The Devil's Waltz

by Ethan J. Wolfe

  “Will there be anything else?” she said.

  “Do you have any ice cream?” Posey asked.

  “Not this time of year,” the waitress said. “We do have a good apple pie.”

  “Bring us the pie and coffee,” Posey said.

  The waitress nodded and walked away.

  “Where exactly can I find the judge?” Posey asked.

  “Follow the railroad construction south,” Monte said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  * * *

  After three days and nights in the saddle, Posey arrived in the territory known as Eagle’s Nest, Texas, about twenty miles west of the Pecos River.

  It was a dry, dusty place with just a few wood buildings, a blacksmith, a barn, and the Jersey Lilly Saloon, which also served as the courtroom for Judge Roy Bean.

  The saloon was a good five miles from the railroad construction site, but judging from the horses tied out front, business was booming.

  Posey tied his horse to the end of a long post and took the Sharps and Winchester with him when he entered the saloon.

  About thirty railroad workers were drinking shots and beer. Roy Bean was holding court behind the bar, telling a story. He and everyone else fell silent as Posey walked to the bar.

  Bean, close to sixty, was a thin man of average height with a gray beard and hair. He wore an old Remington six-shooter in a worn holster. Everyone else in the bar was unarmed.

  “I don’t allow a man to go heeled in my courtroom,” Bean said when Posey reached the bar.

  “Your courtroom looks a lot like a saloon to me,” Posey said and moved his vest to show his badge.

  Bean looked at the badge.

  “Is there a place we can talk?” Posey asked.

  Bean turned to a skinny man wearing an apron who was also behind the bar.

  “Chicken Foot, take over for a spell,” Bean said. “And no free whiskey. And that means you too, Lard,” Bean said to a wide barrel of a man at the end of the bar.

  A porch behind the Jersey Lilly Saloon had a wood roof erected over it to provide relief from the Texas sun. Bean and Posey sat in chairs at a table that was basically a wood barrel with a wide, wood plank nailed to its top.

  An unopened bottle of whiskey and two tin mugs rested between them. Bean opened the bottle and filled his cup nearly to the rim, then filled the second cup.

  “A man needs to wet his whistle before talking business,” Bean said.

  He picked up his cup and drank half of it in several effortless swallows.

  Posey picked up his cup and took a small swallow. “Now then, Judge,” Posey said. “I need some information.”

  “Now hold on a minute there young fellow,” Bean said and finished his cup of whiskey.

  Posey pulled out his pouch and rolled a cigarette while Bean refilled his cup.

  “Pepper Broussard,” Posey said. “What can . . . ?”

  Bean picked up his cup and swallowed half again and then set it down. “Now what is it you want?” he said.

  “Pepper Broussard,” Posey said. “What can you tell me about him?”

  “He’s a . . . roll me one of those, would you?”

  Posey gave Bean the cigarette and rolled another. He struck a wood match and lit both cigarettes.

  “Pepper Broussard you say,” Bean said.

  “I need to know everything you can tell me about him.”

  “As judge in these parts, I need to know why,” Bean said.

  “He’s thrown in with an outlaw called Tom Spooner, and he’s wanted by the federal government,” Posey said.

  “Even west of the Pecos, I’ve heard of Tom Spooner,” Bean said.

  “About Broussard?”

  “That one,” Bean said. “A few years back I hired me a couple of enforcers, duly sworn in as justices of the peace. There’s a lot of horse thieves, rustlers, and murderers about in these parts. I never seen nobody so quick as Broussard to kill a man when he didn’t have to. I never even got the chance to hang those he went after on account he’d kill them first.”

  “I’ve heard he’s good with a gun,” Posey said.

  “Best I’ve ever seen and I’ve seen ’em all from California to Texas,” Bean said.

  “Any idea how he hooked up with Spooner?”

  Bean lifted his cup and chugged the remaining liquor until it was empty.

  “Heard the expression water seeks its own level?” Bean said. “That’s what I figure happened. They probably just found each other.”

  “When he worked for you, what kind of man was he?” Posey asked.

