by J. T. Edson
“Hold hard there!” Gilpin requested, sensing a threat to his intended purchase. “If you’re saying these cattle don’t belong to the gents here, I’ve seen a bill of sale for them.”
“Well now,” the blond countered. “That being, it should be signed by Colonel Raines, seeing’s how they’re all carrying his brand.”
“Sure they’re wearing his brand,” Honest David admitted, pointing to two different marks of ownership—one of which having a “bar” line burned through it—borne by each animal. “But the feller we bought them off had put a ‘vent’ across it and slapped on his own.”
“And, after you bought them all legal,” Waco said quietly, “you figured that bull was too old to sell without and ‘goodnighted’ him?”
“That’s just what I did,” the stocky man affirmed, exuding an aura of honesty and truthfulness which was most convincing.
“Which being,” the blond youngster drawled. “You won’t have any objection to Doctor Gillespie from town coming on out here to take a look at how it’s been stitched up?”
“Huh?” Honest David grunted, then saw a man clad in town dweller’s clothes and carrying a black medical bag standing at the edge of the clearing. Reaching with his left hand, he started to scratch at his near side ribs and said, “God damn it, on top of everything else, I must’ve picked up a ‘mother-something’ flea!”
“Why should we need the doctor to look at it?” Matthew challenged. “It ain’t hurting none from the stitches.”
“That’s nothing to do with it, hombre,” the blond replied, but his next words were directed to the oldest of the Warburtons. “I haven’t any notion how much you savvy about doctoring, mister, but whoever did the stitching on that old bull’s bag sure knew plenty. Fact being, I reckon the doctor’ll find out it’s fastened with the kind of knots only a feller who knows doctoring real good can tie.”
“Is that so?” asked Honest David, sounding almost disinterested, his hand continuing the scratching motions as it disappeared beneath the jacket he wore and behind his back.
“It’s called a ‘surgical purse string suture’,” Doc Leroy elaborated, breaking the silence he had maintained since entering the clearing. “My daddy was a doctor. He taught me how to tie it and, ’though I’m usually most modest, I’ve got to say I’ve been told I can do it real good.”
“Do tell,” the stocky man answered, still without any discernible trace of rancor or growing interest.
Regardless of how the words sounded, there was nothing innocent about the way in which Honest David acted as he was saying them!
Having grasped the butt of the British made, short barrelled Webley Royal Irish Constabulary revolver in the holster attached almost horizontally to the back of his waist belt, the stocky man started to bring it out with the speed of a competent gun fighter.
Being aware of the manner in which their half-brother was armed and what had been potended by his apparently harmless scratching, the other two Warburtons once again began to grab for their weapons!
Chapter 11
YOU ARE BELLE STARR
ALTHOUGH NOTHING HAD SHOWN IN HIS EXPRESSION, voice and demeanor, a growing anger had assailed Honest David Warburton from the moment he had realized what must have brought the two Texas cowhands to the clearing!
Until the arrival of the pair, everything had been going as smoothly as the red faced cattle “speculator” could have desired!
To the best of Honest David’s knowledge, the theft of the herd had not even been reported and no pursuit of himself and his half-brothers was taking place!
Making use of his well developed capability for judging character, the “speculator” had selected Herbert Gilpin as the most suitable candidate to purchase the stolen cattle. Clearly a comparative newcomer to the ranching business, he had seemed likely to accept the fake bill of sale. Furthermore, as following him for some time while he was seeking to buy stock legitimately had established, he was eager—even desperate—to purchase. Approached properly, including the precautions Honest David had suggested to ensure Gilpin’s fears of being robbed were calmed when he had learned how far he would have to go to examine the animals, the selection had been justified.
However, the coming of the Texans and Doctor Gillespie threatened to put the whole scheme in jeopardy!
When he had noticed how neatly the wound on the “goodnighted” bull had been stitched, Honest David had concluded the operation had been performed by somebody with much greater skill and surgical knowledge than was possessed by the average cowhand. Remembering his supposition, he now began to make an accurate guess at the identity of the slender young Texan to whom the work was attributed.
Yet, regardless of suspecting with whom he and his half-brothers were in contention, the “speculator” believed the situation was not entirely hopeless!
Providing the two Texans and the doctor from Marana could be silenced, Gilpin might still be willing to buy the cattle and keep the matter to himself if it was pointed out that he would be considered an accomplice to the deed!
The problem was how to carry out the silencing!
There was, Honest David considered, a satisfactory solution!
Past experience had taught the “speculator” that being left handed had its advantages, one of which was that the trait was not immediately discernible to strangers!
Therefore, in the past, the production of the Webley Royal Irish Constabulary revolver from its place of concealment, using the near hand, had never failed to take victims by surprise!
Unfortunately for Honest David, while he was correct with regards to the identity of the Texans—Waco being as well known as Doc Leroy—there was one thing about them which he had failed to take into consideration!
The omission was one of ignorance, but had the effect of ruining a generally successful line of action!
Not only were the two young Texans experienced in all matters pistolero, they had spent much time in the company of the already legendary Rio Hondo gun wizard, Dusty Fog. Being aware of his completely ambidextrous prowess, neither ever discounted the possibility of an enemy possessing ability to use the left instead of the more general right hand.
