by J. T. Edson
‘I’ll ’tend to it,’ Leathers promised.
‘Have some of the men load the bodies on to a wagon and move that horse,’ Viridian told Roxterby and decided that he should make a gesture to show the supervisors his gratitude. ‘You two can share their gear between you. I’ll tell Josh Hubric that I said you could.’
‘We’ll do the splitting when I get back, Gus,’ Leathers stated, knowing that the town constable would not refuse Viridian’s orders. ‘All of it, mind. No picking and choosing after I’m gone.’
‘Sure, Stack,’ Roxterby replied. Sharing his employer’s opinion regarding Leathers’ ability with a gun, he hid the resentment he was feeling at the other’s words. ‘You can count on me to play square with you.’
‘I reckon I can,’ Leathers said dryly. ‘See you when I get back.’
‘I’ll send some men out from town to help you guard the factory,’ Viridian remarked to the floor supervisor as Leathers walked away. ‘Stay on until I send for you.’
‘Do you reckon Ribagorza’ll be here soon, boss?’ Roxterby asked, realizing that, with Viridian’s and Leathers’ departure, he would be the only white man on the premises.
‘If he is, Leathers will let you know in good time,’ Viridian answered, having devoted some thought to the matter and reached certain conclusions. ‘I’ll get as many men as I can out to you. When they come, set them out ready to guard the factory.’
‘Sure, boss,’ Roxterby muttered and his whole attitude showed how serious and dangerous he considered the situation to be.
Two – None of Us Dare Betray Him
Marlene Viridian did not usually indulge in romantic fantasies, she was far too hard-headed and calculating for that. Yet, as she considered her present situation, she could not help thinking that she was not unlike a princess of old, with no less than three knights-errant competing for her favors. Sitting at the small folding table, which Pierre de Froissart’s Negro valet had set up, she wondered if the pleasant and peaceful nature of her surroundings had conjured up such a foolish notion.
Having left Fort Worth on Sunday morning, travelling south along the stagecoach trail and spending the night at a way station, Marlene’s party had resumed their journey shortly after dawn on Monday. Although she and the Creole were riding in the Pilar Hide & Tallow Company’s private Abbot & Downing ‘celerity coach’, they had not attempted to make the best speed its six-horse team were capable of producing. Noon had found them passing through wooded country and approaching a suitable location for them to halt and take lunch.
Receiving his orders, the Negro driver had guided his team off the trail and stopped close to the banks of a small, crystal clear stream. There was a clearing at that point, although it did not extend to the right side of the trail. While the horses were being unhitched, the valet had unpacked the folding table, four chairs and a large picnic hamper from the coach’s boat.
By the stream, the driver was still attending to the needs of the team. Not far away, a big chestnut gelding and an even larger, finer blood-bay stallion were hobbled and grazing. Two saddles—a United States’ Army ‘officer’s pattern’ McClellan and a low-horner, double-girthed iv Texas range rig—lay on their sides behind the coach, where they would not be in the way of the driver or the valet.
Although Marlene studied two of her ‘champions’, the third was not in evidence. Soon after the party had halted, a turkey had started to call from the thick woodland on the right of the trail. Being very partial to roast turkey, Marlene had suggested that one of her escort tried to shoot the bird. Mark Counter had immediately offered his services and had stated that the hunt should be a one-man affair. Neither de Froissart nor Dolman had argued on that point. So, having unsaddled his blood-bay stallion, Mark had taken his rifle and disappeared into the dense undergrowth.
Sitting at Marlene’s right, between her and the trail, de Froissart was about medium height and in his late forties; which made him older and smaller than either of his rivals. Bareheaded, his grayish hair made his handsome features more distinguished. He wore a gray coat, frilly-bosomed white shirt with a black silk cravat, skin-tight fawn riding breeches and black riding boots. Due to the warmth of the day, he had left off his fancy vest and, with it, the pair of Remington Double Derringers which always occupied its pockets. However, he was not entirely unarmed, for his sword cane was leaning on the right side of his chair.
