Journey into Violence (23 page)

C
HAPTER
F
ORTY-SIX

In the moonlit mist, the Madison cabin looked like an abandoned ark adrift on a gray sea. There were no horses in sight, no smoke from the chimney, and no sound but the gibbering of ghostly night birds and the rustle of crawling things among sand and rock.

The stillness of the night made Frank whisper. “I guess they didn't come this way, Kate. The place is deserted.”

Above the wagon, the moon was as white as a skull.

JC Brewster looked around him, his eyes big. “Seems like.”

“We'll go on ahead on foot.” Kate jumped from the wagon. “Frank, pass me my Winchester.”

“Kate, if Jesse Dobbs and his boys survived the fight with the Pinkertons, we might find ourselves overmatched,” Frank said. “Me and JC are in no shape for gun fighting.”

Kate levered a round into the chamber. “We're not overmatched, Frank. Even stove-up, you and JC are more than able to shade motherless scum like Jesse Dobbs and his thugs. We faced bigger odds in Dodge, remember?”

Frank smiled. “It would be nice to have Bat Masterson with us, though.”

“You don't need Bat Masterson when you've got me.” She looked at Frank. “But you're right. I wish Bat was here.”

Frank and JC took up positions on either side of Kate as they stepped warily toward the cabin. The windows stared at them blankly, like black, dead eyes.

Kate stopped. “Frank, to the left by the well. What is that? A sleeping hog?”

Frank's eyes searched into the darkness. His hand opened and closed on his Colt. “Can't see from here. It could be a hog.”

“Or a dead man,” Brewster said.

“Or somebody laying for us.” Kate said. “Let's take a look.”

“No.” Brewster said. “I'm the Texas Ranger here and it's my job. Kate, you and Frank cover me. If I shriek like my maiden aunt when she saw the mouse, come a-shooting.”

“Be careful, JC,” Kate said.

“That's the only way I know,” Brewster said.

Gun in hand, he advanced slowly toward the lump on the ground and the gloom closed around him, falling like a murky curtain. Beside her, Kate heard Frank swallow hard. He was a man who feared nothing, but the strain of his wound and the mysteries of the malevolent night were getting to him. She lightly touched his big hand with the tips of her fingers.

He nodded. “I'm all right, Kate.”

“I know you are. Now what's JC doing?”

The Ranger stepped away from the dark bulk on the ground and walked to the cabin. He raised his boot and kicked the door in, a violent move that pained his shoulder. A few moments later, a lamp was lit within and the cabin's windows glazed with tawny light.

“I suppose that means there's no danger,” Kate said.

“And no Jesse Dobbs,” Frank said.

“Unless he's dead.”

“Then let's go find out.”

* * *

Bob Corcoran's body lay beside the well. He'd been shot several times in the belly and chest. Judging by the way his convulsing feet had plowed up the ground, he'd lasted a few minutes after he hit the ground.

“Ben Lucas is inside,” Brewster said. “Way I piece it together, it looks like he was wounded in the fight with the Pinkertons and laid out in the bed. Dobbs summed things up for him by putting a bullet between his eyes then stepped outside as Corcoran came running and done for him. Dobbs was always quick on the trigger.”

“Any sign of the payroll?” Kate said.

“Nah. Dobbs packed it out of here.” Brewster looked into Kate's beautiful eyes. “Kate, I guess that does it for you. You'll want to go home now.”

“Why?”

“Corcoran and Lucas are dead. Your fight is not with Jesse Dobbs. Leave him to me.”

“You're going after him?” Kate said.

Brewster nodded. “It's my job.”

“Kate, it's time to head back and find out what's happening with the plague wagons and with Hank Lowery,” Frank said. “Besides all that, what is Barrie Delaney doing with your new house? You can't trust that old pirate.”

“And then there are my daughters and my sons,” Kate said.

“Yeah, the kids, too,” Frank said. “You must be worried about them.”

“I'm not. They're Kerrigans and they can fend for themselves. That's how I raised them.”

The
segundo
frowned. “Kate, I'm trying hard here, but I'm not catching your drift. Like JC says, what happens or does not happen to Jesse Dobbs is no concern of ours.”

Kate looked at Brewster. “When you reach Eagle Pass, will you wire the Rangers for help?”

“No. My superiors expect me to handle whatever comes up,” Brewster said. “If I scream for help when the going gets tough, I will never again hold up my head in the company of booted and belted men.”

