“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Hardin. I am Kate Kerrigan.”
“Unfortunately, Wes is only passing through,” Cobb said. “We knew each other in the past, and I assure you he is a true gentleman of the South.”
Kate decided to be a little flirtatious. Her eyelashes fluttering, she said, “And what makes a Southern gentleman, Mr. Hardin?”
“What makes any gentleman, Mrs. Kerrigan? He must know how to ride, to fence, to shoot, to box, to swim, to row, and to dance. If attacked by ruffians, a gentlemen should be able to defend himself and also to defend ladies from their insults.”
Kate gave a little curtsy. “Then I am content to be in your company, Mr. Hardin. Our home is a humble one and the dinner prepared is plain in the extreme, but you are welcome to dine with us.”
Hardin gave another bow. “I am honored, ma’am. It will be my pleasure.”
Standing close by, Count Andropov smiled to himself in the gloom. It seemed that Queen Victoria’s influence had finally reached the United States. People of a certain class didn’t converse so much as dance a graceful minuet with words.
After dinner and profuse thanks to Kate, the words John Wesley Hardin spoke to Frank Cobb were direct and to the point. “Saw some sights, Frank. I didn’t want to mention them in front of the ladies.”
“You see a big herd, Wes?”
“Sure did. It looked like it was being driven south toward Old Mexico.”
“South? You sure about that?”
“That’s what it looked like to me. Them boys were having a time keeping the herd together.”
“What other sights, Wes?” Cobb asked.
“Maybe we should move away from the cabin,” Hardin said.
Once they’d put distance between themselves and the cabin and were in moon-laced shadow, Hardin leaned closer and said, “I never saw the like before and I ain’t likely to see it again.”
Cobb waited until Hardin tied into his story.
“I rode out of some mesquite and there standing in front of me was a man and a woman. The man was a little feller, dressed real strange, and he had a leather mask on his face. He was holding what I took to be a rifle, a kind of brass thing with pipes all over it. The little feller had a pack of some kind on his back, connected to the rifle with a leather hose.”
“Strange kind of rifle,” Cobb said.
“Stranger still was what come out of the barrel. It shot flame, Frank, streams of scarlet fire like water coming out of a hose.”
“My God, what was he doing with such a thing? Hunting?”
“Hell no. He was burning human bodies, two of them. They’d been stripped and were charred black, like how you’d see steaks left in the pan for too long. And the stink of burning flesh was real bad. Hell, I can still smell it.”
Curious, Cobb asked, “Then what happened?”
“What happened was, they saw me.” Hardin slapped the Colts in their shoulder holsters. “I was wearing these so I wasn’t scared none, but I was spooked, that feeling you get in a graveyard at night, but I didn’t let it show. ‘What are you folks up to?’ says I. And the woman shows me this painted pot and she says, ‘I’m burning my brother’s body so I can collect his ashes in this urn and take them back east for burial.’ She points to the other body and says, ‘He’s the one who shot him. His ashes can lay where they fall.’”
Hardin offered Frank his cigar case and when both men were smoking he said, “I’d give all I own or will ever own for one night with that woman, Frank. Man, she was a sight to see. Anyway, I was kinda wary of the little man in the mask with the fire gun, so I didn’t put any kind of suggestion to her.”
“What did you do?”
“They didn’t seem inclined to talk so I asked if I was on the right trail for the Kerrigan Ranch. I said a friend of mine was working there and I wanted to get reacquainted. The woman pointed the way and then she said, ‘Tell that gal Kate Kerrigan that I’ll be coming for her.’”
“Just that?” Cobb asked.
“Ain’t it enough? The lady looked real mean when she said it.”
“It don’t make any sense. The woman who made the threat is Savannah St. James, but she’s driving her herd south, away from the Kerrigan Ranch.”
“Frank, nothing made sense back there,” Hardin said. “They got a big carriage, looks like a steam locomotive with part of a car attached. But it doesn’t ride on rails. It’s got six wheels, each taller than me, two in the front and four at the back.”
“What the hell is it?”
