Journey into Violence (24 page)

C
HAPTER
F
ORTY-EIGHT

“I swear, in this kind of weather the ducks drown as soon as they get airborne,” JC Brewster said.

“It's coming down all right,” Kate said. “And I don't see any chance of it letting up.”

She, Brewster, and Frank huddled in the back of the wagon, sharing the shelter of the single slicker they'd brought from the Madison cabin. The slicker was old and full of holes but was better than nothing. The mare had been freed from the traces, but she stood close, her head down, as wet and miserable as the three humans.

“You ever experience anything like this before?” Frank asked Brewster.

The Ranger shook his head. “No, but I've heard about it. Big storms come up from the Gulf and play hob.”

“The weather will keep Dobbs in Eagle Pass,” Kate said.

“Unless he's already in Old Mexico,” Brewster said.

Kate pushed a damp strand of hair off her forehead. “Does anybody think we could be any more miserable, wet, and hungry than we already are?”

“Not me,” Brewster said.

“Frank?” Kate said.

“Not me, either” Frank said.

Kate said, “Good. Then we might as well continue our journey to Eagle Pass. It's better than sitting here.”

“It will be slow going and the lightning is dangerous,” Frank said.

“It's dangerous right here as well,” she said. “I've said a prayer to Our Lady of the Storm for her protection and she will not fail us.”

Blown by a gust of wind, rain hammered on the ragged slicker, soaking everybody. Thunder crashed and the air sizzled from a nearby lightning strike.

“Kate, I sure hope you're right,” Frank said.

“Have faith, Frank. Our Lady may not shelter us from dangers, but she will give us the courage to face them.”

“Amen.” Brewster looked at Frank and winked.

* * *

As Kate and the others drove into Eagle Pass with the mare faltering in the traces, the wild oaks no longer sang their wind song and the dark sky manifested stars and was calm. The storm had passed and the town would have seemed at peace if not for the score of armed men that patrolled its debris-strewn streets.

Frank planned to drive Kate to the hotel, where she could get out of her damp clothes, but he pulled up the mare when a man wearing a battered top hat and long black coat beckoned to him.

“You folks just get in?” the man said, looking over the wagon and its drenched occupants.

“Yeah,” Frank said. “What's happened here?”

“Somebody took advantage of the storm to murder High Timber Hattie Dickson and her paramour Mordecai Benger. Seems like a crime of passion to me, two men after the same whore. Well, we're looking for the murderer whoever he is. You folks be careful.” He saw Kate and touched his hat brim. “Ma'am. Myself and the armed men you see are members of the Eagle Pass Peace Command, so you have nothing to fear, young lady.”

Kate fluttered her eyelashes. “Why, thank you, sir. You are very gallant. I shall sleep better tonight knowing that you and the other stalwarts are on duty.”

The man gave a little bow. “Your obedient servant, ma'am. My name is Marcellus Twining and I own the general store. For this week only, I'm selling ladies' shoes at cost and ditto for the finest French bloomers. Do stop by.”

“I most assuredly will, Mr. Twining,” Kate said. “You are very kind.”

Frank clucked the mare into motion. “Got yourself another admirer, Kate.”

“He's trying to sell shoes is all.”

“And bloomers,” JC Brewster said.

“Ranger Brewster, a gentleman must refrain from using that word or any other word pertaining to underclothing in the presence of a lady,” Kate said, frowning.

“But the storekeeper said it,” Brewster said.

“I'm aware of that, but he is of the merchant class and doesn't know any better.”

“Real nice night,” Frank said, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

* * *

The desk clerk assured Kate that he would send a copper bathtub and a plentiful supply of towels to her room and that her clothes would soon dry in front of the furnace that heated the hotel's hot water. He made no such assurances to Frank and Brewster, who were assigned a room and left to their own devices. Since he was the only one with money to pay the bill, the Ranger thought himself ill done by.

Kate consoled him when she told him he could also dry his clothing at the furnace. “So long as our intimate garments don't touch. That would be most improper.”

C
HAPTER
F
ORTY-NINE

Frank left the wagon outside the livery and led the exhausted mare inside.

The man in charge was a gouty oldster with no teeth but a ready, gummy smile. “What can I do fer you, mister?”

“It's what you can do for the horse,” Frank said. “I'll rub her down, but she needs a dry stall and oats along with her hay.”

