Waco 5

by J. T. Edson

  Brone started to laugh, then he saw Dusty’s face and knew the small Texan had never been more serious. “I don’t get it,” he said.

  “Nor me,” Dusty admitted truthfully. “I might even be wrong. I know a soldier, a real Army officer when I see one and that German’s all of that. You look at it this way. He gets the badhats from every tribe, shows them these weapons, tells them he’ll help them fight us. They’d follow him, likely. And Mister, with these repeating rifles they’d be better armed than the Calvary. They could take over the west and hold it.”

  “You bunch head out,” Dusty went on, turning to the gunmen. “Don’t go near Two Forks, head right out.”

  “Hold hard there,” growled Hamel. “We didn’t make no deals with this lot. I want them holding, some of them might be wanted by us.”

  “Then get out and catch them for yourself,” said Dusty. “Drift, hombres. Tell Mark and the Kid I said you could go.”

  Hamel growled out a complaint but Brone shook his head. The small agent was looking worried. He could see that Dusty might have called the game right. In that case there were more important things than holding a bunch of minor outlaws to see if they were wanted in some part of the country.

  Waco brought his prisoners into Two Forks just before daylight. He was contented with his lot. The five hold-up men did not speak all through the ride but the skin-hunters were only too willing to talk. They would tell all they knew and it would be enough to put Von Schnabel behind bars for a long time.

  Doc and Lynn were in the office, the girl sat huddled up to him, her head resting on his shoulder and both asleep. Doc woke as the office door opened and he gently eased the girl from him. She groaned, slid her arm around his neck and mumbled: “Kiss me again, Marvin honey.”

  Then she opened her eyes and came to her feet, cheeks flushed, blushing almost as much as Doc. Waco stood grinning at them, but was sufficiently in the same condition to avoid speaking of how he found the two.

  “You get them, boy?” Doc asked.

  “Why surely not. They got us. Open the cells up and we’ll just head in.”

  Doc went to the door leading to the cells, opened it and watched the prisoners, still wearing only whatever they had chosen to sleep in, file by him. He put them into the cells, releasing each man’s wrists while Waco dumped the clothes he’d brought with him into the cells, for the men to dress.

  “Where’s Beth?” Waco asked as they returned to the office.

  “Down to the Twin Bridge,” Lynn replied. “She and maw haven’t been to bed all night. Me’n Marvin thought they’d want to talk alone, so we come along to the jail and sat here playing cribbage.”

  “Yeah,” drawled Waco. “I saw the cards and scoreboard, right there in the desk drawer.”

  Doc glared at his young friend. “Shucks, that was earlier,” he said. “I was just trying to get something out of Lynn’s eye when you come in.”

  “Why sure,” agreed Waco, lifting his eyes to the roof. “That’s the way I saw it, Marvin honey.”

  Before Doc could bring out the flustered, riled words which boiled up inside him there was an interruption. The office door was thrown open and Ella came in. There was a bruise on her cheek and Waco knew something was wrong —bad and terribly wrong.

  “Waco!” she gasped. “Von Schnabel’s taken Beth. He’s got her across at the Guesthouse and he wants to see you.”

  Fifteen – Von Schnabel’s Challenge

  Waco caught Ella and helped her to a chair. She saw his face, pale, grim and savage before her and heard his voice, although it was little more than a whisper.

  “What did you say?”

  “Von Schnabel. He came into the Twin Bridge just now, he and Kyte. I tried to stop them but they knocked me down and Von Schnabel told me to fetch you. He wants for you to come to the Guesthouse alone.”

  “Like hell!” Doc snapped, checking his Colt. “Let’s go, boy.”

  “No, Doc,” Waco answered. “They’ve got Beth. I’ve got to play it their way. You stay on here, hold them prisoners. Lynn! Get afork Doc’s black and head for Von Schnabel’s place. You’ll find Dusty, Mark and the Kid on the trail. Tell them what’s happened here.”

  “We’ll go with you, Waco,” Simon growled. “If they’ve harmed that gal!”

  “They won’t have!” snapped Waco. “But they will if we all go down there. He wants me and me alone, and that’s the way he’s going to get it.”