Dolman had taken the place on the other side of Marlene and nearest to the coach. There was nothing in his appearance to suggest that he held rank as a captain in the State Police. Rather he looked like a rich, elegant, somewhat arrogant young Eastern dandy. The black Burnside campaign hat which he had hung on the back of his chair was an officer’s model, with its brim down and minus any kind of insignia. He wore a waist-long brown leather jacket, gray shirt, gaily colored bandana, tight-legged brown riding breeches and hessian boots. All the garments were of excellent cut and quality. They set off his tall, athletically slender physique, black curly hair and handsome, if sardonic, features to their best advantage.
Dolman’s gunbelt carried a rosewood-handled Colt 1861 Navy Belt Pistol—a revolver despite its name—in a split-fronted, spring-retention holster of a type known as a ‘clamshell’. The drop of the holster was attached to the belt by a metal swivel stud and the tip hung free with no means of securing it to the right thigh. All of the weapon’s trigger guard was left exposed. That had been done to allow his right forefinger to pass through and make contact with a flat switch concealed on the rear of the holster. On the switch being pressed, the front of the rig hinged open and liberated the revolver.
In skilled hands, a ‘clamshell’ holster was very fast. Dolman had always believed himself to be exceptionally competent in its use.
That the two men should have an interest in Marlene was understandable. In addition to being very attractive and, under the right conditions, forthcoming, she was well bred, wealthy —and a full partner in the Pilar Hide & Tallow Company. Knowing her feelings with regard to her husband, each of them was equally aware of how useful she could be to the fulfillment of his plans for the future.
In her middle thirties, Marlene was very beautiful. There was, however, an imperious, haughty look to her features that suggested she could be strong-willed and not a little arrogant. Her brunette hair was drawn into a bun and held by a net, being topped by a Baden hat the front of which was decorated by an ibis plume. A gray Balmoral travelling costume emphasized her Junoesque figure in a manner that was attractive and yet socially acceptable. Under it lay rich, full curves which de Froissart and Dolman had to cause to know very well.
Looking across the table, the Creole studied Dolman with a speculative gaze. De Froissart suspected that the captain had been as close as he had to Marlene and for the same reason. Being a full partner, the woman would be invaluable to anybody who wished to gain control of the Company. That was de Froissart’s intention. So he did not relish the thought of having a rival as unscrupulous as Dolman had proved himself to be on more than one occasion. However, thinking about the events of the last few days and, in particular, the previous evening, de Froissart was inclined to believe that Dolman was no longer the greatest threat to his interest in Marlene.
Much the same thoughts were running through Dolman’s head. Although he had been of much use to the hide and tallow men, he had no part in the ownership of the Company. That had been a situation that he intended to change with Marlene’s help, but he sensed that his position with her was endangered by Mark Counter. He did not care for the idea at all, but last night had shown him that changing it might be far from easy.
Always a realist, Dolman had quickly realized that there was no real future for him in the State Police. Even though he held high rank, it offered him little profit. What was more, once the people of Texas regained the franchise they had lost through their support of the South during the War Between the States, Governor Davis’s corrupt Reconstruction Administration would be swept out of office.
One of the first official acts by whoever replaced Davis would be to disband the much-hated State Police and reinstate the Texas Rangers. Before that could happen, Dolman wanted to control an established and lucrative business. The Pilar Hide & Tallow Company had struck him as being ideally suited to his needs.
On learning that Marlene had invited Mark Counter to accompany her, Dolman had stated that he too would go along. The journey had not been a success for him so far. Every attempt he had made to be alone with the woman had been thwarted by one of his rivals, or—more significantly—by Marlene herself. Deciding that the blond giant, with his advantages of youth and superior physical attraction, was the greater threat, Dolman concluded that he must try to make his peace with the Creole.
‘Counter’s shoulder soon got better,’ Dolman remarked, selecting a subject which he felt sure would divert de Froissart’s thoughts from his own presence.
