by J. T. Edson
Coming to her feet, holding the smoking Webley ready in case it might be needed again, one glance at each man informed Madam the precaution was unnecessary. Oblivious of the excited chatter which arose all around her, she nodded gratitude to the pale faced Sally. Then she swung her gaze to where Aloysius P. Scrope and the other prominent businessmen were hurrying towards her. Before they arrived, her attention having been attracted by seeing three figures bursting through the front entrance—two holding firearms in positions of readiness—she decided the presence of her attorney might prove beneficial. For all that the others were carrying, respectively, a Remington New Army Model of 1863 revolver and a short barreled ten gauge Greener shotgun, it was the unarmed member of the trio who had led her to draw that conclusion. Making a deduction from the badge of office he was wearing which was different to those displayed by his companions, and remembering comments she had heard about him, added to her assumptions with respect to the purpose of the two hard- cases, she felt she was not doing him an injustice in her estimation of why he had come.
Walking just a little behind Town Marshal Tune Collier and Deputy Town Marshal Herman ‘Pocket’ Hoscroft, although technically their superior in office, County Sheriff Lloyd Bowman struck Madam as resembling Joshua Gilmore apart from having better taste in clothes. Tall, well built, albeit running to seed, already traces of dissipation were beginning to mar his handsome features. It may have been for this reason he had elected to grow Dundreary whiskers, streaked with grey, as was his longish brown hair. He was well dressed in expensive city style clothes. However, while he wore a gunbelt with an ivory handled Colt Navy Model of 1862 revolver in its holster, he did not give the impression of being a fighting man. Nor was he, holding his office more by influence and pliancy where such served his purpose, rather than through any aptitude for law enforcement duties.
‘Looks like you’ve run into a mite of trouble, Madam,’ Collier commented, returning the Remington to its cross draw holster on the left side of his gunbelt.
‘You could say that, Tune,’ the blonde admitted.
‘What happened?’ Bowman demanded, pushing forward when satisfied it was safe for him to do so.
‘I see the mayor’s let you take on a new deputy, Tune,’ Madam remarked, then gave a gasp of what appeared to be embarrassment. ‘Land’s sakes, what a silly mistake. That isn’t a deputy’s badge at all!’
‘It isn’t,’ Collier confirmed, poker faced despite the amusement he was feeling. ‘This’s the Sheriff of Sand County, Madam. Lloyd, this’s the lady I’ve been telling you about, Madam Bulldog. Madam, allow me to present Lloyd Bowman.’
‘Charmed,’ the blonde responded and contrived to sound as if she almost meant it. Then, gazing around, she went on in a louder voice, ‘All right, fellers, it’s all over. Now how’s about starting spending some money, huh?’ Waiting until the suggestion was acted upon by most of the customers, she turned back to the marshal. ‘Like you said, Tune, I’ve run into a mite of trouble.’
‘I’ll handle things, Marshal’ Bowman asserted, before the senior municipal peace officer could speak.
‘It’s your privilege, Sheriff,’ Collier conceded, puzzled by the unexpected eagerness to attend to duty being displayed by his superior.
Tell me what happened!’ Bowman demanded of the blonde, rather than merely asked.
‘You know my attorney, Counselor Scrope?’ Madam inquired, annoyed by the tone in which she had been addressed.
‘Of course I d—!’ the sheriff began, his manner implying he had no liking for the lawyer. Then he noticed for the first time that the man in question was standing within hearing distance and he nodded a grudging greeting. ‘Ah, Scrope, I didn’t see you!’
‘Good evening,’ the attorney replied. ‘Can I be of any assistance, Madam Bulldog?’
‘I don’t reckon so, Counselor,’ the blonde replied.
‘I’ll be around if you need me,’ Scrope promised, but the words had more of the timbre of a threat.
‘Now, what were you saying, sheriff?’ Madam inquired.
‘Do you mind telling me what happened?’ Bowman requested, his manner less hectoring as he saw the quality of the group around the attorney, none of whom showed any sign of withdrawing. Always more politician than peace officer, thinking of the forthcoming changes in the administration of the State, he was wary of antagonizing men capable of having a detrimental effect upon his career. ‘I have to establish the facts, you know.’
