by J. T. Edson
‘Very well,’ St. Andre sighed, nothing in his attitude showing that he went along with the Texan’s line of reasoning. He was aware that the only kind of customers who knowingly frequented Coffee Dan’s were criminals and they were not likely to adhere to the Civic Ordinances which—in the case of the law-abiding citizens—prohibited the carrying of firearms within the city limits. However, he was also cognizant of the fact that the Intelligencer would react strongly if they learned that a private citizen had done so with his approval. ‘It’s a pity you’re not still an Arizona Ranger, Doc.’
‘How come?’ Lynn asked.
‘If I was a visiting peace officer from out West and hunting for a wanted owlhoot,’ Doc explained. ‘I’d be allowed to tote a gun like the local john laws.’
‘That’s true,’ St. Andre confirmed.
‘Would that apply to a deputy, sheriff of Two Forks County, Utah Territory?’ Lynn asked, with such an aura of disarming innocence that the two men exchanged glances.
‘It would,’ St. Andre admitted, showing relief. ‘You never said that you were a deputy sheriff, Doc.’
‘He isn’t,’ Lynn admitted. ‘Thing being, the sheriff back there’s such a blasted liar that, was anybody from down this way to send and ask, I’d just bet he’d say “yes” like it was true.’
‘Now that’s no way to talk about your brother-in-law, lil wife,’ Doc protested, although he knew she was correct in how Waco would respond if such a request for confirmation was received. ‘Even if his missus did lick you in a fist fight,’
‘Lick me? Lynn almost screeched and spread her hands in a gesture of resignation as she turned her gaze to the detective. ‘Why, Sherry, it took Sister Beth all her time and a lot of puffing and panting to even hold me to a stand-off.’
‘Very well, Deputy Sheriff Leroy, of Two Forks County, Utah Territory,’ St. Andre said, with an air of solemnity that he was far from feeling. ‘Do I take it that, in your official capacity, you are requesting the co-operation of the New Orleans Police Department to apprehend a possible fugitive from justice who is wanted by your office?’
‘Nope,’ Doc denied and held down the grin which struggled to rise as he heard his wife’s gasp and saw the detective show a similar astonishment. ‘What I’m requesting is help in arresting a man who I was witness to escaping from a bank hold up.’
‘Here in New Orleans?’ St Andre practically gasped, knowing that their argument would be weakened by that fact.
‘Happen anybody thinks to ask where, then I’d have to say “yes”,’ Doe replied. ‘But only if I’m asked. You see, I’m not like that shiftless brother-in-law of mine. I’m a right truthful young feller.’
‘Lord!’ Lynn yelped, raising her eyes and a hand towards the ceiling of the vis-a-vis. ‘Don’t let lightning strike this poor, worthless sinner. He’s only joshing.’
‘He missed His chance,’ the detective sighed, then stiffened to adopt a parody of the Chief of Police’s attitude when dealing with an official matter.
‘Very well, Deputy Sheriff Leroy. As Captain of Detectives, I’m only too pleased to offer you every assistance in this matter of law enforcement that you have brought to my attention. And may le Bon Dieu have mercy on my soul.’
The rest of the journey went by uneventfully, apart from the two men planning their campaign for the visit to Coffee Dan’s. It was decided that they would call at Police Headquarters on their way, in case the two outlaws they wanted had been captured in the vicinity of the bank. As far as the rest went, they made only a general arrangement, knowing that circumstances might make them deviate from it.
On reaching the apartment building in which the Leroys were making their temporary home, it was in a pleasant part of the city’s middle rent district, the party found Alice St. Andre waiting. Small, petite, beautiful and tastefully dressed, she sensed that something untoward had happened as soon as she saw their faces when they alighted from the vis-a-vis. However, she had sufficient self-control to restrain her curiosity until they were inside Lynn’s and Doc’s suite of furnished rooms.
For all that she had the upbringing to be expected from a daughter belonging to a very wealthy Southron family, Alice had accepted that marriage to a peace officer had its unpleasant and unpalatable features. Furthermore, she showed no revulsion on hearing of the part played by Lynn in preventing the robbery. Having ascertained that the girl was suffering no ill effects, she sat back and listened to the rest of the story.
