by J. T. Edson
Marlene, de Froissart and Dolman had been too engrossed in their conversation to have heard the sound of the horses’ hooves. Stopping their conversation, they looked at the riders. Although they could not hear what was being said, they guessed that they were the subject of the comments.
‘It could be them, boys,’ the lanky man remarked. ‘Fancy coach, two servants. The woman and the short feller fits the descriptions I was given.’
‘Hell, Widge,’ protested one of the others. ‘You allowed there’d only be the one white feller along.’
‘So they must’ve asked the dude to come along,’ the lanky man sniffed. ‘From the looks of him, he won’t make things no harder. Let’s ride in shooting and make sure’s he don’t, huh?’
‘Like helll’ growled the protestor. ‘We’re here to take that money’s you reckon they’re toting. I ain’t standing for no killing, ’less there’s no other way.’
‘Or me,’ a third man declared. ‘Killing means hanging for sure.’
Going by the mutters of agreement, Widge decided that the sentiment was unanimous.
‘Have it your way,’ he said, satisfied that he could achieve his ends whichever way they acted. ‘Let’s leave the hosses here and walk up peaceable and friendly-like. It might not be the right folk. If it is, we’ll throw down on ’em by surprise. Only watch that short-growed Creole. He’s a regular snake.’
Accepting the plan, five of the men dismounted. They handed their reins to the sixth, he who had raised the first protest. Leaving him with two horses on one side and three at the other, they formed into a rough half circle with Widge at its center and slouched towards the table.
Studying the newcomers’ appearances and behavior, Dolman felt uneasy. He knew enough about Western conventions to be aware of their breach of accepted etiquette. Custom and politeness should have dictated that they request permission before approaching what amounted to another party’s campsite.
Glancing quickly at de Froissart, while easing his chair around so that he was facing the quintet with his legs clear of the table, Dolman decided that he was uneasy and decided that he had good cause. The Creole did not have his Remington Double Derringers on his person. If the men should be contemplating mischief, he would be dependent upon his sword cane. That could not be a comforting thought when he would be opposed by men who were all wearing firearms.
For his part, Dolman kept both hands in plain sight on the table. While none of the men struck him as being a top gun, they had him too heavily outnumbered for him to make hostile gestures.
‘Danged if we ain’t forgetting our manners, boys,’ the lanky man ejaculated, coming to a stop about ten feet from the table. He touched the brim of his hat with his right hand, looking at de Froissart. ‘We should’ve asked you if we could light ’n’ rest our saddles, mister. Hope there’s no offence took?’
‘None taken,’ the Creole answered, noticing that all the men were watching him and not displeased by the way they clearly regarded him as the most important member of his party. He looked to where his valet was standing by the open picnic basket on the boot of the coach. ‘I don’t think we’ve enough food—’
‘Shucks,’ Widge interrupted, making a brief depreciatory gesture. ‘That warn’t why we stopped. Seeing’s how we’ve got us some cattle to sell, we was wondering if you-all’s the folks from the Pilar Hide And Tallow Company?’
‘We are,’ de Froissart confirmed.
‘I told you they was,’ Widge declared, turning to the man at his right. ‘So we might’s well get on with it.’
On swinging to face the table again, the lanky man showed that he had done more than address his companions. He held his Army Colt and, cocking back its hammer, pointed the barrel at the Creole’s chest. For a moment, he considered firing immediately but decided to wait. His companions would be more inclined to start throwing lead if the Creole tried to resist their demands to be given the payroll which Laxterby—the name Roxterby had been using in the days when he had known Widge—had claimed was in the coach.
Four more hands closed on and raised revolvers from their holsters. While none of the men had drawn fast, Dolman had been lulled into a sense of false security. Taken by surprise, he continued to sit motionless. It was obvious to him, however, that they regarded de Froissart as being the most dangerous person at the table. The man at the right was covering Dolman and the one on the left had his attention on the Negroes. All the other three were lining their weapons at the Creole.