“Damned if I know. But it’s a monster.” Hardin touched his hat brim. “I’m on the scout, Frank, so I got to be moving on. I’ll look you up again sometime.” He made to swing into the saddle, then stopped. “Hell I almost forgot. I saw Henry Brown over to Fort Davis way. He’d just killed a man and was one day ahead of the Rangers and a few hours in front of a hemp posse of the dead man’s kin. We got to talking about me coming here and he said for you to look out for him.”
“Henry’s always welcome at this ranch.” Cobb touched his hat brim. “Ride easy, Wes. It was good to see you again.”
Hardin swung into the saddle. “Yeah, and you too, Frank. You too.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The young Rurales captain sat his horse on a rise and watched through his field glasses as ten thousand head of cattle passed below him. The herd seemed to cover the entire desert, a harsh, arid land dominated by yucca, creosote, mesquite, and thornbush, hemmed in by high mountain ranges. It was not cattle country and could not sustain such a vast number.
As far as he could tell, vaqueros and white men pushed the herd, though the billowing dust cloud made it difficult to tell.
Behind the captain was a ten-man detail, dressed in the Rurales field costume of wide sombreros and crossed ammunition belts. Each man carried a model 1866 Winchester and one or more revolvers. They were a tough, hard-bitten bunch and more than a match for any bandito south or north of the border.
What he witnessed was an invasion of Mexican territory, and the captain saw his duty clear. The herd must go back to where it had come from.
The captain waved his men forward and led the way down the rise, his horse kicking up plumes of sand from the surface of the slope. Imagining that he was dealing with wayward Texas punchers, he didn’t reach for the rifle slung on his back.
It would prove to be a fatal mistake.
“Yeah, I see them,” Jack Hickam said to Pete Slicer. “Go round up the boys. Leave the vaqueros to drive the herd.” Hickam kneed his horse forward fifty yards out of the dust and waited for the Rurales, his hands on the saddle horn.
The Mexicans arrived when the captain drew rein and his Rurales formed up in line behind him. Following the lead of their officer, they didn’t unship their Winchesters.
“Ah, señor, a good day to you.” the captain said in perfect English.
“And to you,” Hickam said. “What can I do for you, General?”
The officer smiled. “Alas, I am a mere captain.”
Hickam grinned, aware that Slicer and the others had ridden up and were behind him. “Well, a nicely set-up young feller like you should be a general.”
The captain’s smile slipped a little. “You are most gracious, señor. It seems that you’ve lost your way. You have crossed the border into Mexico.”
“Well, dang me. Is that a fact?” Hickam asked.
“Yes, it is a fact, señor. You must turn your herd and return to Texas. There is nothing out here for cattle, no water or grass. They will all die very quick, I think.”
Hickam’s grin widened. “Well, see, that’s the plan, general. This is a diseased herd and we want them to die . . . as you say, very quick.”
“Not on Mexican soil.” Unlike his men, the captain wore a tan-colored uniform tunic with his rank on the collar. The day was hot and dark arcs of sweat had formed in his armpits. “I order you to turn this herd, señor.”
“And if I don’t?” Hickam said.
Hickam sneered. “On what charge?”
“An armed invasion of the sovereign state of Mexico, señor. Such an offense carries the penalty of death by firing squad.”
“Well, soldier boy, that ain’t gonna happen.”
The captain saw it then, the fierce, killing light in Jack Hickam’s eyes. He knew he didn’t have time to unlimber his rifle and went for the Colt in a flap holster on his hip. His fingertips barely touched leather before Hickam shot him off his horse.
The surviving guns earned their wages.
The Rurales line broke under a barrage of fire. Skilled draw fighters were deadly at close range and half the Mexicans were killed in the first volley. The rest managed to draw their own revolvers and return fire. Two of the Texans went down. Slicer, shooting a pair of Colts off the back of his rearing horse, killed three of the Mexicans and Hickam and the others took care of the rest.