‘Sure,’ Madam agreed, despite believing he had had another reason for arriving. ‘I had to shoot those two to stop them shooting me. Which I know you can’t take just my word, so ask anybody else you’ve a mind how they saw it.’
‘I certainly can’t find any fault in how you acted, ma’am,’ the sheriff declared, after having listened to a number of witnesses confirming the assertion that the blonde had behaved in the only manner possible to save her life. He had also heard the reason given by the two hard-cases before trying to kill her. Looking at Doctor Henry Connel, who had arrived during the questioning and was kneeling alongside Lang, he asked, ‘Can he speak?’
‘Not now and maybe never again,’ the medical practitioner replied. ‘Shall I let you know if there’s a chance of him being able to?’
‘You may as well,’ Bowman confirmed, seeming less disappointed by the information than might have been expected. ‘But I’ll be heading back to Garnett early tomorrow morning and that brings up something else. I always make it a rule to look over the gambling gear of the saloons in my bailiwick. Just to be able to say it’s all right if somebody claims they was cheated—’
‘Good thinking!’ Madam praised, the last part of the comment being directed her way.
‘Thank you,’ the sheriff answered, looking relieved. ‘And, as my stay’s of necessity brief, perhaps I could do so while I’m here. Unless it will inconvenience you, that is.’
‘Go to it in good health,’ the blonde offered, having seen Collier give a quick shake of his head, which she took to indicate such inspections were not the regular policy of the peace officer from Garnett. ‘Come on, I’ll show you everything you want to see.’
Nodding to the marshal and giving a wink with the eye furthest from the sheriff, Madam followed him across the barroom. Although he glanced at the game of vingt-un and a couple of tables at which poker was being played, he led the way straight to the faro layout. Going to where Abel Fletcher was acting as dealer, he watched a few cards being played. Then, acting in a nonchalant fashion which was nearly convincing, he reached to press the switch disguised as a knot in the wood. Nothing happened and, frowning, he jabbed twice more.
‘This isn’t my table,’ Madam remarked, giving no sign of having seen what was being done. ‘It belongs to Leo Wallace, or Mrs. Higgins, and I wish they would send me the one they traded it for, so I can get this back to them. You’ll never guess what I found?’
‘What was it?’
‘There’s a well-hidden drawer in the front and it had a couple of second dealer boxes in it. Happen you know what they are?’
‘I know what they are!’
‘There were two of them and some marked decks of cards,’ Madam went on. ‘Maybe it was wrong of me, seeing they weren’t mine, but I had them all burned and got the drawer fixed with glue so it can’t be opened.’
‘That was good thinking!’ Bowman claimed, but with little sincerity, then glanced to where another form of gambling was in progress.
‘There were only slick cups for the dice games,’ the blonde claimed, looking in the same direction and guessing what he was thinking. ‘But I’ve had their insides roughened and, even if I hadn’t burned all the loaded dice Wallace left behind, they couldn’t be used to rook the customers. Would you like to look them and the dice over?’
‘Shucks, no!’ Bowman refused, with a jollity he was far from feeling. He felt sure the dishonest leather cups had been treated as was described. [26] In which case, even if loaded dice were used, their effe
ct would be nullified by the roughened interior. Conceding defeat on all the points he had been told by Wanda Higgins would be available, he continued, ‘I’m satisfied everything’s run fairly in here.’
‘Would you like to join the Counselor’s party and me in a few hands of poker?’ Madam invited, with something in her manner appearing to suggest there might be more to the offer than just a game of cards.
‘Er, not tonight if you’ll excuse me,’ the sheriff refused, after a few seconds of temptation. Like the blacksmith, he believed he was irresistible to members of the opposite sex and was generally willing to make the most of such an opportunity as, his ego suggested, he had been offered. However, he realized news of anything of that kind would be sure to reach Wanda Higgins, and she knew far too much about various of his illicit activities for him to dare to antagonize her. ‘I still have to finish the rounds with the marshal and I need to make an early start in the morning. So, if you’ll excuse me, we’ll be on our way.’
