Henry Ellis never thought that the ride out to his grampa Charley’s ranch could get boring, but it seemed like he’d made that same journey one too many times over the past few weeks. Maybe it was the weather that bored him. He had no recollection of ever seeing sunlight since he’d left Austin on the train to head down to meet up with his grampa in San Antonio.
And gee, he thought to himself, the time has sure gone by fast. A full week has already passed since we buried my parents. Shouldn’t someone be checking back with the school officials in Austin, or at least finding out where I’m going to be living, now that I’m an orphan?
Except he hadn’t been orphaned. He still had Grampa Charley . . . and Uncle Roscoe . . . and Feather. And his pup. Plus, Flora Mae, and all the other members of the Texas Outfit.
He nudged his horse up next to Charley, Roscoe, and Feather.
“Grampa,” he said, “I know it might be too soon for me to ask, but . . . where will I be living . . . now that Mother and Father . . . ?”
He couldn’t speak anymore. He took a deep breath, then he continued.
“And where will I be going to school . . . ?”
He began to tear up. His words stuck in his throat. He looked away from his grampa’s face. He knew that talking about what he really needed to talk about would be just as painful for Charley as it was for him.
“Why,” said Charley, rubbing his nose, “you’ll be living with me, of course. And Roscoe, too,” he added. “And you’ll be going to school here in Juanita. Damn,” he said. “I mean darnit. I’ve got to get you enrolled in school, Henry Ellis, before your Christmas vacation is over. Plus, I need to contact your old school in Austin . . . tell ’em what happened and let them know you’ll be moving down here with me.”
He suddenly reined up.
“We got a lot of things we have to get done, son, so let’s not be loafing around. C’mon,” he said.
Charley spurred Dice and away he went, with Roscoe and the boy following.
The ranch house was still a mess, left that way since it had been occupied by Ben and Eleanor Campbell and their hired gunmen. The threesome had come back to the kitchen after looking the place over.
“I’ll ask Flora Mae if she can recommend someone who can clean this place up. And she oughta know who to talk to in town about getting you signed up for school, too. Oh, I almost forgot . . . we’ve got to get you some new school clothes.”
“Grampa,” said Henry Ellis, “Grampa, can’t we just take it one thing at a time? Next, you’ll have us riding that train all the way back to Austin to go shopping for my school supplies.”
That set Charley to pondering. Finally he said, “That’s it, Henry Ellis. That’s what we have to do.”
“You mean, ride the train all the way up to Austin to go shopping for my school supplies?”
“No,” said Charley. “No. We . . . the outfit . . . the posse . . . whatever. We should be riding on the train the next time the Cropper Gang decides to rob it.”
“And you, Grampa . . . and Roscoe and Feather, should be in the mail car, right there, right along with whatever the Cropper Gang wants to rob. We can bait the trap,” said the boy.
“We can what?” asked Charley.
“We can lure ’em in with some crackerjack bait,” said Henry Ellis, “and it doesn’t even have to be money or gold.”
“Go on,” said Charley.
“All we have to do,” the boy began, “is to start a rumor that the train will be carrying something very, very special.”
“And what would that be?” asked Roscoe.
“Let it get out that a very expensive gold shipment will be on the train. And let ’em know that you three will be guarding that shipment. Just don’t let anyone know that the rest of us . . . the outfit and the posse . . . will be on the train, too.”
“And we could hitch a livestock car on to the train,” said Roscoe. “Just like we done the other day, ta haul our horses . . . just in case.”
“Hauling horses could give us away,” said Charley. “I vote we don’t take ’em.”
“Yeah, but . . .” said Roscoe.
“Yeah, but what?”
“Yeah, but what if they get away from us, and leave us all stranded out in the middle of nowhere without our horses? What about that?”
“We’ll just board the next train headed back to Juanita and try again at another time,” said Charley.