“I can do that. Put her back there beside your other hosses. Cost you an extry two bits for tonight, though.”

His last dollar light as a feather in his pocket, Frank nodded. “Sounds like a deal.” He handed over the dollar.

The man said, “I'll get your change. Name's Matt Lister, but most folks call me Gimp.”

“I'll call you Matt,” Frank said.

“Much appreciated. There's a piece of sacking over there and a brush.”

Frank spent considerable time on the old horse, getting her grooming right, and then led her to a stall at the rear of the barn.

“Not that stall, mister, the one next to it,” Lister said. “I'm storing stuff in there for a gent.”

A pile of something covered by a tarp lay against the stall's far wall and Frank idly toed it, expecting the feel of leather or canvas. Instead, he heard the clink of coin.

“Your man doesn't believe in banks, huh?” Frank gave that some thought for a few moments. “Can you describe the man who left this here?”

“Sure. Big man, bearded, a gruff way about him. Wears a gun like he was born to it.”

“By any chance is his name Jesse Dobbs?”

Lister shook his head. “I don't know his name. He never put it out and I didn't ask. Like I didn't ask your'n”

“Frank Cobb.” He led the horse to its stall and forked hay while Lister supplied a scoop of oats.

Frank returned to the mysterious pile, opened his Barlow, and took a knee beside the tarp. He threw it aside and cut into one of the sacks. It was filled with gold and silver coin. He grabbed a handful and held it up. The coins gleamed in the light of the oil lamp the old man held high.

“Did you know it was money?”

“Surely didn't. I suspicioned it might be treasure of some kind, but I wasn't sure. The gent said he'd pay me fifty dollars to keep a close eye on it.”

“If it's Jesse Dobbs's money, he would have paid you in lead,” Frank said. “I believe this is a stolen army payroll and a lot of men have died because of it.”

The old man's face took on a stricken look. “Mister, you're funnin' me about paying me in lead, right? Fifty dollars buys a heap of cartridges.”

“When he leaves with the money, Dobbs will not let you live. That's a natural fact.”

“Well, what the hell do I do? I ain't a gunman.”

“You do what I tell you, Matt.”

“And what's that?”

Frank told him.

* * *

The tap on Kate's door was soft, almost apologetic. She wrapped a towel around herself and picked up the derringer. “Who is it?”

“It's old Matt Lister from the livery stable as ever was, with an urgent message from Frank Cobb.”

“Hold on.” She turned the key in the door lock and then stepped behind the dressing screen. “Come in.”

Dressed in an old Confederate greatcoat and a battered bowler hat, the small man stepped into the room. He looked at Kate, her naked shoulders visible above the screen, and if he was flustered he didn't let it show. Lister was silent for a few moments, recalling what Frank had told him, then said, “You want to hear the message, ma'am, or should I come back when you're decent?”

“I'm always decent. State your business.”

“Beggin' your pardon, ma'am, but my business is to tell you that Frank says he's found the missing army payroll.”

“Found it? Where?”

“In the livery stable. See, I was keeping an eye on it fer a feller Frank says is Jesse Boggs.”

“Dobbs?”

“Yeah, right. That was the name.”

“Is there anything else?” Kate said.

“Sure is, ma'am. Frank says you and the Ranger are to stay away from the livery, that he'll handle things his own self. And he says not to mention the money to the vigilantes that are prowling all over town doin' nothing but getting drunk and drunker. Frank didn't say the drunk part. I said that.”

Lister doffed his hat. “Frank said one more thing, ma'am. He said I was to steer clear of the livery because Dobbs would shoot me for sure. He said I was to throw myself on your mercy, like, and that you'd protect me.”

“A difficult thing to do when I don't have any clothes,” Kate said. Then her face brightened. “Matt. It is Matt, isn't it?”

“As ever was, ma'am.”

“Matt, go down to the boiler room and bring me the clothes that are drying on a rack before the furnace. There are both male and female garments, but bring them all to me.”

“Who put them there, if you don't mind me asking?”

“The desk clerk. But I want you to go get them. The less he knows the better. Are you a married man, Matt?”

“I got hitched one time, lasted three years afore she ran off with a banjo player.”

“Good. You had a wife. Handling female undergarments will not get you overly stimulated.”

