they would not need to shoot. Instead they prepared to handle any trouble made by members of the crowd. Crashes sounded as the side doors of the room burst open and Dale’s deputies came in, holding shotguns. Knowing the nature of Rosa Rio’s usual class of clientele, Dale had taken no chances and had brought reinforcements along.
‘Stay put!’ Red ordered the man Dusty wished to question and halted his attempt to rise. Sinking back into his chair, the man glared at Dusty’s party but made no hostile moves.
Stepping forward, Dale looked at the two shot men. Recognizing neither of them, he turned towards the bar.
‘Rosa!’ he barked. ‘Come here!’
Slowly, reluctantly it seemed, the woman ambled around the counter and across the room. ‘Yes?’ she asked sullenly.
‘Who are they?’
‘How would I know?’
‘Because you’re a nosey old bitch who makes it her business to know things,’ Dale answered. ‘I’d bet you know every man in this room’s name, history and damned near down to the last nickel in his pocket.’
If the woman felt any pleasure at the tribute to her knowledge, she hid it. Nor did she offer to make any answer to the question. Holstering his Colts, Dusty turned to his cousin.
‘Go get the boys down here from the Bull’s Head, Cousin Red,’ he said.
Instead of being pleased by the prospect of a further thirty or more potential customers, Rosa looked disconcerted. Little happened in or around San Antonio that she did not learn about sooner or later and she was well aware of what brought Dusty to the city. All too well she knew that the ex-members of Company ‘C’ would follow any order their leader gave. If Dusty told them to do so, they would wreck her place. Rosa decided that she was in no position to resist the marshal’s request for information.
‘They’re Camella Hanks and Peep O’Day, from the Hole-In-The-Wall bunch.’
‘And why’re they here?’ Dale growled, for that particular gang did not operate in Texas.
‘I don’t know. They came in and asked for Starke Reynolds.’
‘He’s one of the Kimble County gang,’ Dusty commented.
‘I’ve heard of him,’ Dale replied. ‘Now what the hell would he be wanting with a couple of north country yahoos?’
‘One thing’s for sure,’ Rosa remarked, not without a hint of relief, as she looked at the two shapes on the floor. ‘They’ll never tell you now.’
Although the possibility of a meeting between representatives of two major outlaw gangs interested Dale, Dusty had other problems on his mind. So he stepped by the bodies and walked over to the man Red covered.
‘Stand up, mister,’ the small Texan ordered.
‘No knife and a Colt,’ Red said as the man obeyed. ‘It’s not him.’
‘Most likely not,’ Dusty answered. ‘Where’ve you been all night?’
‘Right here. Ask Rosa.’
‘Sure he has,’ the woman confirmed.
Nor did the second man carry the necessary armament, having no knife and sporting a brace of Navy Colts. However Dale instructed two of his deputies to take the men to his office where the witnesses could see them and either confirm or deny their innocence.
‘Who wants Sandy McGraw dead, Rosa?’ Dusty asked as the men left.
‘Does anybody?’ she countered. ‘If so, I’ve not heard about it.’
‘But you’d hear if there was,’ Dusty insisted.
‘Me, Cap’n?’
‘Don’t fuss me, Rosa!’ Dusty warned. ‘I’m tired and riled that I’m missing a real pleasant evening with some old friends. Unless I get some straight answers, I’ll fetch those same friends down here and tell them you helped with the hiring.’
Sucking in a deep breath, the woman avoided meeting Dusty’s cold eyes for a moment. When she raised her face to his, a hint of concern showed on the bloated features. While Anse Dale was an honest lawman devoted to maintaining the peace, he might possibly turn his back during the wrecking of her place. Only lack of evidence enabled Rosa to continue in business, although the marshal suspected the truth, that she had a finger in most of the criminal activities around San Antonio. So Dale just might take advantage of Dusty’s anger to rid himself of a problem.
‘If I knew who you wanted, I’d be able to help better,’ she said sullenly.
‘We told you,’ Dusty pointed out.
‘Can you tell me more about him?’
‘I don’t know much more,’ Dusty admitted frankly. ‘Like we said, medium-sized, stocky, looks part Irish. The gun he wears isn’t a Colt, although I don’t know what it might be, and he totes a knife in a boot sheath.’
‘That sounds like Paco Murphy,’ the woman said thoughtfully. ‘At least he doesn’t use a Colt and carries an Arkansas-toothpick in his boot top.’
‘Who is this Murphy?’ demanded Red.
‘A pistolero valiente. Well, maybe he’s not so valiente, but there’s worse around.’
A pistolero, used in that manner, meant a hired gun; the valiente part indicated him to be a man of courage and ability above the average.
‘Is he around San Antonio?’ Dusty inquired, wondering if the woman was as worried by his threat as she appeared.
‘If he is, I’ve not seen him,’ she replied, meeting Dusty’s gaze without flinching. ‘He used to work up around El Paso mostly.’
‘Who’d he work with?’
‘Nobody special. If he needed help, he’d hire it local and as cheap as he could manage. But, like I said, I haven’t seen Paco Murphy in months.’