“That makes sense,” said Roscoe, scratching his head. “Yeah . . . that should work.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Arrangements were made with the railroad, the sheriff, and the Juanita newspaper for the phony shipment to take place. Colin Livers, the newspaper editor, wrote a front-page story about a one-hundred-thousand-dollar shipment, consisting of old and damaged coins, plus used bills of all denominations, that were going to be shipped to the mint in Philadelphia, where they would be destroyed.
“What about the soldiers?” asked Livers, when he showed the rough draft to Charley.
“Soldiers?” said Charley. “What soldiers?”
“Shipping old coins and bills falls under the federal government’s jurisdiction,” said Livers. “If this were really happening, there would be a small detail of U.S. soldiers accompanying the consignment.”
“How many men is that?” asked Charley.
“It would depend on what they are guarding,” said the editor . . . “In your case . . . a hundred thousand in cash money . . . probably six to ten troops.”
“I’ve got the bodies,” said Charley. “Now, where do you think I might find some uniforms to fit ’em?”
“I have a friend who does business with the quartermaster’s office over at Fort Clark,” said Livers. “Just maybe, she could help you find some U.S. Army uniforms.”
“She?” said Charley. “Since when does a woman do business with an Army quartermaster?”
“Ida Jane Bronson is a seamstress, Mr. Sunday, and a damn good one,” said Livers. “And she does business, all right. Besides contracting with the Army to repair all their uniforms over at the fort for the past thirteen years, she’s been known to whip up a few uniforms from scratch . . . special order, of course.”
Charley’s smile grew into a wide grin.
“I think I’ll be wanting to speak with this Ida Jane Bronson, just as soon as we’re done here, Mr. Livers.”
Ida Jane Bronson was a few years older than Charley, but her nimble fingers could still sew a seam straighter than any of the modern-day machines designed to accomplish the same thing.
She was also a handsome woman for her years, and she knew how to compliment a gentleman when conversing—just as she had always done ever since starting her own business when she was fourteen years of age, sewing gold buttons on officers’ uniforms in Washington, D.C., some years before Texas had become a Republic.
Presently, she made Juanita her home. Semi-retired, she picked up odd sewing jobs now and then, along with repairing the uniforms at Fort Clark.
“You want me to make you eight U.S. Army uniforms?” she asked. “Do you know how long it would take me to make you just one uniform?”
Charley shook his head.
“N-no, ma’am,” he answered.
“A much longer time than you’d be willin’ to wait,” she said. “That’s for sure.”
“Well, uh,” said Charley, “I’m going to need ’em before the month’s out. I know that for sure.”
“Then, how about you letting me see what I can do for you, over at the fort. I’m willing to bet you that Sergeant Novall will loan you . . . or rent you . . . all the uniforms you need.”
“Sergeant Novall?” said Charley. “Now, just who is Sergeant Novall?”
“He just happens to be the supply sergeant over at Fort Clark . . . That’s who he is.”
“And you know him well enough that he’d go out of his way to lend . . . or sell me . . . the uniforms I need?”
Charley cleared his throat.
“Just how
well do you know this . . . this Sergeant Novall, if I may ask?”
“Well enough,” she said with a wink. “Bernard,” she yelled. “Bernard!”
She moved over to the foot of a very small stairway.
“Bernard,” she shouted one more time. “There’s someone down here want’s to talk over some business with you.”
Moments passed, then a corpulent, middle-aged, full-bearded soldier, dressed in his full-length, faded-red union suit—with just one suspender hastily draped over his right shoulder to hold his trousers up—came down the stairs, one foot at a time, doing his best to pull on his left boot.
By the time the man reached the floor downstairs, he was facing Charley awkwardly, still trying to shake away the grogginess that accompanied the headache he had when he awakened with a throbbing hangover.
“Now do you think I know him well enough, Mr. Sunday?” said Ida Jane Bronson. She winked again. “Ain’t he a beaut?”
Ida Jane introduced the two men. Then Charley discussed the plan with Bernard, in detail, trying his best to describe the sizes of the members of the outfit. Eventually the supply sergeant told Charley to have his men drop by the sewing shop, one at a time, the next day, and Ida Jane would take their measurements.
