Waco 3

by J. T. Edson

  ‘You’re making a good case for your friend to have killed Gadsby, Ranger,’ Stacey put in. ‘I don’t know where you heard so much about Gadsby, and I’m not going to admit it is true.’

  ‘We’ll pass that, Colonel, you know what is true and what isn’t. Sure, I’ve made a good case for Brad to have killed Gadsby. But Brad isn’t the sort who’d need to drop a man in cold blood. He’s good with a gun and I mean good. Colonel, Brad was fast enough to let Gadsby start lifting his gun, then still kill him before he could line it. Why’d Brad lay for Gadsby with a rifle, down him and risk being caught for murder when he could take Gadsby in a fair fight, or what’d pass for a fair fight, and kill him without giving the law a chance to touch him?’

  ‘You say a rifle. How did you know that?’

  ‘The bullet went right through Gadsby and buried into the gatepost. From the angle it went, the bullet must have come from a rifle. A revolver, fired at the range that bullet came from, wouldn’t have been powerful enough to do it.’

  ‘Then if your friend didn’t kill Gadsby, who did?’

  ‘Somebody who hated Gadsby for what he was. Who knew the kind of man he was and that he would bring trouble to everyone round him and ruin the good name of the regiment by his actions. Someone with a .45.70 rifle; not a carbine, but a rifle.’

  ‘There is no proof of any of that, Ranger,’ Laura Stacey spoke for the first time. Her tones were even but there was a slight tremor in them.

  ‘I can get it, ma’am. The old gent at the livery barn and I both saw that Colt double-barreled rifle you’d taken with you this morning. Saw the backsight on the wrist.’

  Stacey came to his feet, angry words coming from his lips, but his wife laid a hand on his sleeve. ‘I carried a double-barreled gun, I often do, old Wilson at the livery barn knows that. I often give him the birds I bring back.’

  ‘That’s why he noticed the gun, ma’am. You didn’t bring any back today,’ Waco replied, dipping his hand into his pocket and dropping a cartridge case on to the table. ‘I found this where you knelt and lined the rifle on Gadsby.’

  ‘I didn’t unload the gun there!’

  Stacey and the other men were all on their feet, the Colonel’s face twisted in rage, his body tensing to hurl at this young man who’d come into his home and accused his wife of murdering a man. Then he realized what Laura’s words meant. He looked at his wife. She stood there, hands at her sides, head held erect, face showing no expression now she’d made that slip.

  ‘All right, Ranger, I killed Gadsby,’ she said. Through the blur in front of her eyes she saw her husband’s haggard face. ‘I’m sorry, Elvin. From the start I warned you what kind of man he was. His reputation came ahead of him and I could see that he would bring a scandal on the regiment. He was obsessed with one idea: getting Sarah Kinross amongst his conquests. He meant to do it any way he could. I didn’t mean to kill him this morning and I’d taken the Colt rifle out to try and shoot a pronghorn buck I’d seen. I was on the way back along the rim behind the Kinross house when I saw Gadsby coming up. I knew that he was going to make some trouble and that what he was doing would ruin the regiment. I couldn’t let him do it.’

  ‘So you shot him, ma’am,’ Waco said softly.

  ‘I shot him. My father made this regiment; made it and kept its tradition for chivalry and honor. Gadsby was ruining all that he stood for, so I shot him down like I would a mad dog. I wouldn’t have let your friend stand trial for the murder, Ranger. I meant to write a letter and leave it for the town marshal and go East. Now it is out in the open and I’m glad it is.’

  ‘What do you aim to do, Ranger?’ Stacey asked, his voice hoarse as he put his arm round the shoulders of his wife.

  ‘That depends on Cap’n Mosehan. I want to see Brad cleared of the killing. The Arizona Rangers haven’t been formed long but we’ve got a tradition ourselves. A tradition for honesty, loyalty to each other and to Cap’n Bert. It won’t do the Rangers any good if word gets out that one of our men is suspected of murder. I just want to see him cleared.’

  And he will be, I promise you that,’ Laura Stacey answered. ‘Judge, I and I alone killed Gadsby; Brad and Sarah Kinross were in no way implicated.’

