by Will Cook
“You two cleared the station awful fast, or we’d have contacted you there.” They presented their badges, and Gary blew out a relieved breath.
“There ought to be a simpler way of doing business,” he said.
“Well, we’ve been trying. I’m Dick Aiken.” He introduced the others. “We’ve got the German spotted in a waterfront hotel. The same with the trawler. We’ll point the place out to you. Room Seventeen at the far end of the hall and to your right. But from there on out, we’ll just be looking on and standing by.”
“Thanks,” Hinshaw said. “We’ll get busy. But keep a watch on the depot and roads. Early’s apt to show up.”
“There’s men stationed there,” Aiken said. “From the latest report from Laredo they ain’t caught up with Early yet.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Gary said.
Hinshaw and Gary left the alley and walked toward the waterfront. Dick Aiken was half a block ahead of them, sauntering along. When he passed the hotel, a cheap dockside dive, he looked up but gave no other indication.
A clerk in a dirty shirt glanced at them as they passed through the lobby and went up the stairs, but paid them no other notice. At the right door both men stopped, then Hinshaw knocked. There was a soft, scraping sound, then Schilling asked: “Who iss it?”
“Early,” Hinshaw said.
“That iss not Early’s voice.”
“I’m Early’s man. You know me. Open up a crack and look.”
The key turned, and Schilling opened the door enough to peer out. He recognized Hinshaw and opened the door wider. Then he saw Gary and tried to close it, but Hinshaw butted his shoulder against it.
“He’s with me. He works in town.” He and Gary stepped into the room, and Gary closed the door.
“Why iss Early not here himself?”
“Something came up.” Hinshaw patted his pocket. “He gave me the money. We’ll go through with it as planned.” He took out his tobacco and rolled a smoke. “Have you got the merchandise ready to come ashore?”
“I can signal the boat,” Schilling said. He looked from one to the other. “The boxes are all marked mining machinery and made in the usual vay. Have you the men here to handle them?”
“The boss sent a good dozen along,” Gary said. “Anyway, that’s our problem, not yours.”
Schilling shrugged. “Den ve go to the boat.”
Gary frowned but said nothing, and Schilling got his hat and coat. Farther down the dock and at the end of a long quay, he had a small catketch, and they got in while he cast off and hoisted sail. They sailed for better than an hour, then put into a deep cove, and he dropped anchor. He broke out his pipe and sat in the stern sheets and smoked; he wasn’t a man for talk. After an hour of this, Hinshaw said: “How long are we going to sit here?”
“Dere iss no hurry,” Schilling said in his thick accent.
Gary and Hinshaw exchanged glances and stretched out to rest. The boat rocked gently, and finally the tide swung it so the anchor rode, and the night began to fall. The faint huff of a steam trawler brought them erect, and, when they glanced at Schilling, they found him still sitting there, only he had a large black automatic pistol in his hand instead of his pipe.
“Remain quiet, please,” he said. “It matters not to me vhether I shoot you now or later.”
“What is this?” Hinshaw asked. “Early ain’t going to like this.”
Schilling smiled. “He vill thank me. You didn’t follow the plan. I knew it vhen you came to the hotel.”
The steam trawler came into the cove and dropped anchor. She was seventy foot on the waterline, a seagoing vessel flying some flag of a South American country. Schilling tapped his pistol against the gunwale to get their attention. “Take in the anchor. There are oars under the seat. Row to her.”
Neither Hinshaw nor Gary thought it would be smart to argue with a copper-jacketed bullet, so they fitted the oars to the locks and clumsily pulled toward the anchored trawler. A ladder was put over the side amidships, and three seamen with rifles stood there while they came aboard. Schilling spoke to them in German, and they were taken forward to the captain’s cabin, a well-appointed cuddy forward of the galley. The captain was a short, stern-faced man with a squared-off beard.
“So,” he said. “You wish to intrude in business that is not yours?” He looked at Schilling. “What went wrong?”
“I’m not sure, Herr Hauptmann. But it vas not as arranged. They came to the hotel and said that Early sent them.”