‘Would you know if he was in town, Rosa?’ Red drawled.
‘Me! Why should I know about a man like that? I run an honest business, do no harm to anybody, treat folks fair—’
Looking at the woman, Dusty decided that he had never seen anybody but the Ysabel Kid manage such a piously innocent tone. Only the Kid never adopted that particular expression and voice unless wanting to hide some deed he found necessary but felt would not meet with Dusty’s approval.
‘You watch that shining halo doesn’t slip down around your neck and choke you, Rosa,’ Dale interrupted. ‘Do you want to search the place, Dusty?’
‘Sure!’ Rosa yelled. ‘Search it. I insist you search it so that you know I don’t hide this feller you want.’
‘Watch things down here, boys,’ the marshal ordered and his deputies took a firmer hold on the shotguns which kept the crowd under control. ‘Let’s go, Dusty, and you can come up with us, Rosa.’
Muttering curses under her breath in complaint at the enforced exercise, Rosa followed Dale, Dusty and Red up the stairs. There she knocked on the first door and yelled for the room’s occupants to op
en up. Going from room to room, Dusty and the others checked on the occupants. They did not find the man, but embarrassed a couple of otherwise respectable San Antonio citizens visiting ladies of doubtful virtue, and were cursed by an all-but-naked girl alone in one room for disturbing her rest.
‘Satisfied?’ demanded Rosa, in the manner of a vindicated martyr, as they left the last room.
‘If he’d been here you wouldn’t’ve let us search,’ Dale answered. ‘Have some of your hombres tote those two bodies down to the coroner’s office, Rosa.’
‘Sure,’ she answered.
‘And if Starke Reynolds comes to town, I want to know.’
‘You could get me killed, marshal,’ the woman whined.
‘I’m not that lucky,’ Dale assured her. ‘You’d live through two plagues and an Injun massacre.’
Directing a look of pure hatred at Dale, the old woman returned to the barroom and gave orders for the removal of the bodies. Then, as the lawmen followed the corpse-carrying party out, Rosa returned to behind the counter.
‘What about it, Dusty?’ Dale wanted to know.
‘I don’t know, Anse, that’s for sure,’ Dusty replied. ‘He’s not there, or he’s mighty well hid. I’m going to see about guarding Sarah and Sandy.’
‘And I aim to go to the telegraph office,’ Dale stated. ‘I want to know why Hole-In-The-Wall and Kimble County owlhoots’re meeting in my town.’
Things quickly returned to normal in the cantina. Hostile visits by the law had never been so rare an occurrence in Rosa’s place and her clientele swiftly resumed their interrupted activities. After half an hour the two suspects returned, having been cleared by Stormy Weather and the Casa Moreno bartender. Giving orders to one of her hired hands, she waited until the man went outside and looked around. On being assured that no peace officers watched the building, Rosa left the counter and walked upstairs.
Knocking on the door of the lone girl’s room, Rosa entered. She did not speak to the girl, but addressed the large cupboard let into the wall. ‘You can come out now, Paco.’
Slowly the door eased open and Murphy emerged with his Allen & Wheelock held ready for use. Seeing that Rosa was alone, he grinned and holstered the gun.
‘Thanks, Rosa,’ he said. ‘I was sure sweating in that cupboard.’
‘Then pay me and get the hell out of here,’ she answered.
‘What’s the rush?’ he demanded. ‘I told you that I’m working in town.’
‘Sure. But you didn’t tell me that you’d come to kill Dusty Fog’s cousin.’
‘Who?’
‘Red Blaze.’
‘But I’m after Sandy McGraw!’ Murphy objected. ‘It was him I shot at outside the Bull’s Head.’
Shortly after Murphy’s arrival and going upstairs to visit the girl, Rosa had learned details of the shooting. While not knowing how it came about, she guessed a mistake had been made.
‘I don’t know how you mistook Blaze for McGraw, him wearing that red and white calf-skin vest,’ she said.
‘Sure he was, when he came out of the Bull’s Head,’ agreed Murphy. ‘That’s how we know it was McGraw. There wasn’t another vest like it in the room.’
‘Only Red Blaze was wearing it,’ Rosa pointed out.
‘But—! But McGraw had it on in the saloon. Damned fool cow-nurses. They must have changed vests after we left.’
‘It comes down to the same thing,’ Rosa stated. ‘You threw lead at Red Blaze no matter who you thought he was.’
‘So?’ growled Murphy.
‘I’ve always liked you, Paco, so I’m giving you a chance. Get the hell out of here pronto. I’ve done all I can to stop Fog finding you. But I’m not chancing fuss with that Rio Hondo bunch, even without the other.’
‘What other?’
‘The Hole-In-The-Wall bunch and Kimble County boys aren’t going to like you when they hear what’s happened.’
‘What has happened?’ Murphy barked.
‘Not much. Camella Hanks and Peep O’Day were killed downstairs. That was the shooting you sent Inez to look into.’
‘She told me two fellers’d been shot. What’s it to do with me?’
‘Dusty Fog came here looking for you. Camella and Peep thought the law was after them and went for their guns.’