  “Like I said, mean. Mean as they come, but that’s what it takes to enforce the law in a place like this,” Bean said. “If you find them, bring them to me. I won’t waste time on locking them up. I’ll hang them directly.”

  “Besides mean, anything else?” Posey asked.

  “Anything else like what?”

  “Does he gamble or drink too much? Spend all his time in whorehouses?”

  “Never saw the man take more than one drink or play a hand of cards,” Bean said. “The only whorehouse around here is a tent near the railroad. I can tell you this much: he’ll draw down on a man faster than lightning from fifty feet or less. He’s got weak eyes, you see. Any more than fifty feet, and he can’t see a damn thing.”

  “Thanks for the information, Judge,” Posey said. “I’ll be sure to mention you in my report.”

  “Leaving so soon? Where are you headed?”

  “Laredo.”

  “Laredo? That’s a far piece from here.”

  “So I best get started,” Posey said.

  “Remember what I said. I’d hang them and save the federal government the expense,” Bean said.

  Posey rode an easy fifteen miles southeast toward Laredo. He knew what was coming and almost invited it to break up the monotony of the dry, dusty trail. He made camp at dusk, built a roaring fire near some tall, rocky hills, and then took care of his horse while beans and bacon cooked in a fry pan and coffee boiled.

  Before he sat down to eat, Posey added whatever extra wood he could gather to the fire until it was an enormous blaze. Then he rested his back against the saddle and ate beans, bacon, and cornbread with a cup of coffee.

  Finished eating, Posey spread out his bedroll and set his hat at one end. Then he took the Winchester rifle with him as he scaled the rocks and sat in the dark to wait.

  Posey didn’t have to wait long. He could hear horses approaching from a hundred yards away. As they closed in on his campsite, Lard whispered, “I can smell his fire.”

  “Idiot, I can see his fire,” Chicken Foot said. “Dismount. We’ll walk in quiet-like and surprise him in the dark.”

  “Did you see that Colt he had?” Lard asked.

  “We split his money and possibles, but that Colt is mine,” Chicken Foot said.

  “I got as much right to it as you,” Lard said.

  “No you don’t neither,” Chicken Foot said. “I saw it first. Now be quiet.”

  From his perch in the rocks, Posey watched as Chicken Foot and Lard slowly walked into his camp and stood beside the fire and looked at the bedroll. Both men carried rifles.

  Posey cocked the lever of the Winchester.

  Chicken Foot and Lard froze in place.

  “Turn around slow,” Posey said.

  Chicken Foot and Lard turned and looked up at the dark hillside.

  “You can’t see me, but I can see you real clear standing beside that fire,” Posey said. “Drop the rifles and gun belts.”

  Chicken Foot scanned the rocks.

  Posey fired a shot at his feet and Chicken Foot jumped.

  “I won’t say it again,” Posey said. “And if I do you won’t live long enough to hear it.”

  Chicken Foot and Lard tossed their rifles and then dropped their gun belts.

  “Now strip down to your underwear. Take off your boots, too,” Posey said.

  “I ain’t taking off no . . .” Chicken Foo
t said.

  Posey cocked and rapid-fired two shots at Chicken Foot’s boots and said, “I won’t tell you again.”

  “All right, mister, you win,” Chicken Foot said.

  Once they had stripped down to their underwear, Lard said, “Now what?”

  “Now you leave,” Posey said. “You get on your horses and ride back to where you came from. If I see you again, I’ll kill you both on sight.”

  “We’ll meet again, you son of a bitch,” Chicken Foot said.

  “You better hope not,” Posey said. “Go.”

  Once Chicken Foot and Lard returned to their horses and rode away, Posey came down from the rocks and extinguished the fire. He gathered up his belongings, saddled the horse, left Chicken Foot and Lard’s weapons and clothes on the ground, and rode five miles in the dark before stopping for the night.

  He didn’t make a fire. There was no need. It was a warm night and the air was heavy. He rolled a cigarette and sat against his saddle while the horse grazed on what grass there was.