De Froissart no longer found his pre-eminence an attractive proposition. Being uncomfortably aware of his only weapon’s limitations under the circumstances, he hoped that—with three cocked revolvers directed at him—Dolman would not be foolish enough to offer resistance. If he did, de Froissart would almost certainly be the first one the men would kill.
That same thought was also occurring to the captain, but he could not see any way in which he might turn it to his advantage.
Three – Profaci Was Talking to Gomez
Although Austin Viridian had walked from his home that morning, he took one of the horses from the factory’s corral for the return journey. By doing so, he hoped that he would be able to terminate his business in time to reach the stream before Gianna Profaci had finished her work and left.
The town of Pilar straddled the Houston to Fort Worth stagecoach trail, being about half a mile north of the factory and just beyond the upper end of the Gorge. While somewhat more prosperous, due to the revenue brought in by the Company, it differed little in general appearance from numerous other small communities that were scattered across the War-impoverished State of Texas.
Closest to the factory, at which the majority of the men found employment, the adobe jacales which had been assigned to the Negroes lay on the gentle slope between the trail and the river. They formed what amounted to a separate, self-contained village.
Beyond the colored people’s section, lining both sides of the trail, stood the town’s business premises. They were few in number—the stage line’s depot, a livery barn owned by Profaci, a small rooming house, the New Orleans Saloon, Schweitzer’s General Store and the adobe building which served as town hall, court house, constable’s office and jail, being prominent among them—but supplied most of the residents’ and visitors’ needs. The white population had their homes in an untidy cluster to the east of the main, in fact, only street.
Although de Froissart and Schweitzer lived at their business establishments, the Viridians and Profacis occupied more palatial quarters. Each family had a colonial-style mansion that had been built under the Italian’s guidance, before the War Between the States. Erected in the woodland behind the town, each property was separated from its neighbor and practically hidden by the trees.
Even before Viridian had reached the outskirts of the town, he saw several men following a small boy from the saloon. One pointed and the rest looked in his direction. Watching them start talking, he guessed that he was the topic of their conversation. Urging his mount to a faster pace, he studied the party and identified them as citizens. One of them was the town constable and another, Viridian noticed without enthusiasm, was the man de Froissart had hired three weeks earlier to be his saloon’s floor boss.
Tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired and swarthily handsome, Jesse Sparlow dressed in the fashion of a Mississippi riverboat gambler. He was said to be fast with the ivory-handled Army Colt in the high cavalry twist-hand holster on the left side of his waist belt. He had many qualities which annoyed Viridian, education, excellent manners and various other social graces. What was more, he invariably treated the hide and tallow man with a thinly veiled condescension which suggested that only his position as a partner in the Company made him worthy of consideration. It was not an attitude calculated to endear him to Viridian.
There was nothing of Sparlow’s well-dressed elegance about Joshua Hubric. Big, overweight, clad in worn, untidy town clothes, with an old Navy Colt tucked into the waist of his trousers in a
way that precluded any hope of it being drawn swiftly, he was neither an efficient nor an effective peace officer. He owed his position to being distantly related to Marlene Viridian, it having been decided that he could do less harm as constable than in any other capacity.
‘Howdy, Mr. Viridian,’ Sparlow greeted, as the hide and tallow man drew up and dismounted. He indicated the youngster who was standing in the forefront of the crowd. ‘The boy just came and told us he’d heard some shooting at the factory.’
‘I was fixing to get me a posse and come to see what was up, Cousin Austin,’ Hubric went on. ‘Only—’
‘I figured there couldn’t have been anything serious happening, when I saw you coming in at a walk,’ Sparlow interrupted. ‘Has there been some trouble out there?’
‘Some,’ Viridian admitted, taking no more notice of Hubric than to hand him the horse’s reins. ‘Ribagorza’s getting greedy.’
