Texas Killers (8 page)

At that point in Dusty's train of thought, a recollection began to stir in his memory.

One of Beguinage's victims in Brownsville was a
man whose way of life and current circumstances should have made him even less disposed than Digbry toward accepting strangers at face value. Yet he had paid the penalty of admitting Europe's “premier assassin”—Dusty believed in the guise of a mission padre—to his room.

The face of the dead man in Brownsville had been distorted by an expression almost identical to that of the marshal and “Sharpshooter” Schindler, but there was no wound on his body. He had been killed by drinking poison in a bottle of wine accepted from his visitor. Furthermore, the nature of the wounds which had caused the two latest deaths were vastly different.

And Beguinage had met his end hours before Digbry was murdered!

Looking at the peace officer's only visible wound, Dusty found himself wishing that he had Doc Leroy with him. While the Wedge cowhand had not yet achieved his ambition to qualify as a doctor of medicine,
³
he had sufficient knowledge to be able to say whether the small puncture in the marshal's throat could cause death as rapidly as it appeared to have done, or if the implement which
made it would need to be coated with poison to produce such an effect.

If the latter should be the case, the affair became even more complex and puzzling.

The most logical solution was that, by a coincidence, the killer had arrived armed with a poisonous device. In fact, unlikely as this might appear, Dusty could not think of any other explanation. Certainly Digbry would not have been so stupid, or trusting, to allow
anybody
to apply the poison from Beguinage's receptacle to whatever kind of weapon—even it if appeared to be completely innocuous and harmless—was to be plunged into his throat.

Deciding that he was getting nowhere with his speculations, the small Texan turned his attention to more practical matters. His instincts as a peace officer would not allow him to discard one possibility. In spite of being unable to envisage any reason why the marshal would put Beguinage's property into the safe, while leaving “Breakast's” wallet in the drawer of the desk, he felt it was worth checking if this might be the case. At least, doing so would settle one aspect of the mystery, and he had the means available to satisfy his curiosity.

Removing the bunch of keys from the drawer,
Dusty crossed to the safe. Selecting the one which he believed to be appropriate, he found his guess was correct. Having unlocked and opened the door, he looked inside. The contents on the shelves were an untidy jumble, but insufficient in quantity to conceal the European assassin's belongings if they had been buried among any of them.

“God blast, Ike, nobody's bothered to light the lamp!”

“Let's put this son-of-a-bitch in the cells, then I'll do it.”

The two comments came to the small Texan's ears, followed by heavy footsteps tramping across the front room. On the point of calling out to whoever had entered, he kept quiet as he realized that to announce his presence under the circumstances might be injudicious. While he could produce a sound motive for his actions, he might not be permitted to make it. Not without creating an undesirable situation, anyway. As far as most people in Corpus Christie were concerned, he was a hired killer in search of employment. From all he had heard since his arrival, Digbry's deputies were just as dishonest and corruptible as their superior. However, they were selected for brawn
rather than brain. Finding the marshal dead at his desk and “
Rapido
Clint” standing by the open safe, they might draw the most obvious conclusion and be disinclined to listen to his explanation.

Nor was the small Texan enamored of the prospect of compelling the deputies to let him explain. Not that doing so would be difficult. He had holstered his Colt after looking into the alley, but could draw either it or its mate before bringing the peace officers into the office. Although they would not be likely to resist, having heard of “
Rapido
Clint's” ability with a gun, he would have to exhibit the document which he had shown to Digbry to ensure that he was believed. He felt sure they would be willing to accept Dusty Fog's explanation, but could not rely upon them to keep the secret of his true identity.

While Dusty would have had misgivings over the course he decided to adopt if he had been dealing with honest and efficient peace officers, he doubted whether the local deputies were competent to investigate their superior's murder. So they would not be hindered in their work if he left them to find Digbry's body in their own time. Waiting until they had escorted their prisoner to the cells, he left by the office's side entrance. No
body challenged his departure, nor did he hear anything to suggest the peace officers had discovered what had happened to the marshal as he walked along Dock Street in the direction of the hotel.