  Waco took up his hat, looked at Mosehan and then said, ‘I’m sorry about having to do this, ma’am. If there is anything I can do to help—’

  ‘Nothing, thanks, Ranger.’ It was Stacey who answered, for the first time in his life taking charge of his wife’s affairs. ‘You did your duty as you saw it, as Laura did hers. There is no need to apologies for that.’

  Waco left the house and went to the gate. He stood there for a time, then a hand fell on his shoulder. He turned and looked at Mosehan who stood just behind him. For a moment neither of them spoke, then the Ranger Captain gently patted the broad shoulder.

  ‘What’ll happen to her. Captain?’

  ‘She’ll be tried; after that — ¿quién sabe?’

  They walked together towards Brad Kinross’ home where the rest of their men would be waiting for them, all eager to hear their news.

  Case Eight – One of Dusty’s Guns

  The sound of the fight brought Waco on the run round the rear of the silent and deserted building in Backsight. In the dim half-light he saw a young man struggling with two others, while a third smashed a revolver into the wall of the building. Waco did not wait to see or hear what it was all about; he was always ready to pitch in and help against odds of three to one, more so when even in the dull light of the Arizona night he recognized a fellow lawman in trouble.

  Catching one of the pair Waco swung him round and smashed a right into him, throwing him backwards. The other man let loose and drove his fist hard into the side of Waco’s face, knocking him into the wall. The young Texan ducked as the third man brought the gun slashing round at him. He heard the weapon crash into the woodwork over his head; the base pin burst and the chamber came out of its opening and fell to the ground. Waco’s fist smashed into the man’s stomach, his other fist coming round to land full on the side of the man’s ear.

  Waco heard a hissing sound. He tried to duck under the gun barrel he knew was coming, but was too late. The expensive J. B. Stetson hat saved him from the worst of the blow, but he was dropped to the ground, his head spinning

  ‘Get out of here,’ a voice yelled.

  Through the spinning and roaring in his head Waco heard another thud and then the sound of running feet as his attackers departed fast. He pushed himself up on to his hands and knees, shaking his head to clear it. He got to his feet; the man he’d come to save was also down, holding his head and groaning in agony.

  Taking his right hand gun from the holster Waco fired two shots into the air, then tried to-guess which way the three men had gone. He shoved the gun away and leaned against the wall. A few moments later he saw lanterns and two men came running up.

  ‘What’ve you been doing, boy?’

  Waco felt relieved to see his partner, Doc Leroy, carrying one of the lanterns, and in the light it gave recognized the man he’d come to save. Waco had guessed it was the Backsight deputy town marshal, Tommy Melveny, and now knew he was right.

  ‘You tell him, Tommy. I just happened by, saw you and came to help.’

  Tommy Melveny got to his feet, looking round dazedly, his eyes going to the two Arizona Rangers and to the huge bulk of Biscuits Randle, the marshal. Then he saw the ruined gun lying on the ground and went to it, picking it up. He looked at the space were the chamber should be, then at the broken base pin.

  ‘This is my gun!’ he gasped.

  ‘Sure,’ Waco agreed. ‘What happened, Tommy?’

  ‘My gun, they’ve bust my gun!’ Tommy Melveny did not appear to know what Waco was saying to him.

  ‘Who did it and why?’

  It took some seconds for the words to sink into Tommy’s mind, he was staring down at the broken gun. Even so, he did not say anything and Biscuits growled, ‘What happened here?’

  ‘Found three
hombres working Tommy over and came to help him,’ Waco replied. ‘One of them pistol-whipped me and then they lit out.’

  ‘Lucky you’d got your hat on, you might have damaged his gun,’ Doc said dryly. ‘Let’s get back to the office and I’ll do what I can for that cut on your face, Tommy.’

  Tommy still had not spoken by the time they got back to the one-story adobe building which housed the Backsight jail, the offices of the Town Marshal and the County Sheriff. In the marshal’s office Doc found the cut on Tommy’s face was more bloody than dangerous so stood back. Waco leaned on the desk and asked:

  ‘Who did it, Tommy?’

  ‘I don’t know for sure. There were three of them and that’s all I know. They jumped me as I made my rounds, dragged me back there. Two of them held me while the other started to smash my gun. He bust up my gun.’