Dust and gun smoke drifted across the battlefield and Hickam let out a rebel yell that was echoed by a couple other guns. He swung out of the saddle, slid his Winchester out of the boot, and stepped to the wounded captain. The young man raised a hand in supplication, begging for mercy. Hickam, holding the rifle like a pistol, scattered his brains with a single shot. He stepped from body to body, put three of the wounded out of their misery, then slid his rifle back into the boot.
“Vaqueros have lit out,” Slicer said, nodding in the direction of a rapidly diminishing dust cloud to the south.
“Let ’em. The herd is already drifting all over the place. Let ’em die here.” Hickam motioned Slicer closer. “The two of ours who went down?”
“Both dead,” Slicer said.
“We shed the blood and Savannah St. James takes the profit.”
“Seems like, Jack.”
“Well, it ain’t gonna happen, lay to that,” Hickam said. “I want the woman, sure, but I also want the money the cattle will bring in Abilene.”
“We have to steal them first,” Slicer said. “And the money gets divided among those of us who are left.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s gonna be the way of it.” Hickam stared hard at Slicer. “You don’t look too good, Pete. The sight of all them dead men bother you?”
Slicer grimaced. “Belly hurts bad. Got the taste of blood in my mouth.”
Hickam’s laugh was cruel. “Who gets your share of the money, Pete?”
Hickam and the others returned to the Emperor Maximilian with eleven horses and the weapons of the dead Rurales. Their own dead they left to rot in the desert sun with the Mexicans.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
“So Savannah St. James says she’s coming for me.” Kate Kerrigan moved around the table.
Cobb nodded. “That’s what Wes Hardin just told me.”
“And she expects me to cower in my cabin and wait for her. Is that it?”
“It would seem that way, Kate.”
“Well, she’s got another thought coming. Kate Kerrigan cowers from nobody.” Her little chin stubborn, she said, “The very idea!”
Suddenly, Cobb was wary. “Kate . . . what do you have in mind?”
Mary Fullerton placed her coffee cup on the saucer. “Frank, aren’t you afraid to ask?”
Cobb looked from her to Kate and back to Mary. “I sure am.”
“Well, afraid or not, here’s my answer. I’m going out to meet that young lady and I’ll say, ‘Well, here I am. What are you going to do about it?’”
No surprise there, Cobb thought. “No, Kate. That’s a good way to get yourself killed.”
“It’s also a good way of showing Miss St. James that I’m not afraid of her or her hired gunmen,” Kate said stubbornly.
“I can’t let you do that, Kate,” Cobb said.
Mary’s eyes grew wide. “Oh dear.”
“Frank, don’t ever tell me what I can and cannot do. My mind is made up and there’s an end to it. I will hear no more.” Kate glared at Mary. “And that includes you, Dr. Fullerton.”
Mary raised her teacup to her lips and smiled into the rim. “I’m not saying a word.”
“At least let me come with you,” Cobb said.
Kate shook her head. “No, Frank. It’s all too obvious that you are a man well practiced with the revolver. I intend to use words, not bullets. But I’ll take Mose with me if that makes you feel better.”
Trace Kerrigan crumbled a sugar cookie in his fingers and watched the crumbs drop onto his plate. Without looking up, he said, “Ma, this will be settled by bullets, not words.”
Kate smiled. “Can the Irish not charm the birds out of the trees? I think Miss St. James will listen to reason.”
“And if she doesn’t?” Cobb asked.
Not giving an inch, Kate said, “Frank, let’s not build houses on a bridge we haven’t crossed yet.”
Kate drew rein under a blue sky as the morning came in clean and the sun already burned like a gold coin. Around her and Moses, the grasslands stretched into hazy distance. She put a spyglass to her eye and scanned the land ahead. “Mose, I see tents and the great steam machine Mr. Hardin mentioned. But I see no cattle. Where is the herd?”
“I don’t know, Miz Kerrigan. It’s gone.”
“I know it’s gone, Mose, but gone where?”
Moses shook his head and said nothing.
“Well, let’s talk with Miss St. James. I’m sure she can solve the mystery.”
Unconvinced, Moses said, “Miz Kerrigan, I don’t think we should do this, no.”