“F
LORENCE HAS JUST BEEN SAYING THAT SHE WONDERS
if you don't like girls, Waco,” the beautiful young woman who had been introduced as Lady Winifred Amelia Besgrove-Woodstole remarked, after she had descended from the box of the chuck wagon in which she and the maid had ridden to Corpus Christie. “Or is it English people in general you don't care for?”

Still puzzled by the change which had come over first Mark Counter, then the Ysabel Kid and Waco on being presented to her, the Lady was hoping to discover what had caused it. From the beginning, she had considered that the latter—being the youngest of the trio—might prove to be the most
amenable to her persuasive charms and supply the solution. On hearing how the journey to the town was to be made, she had hoped to be granted an opportunity to question him and, having arrived, she felt the time had come.

In addition to having called a halt so that he could ask about the other members of Crown Prince Rudolph's retinue at the livery barn from which the wagon and its team had been hired, Colonel Wilhelm Liebenfrau was making use of the establishment's “back house” to answer the call of nature. His orderly had accompanied him on a similar mission. Waco had stayed with the riding horses, a short distance from the wagon, and was scanning the surrounding buildings. None was closer than fifty yards and all were in darkness, showing no sign of being occupied. From all appearances, the newcomers had the whole area to themselves. It was a situation which offered the Lady the privacy her interrogation required.

“Well now, ma'am,” the youngster replied, remembering
not
to remove his hat from his head. He had exchanged his Stetson for the high “sugarloaf” crowned white Mexican
sombrero
before commencing the return journey from the rendezvous and removing it as he usually would have done when addressing a member of the opposite
sex, would have betrayed his disguise. He had also donned and was still wearing a long, voluminous
serape
to conceal almost all of his clothing with the exception of his boots, into which he had tucked the legs of his Levi's pants. “I'm not like one certain jasper I know's I'll leave nameless, called Mark Counter, who spends 'most all of his waking time chasing the gals bow-legged, but I like them just fine I reckon.”

“Then it must be that you don't like us English people?” the Lady suggested.

“Can't say's I've met too many of you English folks,” Waco answered. “But the Kellers up to the Indian Nations
¹
come out to be real nice folks when we got to know them.
²
And they don't come no better nor finer'n lil ole Babsy Smith and her boss-lady up to Mulrooney, Kansas.”

“Babsy
Smith
!” the Lady repeated, darting a glance to where her maid was watching and listening on the box of the wagon. Returning her gaze to the young Texan, her voice and face resumed their friendly tone and expression as she continued, “That's an unusual Christian name. Are you sure that she is English?”

“She told me she was a ‘Cockney,' or some such, which she allowed's about's English as they come,” Waco elaborated, grinning a little at the memory of the buxom and vivacious little blonde saloon-girl with whom he had been on
very
close terms while acting as Dusty Fog's least experienced deputy town marshal in Mulrooney.
³
Showing no sign of having noticed the reaction produced by his mention of her, he went on, “And Miss Fre—!” He broke the words off abruptly, realizing that to continue with them might give more away than was desirable and could even supply the information which he suspected his interrogator was seeking. “Whooee! Time it's taking the Colonel, he should try drinking some croton oil.”

“I don't understand,” the Lady declared, genuinely puzzled in spite of the conversation having left the subject in which she was most interested.

“Likely you-all don't have it in England, but it's what folks out here drink when they go out back and can't do what they've gone for,” the youngster explained, none too succinctly. “It's always worked pretty well for me, times I've had to use it. Happen you'll excuse such talk in the company of two ladies.”

“We will and I think we call something like it ‘cascara,'” the Lady replied, a smile twisting at her lips as she understood Waco's meaning. However, appreciating that they were straying from the matter toward which the conversation had previously been directed, she tried to raise it once more. “If your friend really is a Cockney, she must be English. But however did she come to be in the United Sta—?”