‘Go ahead,’ Madam authorized. ‘Are you going by the Barnhof?’
‘I was—!’ Bowman began.
‘Sure we are,’ Collier put in, face devoid of any expression, although he was inwardly delighted by the chance with which he had been presented. ‘The sheriff wants to go over Rudy Schanz’s gambling gear while he’s up here. Can we do something for you there?’
‘If Moses Stern’s there, ask him to get word to his sister that I’d like to have the faro table changed,’ Madam replied. ‘Maybe she … Leo Wallace will have need for that secret drawer in it.’
‘Well give him the word,’ the marshal promised. ‘And, seeing I’ll be off duty when we’ve done the rounds, I’ll drop by and sit in on that poker game if you don’t mind.’
‘Feel free,’ the blonde agreed. ‘One way and another, I’ve been real lucky tonight. Only I won’t be staying late. I’m expecting the wagon with my gear arriving tomorrow and I figured I’d ride out to meet it.’
Fourteen – I Want Some Questions Answered
‘Good afternoon, Miz Charlie,’ Greta Kusin said, showing pleasure, as she walked up to the newly arrived buggy. It had come to a halt a short distance from where the wagon in which she was traveling was standing, its team unhitched. Like her yellowish hair and features, her accent was indicative of Nordic origins. Big and massively built, yet far from flabbily fat, she was clad in a poke bonnet and a gingham dress instead of the maid’s uniform generally worn while performing her duties. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but Vic and me’ve told those two young cowboys they can stop and eat with us.’
‘I don’t mind at all,’ Madam Bulldog replied, glancing at the men in question. ‘But don’t start calling me “Miz Charlie” around Tennyson. Apart from Counselor Scrope, he’s my attorney, nobody knows I’m Charlotte Canary there.’ [27]
‘I remember good,’ the maid promised. ‘Don’t you worry ‘bout that.’
After having accompanied County Sheriff Lloyd Bowman on the rounds the previous evening, Town Marshal Tune Collier and Deputy Marshal Herman ‘Pockets’ Hoscroft had returned to the Hide and Horn Saloon without him. As promised, they had joined the poker game which lasted until almost midnight.
While playing, the blonde had heard enough comments to indicate that the men at her table were surprised by the zeal with which the peace officer from the county seat had performed his duties. It was his responsibility to investigate the shooting, but none had expected him to do so. Much to the amusement of his audience, the elderly deputy had described with relish how he and his immediate superior had turned a deaf ear to suggestions that the visit to, and inspection of, the gambling games at the Barnhof Saloon should be forgotten. He had been equally droll when telling of the consternation caused by the latter. Although Bowman had looked at the games and announced everything met with his approval, Hoscroft had claimed this did not necessarily mean the gambling was being run honestly.
Inviting Collier and Aloysius P. Scrope to her downstairs office at the conclusion of the game, Hoscroft having returned to the jailhouse as he was on overnight duty there, Madam had told them of her suspicions with regards to the arrival of the two hard- cases. They had agreed that it was possible the pair had been sent by Wanda Higgins and Leo Wallace, relying upon the ‘fortuitous’ presence of the county sheriff in Tennyson to evade the consequences. However, the marshal had asserted that proving such a connection existed would be practically impossible. Barry Norman had been killed outright and Herbert Lang died of his wounds without even having regained consciousness. Because Bowman was probably an accessory before the fact and had other, even more serious, activities which could be exposed in return, it was unlikely he could be induced or forced to confess. Acceding to the latter point, the blonde had explained why she made the invitation to join the poker game in such a seemingly promising fashion. The reasons she had drawn with regards to the refusal, a fear of betrayal by Wanda Higgins were—although unproven—accurate.
Putting the matter from her mind after the men had left, Madam had retired for the night. With her morning exercises completed, and having enjoyed her usual hearty breakfast, she had boarded the buggy rented for her by the swamper, Sonny, from Pegler’s livery barn and set off alone to meet the wagon in which her maid and cook were bringing the remainder of her property. She had had no difficulty finding them. Following the trail by which she had traveled on the stagecoach from Fort Worth, she had come upon them halted by a stream in a clearing of the wooded country through which they had been passing.