With that, the hide and tallow man told an attentive audience what had happened at the factory. He could see that they were startled and perturbed by what they heard. However, it was Sparlow’s reaction which attracted most of his interest. At the mention of Gomez’s name, the gambler frowned.
‘Gomez,’ Sparlow said, when the explanation had come to its end. ‘Well I’ll be damned! ’
‘What’s up?’ Viridian asked.
‘We’d best send some of these fellers out to help guard the factory,’ Sparlow stated, ignoring the question.
‘See to it, Hubric,’ Viridian commanded.
‘I didn’t want to say anything in front of them,’ Sparlow declared, after the constable and the other men had moved away. ‘But I went over to Bryan last Saturday to take a look at the kind of business the Two Bulls Saloon’s doing. The boss has his eye on it, you know.’
‘He said something about it,’ Viridian admitted. ‘But what’s that got to—’
‘As I was going in,’ Sparlow interrupted, in the superior way which had always antagonized the hide and tallow man. ‘Joe Profaci was talking to Gomez.’
‘You saw Joe Profaci talking to Gomez?’ Viridian repeated, scowling suspiciously. ‘What were they saying?’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ Sparlow replied. ‘As I went in, the owner came across to meet me. Then Gomez looked, said something and got up and left by the back door.’
‘Did Profaci tell you what they’d been talking about?’
‘No. Before I could get away from the owner, he’d gone out of the side door and I didn’t see him again. Not that I thought anything about it at the time. I knew Gomez worked for Ribagorza. And Profaci doesn’t come to the New Orleans all that often, so we don’t know each other too well.’
‘Likely not,’ Viridian grunted.
‘Anyway, I’m not saying that there was anything wrong with them being together,’ Sparlow pointed out, nodding to where Hubric was talking in an excited, yet pleading fashion, with the other men. ‘It was just that I thought it wouldn’t be wise to let them know what I’d seen.’
‘What’s holding you up there?’ Viridian demanded, glaring at the constable.
‘These fellers can’t make up their minds who should be coming with me,’ Hubric answered petulantly.
‘I’ll see to it,’ Sparlow promised and strode away.
Watching the gambler approach the other men, Viridian scowled and thought of what he had been told. Before he could draw any conclusions, the door of Schweitzer’s General Store opened. Followed by the owner, Gianna Profaci walked out. They came to a halt on the sidewalk, staring at the men on the street with considerable interest. Looking at them, Viridian felt a surge of annoyance. Clearly he had arrived too late to meet the Italian woman in the privacy of the woods.
‘Is something wrong, Austin?’ the storekeeper asked.
The oldest and by far the richest of the partners, Bernard Schweitzer rarely dressed in anything other than a shabby, rumpled and almost threadbare black suit, or donned a collar and tie. In his late fifties, he was plump, going bald and sported steel-rimmed spectacles that conveyed an aura of benevolence that was far removed from his true nature. Over the years, he had gained a well-deserved reputation for being a shrewd and frequently ruthless businessman.
‘Yes,’ Viridian admitted, walking towards the couple. His gaze roamed over the woman in a lascivious manner, although he was speaking to his partner, and he grew more angry as he thought of the pleasures which would not be available to him that afternoon. ‘We’ve got trouble on our hands, Bernie.’
Standing with her right hand resting gracefully on her hip, Gianna Profad was well worth Viridian’s scrutiny. A few years younger than Marlene, Gianna matched her in height and physique. What was more, she did not attempt to conceal her physical attractions. Shoulder long, glossy black hair framed an olive-skinned face that was beautiful, sultry and suggestive of her tempestuous nature. The rich, full curves of her gorgeous body were emphasized by a snug-fitting, multicolored blouse and tight black satin skirt from beneath which her bare feet peeped coyly. Unless Viridian missed his guess, she was as usual wearing very little underneath the two garments.
‘When do we have anything else these days?’ Schweitzer groaned, aware of how his partner was looking at the woman by his side. He raised his eyes to the sky as if in search of strength. ‘What is it this time?’