  He thought about Tom Spooner.

  About how good it would feel to kill him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  * * *

  Laredo was a sprawling town of three thousand residents near the north bank of the Rio Grande River.

  It was scorching hot and dust-dry when Posey rode into town close to eleven in the morning. Although the streets were crowded with people, no one seemed to be doing much of anything, and who could blame them in the heat of the day.

  Posey walked his horse along the dusty streets and stopped in front of a wood structure with a sign on it that read Texas Rangers Law Enforcement. He hitched the horse to a post and stepped up to the wood plank sidewalk.

  A dozen rangers were inside the building. A meeting was being conducted at a table by one man, and the group was huddled around the table. Every eye looked at Posey as he walked to the table.

  “US Deputy Marshal Posey,” Posey said.

  “Bill McDonald,” the man conducting the meeting said. “Captain, Texas Rangers.”

  “I seem to be disturbing your meeting,” Posey said.

  “We have a band of cattle rustlers east of here along the Rio Grande,” McDonald said. “Stole Mexican beef. They crossed where the water level is low enough to traverse without drowning. The Mexican Federales chased them to the river, but they won’t cross. They wired us, and we’ll deal with them directly.”

  “Where can I cross the river into Mexico?” Posey asked.

  “Probably where the rustlers crossed the cattle,” McDonald said. “What’s your business in Mexico?”

  “Tracking an outlaw named Tom Spooner,” Posey said.

  “That one,” McDonald said. “As far as I know, he’s not set foot in Texas.”

  “Spooner’s picked up a new traveling companion, a Texan named Pepper Broussard,” Posey said.

  “Now that one I’d hang on sight,” McDonald said.

  A ranger standing next to Posey said, “He brings to mind Bigfoot Wallace, this marshal does.”

  “I was thinking that very thing,” McDonald said.

  Bigfoot Wallace, a famous ranger who fought Santa Anna for the independence of Texas in eighteen thirty-six and rangered for thirty years or more, was a well-known figure throughout the country. Called Bigfoot for his enormous size and strength, he was a legend in Texas.

  “We could use an extra hand if you care to join us, Marshal,” McDonald said. “We’ll be leaving right after the men get some chow and supplies. We don’t expect to be back until morning.”

  “I need to cross anyway,” Posey said. “Might as well.”

  The entire company plus Posey moved across the street to the Laredo Steak House, where they gorged on steaks. Posey sat with Captain McDonald and a few other rangers.

  “Broussard is wanted in Texas for a dozen killings at least,” McDonald said. “Not to mention horse stealing, cattle rustling, rape, and a host of other crimes.”

  “I understand he worked for Judge Roy Bean at one time,” Posey said.

  “That old buzzard should be hung himself,” McDonald said.

  “Broussard probably joined up with Spooner to evade the law,” Posey said.

  “Could be,” McDonald said. “We closed in on him a few times, but he always managed to evade us. Texas is a rather large place to hide out in. If he’s joined up with Spooner, who knows where they are. Why you figure Mexico?”

  “We got word he has some connections on the other side of the border,” Posey said. “I need to check out the information.”

  “Well, you can find where the rustlers cross after we deal with them shortly,” McDonald said.

  It seemed as if half the town of Laredo turned out in the streets to watch the company of rangers mount up. Each of the twelve rangers stood by their horse and waited for Captain McDonald to give the order.

  Posey stood beside his horse next to McDonald.

  McDonald looked at his men. “Rangers, mount,” he said.

  The dozen rangers and Posey mounted their horses.

  McDonald mounted his horse, gave the hand signal, and led the rangers and Posey out of town.

  Some folks in the crowd even cheered.

  Ten miles northeast from Laredo, McDonald held up the company and dismounted.

  “Marshal, what do you make of this?” McDonald asked.

  Posey dismounted and knelt beside McDonald. “Hundreds of tracks made by cattle and at least twenty horses rode north,” McDonald said.

  “What’s north of here?” Posey asked.

  “Looks like they’re headed for the Pecos River,” McDonald said. “They’ll probably turn west into New Mexico from there.”