‘That’s all their misfortune,’ Murphy stated.
‘And yours,’ Rosa replied. ‘They’d come down here to fix a big raid with the Kimble County boys. Now they’re dead and you’re to blame for it.’
A point Murphy had already grasped. Concern for his future welfare made him overlook an obvious point: how the two gangs would learn of his part in the affair. All too well he could imagine how the two gangs would react to the news that a two-bit hired gun caused the deaths of Camella Hanks and Peep O’Day. They would not bother to think that Murphy had been merely a victim of circumstances and their vengeance was likely to be painfully fatal.
Yet Murphy did not have the money for a protracted flight. Rosa’s hospitality and assistance in avoiding the law did not come cheap. It ate deeply into the money advanced by his employer for killing McGraw and left little over. Of course, if he could complete his work, there would be a fair sum awaiting his collection. Not that he intended to let the woman know his plans.
‘I’d best get the hell out of here,’ he told her. ‘I reckon I’ll cut across to the east and lay low around Brownsville for a spell.’
‘It’d be best,’ the woman agreed.
Rosa always believed in playing every side of her hand. While she told Murphy’s name to Dusty Fog, she did not betray the man’s presence and so kept both parties fairly satisfied. After Murphy left the cantina, she sent one of her most trusted men off with word of Camella Hanks and Peep O’Day’s death. In that way she guarded against the wrath to come, for she included details of Murphy’s part in the affair as a means of exculpating herself.
Chapter Six
Despite the hectic night before it, Sandy and Sarah’s wedding passed off without a hitch. Certain of the bridegroom’s friends appeared to be slightly the worse for wear as a result of the rowdiest and best bachelor-party San Antonio could remember. However the somewhat stiff carriage of Red Blaze, Billy Jack and Stormy Weather came less from a hangover than the fact that each of them carried an Army Colt concealed under his jacket. Nor did Dusty rely solely upon protecting the couple from within the church. Kiowa and a few others, who felt that the interior of a church would hardly be the place for them, ringed the building ready to prevent a murderous attempt on the outside.
So effective a screen did Dusty throw around the church and Sarah’s home that Murphy saw no way he might carry out his work in safety. After a night spent sage-henning on the range, with the ground for a mattress and the sky his roof, the killer returned to San Antonio a changed man. Discarding most of the clothing he wore the previous night, he rode into town clad in a tartan, open-necked shirt, bandana and levis pants, also altering the shape of his sombrero’s crown to heighten the disguise. For all that, he retained his Allen & Wheelock revolver and boot-knife. Although he carried a change of clothing in his warbag, he did not own spare weapons. In Texas at that time an unarmed man was more likely to attract attention than one who wore a gun, so he gambled on nobody noticing the revolver.
Failing to find an opportunity at either the church or reception, Murphy hung around in the vicinity of the Maybelle house. With so many strangers around, due to the wedding, nobody paid any attention to him. Meeting one of the wedding guests whose consumption of Pa Maybelle’s Old Stump-Blaster rendered talkative, Murphy pumped him for information. From the garrulous guest, he learned that the couple would spend their first night at San Antonio’s best hotel and start out for their new home the following day at around noon.
In view of the way Dusty Fog’s men covered the proceedings to that time, Murphy doubted if the small Texan would overlook an adequate guard over the hotel. So the killer decided against trying. While thinking that a period of i
nactivity on his part might lull Dusty Fog into a state of false security, Murphy learned something more.
Apparently one of Sarah Maybelle’s former boyfriends was under suspicion for hiring the attempted killing of Red Blaze. The wedding guest spoke of it angrily, going into details and connecting the shooting with the arrival of the rattlesnake.
That started a fresh train of thought in Murphy’s head. Until then he planned to ambush and shoot Sandy McGraw on the San Garcia trail, letting the blame fall where it would. Hearing about Finwald, Murphy changed his mind. His employer would be financially grateful for the news that the killing had been blamed on some other party. So the killer decided to make it look like the kind of amateurish job one might expect from Finwald.
Collecting his horse, Murphy rode out of San Antonio. He followed the San Garcia trail, along which the next morning Sandy McGraw would drive with his wife. Less than a mile from town, Murphy found just what he wanted. The trail at that point had been cut into the side of a fairly steep slope. At a point where the trail made a curve stood a solitary, tall tree. If the tree could be made to fall at the right moment, it ought to crash down on to the McGraws’ wagon box. Even should the couple only be injured, there was a better than fair chance the panic-stricken horses would send the wagon over the lower slope.
One snag arose in the plan: timing the tree’s fall. Murphy knew one way it could be arranged, although he would have to return to San Antonio and purchase the necessary equipment. While riding back to town, Murphy gave thought to another matter of vital importance; his escape after the killing. Although Anse Dale was a capable peace officer, his jurisdiction ended at San Antonio’s city limits. The current sheriff of Bexar County, in which San Antonio lay, was a lethargic man who invariably took the easy course in any business. Left to himself, the sheriff would be only too pleased to accept the basic evidence: that Finwald tried to arrange revenge himself after the failure of the previous attempts.