“I thought so.” Kate said. “I will never desert a friend in need, and that is why Frank and I are coming with you, Ranger Brewster. To ignore a vicious criminal like Jesse Dobbs is to throw out the rule of law and plunge into anarchy. I will not allow that to happen.”

Brewster shook his head. “You're tough, Kate. Tough as any man.”

“Perhaps. But I'm also a woman.” Kate lifted the hem of her dress and revealed the lacy garter around her shapely thigh. “I wear this always . . . to remind myself of that fact. Do not mistake my determination for my being harsh and inflexibile, Ranger Brewster, because I am neither.”

Frank said, “I guess we should grab whatever sleep we can and head for Eagle Pass at first light.”

Brewster looked surprised and paid great attention to the other man's face. “You give up easy.”

“I don't mistake Kate's determination for anything else. Well, she's determined to bring Jesse Dobbs to justice and when she feels that strongly about a thing, there's no arguing with her.”

Brewster stared at the ground and kicked sand with his toe. “Frank, I guess when we meet up with Dobbs, I'd feel better if your gun was backing my play.”

“Of course you'll feel better with Frank at your side, JC,” Kate said. “Now, I wonder if there's coffee in the cabin. We could all use a cup.”

Frank smiled. “I'll back your play, Ranger. Now let's go hunt up that coffee.”

C
HAPTER
F
ORTY-SEVEN

“Hell, I didn't expect this,” Dobbs said. “Now I'm stuck on this side of the border until it blows itself out.”

The bartender nodded and looked wise. “June to November is when you can expect storms coming up from the Gulf. If you stand at the door and take a sniff you can smell fish shoaling, or so I'm told. I never could smell them myself but Hug Cluggan the timber merchant says he gets a whiff every time.”

“I didn't. This damn town always has the same stink.” Dobbs pushed his whiskey glass across the bar. “Fill it.”

The bartender, a fat, jolly kind of man with a network of broken red veins on both cheeks, poured his best bourbon from a dusty bottle. “Rain is getting heavier, and listen to the wind. Sounds like the wail of a damned soul.”

“Yeah, getting his first glimpse of Eagle Pass.”

The bartender grinned. “You're a rum one, mister.” He put the bottle under the bar and left to serve another customer, leaving Dobbs to sit in silence, morose, armed, and dangerous.

He picked up his glass and stepped to the door that rattled in its frame, making a racket like chattering castanets. He peered out of the rain-lashed glass panel into the empty street. Muddy puddles rippled in the wind, and a couple of tarpaper shacks to the rear of the stores had already lost their roofs. Across the street, a brave matron battled the weather to do some emergency shopping, but when her umbrella turned inside out into a V she gave up the struggle and turned into an alley out of the wind.

“Mister, you look like a feller who's bored.”

Dobbs turned and studied the man standing next to him. “You could say that.”

The man was a city slicker by the look of his fancy duds. Slender and of medium height, he had the sly eyes of an outhouse rat. “I got a remedy for boredom. She goes by the name of High Timber Hattie Dickson, six foot tall and all woman.” The man smiled. “She'll give you such a time, you won't be bored for a week, just thinking back on it.”

“Where is this woman?” Dobbs said.

“Just down the street a ways. You won't even get wet.”

“How much?”

The man smiled. He had a gold tooth. “Well, that's between you and Hattie, but five dollars will guarantee you a good time and ten a real good time.”

Dobbs thought about that. “Sure. It beats staying here waiting for the wrath of God to strike.”

“Finish your drink and follow me.” The man pushed out his hand. “Name is Mordecai Benger.”

“I don't care what your name is,” Dobbs said, ignoring the proffered handshake. He pulled out a thick wad of notes that made the man's eyes pop out of his head. “First I got to pay my score.”

“Oh yes, certainly,” Benger said. “A man should always pay what he owes.”

Dobbs saw greed in the pimp's eyes, but he ignored it. A man who's good with a gun could ignore much.

* * *

High Timber Hattie was tall and shapely but not real pretty. Her front teeth protruded and horses had slept on better straw than the bleached blond hair that grew on her head. “What do you want me to be?”

“A whore,” Dobbs said.

Hattie smiled and drew back the curtain of a recessed closet. She waved to the packed clothes hanging on a rail. “I can be a schoolmarm, a nun, a little girl with a little curl, an equestrienne with a whip, a Chinese, a—”

“Just take your clothes off, lie on your back, and be what you are,” Dobbs said. “That's all I want. I'm here to pass time.”

“Whatever you say. You are my master.”