‘I’ll tell you inside,’ Viridian replied. ‘You’d better stay as well, Gianna. I thought you’d be doing your washing and was going to send for you.’
‘No, I didn’t go today,’ the woman replied, flickering a glance at the men on the street. ‘Everybody looks excited.’
‘They’ve reason to be,’ Viridian stated, wishing to impress his partner with the serious nature of the danger that seemed likely to threaten them. ‘Shall we go in?’
Crossing the large main room of the building, with its miscellany of goods on display, Gianna and Viridian waited for Schweitzer to unlock and open the door to his private office. He waved for them to enter and waited until they did so, then followed and closed the door. There were thick steel bars at the office’s window and the second door—which was the rear exit—was secured by two bolts and a lock. The furnishings were simple and far from luxurious; a roll-top desk, a table, half a dozen rickety chairs and a massive safe. The latter, holding the Company’s operating finances, was the reason for the precautions against unauthorized entry.
‘You did right not to pay,’ Schweitzer declared, at the end of Viridian’s story of the incident. ‘But he’s not going to like what’s happened.’
‘That’s for sure,’ the burly man agreed, pleased that his partner had drawn such a conclusion.
‘What I don’t see is why Gomez tried to kill you,’ the storekeeper went on. ‘What could Ribagorza hope to gain by it?’
‘It would’ve showed the rest of you that he wasn’t fooling,’ Viridian pointed out, having considered the matter along with the rest of the incident as he was riding into town. However, he did not mention the suspicions that Sparlow had aroused. ‘Then you’d have thought twice about refusing the next time he sent Gomez.’
‘Do you think he’ll try again?’ Schweitzer inquired worriedly.
‘Don’t you?’ Viridian countered.
‘I do,’ the storekeeper admitted, which was what the burly man had hoped to hear.
The more Viridian had thought about the matter, both after it had happened and while returning to town, the greater had grown his conviction that Ribagorza would not follow up the attempt to obtain an advance payment for the cattle. While tough and unscrupulous, the Mexican was also sufficiently intelligent to realize that the plan had gone wrong. When Gomez did not rejoin the herd, he would guess the truth and expect the partners to take precautions against any reprisals that he might be contemplating. Being a businessman, he would conclude that the risks involved in trying to avenge his segundo outweighed any possible gains. So he would go to find another market for his wares.
However, as Viridian had seen a way in which he c
ould capitalize upon the incident and use it as a means of obtaining money from the Company, he had hoped that the storekeeper would not duplicate his line of reasoning. Certainly nobody else seemed to have drawn similar conclusions. Leathers, Roxterby, Sparlow, Hubric and the other citizens had all responded as if they were expecting Ribagorza to launch an attack at any moment. Having seen the townsmen’s reactions, Schweitzer was likely to have had his reasoning influenced on the required lines. What was more, having had less dealings with the Mexican, he lacked Viridian’s knowledge of Ribagorza’s character.
‘Mama mia!’ Gianna yelped, staring in alarm from one partner to the other. ‘Joe’s away and I’m all alone at home!’
‘We’ll send some men out to guard you,’ the storekeeper promised.
‘There’s only one thing about that, Bernie,’ Viridian put in, concealing his delight at how things were going so well.
Schweitzer had just given him the opening he required. ‘We don’t have enough men to guard our homes, the factory and the town.’
‘What do you mean?’ Schweitzer asked.
‘I’ve never known Ribagorza to have less than twenty men when he’s brought in a herd,’ Viridian explained. ‘And for a play like this, he’ll most likely have even more than that backing him. In fact, Gomez told me he had.’
‘Do you think he might attack the town, or our homes, Austin?’ Gianna inquired.
‘He might, if he can’t get back at us through the factory,’ Viridian answered, noticing that her consternation was not going unnoticed by his partner. ‘He’ll want to teach us a lesson and he knows that we own most of the town, so he could come after us that way.’
