by J. T. Edson
“I’ll lead down to the stage depot and keep an eye on ole Pete, trail him around. Likely somebody’ll follow him.”
~*~
The short, stocky man wearing the loud check suit and the Derby hat left the stage station and walked into the street. If he saw the lounging Texan by the side of the building he gave no sign of recognition, although only two days before he’d been working cattle with Waco. He was headed for the bank and was in a hurry to make it before closing time. Waco trailed along at a distance, although he knew that the following would start after Pete Glendon came from the bank.
The young teller examined the bank draft Pete Glendon put on the desk in front of him, then took it across to the manager. In a few minutes he was back, asking, “How do you want it, sir?”
“Hundreds, tens and twenties,” Glendon replied, glancing around, his brick red, pugnacious face showing suspicion. “The ranchers up to Backsight and Halfway like paying in small cash.”
The teller fetched a pile of money that brought a whistle of surprise from a watching man. He counted it out and watched Glendon pack it into a billfold which went under the check jacket into a specially constructed pocket.
“Are you going to Halfway, then?” the teller asked.
“Sure, on tomorrow’s stage. Cattle buying for the Army, son. You keep quiet about, though.”
Glendon turned and walked out of the bank, winking at Waco who sat on the hitching rail as he went by and into a saloon. Inside a cowhand recognized Glendon as an Army cattle buyer and by the time Glendon left it was established that he was headed for Halfway to buy a herd for the Army.
By a strange coincidence every saloon Glendon visited in his round of the town found a cowhand inside who knew Glendon as a cattle buyer. By a strange coincidence, Mosehan only having thirteen men on his Ranger force, the same man recognized him several times. Even so, Glendon got the feeling that everything was going well. The word would be going round that he was headed for Backsight with money to buy cattle and he was going on the noon stage.
On towards eleven Glendon entered the Eagle Dance Hall, the best and most classy place of its kind in Tucson. He was tired and decided that after this he’d go to the room already booked for him at the Trent House and get a night’s sleep.
The dance hall was crowded but Glendon managed to get through to the bar. He felt someone bump into him and a hand in his pocket. Glendon’s hand slammed down fast, catching a wrist and swinging the owner of it round to crash into the bar. His other fist drove out to crash into the face of a small, rat-faced man.
The crowd scattered as a second man lunged forward with a knife in his hand. Glendon’s free hand went under his arm and came into view with a short-barreled Webley Bulldog revolver in it. The gun crashed and the knife wielder spun round with a bullet-smashed shoulder, the knife dropping from his hand.
The pickpocket lashed out with his foot catching Glendon hard on the shin. With a curse of anger Glendon swung his Webley up and down, the barrel laying where it would do most good, right on top of the pickpocket’s head.
Cursing under his breath Glendon looked down at the two men. The knife-toter would be a long time before he could use his arm again, if he ever did, for the heavy Webley bullet had badly smashed his shoulder. The pickpocket was unconscious and the barrel of the gun had torn his scalp open.
The crowd swelled round, talking and shouting, then two members of the Tucson Marshal’s office appeared. They listened to Glendon’s story and the agreement other men from the crowd gave to it. Then, collecting the two wounded men, they left after giving Glendon their congratulations on his very public-spirited action in bringing these two malefactors to book.
Talk welled up again, the band started to play, and normality settled on the room. Tucson was getting civilized, but it took more than a fight in which only one man took lead, and him not killed, to stop the pleasures of the night.
Glendon was almost ready to leave for bed when a hand was laid gently on his sleeve. Turning, he found a pretty, black-haired girl standing next to him. She was dressed in the usual style of a dancehall girl and had a figure to catch the eye.
“My, you’re tough,” she cooed. “I love tough men.”
Glendon beamed, called, “Wine for the lady,” and turned to talk to the girl.
He found out her name was Rona and that she worked there regularly. She learned he was a cattle buyer going to Backsight the following day with cash to buy cattle. The reason for the cash, she also learned was that the local ranchers did not want to take Government scrips.