Therefore, Waco and Doc were not caught unawares by the hitherto successful methods employed by the stocky “speculator”!
What was more, each was fully capable of dealing with the threats to their lives!
Swiftly though the blond moved to defend himself, his pallid featured companion proved even faster!
There was a white fluttering motion and the ivory handled Colt Civilian Model Peacemaker seemed to leap from the carefully designed holster to meet the right hand of its owner in midair. Raised into alignment with exceptional rapidity, flame erupted from the muzzle. Hit in the center of the chest, while his own weapon was still being turned forward, Honest David lost his grip on the butt as he was twisted from his feet by the driving force of the .45 caliber bullet.
Despite being fractionally slower, Waco proved equally—perhaps even more, under the prevailing conditions—competent!
What was more, without the need for discussion, the young blond knew to which of their enemies his companion would give attention!
While more openly vicious, neither Matthew nor Luke Warburton possessed the skill of their half-brother!
Which meant the pair were completely outclassed in such company!
Neither brother’s weapon had done more than clear leather when first the right and then the left Artillery Peacemaker was out of its holster and, so close together the sounds could hardly be differentiated, roared. Caught between the eyes, Matthew died instantly. However, the younger brother fared slightly better. The lead from Waco’s near side Colt caught him just below the breastbone. Letting fall his revolver, he went down seriously wounded but still alive.
“I’d say you’ve made your point,” Doctor James Gillespie remarked, walking forward.
“It looks that way,” Waco admitted. “But you’d best take a look at t
hat old bull, just to satisfy this gent.”
“Not that I reckon they deserve it, after what you told me about them,” the local medical practitioner answered. “But, in keeping with the Hippocratic oath, I’d best see to those jaspers first.”
“Feel free,” the blond assented.
“Those two are hurt bad,” Gillespie announced, having carried out the examination. “I can likely save one, or the other, if I start working on him straight away; but not both of them!”
“God damn it!” Doc growled, knowing the comment was directed at him. “It’s getting so every time some yahoo makes me shoot him, I wind up having to dig out the bullet to save his life.”
While his companion and the doctor were attending to the wounded men, Waco told Gilpin what had led up to the shooting. The cattle had been stolen from the ranch of Colonel Augustus Raines, after the Warburtons had murdered the cowhand who was driving them to the town of Backsight. Although the blond and Doc were about to return to Texas, the victim having been a friend, they had elected to hunt down the killers.
Having lost the trail of their quarry, due to a heavy rain storm washing away the tracks, the Texans had put to use the skills and training they had acquired serving as peace officers under Dusty Fog.1 Continuing in the general direction they had been following, their suppositions with regards to the destination of the cattle were confirmed by a cowhand they had met who had shared a meal with the Warburtons. Not only, he said, had the trio told him they were making for the sale of livestock at Marana, but he had supplied a particularly accurate description of Honest David.
The latter had been the main cause of the misfortune which befell the Warburtons!
Spending the previous evening looking around the town without success, the Texans had seen the “speculator” riding toward the sale area on the following morning. Guessing what he was up to as they had watched him engaging Gilpin in conversation in the bar room of the Pima County Hotel, they had decided upon a line of action. Knowing the bull “goodnighted” by Doc would be proof of their accusations, even in the face of the fake bill of sale they had anticipated was available, they had persuaded the local doctor to accompany them. Back-tracking Honest David as far as the edge of the woodland, they had left their horses in concealment and, advancing on foot—Gillespie being a keen hunter and equally competent at silently inconspicuous movement through the undergrowth—they had located the other brothers and the cattle. Wanting to make a clean sweep, they had waited until the “speculator” returned with the rancher before letting their presence be known.
“I didn’t know the cattle were stolen,” Gilpin stated, at the conclusion of the explanation.
“We never thought you did,” Waco replied.
“It’s a pity I have to lose them, though,” the rancher went on regretfully. “From what I saw back there, I’ll be lucky if I get any more. All the bulls I saw are being sold for more than I can afford.”
“Tell you what I’ll do,” the blond offered. “When we get back to Marana, I’ll telegraph the Colonel and tell him we’ve got the cattle ’n’ settled things for our amigo those yahoos killed. Should you make him an offer, could be he’ll figure it’ll be cheaper to sell them to you than send somebody down from Backsight to fetch them.”
“It’s worth a try,” Gilpin admitted eagerly. “Thanks for thinking of it.”
“Es nada,” Waco grinned. “Handling it this way will leave Doc and me to ’tend to something else that needs doing straight off instead of waiting to hand over those fool critters.”
“Howdy there, Miss Melinder,” greeted the taller of the two bulky men, as they crossed the dark and deserted street in the business section of the most affluent part of Tucson. “Or is it ‘Miss von Rieger’—Or, better still, ‘Belle Starr’?”
“I beg your pardon!” replied the person to whom the question was directed, coming to a halt as the pair stopped in such a way that they blocked the sidewalk. Although good, her English had a noticeable Scandanavian timbre and she continued, “I have never heard of either of the ladies you speak of.”
