by J. T. Edson
Having spent all her formative years on a Southern plantation, Belle possessed an instinctive way for dealing with colored people. Contrary to ‘liberal’ views, the upper-class Southerners understood the Negroes and, in most cases, got on far better with them than did the intellectuals who dripped smug talk of equality or pretended friendship to them.
As he tried to meet the girl’s cold eyes, Joseph felt distinctly uneasy. He wanted to snarl defiance, yet something held him from doing so. Much to the surprise of the other men, he answered the girl without any hint of the fencing which met their efforts.
‘Massa Dalkins just told us to come on into town, ma’am,’ he said.
‘Why did he do that?’
‘Allowed to be stopping so’s he could see if them hooded fellers was still follering us.’
‘Had they been following you?’
‘Not as we’d seen, ma’am,’ Joseph replied, darting a glance at Dalkins. ‘Fact being, we’d not seen ’em after we left the Haben place.’
‘Did you ask him about the tax money?’ Belle asked.
‘Yes’m,’ agreed the Negro. ‘He allowed it’d be safe with him. He was the cap’n, ma’am, so what could we do but what he told us?’
‘Why you stinking burr-head!’ Dalkins bawled, starting forward. ‘I’ll—’
Whipping out his Adams, Ritson slashed its barrel on to the advancing man’s skull and toppled him to the floor before he had covered half the distance to Joseph.
‘I’m opposed to violence,’ Belle said primly. ‘But feel it was justified on this occasion. You may go. Ask the next man to come in.’
Each of the remaining Negroes confirmed Joseph’s story and painted a dark picture against the groaning Dalkins. Recognizing dissent among their white companions, they gave the answers they felt were expected. Basically they told the truth, but in a damning manner.
‘To my mind this smacks of attempted embezzlement of public funds by a senior police officer,’ Bell stated, conscious that Ritson was studying her all the time.
‘That’s putting it strongly,’ Spargo growled, realizing that Dalkins knew too much about the grand plan to be antagonized.
‘He sent his escort away a good two miles from town, knowing these hooded men might be close by. And according to his story, he was caught actually secreting the money in a hollow tree—’
‘He told us why he did that,’ Smethurst put in.
‘To accuse the hooded riders of robbing him,’ Belle purred sarcastically. ‘But they did not rob him, they sent him into town with the money around his neck. Perhaps he acted as he claimed—or he may have thought up that very thin story after his capture.’
‘We’ll hold him and investigate the affair thoroughly,’ Smethurst decided. ‘More serious, to my mind, is the presence of these hooded men.’
‘Most likely they’re only a bunch of local cowhands,’ Spargo answered.
‘No more than that?’ snorted Smethurst. ‘They appear at two out of three places our men visit and allow the back taxes to be collected, but stop any rough stuff. And where did the money for the taxes come from?’
‘I’d’ve sworn not one ranch in a dozen would be able to pay.’ admitted Spargo. ‘And yet they all did. Maybe the hooded men gave them the money.’
‘Where’d they get it?’Belle asked.
‘There’re plenty of rich Texans, Hardin and his kind, who’d play out to stop what we pl—’ Spargo began, then stopped as he realized that the girl did not know their intentions.
‘What did you plan?’ Belle inquired innocently.
‘To make these ranchers pay their share towards the upkeep of the State,’ Smethurst answered blandly. ‘If they can’t, to sell their property to people who will.’
‘How’d word get out about the tax collection?’ Ritson put in. ‘Way it sounded to me, those jaspers knew just where to go.’
Before Belle could try to steer the conversation into less dangerous lines, the door opened and a Negro officer of the State Police entered.
‘You went out with the Grayson County tax collectors,’ Smethurst said. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘We got jumped at the third place by some hooded fellers,’ the Negro replied. ‘They shot Massa Hendricks and wounded three of us, then run us off.’
What he did not explain was that Hendricks and the posse had been rough-handling the ranch’s occupants when the hooded riders swept up; or that Hendricks had started the shooting but made the fatal mistake of missing. Guessing that more needed saying, Belle forced the issue and came to something approximating the truth. Not that hearing it altered Smethurst’s feelings.