‘Of course you have to help Doc!’ Alice stated firmly, after her husband had mentioned their intentions. ‘The only pity is that you have to think up a reason for doing it. How long will it take?’
‘There’s no way of knowing, cherie,’ St. Andre apologized, having taken and kissed Alice’s hand in gratitude for her support. ‘If he’s been captured, we’ll be back as soon as we’ve talked to him. But going to Coffee Dan’s will almost certainly take much longer.’
‘I wouldn’t wait dinner for us,’ Doc went on. ‘But, happen you’d like to give us fifty dollars or so, Lynn, we’ll pick up a bite when we’re through.’
‘I’m not quite sure what you mean, dear,’ Alice lied, smiling rather than blushing over the blunt and forthright response Lynn had made to the suggestion. She had heard similar terms employed by stable hands and others when they were unaware of her presence. ‘But I’m in agreement with it.’
‘Looks like we’ll have to buy our own dinners, Sherry,’ Doc sighed. ‘I’ll be with you as soon as I’ve changed clothes and got dressed.’
‘What’s wrong with the clothes you’re wearing?’ Alice inquired.
‘For one thing, this here’s my best Sunday-go-to-town suit,’ Doc replied. ‘For another, except for good ole Bat Masterson, xxxv I’ve never yet seen a real, genuine Western peace officer dressed this fancy. Third reason being that Lynn’d whomp me good was I to get these clothes mussed up.’
‘Why can’t you be so considerate, Sherry?’ Alice demanded with mock severity.
‘I think I’ll come with you while you get changed, Doc,’ St. Andre suggested, in tones of martyrdom.
Stripping off his jacket as he walked, the Texan led the way into the bedroom. He dropped it on the bed and opened the wardrobe. Inside, among the other clothes, hung the attire which he felt was best suited for his needs. Carrying his selection to the bed, he placed the clothes on it, Reaching underneath with his foot, he pulled out a metal bootjack in the shape of a cricket. xxxvi Hooking the back of his left boot into the jack’s horns, he placed the other foot on its body. Doing so allowed him to lever off the tight, yet comfortable footwear. Reversing the process, he removed what would otherwise have been an obstacle to changing his pants.
With a low grunt of relief and satisfaction, Doc discarded the vest, tie, stiff collar, shirt and the suit’s trousers. In their place, he donned a dark blue flannel shirt with an attached collar that he did not fasten and a tight rolled, multicolored bandana. These were augmented by a well washed pair of Levi’s trousers whose legs had cuffs three inches wide and were left outside the boots he returned to his feet Before taking his dressing any further, the Texan returned to the wardrobe. Kneeling, he unlocked and opened a small trunk. St. Andre sucked in a breath, but did not speak, when he saw what was being taken out.
Unrolling the brown gunbelt, which still had bullets in its loops, the Texan buckled it around his waist. Settling it in position, he tied the thongs attached to the bottom of the contoured and carefully designed holster about his right thigh. Then he unrolled his ivory handled Colt Civilian Model Peacemaker, which had been stored wrapped in a piece of soft cloth. Setting the hammer at half cock and opening the loading gate, he turned the cylinder. As each chamber’s rear end was exposed, he inserted a fat .45 cartridge from the box he had produced with the rest of his gun fighting equipment. Having done this six times, he dropped the revolver into its form-fitting holster.
‘I don’t reckon I’ll take old Betsy along,’ Doc remarked, indicating the Winc
hester Model of 1876 ‘Centennial’ rifle that was in the wardrobe, as he closed the trunk. Hanging up his suit, he drew on the brown coat—its right side stitched back to allow clear access to the Colt—which went with his present attire. ‘Seeing’s how you’re loaded for bear, I shouldn’t need it.’
‘I didn’t know it showed!’ St Andre said indignantly, glancing downwards.
‘It wouldn’t to city folks,’ Doc replied soothingly. ‘But us Westerners grow up learning to watch out for things like that.’