Two good quality cow ponies, a black and a roan, were hobbled and grazing near the wagon’s heavier four horse team. Their saddles, low horned and double girthed in the style of Texas, lay—each on its side—where unlikely to come to harm from a careless person treading on them. Identically loaded, there was a coiled lariat strapped to the horn, a bulky tarpaulin- wrapped bed roll attached to the cantle and, butt pointing rearwards, a Winchester Model of 1866 rifle in the boot on the left side.
As she was being greeted by the maid, the blonde studied the owners of the horses and their rigs while preparing to climb down. She concluded neither was likely to require the need for the short barreled shotgun which she was carrying, to augment the Webley Bulldog revolver in its shoulder holster, beside her on the seat. In their early twenties, their clothing showing signs of having been worn for traveling a good distance, she felt sure they were trustworthy; despite also estimating they could prove themselves quite competent with the weapons carried on their persons.
The taller of the pair was in some respects the more striking. Slender in build, he had black hair and a neatly trimmed mustache. His good looking features suggested a more studious mien than was common amongst cowhands, which his attire implied he was, but the pallor of his face was caused by a resistance to tanning rather than through spending much time indoors. Unlike his companion, who had on the more usual calfskin vest, he was wearing a brown coat with its right side stitched back to leave unimpeded access to the ivory handled Colt Army Model of 1860 revolver in the fast draw holster of a gunbelt produced by an obviously excellent leatherworker.
Lacking two inches of his companion’s height, but equally a Texas’ cowhand as far as his clothing was concerned, the second young man was broader shouldered and more strongly built. His face was freckled, ruggedly pleasant and cheerful. Although the revolver in his fast draw holster was a walnut handled Dance Army Model, made during the War Between The States for the Confederate forces, he was sufficiently well dressed to suggest this was by personal preference rather than because a lack of funds prevented him from purchasing a more modern handgun.
‘Howdy, boys,’ Madam greeted, walking forward. ‘You headed for Tennyson?’
‘Why sure, ma’am, but only passing through,’ the taller cowhand replied, his voice suggestive of a good education and, not surprisingly, having a Texan’s drawl. ‘This here’s Rusty Willis and I’m called Doc Leroy.’
‘That wasn’t what our cook’s called him one time, ma’
am,’ the second product of the cattle business asserted, also in the fashion of one born and raised in the Lone Star State. ‘Nor our boss, Stone Hart, more than once.’
‘I can guess and reckon it’d be deserved,’ the blonde declared with a smile. ‘But I’ll bet you never ever gave them call to speak anything but kindly about you.’
‘If I did, may lightning strike Doc down!’ Jason ‘Rusty’ Willis replied and, after looking upwards expectantly for a moment, went on in an exasperated manner, ‘Drat, He wasn’t listening!’
‘You’ll have to excuse my amigo, ma’am,’ Marvin Eldridge ‘Doc’ Leroy requested. ‘Trouble is, his momma didn’t drop him on his head when he was a baby and he’s never been the same since. Which most folks say they wish he’d just never been at all. Anyways, we’ve heard tell the Hide and Horn Saloon down to Tennyson’s got a new owner—!’
‘And you know you’re talking to her,’ the blonde interrupted with a smile. ‘Are all the Wedge crew like you pair?’
‘Heaven forbid they should be so lucky, ma’am!’ Rusty answered, concluding the buxom newcomer had a fair knowledge of the cattle business to be aware of the outfit for which he and his companion rode. [28] ‘Fact being, ‘cepting Stone Hart—him being the boss and me a loyal apple polisher—they’re worse.’
‘I’m damned if I can see how that’s possible!’ Madam claimed, knowing enough about cowhands to feel sure such banter would be appreciated by the two young men; of whom—at least in the case of the taller—she had heard on more than one occasion. ‘Did you know I’ve got a good friend of yours dropping by around the middle of the week, Doc?’
