by J. T. Edson
The pieces of the puzzle clicked into place like a well-trained troop of cavalry falling into line. Ma saw, as had Waco a few seconds earlier, the meaning of the undershirt worn by Hodges. No man need wear such a thick garment in the heat of the Arizona Territory, and yet what better way to hide the medicine than to wear it?
“You can’t get away with it,” Waco warned.
“I’ll take my chances on it,” Hodges replied. “Throw all the guns behind the bar. Do it easy, Ranger. I couldn’t miss at this range.”
Held firmly before the man, Bertha Ford stared at Waco with horror-filled eyes. It suddenly came to her that her life hung in the hands of a man who had no cause to care whether she lived or died. Her fate hung in the balance, and at the other end of the scales were two men with good cause to hate her. The young Ranger whom she had accused of murder if nothing worse. The Apache Scout, a member of a force which, according to her, lived for nothing but taking life, torturing innocent and harmless Indians. She wanted to beg them not to move, to obey this man who held her, but the words would not come.
Waco stood perfectly still, watching every move. He needed time to break the deadlock without getting Bertha Ford killed. Waco knew a professional killer when he saw one in action, and Hodges gave every sign of being one. There could be no taking rash chances with such a man.
From outside came the call of an owl followed by the shrill yip of a coyote.
“Do as he says,” Waco ordered.
The men obeyed, laying the guns on the top of the bar. Wilson gave a snarl and lunged forward to grab at the driver’s old Army Colt, meaning to prove to the women he could handle Hodges. The Remington came around and spat, then went back before Waco, fast as he was, could chance drawing and throwing down on the small target Hodges offered from behind Bertha. Fast though the move was, it served. Wilson jerked, his hand missed the gun butt, clutched convulsively at the bar top, then he went down in the way of a man head-shot.
“Keep your hands raised high, Ranger,” Hodges warned. “You’re too fast for me to take chances with. Take his gunbelt and the Merwin gun, Miss Clover, and put them behind the bar.”
“Go to h—” Julie began.
“Do it, gal!” Waco ordered, his voice hard and urgent.
Julie started forward, coming between Waco and the gaunt man. Waco lifted his hands well clear from his sides to show they were not touching anything dangerous and he did not aim to make any wrong moves. Julie unbuckled the belt, then took the Merwin & Hulbert revolver from his waistband.
“Take a chance, Waco,” she whispered.
“He’d shoot through you, or cut her down,” Waco replied no louder. “Put them over the bar like he says.”
Julie took the gunbelt and lowered it over the bar, following it with the short-barreled revolver. All the time she was doing this Hodges backed toward the door, dragging the terrified woman with him, keeping her as a living shield. Julie’s eyes went to Wilson, but one glance told her he was beyond help. A Remington Double Derringer did not have great range, but across the width of the room it could carry enough power to kill instantly when its ball struck the head.
“You’re in a hell of a state, Mrs. Ford,” Hodges said gently. “One move from them and I’ll down you. If I was that young Ranger, I’d make the move. Only he won’t. He’s not like me. I’m not worried over you but he wants to keep you alive, even if it means getting killed himself. Try thinking about that the next time you want to talk about cold-blooded, murdering lawmen.”
Slowly the man moved. He was by the door and ordered the men to get down on their faces. “You too, Ma. You’re too handy for me to take chances.”
“Give it up, mister,” Waco put in, obeying the order. “The place’s surrounded and you can’t get out.”
“Good try, Ranger.” Hodges grinned. “You almost sound convincing. I’m taking the horses from the corral. I’ll leave you afoot, likely there’ll be men out from Mecate when the stage doesn’t show.”
“Don’t go out there!” Waco warned. “I’m telling you the place’s surrounded.”
Hodges laughed. He thrust the woman away from him, jerked open the door, and went through it, slamming it behind him. They heard his footsteps and all the men but Waco came up fast, heading for the bar and their weapons.
“Kill him!” screamed Bertha Ford, defender of the underdog and humanitarian. “Kill him!”
Waco came to his feet. He heard Hodges’s startled yell, the crack of the Remington followed by the bark of a rifle, a scream, then silence until hooves thundered in the darkness and an Apache war yell rang out.