‘I’m going to smash them!’ he shouted. ‘I’m not having any of this Ku Klux Klan stuff in my territory. I’ll find and smash them even if it takes every man under my command.’
Fifteen – Too Smart For A Soft-Shell Girl
‘You’ve done well, Dusty,’ Belle said as she met him in the cabin later on the night of his busy day. ‘And from what you told me, Stone prevented rape if nothing worse in Grayson.’
‘Sure. I didn’t want killing, but he’d no choice,’ Dusty answered. ‘What’d they make of the hooded riders?’
‘None of them are sure whether to blame local cowhands, or outside help hired by General Hardin’s party,’ the girl answered. ‘I’m trying to steer them from the latter if I can.’
‘How’re they fixing to deal with us?’
‘Send out more patrols, with a sizeable Army escort. It will take a few days to arrange, but Smethurst plans to hit every ranch at once if he can—and he can, he’s the men to do it.’
‘And we haven’t, without getting so many hands that there’ll be no controlling them.’
‘That’s true, Dusty.’
‘There’s only one thing to do then,’ Dusty stated. ‘Stir up so much fuss that they’ll be so busy hunting us they won’t have time to think about tax collection.’
‘They’ve orders to shoot on sight,’ warned Belle.
‘Then we’ll just have to make sure they never see us,’ Dusty grinned. ‘It’s you I’m most worried about.’
‘Don’t be,’ the girl smiled. ‘I’m all right. Nobody suspects me.’
‘If they do, pull out fast,’ Dusty told her. Those soft-shells’ll not let you being a woman stop them mean-handling you.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Belle replied. ‘I’ve been playing this game for a long time, you know.’
‘Feller I knew’d been taking the bedsprings out of bad horses for near on twenty years,’ Dusty answered. ‘He got on a tame old plug one day, was thrown off and bust his neck because he’d got over-confident.’
‘I’ll remember what you say,’ Belle promised. ‘Now let’s get out of here, shall we?’
No matter that he found the whole business extremely distasteful, Dusty put all his energy into making it a success. Starting next day he began the task of harassing the local State Police by running off their horses. While evading an Army patrol, Stone Hart’s party met up with a group of Negro officers sent up to reinforce the local department. After disarming and destroying the officers’ weapons, the Texans set them a-foot and issued a grim warning that a second meeting would bring a more severe and permanent penalty.
For a week the hooded riders seemed to be everywhere that they should not, but, aided by Belle’s information, never where the Army’s patrols went looking for them. Using much the same tactics which had made Dusty famous during the war, the Texans struck terror into the hearts of the State Police. While no more officers were killed or injured, several decided not to tempt fate. The number of resignations, or desertions reduced the force’s ranks and requests for replacements found no volunteers.
So Belle found herself able to make a cheerful report when she met Dusty at the rendezvous on Friday night.
‘You’ve stirred up a regular hornet’s nest,’ she announced in satisfaction. ‘There’s a marked reluctance among the few remaining State Police officers to leave town. And pl
aying off the Army against them’s working.’
One of the rules Dusty had insisted on was that their efforts be entirely directed against the State Police. This culminated on Wednesday night when the Kid set free the mounts of the Police officers, but left the horses belonging to the cavalry escort. Word soon passed out among the soldiers that the hooded riders bore no animosity towards them, only against the State Police. Little love being lost between the junior members of the two organizations, the soldiers tended to become slack in the hunt for Dusty’s men.
‘What's the next game?’ Dusty asked.
‘A mass hunt for you in Fannin and Grayson,’ Belle replied, ‘and at the same time a sweep of Lamar County. Big parties hitting each ranch on the same day, just as Smethurst planned.’
‘When?’
‘Starting on Monday.’
‘I’ll have a couple of the boys head for Lamar, spread the word and make sure each rancher can pay off the taxes,’ Dusty stated. ‘Let’s hope the money lasts out. Everything all right at your end?’