* * *

“Are you certain Frank said he'd go it alone?” Brewster asked. “He's shot through and through, you know.” He'd pulled his pants over his long-handled underwear after Kate had passed his clothes through the door. His suspenders hung loose at his sides. The bandage on his wounded shoulder was fat as a boardinghouse cat.

Lister shrugged. “If he is, he didn't let it show.”

“I should be there. A Texas Ranger can't stand idly by while others are performing stirring deeds.”

Kate, wearing clothes that were still damp in places, said, “JC, there is no doubt in my mind that you are bold and courageous, but wounded as you are, Frank knows that if it comes to a gunfight you're no match for Jesse Dobbs.”

“But Frank's wounded,” Brewster said. “He's shot all to pieces.”

“I know, but Frank is a different breed. He's strong and enduring as though forged from steel. He's ridden outlaw trails and learned how to survive in a hard, unforgiving land among men equally hard and unforgiving. He's been wounded before, many times, and by sheer strength of will lived on to fight another day. Strange as it may seem, and though Frank would deny it, he and Dobbs are two of a kind, opposite sides of the same coin. The West is changing and there are folks who think that men like Dobbs and Frank don't stack up to much and maybe they're right . . . but in my lifetime, they'll all be gone and I'll never see their like again.”

“Dobbs is a murderer and a thief,” Brewster said.

“He is indeed,” Kate said. “But Dobbs is a hard man to kill, and Frank knows it.”

Brewster seemed offended. “I'm a Texas Ranger and I can handle anything that comes my way.”

“Of course you can. It's men like you who are bringing law to the West and making it a fine place to live for decent folks. But at this moment in time, we must still depend on men like Frank. Today, the only thing that matters is how fast a man can draw a gun. I've seen Frank do that very thing, JC, and he's faster than you will ever be. Stand aside this once, Ranger Brewster, and let Frank do what he was bred to do.”

“I could round up the vigilantes and arrest Dobbs as soon as he steps into the barn,” Brewster said.

“And how many widows would there be in Eagle Pass by this time tomorrow?” Kate asked.

“And dead Rangers?” Matt Lister spoke for the first time since he and Kate stepped into Brewster's room. “I've been measuring men all my life and if the feller I spoke with is Jesse Dobbs then he's a handful.” His faded, tired eyes turned to the Ranger. “After the war I was a lawman for a spell my own self, but I never amounted to much. The day I watched John Wesley Hardin practice with his guns was the day I turned in my badge. Hell, I knew if I ever had to go up against a fast draw fighter, I was a dead man. Sometimes a man has to face reality and leave the serious shooting to somebody who's more experienced and a sight faster than he is.”

Brewster rose from his chair, stepped to the window, and looked into the dark street, where the members of the Eagle Pass Peace Command huddled together and passed bottles around. None of them was sober. “Then I guess we wait.”

“‘They also serve who only stand and wait,'” Kate said. “The poet John Milton wrote that.”

“Was he ever in Eagle Pass?” Brewster said.

“No. No he wasn't,” Kate said.

“I didn't think so.”

C
HAPTER
F
IFTY

Restless rats rustled near Frank as he sat in a dark corner of the livery stable and awaited the dawn. The bell in the Methodist church tower dinged softly to the errant rhythm of a gusting south wind. He built himself a cigarette, glad that his tobacco sack was almost full. It was going to be a long night.

Around two in the morning, three men stepped out of the gloom and into the barn. Frank tensed, his fingers closing on his gun.

After a few moments came the sound of gushing water hitting the floor and a man said, “Hell, I needed that. I've been holding it for an hour.”

“Me, too, Tom,” another man said. “Seems that Old Crow goes right through me.”

The men left and again the livery was silent but for the rats.

Frank leaned the back of his head against the wall and dozed, treading the narrow ledge between wakefulness and sleep. He woke several times, once from a dream that he walked among blossoming trees showering him with gold and silver coins that chimed on hard ground. It was the knell of the church bell in a rising wind that had trespassed on his sleep, that and nothing more.

Cramped, he rose to his feet and stretched the kinks out of his back. He stepped to the door and looked outside. Eagle Pass was lost in darkness and its buildings looked like shadowy ghost ships anchored for the night. A single oil lamp burned somewhere in the murk and cast no light. He turned and walked back to his uncomfortable corner. Would the night never end?