After a dance or two and a few more drinks Glendon left the girl, and headed for home. Rona watched him go, then moving from the bar she avoided the reaching arms of a drunken miner and left by the rear door. Two tall young men in range clothes rose and followed her out into the night.
Walking along towards the hotel Glendon kept to the center of the street, the gunman’s sidewalk. He knew that word had gone round about his withdrawal from the bank and wanted to have a fair chance of seeing anyone who was looking for a stake before they got to him. He was alert and watchful, his gun out and held under his coat, ready for use.
“You got a light, friend?” The voice came from just behind him. Glendon came round, the gun lifting, only to be knocked aside as the voice went on, “Bang! You’re dead, Pete. Real dead.”
Glendon let his breath out in a long gasp of relief, then growled, “Waco, you damned Injun. I nearly killed you.”
Despite his shock Glendon kept his wits about him. He took out a small box of matches and striking one, lit Waco’s hand-rolled smoke.
“Why sure, but you didn’t,” the young Texan replied cheerfully. “The bank teller pointed a young feller after you. Was on your trail for a spell, then left and I followed him to the Eagle Dance Hall. Was another hombre after you. He looked part Injun to me. He stayed with you for a piece, too.”
With his smoke going Waco said a drunken and cheery goodnight and reeled off on his high heels. For all of that his every nerve was working and his every sense tense. Just as he turned Waco caught, from the very corner of his eye, a movement in an alley across the street.
Moving forward, hands brushing the butts of his guns at every step. Waco made for the dark alley. He hated the thought of going round that corner, shown in clear view to anyone in the shadows, but he went just the same. The alley was empty, no sign of anyone, only a faint elusive yet fragrant smell.
Passing down the alley Waco came out into a poorly lit back street and looked around. On an impulse he went to the right, strolling along the back street until he came to a halt and looked up at a building. A light went out in a window, but he saw the curtain flicker backwards as if someone was looking at him.
Turning to go back Waco had only taken a few steps when he stopped and looked around him again. He realized where he was now. That would be the back of the Trent Hotel. Moving back he tried to remember which room the light had come from, but could not tell, so he returned to the smaller hotel where he was staying and went to bed.
~*~
At noon the following day the stage for Backsight stood waiting to leave in front of the Wells Fargo office. The various passengers gathering ready to leave made a varied bunch. Pete Glendon was one of the first to arrive. He watched the pretty southern girl entering the building and nodded in silent approval, for like all his kind, Glendon was very susceptible to a beautiful woman.
“I surely wish you’d leave that money and jewelry with me to be sent on an express run, ma’am,” the agent said. “Way you’ve been talking near everybody in Tucson knows about them.”
The girl turned her brown eyes on the agent. They were the kind of eyes to melt a man. “Why surely you don’t think they’d rob poor lil ole me?” she asked.
“Belle Starr might, ma’am.” Glendon removed his hat and came forward. “Can I help you carry your bags?”
“Thank you kindly, sir.” The girl turned those eyes on Glendon now. Then her eyes widened and she gasped,
“Do you mean that awful Belle Starr is in Arizona Territory?”
“Yes’m, so folks say,” Glendon answered. “She’d rob the coach if she knew there was anything real valuable.”
“But I’ll be safe with you along, won’t I?” she cooed back.
For a look like the girl just gave him Pete Glendon was willing to take on Belle Starr, Cattle Annie, Rose of Cimarron, Little Britches and all their assorted men friends bare-handed. His chest puffed out a couple more inches and he escorted her to the stage loaded with her bags.
Glendon helped Magnolia into the stage and knowing the best and most comfortable place to travel, put her next to the door, then took the seat beside her. Doc Leroy, who’d been watching all this with a sardonic smile and a gleam in his eye that boded bad times for Glendon after this was over, climbed in and took the seat next to Glendon at the other door. Two more passengers arrived, climbing in and sitting down. The first was a fat, flashily dressed whisky drummer who sat down facing Magnolia and mopped his face with his bandana before starting to talk to the girl. The other was a tall young man wearing city clothes and a low-tied gun. He sat next to drummer, facing Glendon, glanced at Magnolia then relaxed. Outside, the driver and guard climbed aboard and were ready to leave.