“Is there any sign of His Highness yet, young man?” Colonel Liebenfrau called, striding as smartly as if marching on a parade from the well lit interior of the livery barn with his orderly following and carrying a lantern. They were both wearing clothing of range country style and, although it no longer carried the saber on its slings, the officer still retained his military belt with its bolstered revolver. However, as many men who had served in the Confederate or Union Armies made use of similar equipment, this was not detrimental to the disguise. “Neither he nor the other party have been here yet.”

“Can't see anything of them, Colonel,” Waco answered, without commenting that the darkness and the various buildings around the barn rendered any sighting at a distance most unlikely. He was not sorry to have had the discussion with the Lady brought to an end, so pointed out, “We came in
along the Coast Road, which's a shorter way of hitting town than either Lon or Mark'll be coming. But they shouldn't be too much longer afore they show up. Happen you're so minded, we can wait for them here instead of going straight to the Blaby place.”

“I would like to go straight there, Colonel, so that I can change into something a trifle more suitable for the reception,” the Lady suggested. “But if you would rather stay here until His Highness arrives, perhaps Waco could take me there.”

“Mark said's I was to take you-all to the Blaby place, Colonel,” the youngster pointed out, before the Personal Attendant could reply and, while polite, his voice held a tone which brooked no argument. His eyes flickered to the Lady and he finished, “So, much's I'd admire to go along with you, ma'am, that's what I have to do. Either we all go, or we all stay put until the others come.”

Having heard the instructions to which Waco was referring, Liebenfrau gave a stiff nod of agreement. In spite of his apprehensions over the current situation, he admired the youngster for being willing to carry out orders which might be contrary to the wishes of a person of superior social standing.

The Personal Attendant might have the appearance of being a typical Prussian-trained senior of
ficer, but he possessed a flexibility of thought and a willingness to accept unconventional tactics or methods which was not a general character trait of men educated under that exacting military code. While he had had misgivings over one aspect, he was willing to concede that the arrangements to ensure the safe arrival of Crown Prince Rudloph in Corpus Christie had been planned with considerable forethought. Nor could he fault the way in which they were being carried out.

Not only had attire suitable for their surroundings been provided for the royal visitor and his retinue, but there was sufficient of it in various sizes to ensure each member found garments to fit him. Nor had the disguising ended there. The men who were to act as escort had helped the deception by making alterations to their own appearances. What was more, although they had set out that morning for the rendezvous riding their usual mounts, they had had other less distinctive and eye-catching horses waiting about two miles from the town upon which they could make the return journey. Even having the visitors bring some of their baggage ashore had been a furtherance of the scheme. When the matter was “accidentally” mentioned by the captain and selected members of the U.S.S.
Nantucket
's crew, it was hoped that any
would-be assassins who heard would assume their intended victim was to be kept away from Corpus Christie until at least the following day.

However, a futher precaution had disturbed Liebenfrau when he was told of it. In spite of appreciating how splitting up the party into three groups and travelling by different routes would lessen the chance of the ploy being detected, he had objected on learning that he and the Crown Prince would not be continuing the journey together. He had pointed out that, in his capacity as Personal Attendant, he should accompany his sovereign lord at all times. Once again, it had fallen upon Rudloph to insist upon accepting Mark Counter's wishes. So Liebenfrau had ridden along the Coast Road at the side of the chuck wagon, which was driven by his orderly. The Lady and her maid were passengers and Waco had acted as their guide.

Apart from Liebenfrau using a shotgun to bring down a few quail, the journey had been uneventful. A very careful watch was kept, but the party had neither met nor seen any other human beings. Carrying out his instructions, the youngster had made sure that they did not come into sight of Corpus Christie during the hours of daylight. It had been dark for almost an hour when they arrived at what proved to be a deserted livery barn.