“Like I said,” Waco drawled as he took his gunbelt from Pa, who had gone behind the bar and was handing out the weapons. “I played them close to the vest. There’s nary a hoss left in the corral and the place has been surrounded by Apaches ever since the coach pulled in.”
The sun hung just over the horizon at dawn. Before the way station Pedro and the other peons returned as mysteriously and silently as they left and hitched a team to the stagecoach. Every horse had been returned just as silently during the night.
Only one passenger’s baggage had been loaded on the coach roof. Bertha Ford turned to her niece and asked: “Won’t you come with me?”
“No, Aunt Bertha, I’m going to Texas with Cody and Julie. We’re going to see Ysaleta, then Julie and I plan to open a dress and hat shop in Dallas or one of the other big towns. Good-bye, Aunt Bertha.”
The woman was at the coach before she spoke again. She looked over her shoulder and asked: “About the report from the Pinkertons?”
“I won’t use it unless I have to.”
With that, Caroline turned and entered the way station while her aunt climbed into the coach to start her lonely journey east. vi
Waco stood by Ma Randle, watching the stage pull out. One of the horses belonging to the dead outlaws stood saddled, ready for him to ride it back to Albion City instead of waiting another day for a coach.
“I’ll never forget last night,” Ma remarked. “What do you make of it?”
“Reckon we’ll never know for sure how or why Hodges took it. What happened after he went through the door’s anybody’s guess. I hope he was dead when they got him. Maybe one day I’ll look up Johnny No-Legs and ask him about it.”
“I meant about that Ford dame,” Ma said.
“Her? She’s done now. Miss Caroline burned the report last night after she went to bed, but she doesn’t know. Don’t reckon we’ll be bothered by her again. Well, I’ll see you, Ma.”
With that, Waco stepped from the porch and unfastened the horse. He swung into the saddle, raised his hands in a cheery salute to the two young women and the tall Apache Scout who stepped from the building to join Ma.
The time was long gone for Waco to ride. The Apaches would be content now that they’d recovered the medicine, so they would make no more trouble for Waco. Captain Bertram H. Mosehan would make trouble and plenty of it happen he heard one of his men wasted time in reporting in after finishing a simple job.
Part Two – The Juggler and the Lady
Waco and his partner, Doc Leroy, entered the stage entrance of the Bella Union Theater in Bisbee. The old doorkeeper, who should have kept them out, grinned and stood back, for he recognized them as the two Arizona Rangers who had broken up a tough bunch of crooked gamblers operating in town. They stood in the corridor by the door, looking around at the hustle and bustle of show people preparing to go home for the night. A pair of pretty young women eyed the two Rangers in passing but received no encouragement, so passed out into the darkness.
“Waco,” a voice yelled.
A tall, slim man, dressed in a good eastern-style suit, white shirt, and large bow tie of the latest eastern mode, came from a dressing room. He advanced with hand held out and a broad smile on his face.
“Waco, it’s good to see you. How are you, boy?”
“Fit as a flea and twice as lively,” Waco replied, taking the hand. “Elwin, you sur
e look elegant. Don’t reckon you know my partner, Doc Leroy?”
The slim man held out his hand to Doc Leroy. They were much alike in size and build, not as tall as Waco and slimmer. Yet Doc Leroy looked as much a Texas cowhand as did his young partner. There was a pallor about Doc’s face, but he had the sort of skin that would never tan, not the pallor of indoor life. He wore a low-crowned black Stetson hat, a bandanna tight rolled and knotted at his throat, an open-necked green shirt. The shirt collar extended over the collar of his jacket and the jacket’s side stitched back to leave clear the ivory butt of his Colt Civilian Peacemaker. The Colt hung in a holster like the kind Waco wore, the holder of a real fast man with a gun.