Around the corner came the two deputy marshals, half carrying, half dragging Waco between them. The young Texan’s clothes looked as if they’d been slept in, and were crumpled up in a manner alien to him. He was singing a cowhand song in a whisky lined voice and stared owlishly round as the deputies looked inside the coach, then opened the door and dumped Waco into the seat facing Doc. He flopped back in the corner, pulled his hat down over his eyes and apparently went to sleep.
“Landsakes, is he ill?” Magnolia asked, staring at Waco.
One of the deputies glanced at her, then looked again harder and swept his hat off. “No, ma’am. He’s drunk, that’s all. Found him sleeping in the street and put him on the stage to get him home. He won’t bother you none. Should sleep near to Halfway and spend the rest of the trip telling you he’ll never do it again.”
The driver swung his whip and the restive team lunged forward into their traces. The jolt took Magnolia by surprise, but Glendon caught her arm and steadied her. She regained her composure and by the time the coach left town behind she had all the other passengers talking to each other. All except Waco, who lounged back in his seat in the corner and acted as if he was asleep.
Lazing back, Waco relaxed, knowing that the attack would not come until they were well out of town. His mind, always agile, ran over their plans for catching this gang. Mosehan and the other Rangers would be leaving town soon after them, bringing a wagon and horses for Waco, Doc and Glendon. They would be ready to take a hand if it was needed, but Waco doubted if it would.
Gangs that hit at stagecoaches were few and far between, for a stagecoach robbery was an uncertain thing. Sam Bass robbed one and lost on the deal when three travelers proved they were broke and a fourth had only two dollars. Sam gave the man his money back and another couple of dollars to pay for a room and the other three complained that this was unfair, as they had no money at all. So Sam took a collection from his boys and handed each of the poverty-stricken trio four dollars.
This gang here was different; every time they hit they made a winner. That meant the gang was getting information from town and that they would know, due to careful planning on the part of Mosehan, this coach was carrying more than most.
The men who had followed Glendon were probably part of the gang, or one of them would be. The other ... Waco’s good friend, Mark Counter, was an old friend of Belle Starr and knew her very well. In talks around the fire Mark had often talked of Belle Starr. From what Mark told about the lady outlaw Waco could not see her mixed in with the gang. There was a whole lot which didn’t tie in with the smoothly efficient way she handled herself and any men she took on to help her. There was something more Mark had told him about Belle Starr, something that would identify her instantly to anyone who knew her at all.
It was then a faint smell came to his nostrils, through the smell of stale sweat, whisky and tobacco smoke which pervaded the interior of the coach. His nostrils quivered, taking in the scent. Waco grunted, writhed round in his seat and from under the shielding brim of his expensive Stetson studied Magnolia’s hands. They were gloveless and toying with the handle of her parasol, which she held between her knees. Satisfied with what he saw, Waco grunted restlessly and turned back to the window again.
The coach was once more in the thick mesquite scrub country again, for the most part travelling along a blind trail. Neither guard nor driver expected trouble this near town and they were taken by surprise when rounding another curve, holding the team down to a slow walk, they found a tree trunk dragged across the track. Behind it stood three masked men holding rifles.
“Hold-up. Throw your hands high!” a voice snapped from the side of the coach and the woman stepped out into view, her short-barreled Colt in her hand.
Even as the coach came to a halt the three Rangers prepared to spring Mosehan’s carefully laid trap. Waco still stayed as he was, but slowly his hand went to the door handle and eased it down ready to get out and into action so fast the outlaws would not have a chance to endanger the other passengers.
“Hold it, all of you.” The young man facing Glendon now held a gun, not the one in his holster, but a second brought from under his coat.
Waco and Doc sat fast, the hammer of that gun was eased back and no way could they move fast enough to stop the man killing their friend. This was the first time that the gang ever used an inside man on the job and they had not been expecting it. There was nothing they could do except wait for a chance to break the hold this man held over them.