“Will you be in need of a uniform for yourself, Mr. Sunday?” asked Bernard. “If so, I’ll get your sizes before you leave today.”
“You’d better go ahead and fix me up,” said Charley. “And give me an extra stripe or two, so my men will know I’m still giving the orders. Now,” he added, “if you can get all these uniforms to a Master Sergeant Tobias P. Stone, over at the fort, he’ll make sure they’re delivered to me and my men, without your having to risk your neck anymore than you have to.”
“Sergeant Stone?” said Bernard. “Why, I know Sergeant Stone. Is he going to be part of all this?”
“That’s right,” said Charley. “I just got the sergeant’s letter yesterday saying that he’d be more than glad to join us for this operation.”
“If you don’t mind my askin’, Mr. Sunday,” said Bernard. “But how would you like to save on one of them uniforms?”
“How do you mean?” asked Charley.
“Well,” said Bernard, “if you let me go along with you fellas, too, I’d throw in my own soldier boy outfit for nothing.”
“Are you any good with a gun, Bernard?” asked Charley.
“I ain’t fired a rifle since I’ve been at the fort, Mr. Sunday, but I was a damn good marksman during the war,” said Bernard.
“What if I say that I’ll think on it. The closer we get to the day we do this, I’ll know more about where we stand, as far as the guard detail.”
“Thank you, Mr. Sunday,” said Ida Jane. “Ever since they stuck him in the quartermaster’s office, he hasn’t felt like a real soldier. You, know . . . no one ever fires a gun when they’re the supply sergeant.”
The members of the outfit stopped into the sewing shop throughout the following day. Ida Jane would take their measurements, then sit them down for a cup of tea, and have a chat to get to know them better. She only had trouble one time—that was getting Feather’s sizes. He squawked like a bantam rooster when she tried to measure his inseam.
In the meantime, Charley had Henry Ellis and Kelly cut up pieces of old newspapers, all in the exact shape of paper currency. They were also told to go down to the general store and buy as many different sized washers as they could get—enough to fill at least twenty gunnysacks. And if they didn’t come up with enough washers, they were to go down by the creek and gather as many small, flat stones as they could find, to use as a filler.
The military garb was “in the works,” at least that’s what Ida Jane told Charley every time he dropped into her shop to check.
Sheriff Dubbs worked right alongside Charley and the Texas Outfit, planning every move they would be making during the actual event. The sheriff even offered his services, and those of his two deputies, if Charley figured he might need them in some way.
A month earlier Charley had sent off a letter to the warden at the Huntsville State Prison, asking if Mitchell Pennell might, by chance, still be incarcerated there. But in his reply, the warden told Charley that Pennell had been pardoned for what he had done some months earlier, to help Charley out of his situation in Mexico, and Pennell and his new wife, Elisabeth, had settled in nearby Liberty, Texas. And that he, the warden, would forward Charley’s letter on to the address Pennell had filled in on the papers that were all part of the acceptance of his release.
From the very beginning they all knew that they couldn’t let the Army in on what they were planning.
“Too many damn departments,” is what Charley said about it. “Just too big of a chance that our plans’ll get leaked if we involve the Army.” So they never included the Army at all.
But the railroad was a different story. In order for the whole plan to be executed like clockwork, the railroad had to be deeply involved. But only a select few who worked for the company would need to be included in the covert scheme.
One busy morning, Flora Mae received a telephone call on her crank phone asking her to have Charley drop by the sheriff ’s office when he could. Charley waited until he had some time, then he walked on down to Sheriff Dubbs’s office by himself to find out what the sheriff wanted.
“All right, Willingham,” said Charley as he entered the door. “What is it that’s so important that I gotta walk all the way down here to find out what you want? Couldn’t you have relayed the message through Flora Mae, over that telephone gadget?”
“Come on in, Charley. Shut the door,” said the sheriff.
He got up from behind his desk and led the old rancher to a chair, right beside his desk. And while Charley sat himself down with a confused look on his face, the sheriff returned to his own chair and sat across from Charley.