“He did,” Hinshaw maintained. “You people got to act like spies or something? Hell, he got held up in Laredo, and all he had time to do was send Jim here to me with the money. There wasn’t time to explain all this password and countersign business.”
The captain considered this. “It may be as he says. How much did he give you?”
Hinshaw raked his memory for the figure Early had casually quoted and ended guessing. “Feels like close to thirty thousand. He didn’t tell me to count it, and I don’t get paid to snoop.”
“No, sir,” Gary said. “Mister Early don’t like a man who can’t do as he’s told and mind his own business.”
The captain laughed. “Put the pistol away, Schilling. Can’t you see they’re too stupid to have invented this?” He turned to his locker and brought out a bottle of schnapps and four glasses. “Tonight we’ll put the merchandise ashore. But in the future, tell Herr Early to explain more fully. Schilling might have killed you.”
“We sure did think he was going to,” Gary said. “And, golly, we was only followin’ orders.”
“I like a man who follows orders,” the captain said. “You may rest on deck. Tell the cook to give you food.”
They went to the galley and got a tin plate of seafaring slop that was a cross between a thin stew and thick soup. They sat on the fantail to eat, and, since no one was near them, they talked softly.
“Maybe I’m wrong, but the captain bought that a little too quick to suit me,” Gary said.
“I was thinking the same thing,” Hinshaw said. “I’ll bet you Schilling gets to shoot that damned pistol before this is over. He killed Grady just as casually as a man would slaughter a hog.”
“If I was the captain, I’d take the money, kill the two fellas, and wait for the next buyer,” Gary said. “I figure the next step will be to take our guns away, then the money. When that happens, you can figure us for dead.”
“Yeah,” Hinshaw said, and thought about it. Darkness was coming on fast and, in the channel, another fishing boat puffed its way toward the open sea. Hinshaw said: “Let me try something.” He found a heavy clevis fastened to a hawser and freed it, then, with Gray’s body blocking him, he slipped his pistol out of the holster and thrust it in his belt in the center of his back. He took his plate and bent over the fantail and dropped the clevis with a splash.
“Hey!” he yelled, and two seamen and the captain came aft on the run. Hinshaw stood there and swore for a minute. The captain interrupted him.
“What’s going on here?”
“I dropped my gun overboard,” Hinshaw said angrily. “I bent over to wash this damned plate, and my gun slipped out of the holster and fell in the water and. . . .”
“Silence!” the captain roared. “You are stupid. We have men who wash the dishes. It serves you right to lose your gun. A man as stupid as you should not be allowed to carry one.” He snapped his fingers. “Hans, get the other man’s gun. He is also stupid and is liable to hurt someone with it.”
The seaman picked Gary’s revolver from the holster and handed it to the captain. He inspected it briefly, then threw it over the side. “Inferior workmanship. Can’t you Americans do anything right?”
“We try,” Hinshaw said.
“Silence. Finish your food, then come to my cabin. I will take the money now, before you lose it.” He held out his hand, and, when Hinshaw did not respond quickly, he snapped his fingers. “Come, come! You’re on my ship, and I’m the captain, the law
on this vessel. Hand it over.”
“Well,” Hinshaw said reluctantly, reaching to his inside pocket. “All right, but hadn’t I ought to get a receipt or something?”
“You have my word as a gentleman,” the captain said. “I’ll expect you in my cabin. Herr Schilling wishes to speak to you.”
He turned and went forward, and the two seamen went with him. Gary said: “That wasn’t such a dumb move. There’s always an advantage when dealing with an arrogant man… they always consider you more stupid than you really are. The captain and Schilling are going to count the money, then bang, twice.”
“I’m not going to wait for it,” Hinshaw said. “Come on.”
He moved forward with Gary right behind him. A seaman stood anchor watch on the forepeak, and Hinshaw sledged him unconscious before he knew what had hit him. Gary caught him and eased him to the deck, while Hinshaw inspected the anchor. It was a mudhook riding to a manila rope leading between two rail bits. He quickly cast the rope off the towing bit and let it slip over the side. The trawler began to drift gently with no unusual motion. The catketch remained to her anchor and marked the trawler’s progress.
