by J. T. Edson
There's big trouble for Texas cattle ranchers. A mysterious disease called "Texas Fever" seems to follow their herds to market. Now their steers may be banned from Kansas and the railroad – a measure that will spell ruin for them all. The governor's ready to do anything to find a cure, even pardon a man with a price on his head, Waxahachie Smith.
The scheme is all Captain Dusty Fog's idea. He knows Wax dreams of coming home to Texas where he's a wanted man. Now Wax can return if he takes over the protection of a brilliant young vet who may be close to a breakthrough cure. But unscrupulous men will gain if the Texas cattlemen go under. And with flying bullets and hired killers getting ever closer, Wax needs to use his famous slip gun to even the odds – to draw fast, shoot straight, and fight to the death to clear his name.
CURE THE TEXAS FEVER
WAXAHACHIE SMITH 3
By J. T. Edson
First published by Dell Books in 1996
Copyright © 1996, 2016 by J. T. Edson
First Smashwords Edition: January 2016
Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information or storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.
This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book
Series Editor: Ben Bridges
Text © Piccadilly Publishing
Published by Arrangement with the Author’s Agent.
Author’s Note
When supplying us with the information from which we produce our books, one of the strictest rules imposed upon us by the present-day members of what we call the “Hardin, Fog, and Blaze” clan and the “Counter” family is that we never under any circumstances disclose their true identities, or their present whereabouts. Furthermore, we are instructed to always include enough inconsistencies where characters and locations are concerned to ensure that neither can happen inadvertently.
We would like to point out that the names of people who appear in this volume are those supplied to us by our informants in Texas and any resemblance with those of other persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
To save our “old hands” repetition, but for the benefit of new readers, we have included a “potted biography” of Mark Counter in the form of an Appendix.
We realize that, in our present permissive society, we could use the actual profanities employed by various people in the narrative. However, we do not concede that a spurious desire to create realism is any excuse to do so.
We refuse to pander to the current trendy usage of the metric system. Therefore, except when referring to the caliber of specific firearms traditionally measured in millimeters—i.e., Walther P-38, 9mm—we will continue to employ miles, yards, feet, inches, pounds, and ounces when quoting distances and weights.
Lastly, and of the greatest importance, we must stress that the attitudes and speech of the characters are put down as would have been the case at the period of this narrative and not as they would have it expressed.
Chapter One – I’m Not Going to Feel Happy About the Answer
“Excuse me, sir,” Edmund Dell said, entering the large and elegantly furnished room on the first floor of a colonial-style mansion not far from the Capitol Building in Austin, Texas. He had an obsequious attitude that seemed to augment his narrow features, mouse-brown hair allowed to grow longer than was regarded as acceptable by some members of the community, and overly neat attire in the latest Eastern fashion. Of medium height, thin and pallid, he spoke with a nasal, high-pitched, and somewhat whining Midwest accent. “A Mr. and Mrs. Fog are here asking to see you.”
“Very well,” replied Matthew Anderson, owner of the property and currently the governor of Texas. His voice and appearance indicated that he had been born of affluent circumstances, was well educated, and had been raised in the Lone Star State. Suspecting the man he had found it politically advisable to accept as his private secretary, he was aware of the honorific generally applied when announcing the male caller, and despite the way in which the message was delivered, he went on coldly, “Show Captain and Mrs. Fog in.”
Watching Dell withdraw, closing the double doors even though the visitors were in view at the other side of the entrance hall, the governor frowned. After a few seconds, the doors were pushed open by the secretary and his visitors entered.
“Good afternoon, Freddie, Dusty. I trust you had a pleasant journey from the OD Connected?” Anderson greeted, rising and striding swiftly across the room with his right hand extended. Six feet tall, he had prematurely white hair and was sufficiently handsome to look well when attending any kind of function, whether it was leading a major parade on the anniversary of the Battle of San Jacinto i or gracing a private party regardless of the quality of the guests. He had an erect carriage, and despite the formal attire he had on, it was obvious he still possessed the firmly fleshed body of an outdoorsman. However, without waiting for a reply to his question, he went on, “That will be all, Dell. I’ll ring if I should need you for anything.”
“Yes, sir,” the secretary responded, looking just a trifle put out by the curt dismissal. However, instead of leaving immediately, he went on, “Er—after I’ve dealt with some correspondence, I have to go out for a short while, sir.”
“That’ll be all right,” Anderson assented, having noticed the newcomers exchange glances during the brief interplay between himself and Dell. “If there’s nothing else for you to do, you might as well call it a day and go home when you’ve finished whatever it is that’s taking you away.”
Turning, trying to convey an impression of injured dignity, Dell stalked rather than merely walked through the double doors, and shut them with as close to a bang as he dared. Then he went with greater haste than was his usual gait to the next room. Regardless of the way in which he had introduced the visitors, he was fully aware of their identity and status. Furthermore, he was sure he could guess why they had come to see the governor. If he was correct, he believed he might learn something of great use about a very important issue.