Doc Leroy could claim to be real fast with a gun. Once he rode as a member of the Wedge crew of trail-driving cowhands, taking herds from Texas to Kansas railheads. When the drives ended and Stone Hart took a ranch, Doc went to the Rio Hondo to join Ole Devil Hardin’s OD Connected ranch as Waco’s sidekick. They had been cowhands together, now they rode as Arizona Rangers. Doc gained his name through two years spent in an eastern hospital. He hoped to qualify as a doctor but force of circumstances sent him west. vii He carried on his learning as best he could, reading medical books, working with doctors in towns that housed him for any time, or by experience gained through being the only one with any knowledge among the cowhands. He could set broken bones, diagnose and advise the treatment of most illnesses he came across, and knew more about bullet extraction than the average eastern doctor learned in a lifetime. A couple of years older than Waco, Doc brought a steadying influence his friend often needed.
“Enjoyed your act in there, Elwin,” Doc drawled.
Elwin accepted the praise with the polished charm of a top-grade performer. He had done well in his profession since starting out after the siege at Baptist’s Hollow viii where he first met Waco. Now Elwin was one of the best-known jugglers in the west and his act was much in demand in all the better-class houses.
“Thanks,” he said. “Pleased to meet you, Doc. Are you working?”
“Hush now, friend,” Doc warned. “You’ll give the boy the vapors saying a word like that.”
“Sure,” agreed Waco, accepting that to Doc and all his friends he was a boy still. “We’re hiding. Just ended a chore and hoping that mean ole Cap’n Mosehan don’t get word to us until Monday. How’s Janice?”
Elwin looked slightly disturbed at the mention of his wife. “She’s all right. We’re staying at the Creed Hotel. She reckons we can’t afford the Bisbee Grand yet.”
“She’s not singing now?” Waco went on. The last time he had seen Elwin and his wife they were working as a team and she also appeared as a single act, singing nostalgic songs that went down well among the hard-rock miners and cowhands in the audience.
“Not at the moment,” Elwin replied, a trifle evasively Waco thought. “It wouldn’t be fitting with Lily Carlisle on the same bill.”
“Elwin, darling!”
The juggler jerked around in a rather guilty manner, threw a glance at the stage door, then looked toward the woman who came toward him.
Lily Carlisle never approached like an ordinary woman; she descended, swooping down in all her majesty as became a great star and a lady of some quality in the theater. On her head was a huge hat with ostrich plumes bowing and showing her glistening black hair to its best advantage. The face had great beauty, the theatrical makeup enhancing it. Yet her dark eyes had an imperious look about them and her mouth, held in a gracious smile, did not look to be a happy mouth. She stood at least five-foot-eight and her figure, rich and full, set off the skintight bosom and waist of her deep blue dress.
Behind Lily came the two tall, muscular young men who assisted her in her act. They wore evening dress now, not the leopard-skin leotards and white tights of professional strong men. Yet they looked the same, two young galants with muscles and all their brains in their faces. Tagging along in the rear, eyes adoringly devouring the great woman, came a tall, good-looking young man with the badge of a deputy marshal of Bisbee’s police force on his vest. He moved by the party as it halted, making for the door so that he might open it and be given a smile, perhaps even a word of thanks from Lily Carlisle.
“Lily,” Elwin said, his voice polite as became a juvenile when addressing one of the greats of their mutual world, “I’d like to present two good friends, Waco and Doc Leroy.”
“Good evening,” Lily Carlisle replied, icily distant. “Come now, Elwin. I’ve ordered a meal to be waiting in my rooms.”
Taking the juggler’s arm, she led him to the door, the other two men following like a pair of well-trained beagles. “You really must think about your act, dear boy. How can you ever expect to get anywhere with that corny routine?”
Elwin tried to speak, to turn and make an apology to Waco and Doc for his sudden departure, but he was borne off by the woman, her words coming loud and drowning him out. He wanted to get away but was afraid any slight might cause Lily to have his act canceled. She was the star of the show and Elwin knew he could not claim to have anywhere near her standing. He needed the work, more so in view of circumstances as they stood at the moment. One word from Lily might blast his career, or so he thought.
The young deputy pulled open the door, his hat in his free hand, a look of rapture on his face. Lily favored him with a smile and passed through with the juggler carried along in her reflected glory.
“He sure was pleased to see you,” drawled Doc, for Waco spoke of Elwin as an old friend.