  Posey pressed his fingers into the deflated grass where the cattle had trodden it close to the ground. It was starting to spring back as trampled grass did when it grew.

  “We won’t catch them until morning,” Posey said.

  “Then we’ll ride all night and catch them asleep at dawn,” McDonald said. “Scout, you ride ahead and ride back if you see trouble,” he said to a tall, thin ranger.

  “I’ll go with him,” Posey said. “I did a fair amount of scouting for Sherman.”

  “Go,” McDonald said. “The rest of us will follow.”

  “Build a fire so they can find us in the dark,” Posey said. “Do you have a coffee pot and coffee?”

  “I do,” the scout said.

  “I’ll make two pots of coffee for the company,” Posey said. “We’ll need it if we’re to ride until dawn.”

  “How far you figure we came?” the scout asked.

  “Twenty mile, maybe a bit less,” Posey said.

  “About what I figure.”

  About an hour later, McDonald and the rangers arrived. “We’ll rest an hour here,” he said. “What do you think, Marshal? Can we catch them by dawn?”

  “They’re in no hurry, that’s for sure,” Posey said. “They haven’t broke formation or changed direction once. It’s the Pecos, all right. We can catch them.”

  “Everybody grab some coffee and eat what don’t need cooking,” McDonald said.

  Posey, McDonald, and the company of rangers waited under the cover of predawn darkness for Scout to return on foot.

  “I know we ain’t federal like you boys, but we could use a good man like yourself,” McDonald said to Posey.

  “I have to finish my assignment first before I consider options,” Posey said.

  “Understandable,” McDonald said.

  “Here comes Scout,” a ranger said.

  Emerging from the twilight of darkness, Scout rode into the group of rangers.

  “Captain, I counted fourteen,” Scout said. “Two on watch, the others sleeping. A least a hundred head of Mexican beef, maybe a bit more. About a mile northwest, close to the Pecos.”

  “Every man check your six-shooter,” McDonald said. “We’ll ride in hard and give any man who wants to surrender the opportunity to do so. Those that don’t, shoot to kill. We ride
in five minutes.”

  Posey removed his Colt from the holster and checked to make sure it was fully loaded and then returned it to the holster.

  “Rangers, mount up,” McDonald said.

  Posey and the rangers mounted their horses.

  “Draw guns,” McDonald said. “Scout, lead the charge.”

  With Scout on the lead horse, the ranger company and Posey roared into the camp of the cattle thieves. By the time the two men on watch realized what was happening, Posey had shot one of them and Scout the other.

  The remaining twelve rustlers, caught in their bedrolls, scattered, some with guns drawn. Others just ran.

  Posey shot and killed four more by the time the shooting ended.

  Three of the rustlers had surrendered and were on their knees. McDonald and the rangers dismounted, as did Posey.

  “Count thirteen, Captain,” Scout said.

  “One is downwind,” McDonald said.

  One rustler had managed to escape by horse and was at least eight hundred yards to the north.

  “Should we go after him, Captain?” Scout asked.

  “Our horses ran all night,” McDonald said. “His is fresh. We’ll never catch him. Best let that one go, boys.”

  Posey withdrew the Sharps rifle from his saddle and inserted a massive .45-70 cartridge into the chamber and cocked it.

  “What are you doing, Marshal?” McDonald asked. “He’s way out of range.”

  Posey turned his horse and rested the enormous rifle over the saddle to steady it. He adjusted the rear sights and aimed carefully at the fading rider. Posey took a shallow breath, held it for a moment, and squeezed the trigger.

  The noise of the shot was like a thunderclap, and a full three seconds passed before the bullet struck the rider and he fell from his horse.

  The rangers stared at Posey.

  “That was some bully shot,” McDonald said.

  “What about the three prisoners, Captain?” Scout asked.

  “I don’t fancy dragging them all the way back to Laredo,” McDonald said. “Find a good tree. We’ll hang them here and save Laredo some tax dollars. If you find any identification, I’ll wire their kin.”