‘I’m not sure. One of Spargo’s deputies is showing a whole lot of interest in me. Ritson, the one you escaped from in Bonham. He’s been asking me questions about the Montoon’s background, but I know the answers to them.’
‘Is he on to you?’
‘I’m not sure. He spent an uncomfortable night in the alley outside my room last night.’
‘Was he there this evening?’ Dusty growled.
‘No,’ Belle smiled. ‘We had supper together and drank our coffee in the hotel lobby. Then he went to sleep sitting in the chair. Two bellhops took him to his room.’
‘Are you still using that ring you had in the war?’
‘Yes, but the powder the Yankees gave me is much better. The kind I used takes no longer to work, but looks more natural—and leaves the one who gets it with a bad headache when he wakes.’
One of the devices Belle used for her protection had been a version of the Borgia poison ring. Pressure on a secret spring caused the top of its heavy stone to rise and in the cavity below lay a potent sleeping powder. It seemed that the ring still retained its old effectiveness.
‘If he’s suspicious, you’d best pull out,’ Dusty suggested.
‘My work’s not done yet. By the way, they sent Dalkins to Austin for a full investigation. But he was shot dead trying to escape.’
‘When did this happen?’ Dusty asked.
‘Yesterday. Or we heard about it yesterday when Baker and Spurgis came in. I think they were scared Dalkins would tell me what lay behind the tax collection and got rid of him.’
‘It’s possible,’ Dusty admitted. ‘What next?’
‘I’m not sure. Have one of the boys come into town tomorrow evening and if there’s any news I’ll signal to him in the usual way; then you can meet me here.’
Following the system arranged to meet the situation, Silent Churchman rode into town at sundown the next day. Belle had been keeping watch for whichever member of the Wedge would come, sitting in the hotel lobby and looking through the window in a casual manner. No one seeing her could imagine that the girl seethed with excitement and concern.
Languidly she rose, picked up the parasol from against her chair and rested it on her shoulder. Without as much as a glance in Silent’s direction, she strolled along the street towards the sheriff’s office. Nobody watching thought anything of Silent staring at the girl, that was typical cowhand behavior. However his attention focused on the parasol, noting that it rested on the left shoulder and twirled several times.
Despite knowing that the signal meant Belle must see Dusty that night, Silent knew better than to ride straight out of town. No cowhand would pass a saloon on a Saturday without calling in to take a drink. So he followed the usual pattern. What he saw inside caused him to leave after one drink and take a hurried, if devious, return to his companions.
‘That damned deputy with the busted nose killed Dutch Haben,’ the small cowhand told Dusty. ‘Picked a fight and shot him down without a chance.’
‘What started it?’
‘Ritson, or whatever they call him, was there looking mean as a bear at waking time. Took him a couple of drinks and started shouting about the hooded riders. Then Haben come in and Ritson accused him of being one of us. When Haben denied it, that damned deputy called him a liar and slapped his face. I don’t know if the metzel aimed to draw or not, but his hand moved down, and Ritson shot him dead.’
‘Where’s Ritson now?’ Dusty demanded.
‘Still at the saloon, or was when I left. The sheriff come in, heard what happened and said it was self-defense, then walked out again.’
‘Hold hard there, Dusty!’ Mark snapped as the small Texan began to turn. ‘It’s likely a trap.’
‘Could be, but I reckon somebody has to take it up for Dutchy Haben.’
‘You’re not going without us,’ Mark warned.
‘That’s for sure,’ Stone went on and the rest rumbled their agreement.
‘All right,’ Dusty said. ‘I never figured on going alone. Only this’s how we’ll play it.’
~*~
Standing alone in the center of the small saloon’s bar counter, Ritson poured another drink down his throat. The anger at what he felt sure was his failure to keep Belle under observation the previous night still throbbed at him. That feeling had led indirectly to Haben’s death, for Ritson came out looking for a fight and picked on a man he felt sure he could handle. At Spargo’s suggestion he remained in the saloon, hoping that the hooded riders would show up and try to take revenge. He had drunk just enough to give him confidence and the knowledge that he was covered added to it. Placed so that they could watch the rear entrance and both side doors, the other two deputies guarded him, while Spargo and three State Police officers hid across the street ready to cut in at the first sign of trouble.