“What is it, Willingham?” asked Charley. “Has somebody spilled the beans about our plans to nab the Cropper Gang?”
“No, sir,” said the sheriff. “Nothin’ as bad as that. It’s just that one of my deputies arrested a man this morning on a vagrancy charge. I got him back in a cell right now.”
“So,” said Charley. “What does that have to do with me?”
“Probably nothin’,” said the sheriff. “I even found an old circular on him, and this fella is one bad actor.”
“His name wouldn’t happen to be somethin’ like Mitchell Pennell, now would it?” said Charley. “Because, if it is . . . I know the man quite well.”
“Would you care to see him?” asked the sheriff. “Make a personal identification?”
He turned in his chair before Charley could answer, calling back into the cell area.
“Laban,” he yelled. “Laban, could you and Matt bring that new prisoner up here to the office? Right now.”
There were the sounds of boots on the wooden floor, the jingling of keys, and several noises resembling a blacksmith’s hammer striking a raw piece of meat.
This was all followed by one of the deputy’s voices saying, “Are we goin’ ta hafta go through all this again, every time we move ya?”
There were a few more stumbling sounds, then deputies Laban Burlap and Matt Jenkins brought the prisoner down the hall toward the office.
Both deputies looked as if they’d taken a few good punches to the face, and were still struggling to keep the rowdy prisoner in line, when they entered the room. They stopped in front of the sheriff, who still sat calmly behind his desk.
“That’s him, Charley,” said the sheriff. “You sure you still think you might know this hooligan?”
Charley slowly got up from his chair. Then he walked around so he was facing the huffing troublemaker. He reached forward, grabbing hold of the man’s chin, then he lifted it up so he could look him directly in the eye.
It was Mitch Pennell for sure. And when he recognized Charley, his angry expression changed into a wide grin.
“Charley Sunday,” he said. “Damn, it’
s good ta see you, you old bastard.”
Charley’s rock-hard fist sent him flying back into the arms of the waiting deputies. Mitchell Pennell was out cold.
The sheriff looked up to Charley, playing with a toothpick he had just stuck between his teeth. He shook his head slowly.
“Sum’bitch never saw that one comin’, did he, Charley?”
Now they’d added three more to the Texas Outfit: Sergeant Stone, Mitch Pennell, and Bernard Novall—the errant supply sergeant. Within two days, Sergeant Stone had delivered the uniforms to Ida Jane at her shop. The men then showed up, one by one, to try on the uniforms. If something didn’t fit just right, Ida Jane would correct the mistake with a few quick stitches of her sewing needle and thread, until all the uniforms were hanging on a rack and tagged with each man’s name. Ready to go.
Still following Charley’s orders, Henry Ellis and Kelly arranged the newspaper cuttings into neat stacks and bound them in the middle. Then they were stuffed into gunnysacks labeled U.S. GOVERNMENT, just like the ones containing the washers and rocks, and stored in a back room at Flora Mae’s place.
When Kelly and Henry Ellis showed Charley the make-believe cargo, the ex-Ranger was delighted. So elated, in fact, that he asked the two if they wouldn’t mind riding along in the passenger car to keep their eyes out for any members of the Cropper Gang that might be riding along with them inside the car, and to help keep the passengers at ease during the attack.
When everyone figured that they had prepared enough, Charley gave them even more homework to do. He showed them a schematic of the train and its cars, then asked them to memorize it just so everyone would know where the others would be stationed—at least where their positions would be when the Croppers stopped the train.
That was when Colin Livers, the newspaper editor, was given the word, by Charley, to go ahead and publish the made-up story about the cash money shipment, with the precise date mentioned several times in the article.
To make it appear to be the real thing, even more, Charley and the outfit would have to start their journey in Del Rio. That was so the Croppers would be able to hit the train anywhere they chose to along the railroad line, between there and San Antonio. Leaving from Del Rio was also being done just in case the Croppers had spies watching. The story in the paper stated that the shipment would originate out of Del Rio.
The Comancheros Page 25