  ‘You can get another,’ Doc remarked cheerfully. ‘Or does sparking Molly Howard keep you short of cash?’

  ‘I can’t get another gun like this one.’ Tommy indicated the battered gun on the desk top. ‘It belonged to Bad Bill Longley. That’s why I was so good with it.’

  ‘That’s loco,’ Waco put in. ‘Even if it was one of Bad Bill’s guns, which I can’t see, it wouldn’t make any difference to you or to the way you handle it.’

  ‘That’s where you’re wrong, Waco. Tommy sounded deadly serious. ‘The man I bought it off was a Texan who’d ridden with Longley. He took the grip off and showed me where Longley scratched his name on it. You remember, Biscuits?’

  ‘Sure,’ Biscuits agreed. ‘It wasn’t until after you bought that gun that you showed how well you could use one.’

  Waco frowned; he knew that the chances of this gun ever actually having belonged to the Mill Creek terror, Bad Bill Longley, were not great. He also knew that just thinking the gun belonged to Longley gave Tommy added confidence.

  ‘You’ll have to get another gun and make some practice with it,’ Waco remarked.

  ‘I won’t have time. Check Thompson’s coming to town tomorrow, looking for me,’ there was a touch of panic in Tommy’s voice. ‘That must have been his pards who bust the gun.’

  ‘Who’s Check Thompson?’ Doc inquired.

  ‘A gun hand, worked for one of the outfits just below the county line,’ Biscuits replied. ‘He came up here and got likkered. Took to shooting the lights out at the Alamo and Tommy buffaloed him, throwed him in jail. When he came out he went home but he said he’d be back.’

  ‘And last week I heard he was coming back; he’ll be here about noon tomorrow.’

  There was something very close to fear in Tommy’s eyes. Watching, Waco could see it and read it. The young deputy was brave enough, yet he held to the idea that it was owning Longley’s gun which had made him what he was. Waco knew that Tommy was the most rare of gunfighters, a natural. He had the balance, sense of timing and the uncanny eye that enabled him to draw and shoot fast; accurate, yet without needing to keep in practice.

  ‘You’ll just have to get another gun then,’ Waco suggested.

  ‘Where can I get another of Longley’s guns?’ Tommy answered, then rose and left the room.

  Biscuits looked at the other two men. He was no gun-fighter and rarely if ever even wore a six-gun. Nor was he particularly quick witted; he owed his post of marshal to his great strength and fistic ability rather than to quick wits. Right now he was well out of his depth.

  ‘I’ve seen Tommy face down men who would eat Thompson. Why’s he acting like that for?’

  ‘Because of the gun. I remember Terry Ortega telling me about that gun. Tommy was just another cowhand until he bought it. Then he started to show how good he was with it. That was why you took him on as deputy, wasn’t it?’ Doc asked.

  ‘Sure, I ain’t any hand with a gun and Maisie wants me to quit being marshal and take over the cooking full time down at our place. So I picked me a man with a fast gun and with sense enough to know when to use it. I never saw Tommy act scared like this before.’

  ‘Confidence does strange things to a man, Biscuits,’ Doc said and he went to the window to look out, then returned and went on. ‘Tommy thought that it was owning Longley’s gun that gave him confidence and made him good. Now he hasn’t got Longley’s gun he’s scared.’

  ‘But that gun never belonged to Bad Bill,’ Waco objected.

  ‘That doesn’t matter, boy. I knew a dude one time. The boys told him a hoss was gentle. That dude walked up to the hoss, slapped it when it shied and got afork it. Rode it too. That hoss was a killer. The dude found out and when he went to try to ride it the next time he was scared. The hoss near to killed him.’

  ‘What’re you getting at, Doc?’ Biscuits inquired. ‘Tommy’s the same way. He thinks the gun made him what he is. Without it he’s scared.’

  ‘Then I’ll deputize some men and we’ll run Thompson out of town as soon as he gets here.’

  ‘That won’t do, Biscuits,’ Waco put in. He was looking down at the desk top. ‘This is Tommy’s fight and as long as Thompson stacked against him alone, the town can’t cut in. If you do deputize men, Tommy will be done as a lawman.’