  With that, the young Texan walked from the jail and along the street through the fast coming dawn. His hands brushed the matched butts of his guns, his feet drove out and down on to the ground. Never in all his life had Waco felt the urge to kill as he did now. If they’d harmed Beth in any way he meant to get Von Schnabel and as many of the others as he could. He reached the Guesthouse, ignored the side door and went along the front boardwalk, halting before the batwing doors. He drew in a deep breath, kicked open the doors and went in, his guns out ready, the hammers drawn back under his thumbs.

  Then he halted, the thumbs still holding back the hammers. Beth was at the bar, Kyte standing behind her. Waco could see the gun which was held close to her side.

  “A stand-off, I would say,” Von Schnabel remarked, standing directly in front of Waco’s gun.

  Waco’s eyes went around the room. The girls were all gone, so were most of the workers. Only half a dozen hard-faced, gun-hung men remained, and a short, whiskery old-timer wearing buckskins. Not one of them held a gun, they did not need to as things stood.

  The young Texan’s thumb quivered on the hammers. He could shoot and send Von Schnabel tumbling to the ground but Kyte’s bullet would drop Beth in a limp and lifeless pile as soon as he fired. There was nothing Waco could do, he could not risk shooting down the gambler, for the gun at Beth’s side was cocked and would fire as soon as the man’s finger relaxed on the trigger.

  “It’s a stand-off,” he agreed. “I’ll holster my guns if Kyte moves away from Beth.”

  “I’m sorry, real sorry,” Von Schnabel replied. “You are so fast that if I did as you say I would be dead before Kyte moved two steps. You will lay your guns on the table and stand well clear of them.”

  “If I don’t?”

  “You will. I am an officer and a gentleman but I would not hesitate to tell Kyte to kill.”

  Slowly Waco allowed the hammers of his guns to sink, he laid the matched guns on the table and moved away from them. Von Schnabel picked them up, carried them to the bar and laid them alongside the pair of sabers which were on the polished mahogany top.

  “What now?” asked Waco.

  “A bargain. You hold my men. I hold something very dear to you. We will make an exchange.”

  “Texas!” Beth gasped. “No. You took an oath, don’t break it.”

  “You mean turn loose the men I captured and Beth goes free?” asked Waco, playing for time. Hoping for Dusty to come, confident that the small Texan could find some way to break the deadlock.

  “Of course. A good officer does not like to leave loyal men behind.”

  “How’d you know we’d got them?”

  Old Walpai Harry grinned. “That black dressed boy’s real good. Had I been a mite further away I’d have missed him. I woke, saw it was too late to help so I hung around to see what happened, then come back here.”

  “I knew that I must get you here, so I took Miss Morrow. I hope Kyte did not hurt Mrs. Baker; a fine woman, a most remarkable woman. I wondered what she had against me, we started on most amicable terms. Then, when I started to plot against the BM she turned against me. I see now that she was protecting her daughter. She had that girl Kate working for me and I never suspected until the clocks were altered. Then I knew there was a spy against me. Even so, she never knew my true plan. She thought I merely wanted to control this small county.”

  “And you aimed to control the United States. To arm the Injuns, train them as cavalry. You’d got those Gatling guns. I heard one of them the day Wharton shot me. Didn’t recognize
the sound at first. I’d never heard a Gatling gun at a distance and didn’t get what it was until later,” Waco replied. “When you had the Gatling guns delivered you lost a magazine. Simon found it. Later, when you found it was gone you told Bix and Simon that story about losing it, buying it for your firearms collection, so that if the magazine turned up they would return it and not bother to check where it came from. Only it was a new magazine, not the old.”

  “A shrewd man, a very shrewd man,” Von Schnabel conceded. “We should have been good partners. With the Indians armed and trained we could have taken all the west. Then we could have swept through the east. There would have been others who’d flocked to our side. When we gained control of the whole country I could have raised the flag of Prussia over the great land and given it to my Emperor.”

  “A real smart idea. It’d maybe have been a mite harder than you expected. The Pinkertons were on to you and your gang.”

  “Special troop, please,” there was dignity in Von Schnabel’s reply. “The word ‘gang’ implies criminals. My men were soldiers, raiding the enemy. Every cent they captured was put to organizing our great coup. Do you know why I wished to be sheriff here, why my men removed the old sheriff?”