‘I noticed that,’ the Creole admitted, glancing covertly at Marlene to try to discover if their words were having any effect. ‘His uncle must be a good doctor to have cured him just in time for him to leave Fort Worth.’
While the woman continued to stare fixedly ahead, to where the trail disappeared around the foot of the wooded slope up which the man they were discussing had gone in search of the turkey, de Froissart noticed that her lips had tightened. Apparently she did not care for the trend of the conversation.
‘You know, Pierre,’ Dolman said, also having noticed Marlene’s signs of disapproval, ‘Dusty Fog was lucky that Counter hurt his shoulder when they fought. If it hadn’t happened, they might have had a showdown with guns.’
‘They might,’ de Froissart agreed. ‘Counter’s real fast, too.’
Try as he might, the Creole could not prevent just a hint of malicious delight from creeping into his voice as he spoke the last sentence. What was more, he saw that the barb had gone home.
‘Yes,’ the captain gritted, scowling.
‘Of course,’ de Froissart went on, having no desire to antagonize the other man as long as Mark Counter was around and in Marlene’s favor, ‘drawing and shooting at a barrel doesn’t prove anything. There’s no comparison between that and facing a man in a real gun fight.’
At Marlene’s instigation the previous night, Dolman and the big blond had competed against each other in a gun handling contest behind the way station. Although the captain had been confident he could win, he found that—despite the advantage which he had believed the ‘clamshell’ holster would give him —Mark was faster and more accurate.
Listening to the Creole’s second comment, Dolman felt mollified. De Froissart had put his own sentiments into words. After the contest, he had tried to console himself with the thought that the result had little or no practical meaning. It would have been a different matter if they had been confronting each other with serious intentions, instead of standing side by side and firing on a signal at two empty wine barrels. As the Creole had said, there was no similarity between that and taking part in a real shoot-out.
‘They do say that Fog’s faced his man in a gun fight more than once,’ Dolman answered. ‘And walked away from them. I wonder how many men Counter’s put down?’
Realizing that the men were studying her surreptitiously, Marlene attempted to prevent her feelings from showing. For all that, she felt called upon to try to change the line being taken by the men. It would not do for them to become united in their efforts to dispose of the young Texan. She believed that she could divert their thoughts from him. The matter she would raise was of the greatest interest to both men. It was also something to which she had devoted considerable thought and she wondered whether either of them had drawn any conclusions on it.
‘I wonder what Austin did with his copies of that damned statement he had us all sign?’ Marlene inquired and was gratified by the change which came over her companions. ‘I won’t feel easy in my mind until I’ve seen every last one of them destroyed.’
‘Or me,’ Dolman admitted, knowing that not even his considerable political influence could help him evade the consequences if the incriminating documents should fall into the wrong hands.
‘We should never have signed them in the first place!’ de Froissart ejaculated, putting aside his thoughts of Mark Counter on having been reminded of what might develop into an infinitely more dangerous and serious matter. ‘From the way Austin talked, anybody would have thought that he couldn’t trust us.’
That was, Marlene told herself, the kind of foolish and pointless remark which she had come to expect from the Creole. While she could appreciate the necessity to keep up appearances before business acquaintances, it was sheer hypocrisy for him to pretend to Dolman and herself that the partners were good friends, or trusted each other.
‘As it he couldn’t,’ Dolman sneered, clearly sharing the woman’s unspoken thoughts on the other man’s comment. ‘But he was right about one thing, even though he didn’t come straight out and say it.’
‘What’s that?’ de Froissart wanted to know, scowling as he studied the captain’s derisive expression.
‘As long as he’s got them,’ Dolman explained, ‘none of us dare betray him.’
‘None of us intended to betray him,’ the Creole declared indignantly and his dislike for the captain began to return.
‘I never thought you had,’ Dolman countered, adopting a placating manner as his glance strayed to the blond giant’s blood-bay stallion. ‘But you all agreed to sign the damned things and that I was a witness.’
‘That was Austin’s idea, not mine,’ de Froissart protested, also remembering Mark and wanting to keep on reasonably friendly terms with his less dangerous rival.