There were no lights aboard, and the night was dark. Somewhere in the channel a steamboat chugged slowly along. Together they eased the seaman over the side, then started toward the galley. But the cold water brought the seaman around, and he yelled and dog-paddled. This brought Schilling and the captain out on the run.
The open door threw light on the deck. Schilling had his automatic. Hinshaw drew his .38-40 and opened fire and watched Schilling sprawl and the captain stagger, a bullet having shattered his arm.
“The ball’s opened,” Hinshaw said. “Care to dance?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The shaft of flung light from the open cabin door and the two rose blossoms of gunfire against the blackness of the cove were beacons to Dick Aiken. “Hard a starboard!” he yelled. “Close! Close! Floodlights! Fire a rocket!”
A huge light on the wheelhouse went on, bathing the trawler in brightness. Then a rocket went up, and the whole cove was illuminated. They were only a hundred yards from the trawler now. Aiken could see the seamen moving about on deck, all armed with rifles.
“Open fire!”
A two-pounder on the bow spoke. A geyser of water shot up astern of the trawler. Someone on deck answered with rifle fire, a burst replied, and a German seaman sagged against the midships rail.
“Stop engines!” the American captain yelled, blowing through the tube to the boiler room. The thumping throb of the steam engine died.
They eased alongside the trawler, crunched against her, then Aiken and a dozen rangers boarded the vessel, hastily disarming the crew.
The captain was made prisoner and herded into his cabin. Gary and Hinshaw left their forward place and came aft. Dick Aiken grinned, and said: “We were about ready to go when the shooting started. Did you do that?”
“They were getting ready to shoot us,” Gary said. He looked at the captain, whose face was gray and filled with pain. “Better take good care of him. I think he’ll testify. Have some men break open the cargo hatch. They’ve got some mining machinery aboard that I want to look at.”
Aiken went to the door and detailed two men to this job, then came back. The captain was staring at Hinshaw. “I thought you lost your revolver overboard.”
“You never want to believe all you hear,” Hinshaw said. He stepped out. Gary followed him to where two men were breaking free a hatch. With a lantern they went below and looked at the stacked crates, shored heavily so they wouldn’t shift with the boat’s motion.
“Get a fire axe and let’s break these out,” Gary said.
Aiken got the tools off a bulkhead, and Hinshaw took one. They broke the shoring and freed the crates. He knocked the top off one. Gary raised the lantern.
“Hydraulic cylinders,” Gary said. “I suggest we get this ship to a dock and unload her. Those machine guns are buried in the cargo somewhere.”
“I’ll remain aboard with you,” Aiken said, and went on deck to order a towing hawser made fast. The German sailors and junior officers were taken aboard the other boat, then they got underway.
Hinshaw remained in the wheelhouse for a time, but progress was slow, and it would be hours before they reached the dock. He took a lantern and went into the cargo hold and broke open a few more crates. He found more cylinders and some other parts. This bothered him for he couldn’t shake the notion that he was seeing something and not seeing it at all. He didn’t possess much mechanical knowledge, but he had a curiosity not easily pushed aside. Finally he tried to take one of the cylinders apart. He found the piston and rod end to be a dummy that unscrewed easily. He tipped up the cylinder and spilled the packing sawdust and a rapid-fire Spandau machine gun on the deck. He whistled, and Gary came aft.
“Don’t tell me that people ain’t clever,” Hinshaw said, showing him the machine gun. “There wouldn’t be a customs man in Texas who’d think hydraulic cylinders were stuffed with machine guns packed in sawdust.”
“Where’s the ammunition?” Gary asked.
Hinshaw shrugged. “Probably in boxes marked peppermint candy.” He put his hands on his hips and blew out a breath. “Early had the whole thing well-organized. He told me he’d made a million dollars, and I thought it was hot air. I guess it wasn’t.”