‘Huh!’ St. Andre sniffed, pulling aside the left flap of his coat to expose a Merwin & Hulbert Army Pocket revolver held in the retaining springs of a shoulder holster. ‘I thought having it under my arm, nobody would notice it’
‘Like I said,’ Doc consoled. ‘I learned real early the things to look for. Let’s get going.’
Returning to the dining-room, the men said their goodbyes to their respective wives. There was no time for more talk. On dismissing the vis-a-vis, St. Andre had asked its driver to return and Lynn had seen it outside. Taking his black Stetson, to replace the bowler he had hung on the rack alongside it on his arrival, Doc set it at the traditional ‘jack-deuce’ angle over his right eye.
Accompanying the detective from the apartment house, the Texan’s face showed nothing of his feelings. However, he was eager to set out on a mission which might help him find the man who had been responsible for his parents’ death. In spite of that, he was satisfied with another matter. If there should be gun play during their quest, he had arranged for an excuse his companion could use to deal with any repercussions from the New Orleans Intelligencer.
Six – If You Touch It, You’re Dead
Coffee Dan’s did not appear to be dispensing any of the beverage implied by its proprietor’s name. Nor had the sale of such a commodity in its liquid form ever been a major part of his revenue. In fact, the title had arisen because he had founded his fortune during the War Between The States by making coffee beans a major portion of every cargo his ship had run through the United States’ Navy’s blockade of Southron ports.
It seemed to Doc Leroy, as he stepped through the front door at eight o’clock in the evening, that but for a few obvious changes, he might have been entering a saloon in the toughest section of any large Western town. The decor was different, tending to have to do with riverboating rather than ranching, mining, buffalo hunting or whatever else was the industry carried out by the local clientele, and while the attire of the customers was more suitable to working on a paddle-steamer, or doing manual labor connected with the river front, the employees might have belonged to any cow town. That particularly applied to the heavily made up and garishly, somewhat daringly, dressed women who were mingling with the crowd.
If the Texan found his surroundings of interest, the people in the room were regarding him with an equal curiosity. Cold eyes in vicious, sullen and brutal faces were taking in every detail of his appearance. There was an almost universal response to the sight of his armament. First a glance in passing, then the gaze would snap back and fix on his low tied Colt. In a Western saloon, no matter in what type of activity the clientele found employment, the ivory handled Peacemaker and its well-designed rig would have been the first thing to be noticed. Having looked him over, many of his examiners turned their attention pointedly to one particular section of the long bar counter.
Following the direction of such a scrutiny, Doc had no difficulty in deciding at whom it was being turned. Standing clear of the hard-worked bartenders and in a position which offered him an excellent point of vantage to keep an eye on them or the other occupants of the room, was a man who must be the owner. The Texan would have identified him without having had him described and pointed out by Captain Phillipe St. Andre.
On visiting the headquarters of the New Orleans Police Department, Doc and St. Andre had learned that the two outlaws were still at liberty. So the detective had changed into suitable attire which was kept in his office and collected three of his men who were dressed in a similar fashion. They had accompanied the Texan to the vicinity of Coffee Dan’s, but stayed outside. Although St. Andre had come as far as the building and indicated its owner through a window to his companion, he and his men had seen the difficulties that would accrue if they followed Doc in. Their garb had been sufficient of a disguise to let them pass through the dark streets without attracting unwanted attention, but they could not have hoped to enter the well illuminated interior of the saloon without being identified, if not personally, for what they really were. Instead, they were lurking across the street ready to dash over at the first sign of a disturbance.
Although it had been many years since Coffee Dan had given up life at sea, he still sported the peaked hat and frock coat favored by captains of merchant ships. In his early fifties, he was a medium sized man who gave the impression of being as broad as he was long. A scar ran up his left cheek, disappearing under the black patch that covered his near eye, giving his tanned face a savage and sinister expression.
Even as Doc’s eyes reached the owner, Coffee Dan gave a backwards jerk with his head. Nor did the Texan have any doubt as to whom the signal was intended. Watching the room to his rear with the aid of the long mirror behind the bar, he noticed two large and burly men move from where they had been leaning against the wall on either side of the main entrance. Slouching forward, they were starting to converge upon him.