‘I couldn’t see what harm it would do at the time,’ Dolman admitted accepting what amounted to an olive branch. ‘The trouble is that they make all of us—’ he flickered a glance at Marlene to make sure that she knew she was included, ‘—accessories to Paul Dover’s murder.’
‘If we could get hold of his copies, we could destroy them and our own,’ de Froissart remarked and made a gesture towards his jacket’s left breast. ‘But I don’t intend to get rid of mine while anybody else has a copy.’
‘Neither do I,’ Dolman admitted. Having noticed the uncompleted motion, he guessed that—like himself—the Creole had not taken the chance of letting his copy out of his possession and was carrying it with him. To prevent the other from realizing what he suspected, he went on, ‘Do you have any idea of what Austin did with his copy, Marlene?’
‘No,’ the woman confessed, drawing similar conclusions from de Froissart’s action. ‘I can’t think of anybody he’d trust to hold them for him.’
‘How about you, Pierre?’ Dolman inquired.
‘I can’t bring anybody to mind,’ the Creole replied, hoping that neither of his companions guessed that he was carrying his statement. ‘Would he have sent them to Boston, do you think?’
‘It’s not likely,’ Dolman objected. ‘They were for his protection if he should be arrested in Fort Worth. If he’d needed them, they’d have to be much closer than that.’
Marlene had turned her gaze to the wooded slope, searching for Mark. There had not been any shooting, which suggested that he was still trying to kill the turkey for her. That was all to the good. She wanted to gather as much information as possible before his return caused the conversation to be brought to an end.
‘I’m inclined to agree with Harlow,’ Marlene said. ‘He would need to have them readily available in case things went wrong. But he wouldn’t chance having them with him. Would you, Harlow?’
‘No,’ Dolman replied and sounded so convincing that the other two believed him.
‘Or me,’ de Froissart went on, just a shade too quickly and without realizing that he had fallen into Marlene’s trap. ‘I left mine in the safe at the New Orleans.’
‘Mine’s hidden at home,’ Marlene remarked, feeling certain that she had guessed correctly about the Creole. Unlike Dolman, who was sure to have t
aken precautions for preventing it falling into the wrong hands, de Froissart was carrying his copy and had not left it at his saloon in Pilar. ‘But I can’t think who Austin would trust with them.’
While the other two were talking, Dolman stared at the tablecloth. Like Marlene, he could not think of anybody who Viridian would trust sufficiently to hold the documents that were his protection. Probably he had been carrying them all the time. Annoyance welled through the captain at the thought. If it was true, he could have hunted down and killed Viridian instead of leading the posse in the wrong direction. However it was too late to rectify the miscalculation. What mattered was to lay hands on them.
Where would Viridian have put them on his return from Fort Worth?
Would he have hidden them in his home?
That was unlikely. Knowing he could not trust his wife, he would want a safer place than that.
Safe! Dolman stirred slightly as he thought of another meaning for the word.
There was a safe in the office at the factory!
Of all the partners, Viridian alone used the office as a place of work.
For a moment, Dolman was tempted to ignore the safe as a possibility. It seemed to be too obvious a hiding place. Yet Viridian might have selected it for just that reason, counting on anybody who was trying to steal the statements disregarding it as being too obvious.
Although Dolman decided that the office’s safe would be worth investigating and believed that he could find the means to do so, he had no intention of mentioning it to de Froissart or Marlene. The possession of the statements would be too valuable an asset to share, even with the woman he was prepared to marry—after having disposed of her present husband—so as to pave the way for him to gain control of the Company.
Before the discussion could be taken any further, half a dozen riders came slowly around the bend in the trail. Dirty, unshaven, dressed in an indiscriminate mixture of cheap range clothing and items of military uniforms, they were not imposing specimens despite the low-hanging revolvers which each of them were sporting. On seeing the trio seated at the table, they brought their horses to a halt. Then one of them, a lanky beanpole with a drooping moustache, addressed the others quietly.