“A weapon like this would bring five thousand dollars on the illegal market,” Gary said. “It’s a modern improvement, and the Army would like to test a few of these in their arsenals.” He picked up the lantern and led the way on deck. They stood by the rail and looked at the dark sea. “We can ask ourselves just how this all could have happened right under our noses, and it’s easy to see. Take a man like Early, highly respected in the community, who could come and go as he pleased without question. Add to that his mail-order and importing business to cover his receiving odd and varied shipments. On top of that add his use of Carlisle’s place and poor Joe Sanders, and you’ve got a pretty sound set-up for making money.”
When the vessels were docked side by side, the rangers and local police took complete charge. The trawler’s crew was hustled off to jail and the cargo unloaded and taken to the depot where boxcars and more armed rangers were waiting.
Gary saw no need to hang around, and Hinshaw expressed an impatience to get back. He put it: “I never did get that look in Carlisle’s barn.”
They caught an early passenger train west and got off at a small whistle stop shortly after dawn. They ate breakfast in the hotel before renting horses. Late in the afternoon they approached Carlisle’s ranch and found it deserted except for the cook.
He grumbled as he put on the coffee pot. “I ain’t leavin’ till I get my pay. Got nothin’ to hide. Broke no laws, either. I was hired to cook, and I cooked. Never left the house ’cept to fetch wood and water and unload the wagons.”
“Where’s Carl and the others?” Hinshaw asked.
“Skipped out. Day before last. Ain’t you heard? Early’s dead.”
Gary and Hinshaw exchanged glances but said nothing.
The cook prattled on. “Rameras was here. Early went to Vargas, but that greaser took his money. It was that Cardeen woman who done it. Put a butcher knife right through his gizzard. Vargas turned her loose. Heard they fished her out of the river, though.”
“Where’s Rameras now?” Hinshaw asked.
“In town, I guess,” the cook said.
They took their coffee and went to the barn. Hinshaw knocked the lock off the door with a piece of scrap iron he found nearby. Carl had a nice shop with all the tools he needed, and a partially finished wagon was sitting there where he had left it. Hinshaw and Gary looked it over carefully but could find nothing wrong. Then Gary placed his coffee cup in the bed before kneeling. The sound of the cup against the floor planks was hollow.
“That’s odd,” he said, and had a closer look. At first glance it seemed that there was a hair split in each plank, so he got a
wrench and unbolted one. He saw the extent of Carl’s cleverness. Each plank had been split and planed for careful mating, but hundreds of holes had been drilled in the inner edges, a perfect place to carry several thousand rounds of rifle ammunition.
Hinshaw said: “So that’s why no amount of crate opening at the crossing ever turned up anything. Hell, even when the wagons crossed empty, they were carrying cartridges.”
“I’ve seen enough,” Gary said. “Let’s get going.”
They caught up fresh horses and rode out. Other than one brief rest on the prairie, they made no stops until they reached Ranger Headquarters. Major Manners had been wired from Corpus Christi about their success, and he took them to his office. He also ordered hot water and towels and a razor, so that Hinshaw and Gary could shave as they talked. They brought Manners up to date in a few sentences. He asked a few questions and got his answers.
He got out a train schedule and consulted it. “The machine guns ought to arrive tomorrow afternoon. Colonel, how long would it take to assemble them and place them operationally about the camp?”
“Five hours at the most,” Gary said.
“Good, because I want Pedro Vargas to get a personal invitation to come and get them.” He took a piece of paper and drew the plan of the camp. “Here’s the river. I would like some of these pieces zeroed in on the river so that I can cut off Vargas’s retreat. There isn’t a man in this camp who isn’t looking forward to this fight. We’re dug in, and we’re well-armed with Mauser rifles. As soon as you get freshened up, Gary, I’d like you to go over the whole thing with me and add what you feel necessary.”
“I’d be glad to do that,” Gary said.
Manners glanced at Hinshaw who was toweling his face dry. “You get to town. Someone’s been asking for you, and I promised her you’d come in as soon as you got back.”
“Does she know that Early’s dead?” Hinshaw asked.
“Yes,” Manners said. “I guess the whole town knows it. Two of his men from Carlisle’s came through and said he was dead.” He shook his head. “It’s hell to think of, but, you know, half the people in town don’t believe Early did any of these things. Somehow the truth is hard to believe.”