With a height of five feet eight inches, there was something in the bearing and deportment of the speaker which conveyed the impression she was even taller. Taken back in a tight and unflattering bun, her hair was blonde and added to the suggestion of Nordic birthright in her accent. The gold rimmed spectacles she wore did little to detract from her beautiful features, nor did the severe expression they bore. If the plain, almost masculine cut of her black two-piece travelling costume was intended to conceal the rich curves of a magnificent body, it failed badly. Yet she walked without in any way flaunting the full firm swell of the bosom above the slender waist and well rounded hips. She was carrying a rolled parasol in her right hand, its black covering devoid of frills or other embellishments, and the reticule gripped in her left, somewhat larger than the current fashion, was equally lacking in feminine fripperies.
Regardless of the way she was speaking and having made sufficient changes to her appearance to be acceptable in the part she was playing, Belle Starr felt sure she was in danger!
The second name mentioned by the taller man warned the blonde that her true identity was known to the menacing pair!
What was more, now Belle was able to study them at close quarters, the recognition was mutual!
Finding herself confronted by Operatives Kenneth Gill and William “Whitey” Miles, of the Pinkerton National Detective Agency, was far from a pleasant sensation for the lady outlaw!
Wearing black derby hats, dark two-piece suits, white shirts with neckties and blunt-toed boots, there was little difference in the height and bulk of the pair. Each was hard faced and neither could be termed handsome. Dark haired and swarthy, Gill was mid-European in features. Blond and heavily mustached, Miles was teutonic in appearance and, if possible, somewhat the more cruel looking. Each had on a Western style gunbelt with, respectively, a Smith & Wesson Schofield Model of 1875 and a Forehand & Wadsworth Army revolver in the holster. However, while the firearms were in fast draw rigs, Belle knew neither was a frontier trained gun fighter. They were roughhouse brawlers and, if given a chance, would prefer to defend themselves with the blackjack each carried in the right side pocket of his jacket.
At that moment, the lady outlaw was bitterly regretting having sent her intensely loyal half-Indian assistants to make the arrangements for the visit she planned to pay Tombstone!
After having taken the precaution of employing other methods for some time, since a successful “diamond switch” confidence trick had caused its victim to set a notorious bounty hunter on her track,2 Belle was using it again while paying her first visit to Arizona Territory. Already it had proved productive and she was taking a stroll prior to bringing her latest attempt to its conclusion.
“Like hell you don’t know!” Miles growled, in his guttural New York accent. “You’re Belle Starr no matter what ‘mother-something’ name you’re using to pull the ‘diamond switch’ down here!”
“I—I can’t imagine what gives you such a foolish idea!” Belle claimed, with what appeared to be nervousness, still retaining the character of the Swedish expert on jewellery she had adopted as most suitable to gain the attention of her current intended victim. Letting the parasol slip from her fingers, she fumbled in an agitated fashion with the neck of the reticule as she continued, “But, if you don’t let me pass, I shall be compelled to call for help!”
“Call all you god-damned want!” Gill authorized, his voice that of a Chicagoan, stepping closer and starting to raise his bunched right fist. “But if you even try to reach inside for that gun you’ve got in there, I’m going to bust your face so bad you’ll be too damned ugly to pull your little games.”
Stiffening slightly, Belle nevertheless refrained from attempting to reach the shorter of her Manhattan Navy revolvers which—having been modified for such a purpose—was holstered inside the reticule.3 She did not doubt, knowing the reputation of the man making it, that the threat wo
uld be carried out if she gave the slightest excuse. However, being equally aware that the pair made a regular habit—always offering an excuse which, ostensibly, justified their actions—of mistreating prisoners regardless of age or sex, she was equally disinclined to surrender to them.
Unfortunately, without being able to produce the revolver as a means of effecting an escape, the lady outlaw could not think of any way to avoid being taken prisoner!
Even shouting for help would not serve the purpose!
Belle felt certain that, should she raise her voice, she would be silenced!
Neither operative would be willing to share the kudos for arresting such a well known member of the criminal element with the local peace officers!
Therefore, the lady outlaw would be prevented from creating a commotion which—even if leading to her arrest—could deprive Gill and Miles of the credit!
“Are these men annoying you, mademoiselle?” asked a precise, even prissy, male voice while Belle was still trying to resolve her predicament.
Hearing the question, Belle and the two men looked around!
Catching sight of the speaker failed to raise any hopes for her salvation for the lady outlaw!
Studying Pierre Henri Jaqfaye as he came from the alley Belle had just passed without noticing him in it, the burly operatives were no more impressed. In fact, the only emotion his presence evoked for either was annoyance that he should dare intrude upon their affairs. Regardless of the rules for conduct laid down by the Pinkerton National Detective Agency, they only showed politeness to important and influential members of the public from whom a complaint to their superiors might bring repercussions. While they recognized the newcomer as the owner of the most highly priced women’s clothing shop in Phoenix, they did not consider he fell into such a category. Nor was his physical appearance sufficiently menacing to cause them to assume that tact, or conciliatory conduct was called for.
Rather the opposite, in fact!