* * *

The dawn arrived as it must.

It is a strange, opalescent time between darkness and light that wakes a man so that he sits up in his blankets expecting to see . . . something different. But always, it's the same . . . the same things he saw the day before. Only the sky changes.

Frank woke from sleep with a start. His hand on his Colt, he quickly looked around. The horses were quiet in their stalls, the barn door was a rectangle of gray, and beyond, the wakening town laid in a drift of rain, the child of the Gulf storm clutching at its coattails.

Rising to his feet, he stood in shadow. Jesse Dobbs would come. He must come. Getting the money out of the country into Mexico was a top priority after the storm delay. The rain wouldn't stop him. He would come . . .

* * *

Frank's prediction came to pass thirty minutes later.

He watched Dobbs come through the rain. The man wore an ankle-length slicker and carried a rifle at his side. Above him, the sky was ashen and gloomy, making the morning damp and depressing.

Dobbs stepped into the barn. “Gimpy!” After a few moments of silence, he called, “Where the hell are you?”

Frank walked out of shadow. “He's not here, Jesse. Even think about raising the Winchester and I'll kill you.”

“Who are you?” Dobbs said.

“Name's Frank Cobb. I'm here to arrest you and take the payroll you stole back to the army.”

Dobbs smiled. “Hell, I've heard of you. As I recollect, back in the day you ran with some wild ones.”

“I still do,” Frank said.

Dobbs propped the rifle against the wall of the barn. “We don't need to quarrel, you and me. Come with me to Mexico and we'll split the money. Hell, there's enough for both of us and we can have us a time.”

“Until I turn my back and your bullet puts an end to the good times. You're scum, Jesse.”

Dobbs had been smiling, but his face hardened. “And what does that make you, outlaw?”

“I could have ended up like you, Jesse, but I went straight, saved myself. You never will.”

Dobbs made a visible effort to remain calm. When he succeeded in pulling himself together he said, “Last chance, Cobb, and then my talking is done. Throw in with me and we'll blow this burg as rich men.”

“Not a chance in hell, Jesse. We have it out here and now.”

“You can't shade me, Cobb.”

“Try me.”

Dobbs's hand streaked for his gun. He was sudden. Lightning-bolt sudden. Frank, weakened by his wound and far from being at his best, was way slower. But it didn't matter. The rifle bullet that crashed onto Dobbs's back as his Colt cleared leather dropped him like a puppet that just had its strings cut. He was alive when he hit the dung on the floor, but he was beyond movement. With his spine between his shoulder blades shattered and splintered like a dry stick, he died within moments.

Frank looked at the figure in the doorway. “You didn't give him much of a chance to make his play.”

“You gave him his chance. He didn't take it.” Kate lowered her rifle. “You're family, Frank. I fight like a tigress for my family and win any way I can.”

“And now you'll have to live with it, Kate.”

“I shot a mad dog, Frank. I can live with that just fine.”

* * *

Under the fussy supervision of Texas Ranger JC Brewster, Eagle Pass vigilantes moved the payroll money to the town hall and placed it under guard. The army was informed by wire and it promised that a wagon detail would arrive to pick up the money “sooner or later depending on the exigencies of the service.”

“The brass don't seem to be in too much of a hurry to get their money back,” Frank said.

Brewster said, “Probably the job will end up being done by the Rangers. The army will hold a court of inquiry into the robbery before it does anything else and that could take months.”

“You'll stay here with the money, JC?” Kate said.

“I reckon so, unless I'm ordered otherwise. You're heading back to the ranch?”

“Yes,” Kate said. “We've been gone too long.”

“Going to be quiet around here without you two,” Brewster said.

“If you're ever up in the Pecos River country—”

“I'll be sure to stop by.”

“We'll have tea and sponge cake,” she said.

“I look forward to it.” Brewster had been smiling, but his face became serious. “Kate, about Jesse Dobbs—”

“I'd do the same thing again.”

“You saved Frank's life. That's what he told me.”

“Do you think I did wrong, JC? Kate said.

“Nope. The only part of Dobbs that was facing you was his back.”

Kate smiled. “That's one way of looking at it.”

“That's the only way to look at it.” Ranger Brewster held out his hand. “Good luck, Kate. You, too, Frank.”

She took his hand. “And you, JC. Good luck.”