While the Personal Attendant had not mentioned his misgivings, it had been apparent to the others of his party that he was uneasy. They had realized that he was having difficulty in reconciling himself to being separated from the Crown Prince when there was a possibility of danger.

“We will go to the mansion, Lady Winifred,” Liebenfrau declared, stopping and looking over his shoulder at the orderly, reverting to his native tongue.
“Bleiben sie hie—!”

Something that glittered metallically hissed from the darkness. Travelling at high speed, it almost touched the Colonel's neck in passing. In fact, if he had not paused with the intention of telling his orderly to stay at the livery barn until the arrival of the Crown Prince, the missile would have struck him. Missing, it sank into the side of the wagon and, vibrating, revealed itself to be a knife.

Swinging around, trying to decide from whence the weapon had come, Waco sent his hands flashing downwards. He was acting with the trained reflexes of a highly competent gun-fighter, but for once found them to be putting him at a disadvantage. Instead of enfolding the staghorn butts of his Army Colts, he found himself grasping the harsh material of the blanket-like
serape.

Letting out a startled oath in guttural German,
the orderly showed presence of mind by throwing aside the lantern. Its light was extinguished as it struck the ground, bringing darkness to the side of the wagon upon which the party were standing and rendering them far less open targets for the unseen assailant. Having done so, grabbing at the holster on the right side of his belt, he started to run in the general direction from which the knife had come.

Employing language which he would not have thought of using in the presence of two women under less trying circumstances, Waco sent the
sombrero
flying as he dragged the offending
serape
over his head. Although as yet he had not grasped the full significance of what he had seen, the way in which the knife had been thrown and dug into the side of the wagon warned him against taking chances when going up against its owner. So he had no intention of advancing until he had rid himself of what might prove an impediment to rapid movement.

“Look after the ladies, Colonel!” the youngster snapped, tossing the garment aside and noticing that the beautiful blonde was producing a Remington Double Derringer from the right side pocket of her jacket.

Drawing his Colts, without waiting to see
whether Liebenfrau was obeying, Waco moved forward. He had not seen exactly where the knife had been thrown from, so did not follow the orderly. Instead, he made for the opposite end of the nearest building. Before he had covered half the distance, certain factors began to imprint themselves upon his mind. However, he did not allow them to distract him or to interfere with his cautious scrutiny of the terrain ahead.

The youngster's range of vision was extremely restricted. None of the light from the doors of the barn spread even as far as his present position. Because of other buildings beyond that which he was approaching, he could not see if the alley had an occupant. So he slowed his pace, moving warily and employing all the knowledge of night fighting he had accrued from that acknowledged master, the Ysabel Kid.

Showing less restraint and caution, the Bosgravnian orderly was already entering the alley at the other end of the building. He had succeeded in drawing his revolver, but Waco considered that his behavior was ill-advised, even reckless in the extreme. Watching the man disappear, the youngster strained his ears to catch the slightest warning that the soldier might be paying for the rashness, and to try and detect any lurk
ing enemy in the blackness toward which he himself was heading.

Flattening his back against the front wall of the building, Waco glanced at the wagon. He found that Liebenfrau had acted upon his instructions. From what he could make out, the Personal Attendant and the Lady had gone around the vehicle and the maid was no longer on its box. Satisfied that they were sheltered, at least until whoever had thrown the knife moved to another position, he gave his attention to the work in hand.

Carefully, pleased that he had already discarded the
sombrero,
the youngster crouched and peered around the corner. Even from the lower position he was unable to see anything in the inky darkness of the alley, and he was painfully aware that, on entering, he could be sky-lined for whoever was further along.

“Oh hell!” Waco mused, as he started to ease himself around the corner. “Who wants to live forever, 'cepting maybe m—!”

The thought was terminated as the youngster heard a slight scuffle from the other side and rear of the building. It was followed by an exclamation he could not understand, but knew was being made by the Bosgravnian orderly. The words
ended in a hissing gasp of pain which was followed by light footsteps departing rapidly.