“Keep your revolver handy, Mose. Words have been known to fail.” She thought about taking her Henry from the boot but decided that could be construed as downright unsociable. She left the rifle alone and kneed her horse forward.
Kate wore her English riding habit, a top hat with green gauze around the crown and on her left shoulder a small enamel brooch that displayed the ancient Kerrigan crest and motto, My God, My King, My Country. She decided, wrongly as it turned out, that her costume was more than a match for anything Savannah St. James might wear.
As Kate and Moses rode closer, five men left their tents and watched them. All wore a gun like they were born to it.
Kate drew rein and said in as a commanding voice as she could muster, “My name is Kate Kerrigan. I’m here to speak to the woman who calls herself Savannah St. James.”
Pete Slicer, very ill, his face ashen, gave a little bow. “That can be arranged, ma’am. If you’ll just set and bide awhile.”
That was unnecessary. A door of the Emperor Maximilian opened and Savannah stood in the doorway. Beside her, Kate heard Moses’s sharp intake of breath.
The woman wore an over-the-bust corset of fine red leather, cinched at the waist with six straps on each side, fastened with ornate bronze buckles. From one of the lower straps hung a gold pocket watch. Her black boots reached to the middle of her thighs and were decorated with metal butterflies. In her left hand, she carried a riding crop, in the other a Remington derringer, engraved and gold-plated. She spoke to Slicer. “Who is this person?”
“My name is Mrs. Kate Kerrigan. I know yours and judging by the goods you have on show, I know what you are.” Kate smiled sweetly.
“You are most gracious, Mrs. Kerrigan. Or may I call you Kate?”
“Please do. Come anywhere near my ranch and I’ll kill you . . . ah, Savannah.”
“Not before I tear your eyes out, my dear. May I offer you tea?”
“That would be nice. I’d like to poison yours, you know.”
“And I yours. Is oolong to your taste?”
“You’re a trollop, Savannah, and you dress like a jezebel. Why yes, oolong would be divine.”
“Then please come inside, but do trip and break your damned neck, por favor,” Savannah said, smiling.
Kate dismounted and stepped into the Emperor.
A large man sprawled on a leather couch gave her an insolent grin. “So this is Kate Kerrigan? I reckon one day soon I�
��ll have some fun with you.”
“Get out, Jack,” Savannah ordered.
Hickam scowled. “That’s no way to talk to—”
“Get out, I said. We’ll pick up where we left off later.”
With an ill grace, Hickam rose, slipped his suspenders over his shoulders, and picked up his hat and gun belt. “I’m leaving, but I’ll be back.”
“Jack, Mrs. Kerrigan consorts with Negroes. See that the one outside gets a cup of coffee or something.” After the big man left, Savannah said, “Please sit, Kate, though as a rule, I don’t allow the Irish anywhere near my table.” She motioned to the urn on the table. “You don’t mind if my brother Reuben joins us? He did love taking tea with the ladies.”
“You are most kind to ask, Savannah. I don’t mind at all, but what a sorry piece of white trash you are.”
Savannah rang a bell and when her maid appeared, she said, “Tea for two, Leah. Oolong if you please, but don’t use the best china.”
After the maid curtsied and left, Kate said, “I love your perfume, Savannah. French, isn’t it? I know it’s used mostly by those who work at night.”
“Then you must try some, Kate.” Savannah rang the bell again. “Leah, the Eau de Minuit please. I know it’s the cheap stuff, but my guest won’t know the difference.”
Leah curtsied, left, and quickly returned with the perfume.
Savannah dabbed it onto Kate’s neck. “There, just where the pulse is, my dear. It brings out the musky bouquet and smells heavenly on you. I so look forward to putting a hemp noose around that pretty neck and hearing it go”—she snapped her fingers—“snap!”
Kate sniffed. “Really? I don’t like this perfume at all, Savannah. It makes me smell like you, a cheap woman. Ah, here is Leah with the tea, at last.”
Savannah poised sugar tongs over Kate’s cup. “One lump or two? Why did you kill my brother?”
“Just one, Savannah, thank you. Because he was a lowlife who tried to rape me.”
The Lawless Page 14