  “Sure. The county sheriff pulls a powerful load of weight. He’s the first man the federal law, the Army or Pinkertons go to when they’re investigating anything. He gets a lot of information that he wouldn’t otherwise. Besides, as the sheriff you could take control of near on every ranch in the county before you’re through. Beth’s place bordered yours. You wanted her place to give you more room to train your Indian Army and you didn’t want her men riding the range and maybe seeing or hearing something they shouldn’t. You reckoned as sheriff and with the county in your pocket you’d have got a good start.”

  “That’s correct. You’re smarter than I thought. Now, about your prisoners?”

  Waco looked at the girl. He was a lawman, he’d taken an oath when he accepted the badge and knew that he must go against it. Beth’s eyes were pleading with him not to accept. Begging him not to go against his oath, but to stand up to and defy the German.

  “You’ll never get out of Utah,” he finally said. “The Pinkertons traced you and your gang. They’ve given me descriptions of all of them. They traced the Gatling guns to you. There’s no way out.”

  “A bluff perhaps?” Von Schnabel said gently.

  “No bluff, you’ve got my word on it.”

  “Then it is a pity. I will have to take Miss Morrow with me as a hostage.”

  “And I thought you was supposed to be a gentleman,” Waco snapped. “You’re no better’n any other yellow owlhoot, hiding behind a gal’s skirts when the going gets rough.”

  Anger flooded Von Schnabel’s face. “That is an unforgivable insult,” he barked, taking the words as Waco hoped he would. “Kyte, stand away from the young lady and keep away from her.”

  Kyte opened his mouth to object, then shut it again. He moved away from Beth, holstering his gun and watching what was going to happen.

  “What now?” asked Waco, looking towards his guns. If there was a chance of getting to them he would.

  “As the insulted party I have choice of weapons. I’m not afraid to admit that you are my master with firearms. I choose sabers.”

  “You coward!” Beth gasped, running to Waco and facing the German. “You low down coward. Taking an advantage of a man like that.”

  “Easy, gal,” Waco said gently. “He’s got the choice and I’m as much better with my guns as he is with his swords. Leave her lay, we’ll play it that way.”

  Von Schnabel took the sabers from the bar, laying one on the table in front of Waco and holding the other. Beth clung to Waco but he gently moved her away from him and smiled down at her.

  “Stand at the bar, boss-lady,” he ordered. “It’ll be all right.”

  The girl went to the bar and stood watching Waco as he went towards the saber. Her eyes went to Waco’s matched guns, she’d fired a .45 Colt but never with accuracy. She swore that she would try to kill Von Schnabel rather than allow him to harm Waco.

  Von Schnabel held his saber with familiar ease, he watched the young Texan reach for the hilt of the second weapon. “I wish you were more used to such weapons, sheriff,” he said. “I hate to think I’m taking an advantage of you.”

  Waco picked up the saber in his right hand. He’d learned a little about saber fighting in the Rio Hondo enough to know how to hold the weapon and do a little work with it. He knew that his little bit of knowledge would be of no use to him against the German.

  Slowly Waco hefted the saber, then his left hand gripped the edge of the table and he threw it full at the other man. Von Schnabel jumped aside, thrown off his balance by the table. He saw Waco leaping at him and parried a fast-taken cut at his side. Waco lunged to one side, grabbing a chair, skidding it at the German and following it with a fast leap. From the street he heard the crash of shots and then was forced to concentrate on trying to get in a position where he could get to his guns.

  Von Schnabel was no fool. He knew what Waco meant to do and started a fast attack, driving the young Texan before him. Only Waco’s speed and agility saved him from death as he was driven back across the room. His eyes were on Von Schnabel, he could not spare an instant of concentration to see what Beth was doing.

  The girl stood horrified; then she saw that every man in the room was watching the saber fight and moved slowly towards the matched Colts which lay on the bar. From outside she heard the rapid thunder of approaching hooves, and saw Kyte looking around worriedly. Then she saw Von Schnabel increase the speed of his attack, driving Waco back across the room.

  Dusty Fog, Mark Counter and the Ysabel Kid rode slowly towards Two Forks. The two Pinkerton men stayed on at the Von Schnabel ranch to guard the weapons until shipment to town could be arranged.