“Yeah, for as long as I pay you.”

“Business is business, so let's get to it.”

* * *

As the storm raged outside and a relentless rain rattled on the bedroom window of Hattie's shack, she got out of bed and tossed on a silk robe. “I'll get us something to drink, lover.” She smiled. “By the way, you were great. A real lively gent. My favorite kind of guest.”

When he'd climbed into bed, Dobbs had dropped his holstered Colt on the floor next to the bed, well away from his scattered clothes. He drew the revolver and placed it between the sheets out of sight. Hattie and her pimp had no way of knowing it, but Dobbs figured he was about to get rolled. He'd been there before and he read the signs. He'd seen it happen many times, but this con was cruder and more obvious than most.

As he'd suspected, Hattie stepped into the bedroom, a Smith & Wesson .38 in her hand. Behind her, announced by a thunder roll, was the dressed-up dude with the gold tooth. He carried a nickel-plated Colt with a bone handle.

The man smiled. “You know the drill, mister. We want your wallet, watch, gun, and horses.”

“And then you'll kill me.” Dobbs put a quaver in his voice, acting scared.

“I'm afraid so,” said the man who'd introduced himself as Mordecai Benger. “Three in the belly and you'll be dead so quick it won't even hurt.”

“Get up,” Hattie said. “You're not going to bleed all over my bed. Go into the kitchen where I can mop up afterward.”

“You heard the lady. Get the hell out of there. Make a fancy move and I'll gun you right where you stand.”

Dobbs decided to have some fun. “Carry me.”

Benger was stunned. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I don't want to get up. You'll have to carry me.”

“Damn you. I'll gun you right now.” Benger raised his Colt.

“No!” Hattie yelled. “I just got a new feather mattress.”

“I saw the rube flash his wad, Hattie. Hell, he's got enough money to buy you another one and a new bed to go with it.”

“Then we'll give it to him in the head, Mordecai. He won't bleed as much.” She raised her .38. “Like this.”

Playtime was over.

Dobbs pulled his gun and fired at Hattie. His bullet hit between her breasts and she went down hard, her convulsing finger triggering a wild shot.

Benger was appalled by the suddenness of Dobbs's attack. He hesitated for a second, maybe two, but realized instantly that he'd made a fatal mistake. You can't give a gun-talented man that much time. Dobbs thumbed off three shots, all of them hits to the belly. Benger screamed as he saw death rush to meet him, the dreaded sickle slashing. The man sank slowly to the floor and lay groaning in agony. A gut shooting was one of the worst of all deaths and its torment lasted for a long . . . long time.

Dobbs dressed hurriedly then checked on Hattie. She was dead. He pried the Smith & Wesson from her fingers and stuck it in his waistband. Benger still lived, dying hard, cursing the mother that bore him.

“Do you recollect what you told me, old fellow? Three to the belly and I'd die quick.” Dobbs grinned. “Well, how does it feel? You dying quick?”

Engulfed in a sea of pain, Benger was no longer capable of speech. Dobbs shrugged, kicked the man hard in the face, and made his way outside into the tempest.

* * *

“The sacks are still there, Mr. Dobbs, just as you left them,” the liveryman said. “I don't let anybody get near.”

Dobbs stepped to the rear of the stable where the rats and spiders lived. He lifted the tarp that covered the money sacks and nodded. “You done good, Matt.”

“Your horses are all in good shape, too. Been feeding them a scoop of oats with their hay just like you said.”

Dobbs walked to the door of the barn and the old man followed. “You seen the likes of this before?” Dobbs said.

Matt nodded. “Maybe five, six times in my score of years here in Eagle Pass. This one is stronger than most I've seen.”

“How long will I be stuck here?”

“You can travel tomorrow, Mr. Dobbs, maybe so. These here storms don't last very long. They blow into town, do their damage, and move on. Kinda like folks.”

Dobbs stared at the old man, but Matt's face was empty. “I thought I heard gunshots earlier.”

Matt shook his head. “Hard to tell. Heard plenty of thunder, though.”

“I was probably mistaken then.”

“Easy mistake to make. Ha! There goes another bang. Just like a pistol shot, huh?”

Dobbs glanced at the sky heavy with banded ramparts of black and purple clouds. Lightning scrawled like the signature of God. Torrential rain danced all over the surface of a large muddy puddle in front of the stable, kicking up exclamation points of water.

“Sure wouldn't want to be traveling on a day like this, Mr. Dobbs,” Matt said. “It ain't fit for man nor beast.”