  ‘What can we do?’ Biscuits growled. ‘I ain’t going to see Tommy killed.’

  ‘Leave it to me,’ Waco answered. ‘I know something that might work.’

  The other two knew Waco by now, knew him too well to ask any questions of him. Doc and Waco returned to their room at the hotel and the young Texan was silent, not saying anything until they were sitting on their beds. He looked up, ‘Sorry about this, Doc,’ he said, and walked out of the room.

  ~*~

  The time was ten minutes to twelve and Biscuits stood by Doc Leroy outside the jail. Waco came towards them, a paper-wrapped object in his hand. He did not do more than greet them, then went inside, shutting the door behind him.

  Tommy Melveny sat at the desk, his gunbelt with the empty holster laying before him. He was cleaning a shotgun and looked up at Waco.

  ‘I know,’ he said. ‘I haven’t got a chance.’

  ‘Not with a shotgun, against a man who can handle a Colt anything like well.’

  ‘It’s my only chance.’

  ‘Wouldn’t say that.’ Waco opened the paper wrappings and took out a white-handled Colt Civilian Peacemaker and holster. ‘You allow you was good with one of Bill Longley’s guns, how do you reckon you’d be with one of Dusty Fog’s?’

  ‘Dusty Fog’s gun?’ There was reverence, almost, in Tommy’s voice as he reached out and took the gun, looking down at its smooth blued, four and three-quarter inch barrel, the chamber, the hammer and the smooth, hand-fitting curve of the butt ‘This is one of Dusty Fog’s guns?’

  ‘One of the brace he used at Tombstone,’ Waco replied. Tommy hefted the gun, testing the feel in his hand; the look of worry was gone now. He knew that though Longley was fast, Dusty Fog was faster. He also knew that Waco was a very good friend of the Rio Hondo gun wizard, Dusty Fog. Getting to his feet he took up the gunbelt and removed the long holster, for it would not do for the shorter Civilian model gun. He slipped the new holster in place and dropped the gun into it, then strapped on his belt. He was trying the pigging thongs when he heard hoofbeats in the street outside.

  ‘Tommy, Tommy Melveny, come on out here!’ a voice yelled.

  Tommy drew the gun, checked it was fully loaded and then holstered it and with his shoulders braced back stepped out on to the sidewalk. Waco came out after him, moving to one side.

  Across the street Check Thompson looked at Tommy, then at the two Rangers and lastly at Biscuits, a ten gauge shotgun looking like a twig in his huge hand.

  ‘Lot of backing you got there, Tommy boy,’ he said mockingly. ,

  ‘You’re not alone yourself,’ Tommy answered, glancing at the three men who formed a half-circle behind the gunman.

  ‘The boys are only here to see the fun,’ Thompson replied. ‘They heard you’d got your gun bust and came along to see if it was right.’

  ‘It’s ri
ght,’ Tommy’s voice was as of old, not the worried, scared note of the night before. ‘Were they the three who attacked me?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Then I’m taking them in for assault.’

  Thompson felt uneasy; he knew how Tommy Melveny felt about that gun and was sure that without it the deputy would be afraid to come out and face him. Then he saw the gun in the holster.

  ‘See you got a new gun, Tommy. Reckon it’s as good as Longley’s?’

  ‘Better,’ Tommy answered, ‘it belonged to Dusty Fog.’

  Thompson’s face was blank for a moment. He too knew the name and reputation of Dusty Fog. He also knew Waco was a friend of Dusty Fog, more than a friend, Waco had been like Dusty’s younger brother.

  Licking his lips, Check Thompson forced himself to make a decision. His hand dropped as he hissed, ‘You’re a liar.’

  Tommy’s hand went down in a fast move, closing on the grip of the gun and bringing it out in a flickering blur of movement. The gun jerked back in his palm as he brought it into line and, through the swirling smoke, saw Thompson rocking over backwards, gun half out of his holster.

  The three men who’d come to town with Thompson looked down at the body, then up at Waco who was starting forward. They made a concerted rush for their horses, tearing the reins free and going into the saddles faster than a Comanche taking out after a white-eye scalp. Before Waco was off the sidewalk all three were tearing out of town at a full gallop.