  “Gal coming over the bridge,” the Kid remarked laconically, pointing ahead.

  “Looks like she’s going places,” Mark agreed, watching the fast approaching rider. “Hell, that’s Doc’s black and Miss Lynn riding it.”

  Lynn brought her horse to a halt, her face flushed and her eyes wild. “They took Beth to the Guesthouse,” she gasped. “Waco’s in trouble!”

  Dusty and Mark waited to hear no more. They sent their horses leaping forward and the Kid heard the girl’s yell. He stopped his white, looking at her.

  “What is it, gal?” he asked.

  “There’s some of Von Schnabel’s men watching the bridge and the street,” she replied. “They’re waiting for you to come in.”

  “Stick with us, if you can!” yelled the Kid and sent his white leaping forward with a touch of his heels.

  Lynn was riding a good horse and she was lighter than any of the Texans but that big white stallion went away as if she was standing still. She caught up with Dusty and Mark but the Kid was already passing them, the white running like a racehorse and the Kid urging it on.

  Three men stood at the end of the cattle bridge, two with rifles, the other holding a shotgun. They saw the seventeen-hand white stallion tearing at them, ridden by a figure in white man’s clothing, but with the face of a Comanche Dog Soldier. Without slowing his horse, or even breaking stride the Kid unshipped his rifle. The magnificent “One of a Thousand” Winchester flowed to his shoulder, his cheek caressed the smooth black walnut stock and his eyes sighted. His first shot tumbled the shotgun toter over backwards. He shifted his aim and sent one of the two riflemen reeling back with a bullet-smashed leg. The third man lost his nerve, and sent a wild shot over the Kid’s head, and saw the huge white horse bearing down on him, making the bridge vibrate to the iron shod hooves. He flung aside his rifle and ran for it.

  On to Colorado Street tore the Kid. Dusty and Mark were already on the bridge behind him, their Colts in their hands. The Kid came off his horse at full gallop, lighting down on the street ready for action. He went down, rolling over to break his fall, came up and his rifle spat, tumbli
ng a man from cover.

  Mark Counter’s right-hand Colt came up roaring, and a man staggered into view, clawing at his face, then going down in a heap. The big Texan saw another man leaping from a saloon and shot again, the man stumbled back, went to his knees, then tried to crawl back inside.

  A gunman came from the side of a building, his rifle lining on the running Kid. Doc Leroy came through the door of the jail office, his right hand dipped, came up and his Colt threw lead into the man.

  Then it was over, silence fell on the street. The rest of the Von Schnabel men called off any attempts at war and started to make for the livery barn or wherever they stabled their horses.

  The Kid whistled and his white came back to him, he went into the saddle as his two friends passed him, joining them as they headed for the Guesthouse. Doc holstered his gun and sprinted along the street, seeing Mark come down from his horse and make for the side door. At the same moment, Dusty whirled his big paint stallion and rode along the boardwalk in front of the Guesthouse. Through the windows he saw what was happening and left his saddle. He crashed through the glass, carrying it and the sash before him. Dusty hit into Waco, knocking him from under the German’s swinging saber. The young Texan felt himself going down, lost the saber and felt Dusty’s Colts thrust into his hands. He rolled over and came to one knee, lifting the guns.

  Matt Kyte’s Colt was slanting down at Waco when the side door burst from its hinges and Mark Counter stood there. His right-hand Colt rocked, the long barrel kicked up and Kyte reeled backwards with a bullet in his chest.

  Behind Mark came Doc Leroy and the Kid, guns out, lining on the gunmen before any of them could make a draw. Ole Walpai Harry was the only one to try, his Colt was out and flaming but he missed, for Doc Leroy cut him down.

  Dusty came to his feet, holding the saber and facing Von Schnabel. He could see what had happened and prepared to see how the German stacked against a man who really could use a saber.

  “My pleasure, sir,” said Dusty Fog.

  Von Schnabel looked at the small man facing him, saw the faultless stance and the correct way the saber was held. Here was a man with whom he could match steel, a man who could handle the saber well. He brought the sword to a salute, which Dusty replied to with a flourish.