On being elected, wanting to disprove assertions made by the Austin Intelligencer—a newspaper owned and run by the liberal-radical faction in the capital— that his official appointments would be people to whom he and his campaign staff owed favors under the so-called spoils system, Anderson had yielded to their demands for “impartiality” by allowing Dell to remain in the capacity of governor’s confidential secretary, a position he had held during the previous administration’s period in office.
Although having incurred the dislike of his immediate superior, which probably would have happened even if the appointment had been made without duress, Dell had always been careful to avoid any glaring fault in the way he carried out his duties. On the other hand, he had continually been on the alert for any items that might be used to the detriment of his sponsors’ political opponents.
At first, the task had not been arduous. Nor, as Dell had learned only minor items that would serve his sponsors’ purposes, had it threatened to produce any chance of his duplicity being detected. However, the most recent instructions to procure information he had received were the most specific so far. Unfortunately for him, he was too deeply involved as a result of his earlier betrayals of confidence—and even less savory activities outside office hours—to be able to refuse the men who had arranged for his appointment.
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Entering the room that served as his office, realizing he might be engaged for some time and having no desire to be caught in the activity he was intending, since he would be unable to furnish an acceptable reason for doing so, the secretary turned the key in the lock. With the precaution against anybody entering and discovering what he was doing taken, instead of dealing with correspondence—not that he had had any intention of doing this—he took a glass from the table on his desk. Crossing to the dividing wall, he placed the top of the glass on it and rested his ear against the other end. As on the other occasions he had eavesdropped in the same fashion, he found that he was able to overhear the conversation from which he had been prevented by his dismissal.
Listening, Dell soon concluded that he was finally acquiring far more important information on the subject than had so far come his way.
Despite being a political appointee, the governor was neither pompous nor so fond of hearing his own voice that he had given the dismissal merely to impress his influential visitors with his desire to speak to them about a most important, urgent, and confidential issue. Nothing in his demeanor indicated that he was aware that, regardless of the high office he was currently holding, the two new arrivals in his study were held in greater regard than he himself was by many people throughout the Lone Star State. Always a realist and having no jealousy in his character, he shared the sentiment. That was why he had called upon them: He felt sure they would prove the best source of assistance he could obtain to deal with the grave matter that had been demanding the majority of his official attention for some time.
Regardless of society and business still being regarded as basically a “man’s world,” it would not have been difficult for any perceptive stranger who was privy to the meeting to have understood why the taller of the visitors was being treated with so much deference by the governor. His attitude clearly went beyond his upbringing as a Southern gentleman taught from early childhood to display politeness and respect for members of the so-called weaker sex. Nor would many people have considered her in such a light.
Five feet eight in height, Winifred Amelia “Miz Freddie” Fog had the impressive bearing that came naturally to a member of the British aristocracy and was an exceptionally fine figure of a woman. Her regally beautiful face had the rich golden tan of one in good health and was unlined by the passage of time. Beneath the stylish gray toque, her waved hair—with a center part, a short fringe, and the sides taken back into the “Cadogan” style that had become popular—was still coal black. She had on a close-fitting fashionable lightweight gray two-piece costume. Such were the magnificent Junoesque curves her close-to-hourglass figure still retained, she contrived to make the decorous attire seem as revealing as the most daring evening gown. Nevertheless, her expression and demeanor implied that she was a person with whom it would be ill advised to trifle or take any other kind of liberty.
At first glance, the man by Freddie’s side was far from an imposing sight. As Anderson had noticed on other occasions, unless there was danger or urgency in the situation, Captain Dustine Edward Marsden “Dusty” Fog tended to be overshadowed by his wife and most of the people around him. In fact, when first making his acquaintance in pacific circumstances, many strangers found it difficult to reconcile his physical appearance with the legendary reputation he had acquired during and since the War Between the States. ii
Even aided by the high heels of his sharp-toed tan-colored cowhand-style boots, the male visitor was no more than five feet six in height. He had surrendered his black J. B. Stetson hat to the butler on arrival, revealing that he had neatly trimmed dusty-blond hair marked by a trace of graying at the temples. While he was moderately good-looking in the white shirt with detachable stiff collar and black necktie that were not regular items of his attire, there was nothing particularly eye-catching about his tanned and clean-shaven face. His two-piece brown suit was well tailored to his fit, but he gave the obviously expensive garments an appearance of being somebody else’s castoffs and they tended to emphasize rather than detract from his small stature. Nor, despite the rig having been produced by a master craftsman, was he made more impressive-looking by wearing a well-designed brown gunbelt—with twin bone-handled Colt Civilian Model Peacemakers butt forward for a cross-draw in its contoured holsters—about his waist. Nevertheless, if one took the trouble to study him more closely, there was a strength of will and intelligence beyond the norm about his features, and his muscular development was that of a Hercules in miniature.