‘Where’re all these tough hooded riders?’ Ritson shouted, seeing the left side door open but deciding from the lack of commotion that nobody important was entering. ‘Come on, you rebel scum. You’re brave enough against Negroes. Where are you when a man calls you out?’
‘Right here,’ replied a voice from the open left door.
Cold shock hit the deputy as he turned to face the speaker. He saw a hooded figure before him, menacing despite the fact that its guns still rode in the holsters. Down lashed Ritson’s hand, repeating the move it had made when he killed Haben. Only he no longer faced an untrained German sodbuster.
In many ways the scene paralleled that when Haben died, for Dusty was as much better with a gun than Ritson had been to the German. Leaping across to the right side Colt, Dusty’s left hand drew, cocked and fired it all in that single, apparently effortless way that only the real top-gun ever achieved. Although he gave no sign of taking aim, and shot by instinctive alignment over a distance of almost forty feet, his bullet drove into the center of Ritson’s chest. Sent sprawling backwards, his Adams barely clear of leather, Ritson crashed to the floor and his blood stained the sawdust.
‘Dutchy Haben wasn’t one of us,’ Dusty said and backed out of the door, slamming it behind him.
Instantly he flung himself towards the rear of the building. So fast did he move that it is doubtful whether any bullet coming after him would have struck home. However, none of the room offered to start shooting. Even the few soldiers in the bar sat immobilized by what they had seen. Possibly none of the occupants felt like cutting in and regarded Dusty’s action as simple justice that the law of the area could not, or would not, offer.
Not so Spargo. He charged into the saloon, saw his deputy sprawled on the floor and yelled for information. Already his two companions from the street were darting along the left side alley with drawn guns. They found nothing to shoot at and skidded to a halt alongside where Baker sprawled on the ground. Hooves drummed in the night. Not just one set but many and all taking different directions.
‘Which way’d he go?’ roared Spargo, bursting out of the left door after le
arning it had been the one used by the hooded rider.
‘Every damned which-aways,’ growled one of the State Police. ‘Listen!’
By that time the sound of the hooves was fading rapidly into the distance, but Spargo saw what the man meant. With so many riders departing, there could be no certain way of knowing which way the man who shot Ritson had gone.
‘Where’re Baker and Spurgis?’ the sheriff demanded, coming forward.
A low groan partially answered the question. Holding his back with one hand while the other rubbed his neck, at the places where Dusty had struck the blows to render him unconscious, Baker crawled slowly and painfully to his feet. At the other end of the building, a knot on his skull testifying to how well the Ysabel Kid had carried out Dusty’s orders, Spurgis moaned his way back to consciousness.
‘How bad’re they hurt?’ Spargo asked.
‘Likely they’ll both live,’ the police officer answered, wondering at the concern showed for the deputies’ welfare.
Humanitarian thoughts did not cause the question; Spargo regarded the deputies as a necessary evil to be used and accepted until more suitable men came along. However, he knew that the work planned for later that night required the services of all his staff. The death of Ritson reduced his manpower, but he felt that the remaining pair ought to be sufficient for his needs.
‘We’ve lost that feller who gunned Ritson,’ the officer said after helping the deputies to their feet.
‘There’ll be time to find him again later,’ Spargo replied. ‘You’ll be riding out soon, won’t you?’
‘Sure will. Say, fancy Smethurst coming along with us on it.’
‘It was his idea, he maybe wants to make sure it’s done right,’ Spargo answered. ‘Anyway, on a thing this dangerous it’s as well that we all have a hand.’
‘Sure is,’ the officer agreed fervently. ‘Reckon your boys’ll be all right for it?’
‘If they’re not, we’ll have to go without them,’ Spargo replied, holding down a grin as he saw how the felling of the deputies aided his own plan. ‘Let’s get them down to the office so they can rest up.’