“Likely didn’t have any choice at all,” Waco replied. “He’s a big man in the theater now and she’s one of the top hands. Anyways, you’d’ve gone just as easy with her.”
“Not me. I like mine smaller, with less heft and some better-tempered.”
Which proved Doc to be as keen-eyed and observant as his partner and just as capable of summing up a character.
Exchanging grins, the two Rangers walked to the door. The young deputy leaned against it, a blissful smile on his face. He did not offer to open the door for the two Texans. Waco and Doc passed out of the theater into the night air and halted on the sidewalk.
“What now?” Doc asked. “Feel like a beer, or shall we head for the hotel?”
“I’d as soon go to bed,” Waco replied. “Sure hope Bisbee livens up tomorrow. We could’ve had as much fun heading for Prescott.”
Creed’s Hotel stood on Jack Street, once the pride of Bisbee but now dwarfed and rendered insignificant by the larger and more modern Grant Hotel which stood a couple of blocks farther down the street. However, the Creed still drew in a good class of client, not the rich miners and their kind who once thronged the reception hall and drank at the bar, but still a good class of people.
Looking up from his desk, the night clerk handed Waco a room key and the two Texans went upstairs. He watched them go with an admiring stare, for he was one who had profited by their smashing of the crooked gambling ring.
Waco and Doc walked along the passage to their room and the young Texan placed the key into its keyhole. A door behind them opened and a young woman leaned against the jamb, staring at them.
“Help me ... !” she gasped.
Turning, Waco sprang forward but Doc beat him to it, catching the girl and taking her back into the room. Waco followed, watching the gentle way his partner eased the girl down on to the bed. The young Texan went closer, hardly able to believe his eyes, for he knew the girl. Janice Greener, wife of Elwin the Juggler, had always been a plump young thing, but there now was a fattening about her middle that spelled only one thing.
Her hair hung lank and dead looking and her face was without makeup.
“What is it, Janice?” he asked.
“Waco!” Janice replied, her pain-filled eyes recognizing him. “I’m starting, I think. Wh-where’s Elwin?”
Bending over Janice, Doc took her wrist between his forefinger and thumb. He did not need telling what ailed the girl. He looked at Waco after taking Janice’s pu
lse, his voice low and gentle.
“Go get a doctor, boy!”
“I want Elwin,” Janice gasped. “Where is he?”
“Lay easy, gal, lay easy,” Doc drawled gently, but there was no gentleness in his eyes and voice as he looked at Waco. “Get the hell out of here. Shake the bull droppings from your socks, boy!”
Waco turned and headed for the door. Doc’s temper was uncertain when faced with a doctoring chore. The young Texan felt some relief to see a woman, dressed in a coat thrown over a nightgown, standing at the door. He opened his mouth but Doc beat him to it.
“This gal’s going to have a baby real soon, ma’am,” he said. “Move, boy!”
Heading down the stairs three at a time, Waco felt scared. Janice had been a healthy, happy girl the last time he saw her, not that weeping, frightened thing lying on the bed.
“Where’d I find a doctor?” he asked the clerk.
“You don’t tonight, Ranger. Both doctors went out of town earlier, to a mine accident and won’t be back until tomorrow noon at best.”
Waco flung himself distractedly up the stairs and gave the news to Doc. He came back down to the desk in less than three minutes, thrusting a sheet of paper under the clerk’s nose.
“Here, take this to the doctor’s house. Show it to his wife, if he’s got one. Tell whoever’s there to bring this gear, pronto.”
“I ain’t supposed to leave the desk,” the clerk replied. “What’s wrong?”
“Gal going to have a baby,” Waco answered. “You know Bisbee better than I do. I’ll watch the desk while you go.”
The clerk argued no more. He took the paper, looking un-comprehendingly at the scribbled words, then left the hotel at a dead run.
Pacing the floor, Waco looked like a great nervous cat. Never had he been so close to a woman in the supreme moment of childbirth, and the feeling scared him. He was frightened and worried, not by doubts that Doc couldn’t handle the birth, but with a bachelor’s fear of the unknown mystery of that great thing, the birth of a child.