“Why the armament, Dusty?” the governor inquired after the formalities of arrival had been concluded and his visitors were seated facing him across his large and well-polished desk. “Are you expecting trouble?”
“Not especially,” the small Texan replied. “But I learned a long time back that the best way to stop trouble happening is to let folks know you’re ready and able to do just that.”
“Should we be expecting trouble, Matt?” Freddie asked. All the years she had spent in America had not caused her to lose her upper-class British accent.
“Not that I know of,” Anderson admitted, and a smile came to his face. “Of course, Austin is civilized, but I wouldn’t know what’s happening in wild and woolly places like Rio Hondo County.”
“I don’t know about wild and woolly,” Dusty drawled. “Things’re so quiet down to home that the Kid allows he’ll plumb die of boredom.”
“You know why I asked if you would come and see me?” the governor inquired, becoming serious. Although he paused briefly, he continued before any reply could be given. “We have to find a cure for what newspapers up North are calling the ‘Texas fever.’”
“We had a notion it might be something like that, Matt,” Dusty said quietly. Like the man he was addressing, his voice had the accent of a well-educated Texan. As had often happened when they had met in the past, the governor forgot his size in mere feet and inches. By the sheer strength of his will in a crisis—and the subject under discussion ranked as that—he gave an impression of being the biggest person present. “And there’s something we can do about it. We met up with a right smart young feller while we were on vacation last month. He’s already done a fair amount of work trying to find out what causes the Texas fever and how to cure it. If we can bring him down to Texas, give him all the money and help he’ll need, I reckon he’s got a better-than-fair chance of coming up with the answers.”
“If you should have any trouble getting the money out of those tightfisted gentlemen in the legislature,” Freddie went on before Anderson could pose the question that had come to mind, “along with Colonel Goodnight and quite a few more of our big ranch-owning friends, Dawn and Mark Counter say they’ll be willing to open their wallets and help out, and it goes without saying you can count on the Hardin, Fog, and Blaze clan to do the same—for a price, of course.”
“There’s always a price,” Anderson declared, but with a smile. He felt sure neither a financial outlay nor any other costly personal favor at the expense of the state’s taxpayers was required. However, he did not inquire further into that subject. Instead, he turned his gaze to his male visitor. “But you said if you can bring him down, Dusty.”
“You know as well as I do that not everybody outside the state and even down here wants to see us with a sound and moneymaking cattle business,” the small Texan pointed out grimly. “And some of those who don’t are mean enough—and have enough money behind them—to try to prevent it continuing to bring cash into Texas the way it does.”
“That’s true,” the governor admitted. “But surely he’ll be safe enough at either the OD Connected or Mark Counter’s MC?”
“We could likely keep him safe at either place,” the big Texan conceded. “But it won’t help him settle down to his work if we have to keep fighting off jaspers figuring to make wolf bait of him so’s he can’t finish it.”
“You think it could come to that?”
“I’m certain sure it could come to that!”
&
nbsp; “And you’ve got something in mind that could let him carry out his work without any such interruption?” Anderson said, the words more a statement than a question.
“Why, sure,” Dusty drawled in a matter-of-fact tone. “We’ll have him sneaked down to Texas and, if we’re lucky and his whereabouts stay secret, he won’t be found before he’s through.”
“Secrets have a nasty way of getting leaked out,” Anderson warned, despite feeling sure that the possibility had already been taken into account.
“And that’s the truthful true,” the small Texan agreed.
“But, of course, we don’t have to worry about that happening over what we’re discussing here,” the beautiful woman asserted in a definite fashion, which brought a mocking sneer to the face of the man listening in the next room.
“That’s for sure,” Dusty supported, and the air of smug satisfaction being displayed by Dell increased. “Anyways, to make sure nothing goes wrong, we’re going to have a real good man going to fetch him and ride, herd on him until he finishes the chore.”
“Would that be you, Mark, or the Ysabel Kid?” the governor queried, thinking that any one of the three would be well able to cope with the task. iii
“None of us,” the small Texan replied.
“Why not?” Anderson asked, showing surprise.
“No matter which of us it was,” Dusty explained, “he’d be sure to get noticed and talked about no matter where he went.”
“Then just who do you have in mind?” the governor wanted to know, and seeing the glances exchanged by his visitors, continued in a tone redolent of one who was resigned to an unpleasant fate. “Something tells me I’m not going to feel happy about the answer.”
“I don’t see why,” Dusty drawled, and although he rubbed his forefingers together, he went on without giving the name of the candidate. “Like I said, he’s a real good man and, backed by the reward you can offer him, he’ll do everything he can to see Frank Smith gets the work done.”