‘Hi there, cowboy!’ a good looking and shapely woman greeted, walking over and reaching out with her hands as if to add to the warmth of her welcome. Her accent was that of a Kansan, but her friendly smile did not extend as far as her eyes. Rather they were wary, like a wild animal approaching something dangerous and poised for flight ‘You’re a long ways from your home range.’
‘Likely, ma’am,’ Doc conceded in a hard voice, preventing her from taking hold of his right arm. ‘And anybody’s hails from the Jayhawker State xxxvii should ought to know better’n try a thing like that. You go keep them two hombres who’re dogging my trail company and tell ’em why they shouldn’t.’
‘I wasn—!’ the woman began, taking a hurried step away, but showing no resentment at hearing what had been her home State referred to with the derogatory name given to it by Southrons. xxxviii
An uneasy silence fell over the room and all activities came to an end. Patrons and employees alike watched the Texan continuing his progress towards where Coffee Dan was standing behind the bar.
Still keeping the two brawny roughnecks under observation via the mirror, Doc strode on without letting his interest in them become obvious. He moved with a steady, almost feline-like step. All the time, his right hand dangled in a deceptively casual looseness that tended to emphasize it was in close proximity to the butt of a Colt carried in a holster which had been designed to facilitate the very rapid withdrawal of the weapon. Everything about him conveyed the impression and suggestion of a latent, deadly, yet completely controlled menace. It was the posture of a man who realized he was treading dangerous ground, but felt confident that he could deal with any threat which might be presented.
All in all, it was a masterly performance.
Yet attaining it was not difficult.
Throughout most of his life, Doc had been in contact with the kind of man he was purporting to be. So he was able to give an almost faultless impersonation of a genuine bad hombre, as opposed to a swaggering blow-hard show off trying to act like one. Perhaps the full subtlety of his performance was lost upon the majority of his audience, but he considered that he was being successful among that portion of his watchers with whom he was most directly concerned.
Throwing a glance at Coffee Dan, the saloon girl made a worried gesture. Then she turned towards the two roughnecks. Although her back was to the Texan, he guessed that she was delivering his warning. One at least did not require advice. He was already displaying a perturbed aspect which suggested he had had contact with Western gun fighters and knew just how fast and deadly such a person coul
d be.
Much to Doc’s satisfaction and relief, although neither emotion showed on his pallid features, Coffee Dan obviously respected the woman’s judgment. He gave a quick and perceptible prohibitive shake of his head which caused the two roughnecks to come to an immediate halt. The gesture was repeated to the owner’s left and right, being directed at two equally large and tough looking men who were standing one at each end of the counter.
In spite of the restrictions being placed upon the bouncers by his employer, the largest and head bartender reached under the counter with both hands.
‘I don’t know what you’ve got down there, hombre,’ Doc remarked, in an almost casual tone—yet which also held a note of menace—looking straight at the bartender and then swinging his gaze in a marked fashion towards Coffee Dan. ‘But I’d leave it, was I you. Happen it’s what I reckon, afore you could bring it up, I’d have killed somebody.’
Reading the intended message from the quietly spoken yet plainly heard words that sounded in the stillness of the room, the saloonkeeper felt as if a cold hand had touched him. A well-travelled man, he had seen Western gun fighters’ deadly techniques demonstrated while on a visit to the Texas seaport of Corpus Christi shortly after the War. Furthermore, he was currently—or had been, if the reports of how the robbery at the First National Bank had ended in disaster were correct—acting as host to a capable exponent of the draw-fast-and-shoot art. So he did not doubt that the threat could be carried out. Nor was he under the slightest misapprehension as to the identity of the ‘somebody’ to whom the newcomer was referring.
‘Avast there, ye lubber!’ Coffee Dan bellowed, as if hailing the maintop in the teeth of a gale, glaring at his employee until the hands were brought empty into view. Then he returned his gaze to the Texan and forced a smile. ‘No offence, me hearty, only it’s not usual we have a matey come aboard armed for boarding.’