The door nearest Magnolia opened and the woman outlaw looked in, resting her gun on the floor of the coach right next to Magnolia’s feet. The southern girl gave a squeal of fright and slumped down in her seat, hands flopping to her sides.
The masked woman laughed as she looked Magnolia over, then said, “Get them out of it, Frank.”
The young man made a mistake then. He gestured to the men with his gun, taking it away from the line on Glendon. Instantly there sounded the crash of a shot and flame tore from the side of Magnolia’s parasol. The young man’s back arched as a hole appeared in his chest, the gun slid from his hand and fell to the floor of the coach.
Even as she fired, Magnolia’s foot lifted and stamped down hard on the female bandit’s gunhand, grinding the heel of her shoe round and bringing a squeal of pain from the other woman. Dropping her gun the bandit staggered backwards and Magnolia dived through the door full on to her. They went backwards out of sight, screaming, cursing, tearing at hair, like two enraged wildcats.
Kicking open the other door Waco hurtled out, his matched staghorn butted guns in his hands as he landed. For the first time in Arizona territory the words rang out:
“Rangers here, drop your guns!”
The gang saw Waco hurtle from the coach, followed by Doc Leroy, and from the other side Pete Glendon make an appearance. The bandits elected to fight. One brought up his rifle and gun thunder rocked the air. The dull roar of Colt guns mingled with the flatter bark of rifles and the booming bellow of the guard’s ten-gauge.
Waco threw two shots into one man. Doc cut down on a second, sending him down behind the log. The third man sent a bullet through Glendon’s arm before the guard centered his shotgun and squeezed the trigger. Even as Glendon dropped his gun and dived for it with his other hand it was all over.
Waco ran forward, guns ready, and hurdled the tree trunk, almost landing on Doc’s victim. The outlaw was wounded in the body and gasping out:
“Don’t shoot me. I’m done.”
Bending over, Waco tossed the man’s rifle and revolver to one side, then pulled the mask off. He recognized the man as the teller from the Tucson bank. Then Waco was pushed aside and Doc Leroy looked down at the wounded man, shoved his ivory-handl
ed Colt Civilian Peacemaker back into the shoulder clip under his arm and prepared to attend to the wounded.
“Where’s the girls?” he asked.
From the bushes where they’d disappeared came the sound of screams, thuds, squeals, and tearing cloth. Waco grinned as he started collecting the weapons.
“They’re some busy.”
Hooves thundered and on to the scene came Mosehan and the other Rangers. The Ranger Captain swung from his horse and looked around him, then up at Waco, who came back to meet him.
“What’s all that noise?” he asked, his voice showing disappointment. “This isn’t the bunch, there’s no woman with them.”
“I’ll go fetch her,” Waco replied.
Turning, he went in to the bushes fast, sliding down a steep slope and following the marks left by the two women as the fought their way down. At the foot of the slope he halted and took in a sight which did not altogether surprise him. On the banks of a small stream was an open piece of ground and in the center of it the female outlaw was flat on her back, legs waving feebly, arms held by two shapely knees. She’d lost her hat, shirtwaist and a couple of teeth and now had a blackened eye, swollen lip and bloody nose that wasn’t there the previous night when she talked with Pete Glendon in the Eagle Dance Hall.
Kneeling astride Rona, showing a pair of attractive legs through the split of her torn skirt, Magnolia held the girl down and landed business-like lefts and rights to the sobbing girl’s battered face.
“This’ll teach you to … ”Magnolia was yelling, her voice still a southern drawl, but subtly different until she saw Waco’s arrival. Then it went back to Magnolia Beauregard again. “To try and rob poor lil ole me.”
“When you all finish with her, Miss B, Magnolia, ma’am, Cap’n Mosehan’d surely like what’s left.”
Breathing heavily Magnolia got to her feet and stood with hands on hips looking down at the sobbing girl. Then bending forward she grabbed the tangled black hair, hauled Rona to her feet and pushed her towards the slope.
“How long have you known?” Magnolia asked Waco as they followed the stumbling, sobbing girl up the slope towards the stage trail.
