Journey into Violence (13 page)

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-FOUR

Bat Masterson's talk about Dora Redberry had shaken Drugo Odell to the core. He dropped all his plans regarding the taming of Nelly Wilde since he could no longer take the chance on drawing some unwelcome attention, especially if he chose to kill her. Too nervous to eat, he settled for coffee in the crowded Dodge House Restaurant, where he could take refuge behind his newspaper.

The
Dodge Times
had the story of last night's shooting scrape on their front page, and as usual got it all wrong.

A few mangled details of the shooting followed and the piece ended with, “The dead man was identified by Sheriff Hinkle as Morton Bradshaw, a desperate character, much given to whiskey and rowdy behavior. The
Times'
only comment is to wish the rogue's sable shade a hearty good riddance.”

Odell smiled behind his newsprint barricade, the thought of Nellie Wilde as a schoolteacher amusing him greatly. What would she teach? Her occupation? Plus whiskey and wantonness probably. He had no time to ponder his questions because someone sat heavily on the chair opposite and flicked his newspaper with a finger. Odell lowered the paper.

A big, rough-hewn, and unshaven man scowled at him. “Me and you need to talk.”

* * *

Kate dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “The scrambled eggs were quite acceptable, the overcooked bacon was not. Has it occurred to you, Mr. Masterson, as it has to me, that perhaps Morgan Braddock was acting on his own?”

“You mean that he murdered the two women?”

“Yes, and possibly Dora Redberry.”

Bat shook his head. “The word around town is that Braddock was a hired killer. His only other interest seemed to be gambling and he wasn't very good at it. Braddock was a professional and he didn't kill those women. There was no profit in it.” He forked a piece of bacon into his mouth and said around a chew, “Hired assassins don't draw attention to themselves. They drift into a town like ghosts, make the kill, and drift out again.”

“Then again that leaves only Drugo Odell.”

“Sticks out like a bandaged thumb, don't he?”

* * *

“You'll have a fast horse and five hundred dollars traveling money,” the big man said.

“If I make the Kerrigan kill I want a fast horse and fifteen hundred traveling money,” Odell negotiated. “Pretty woman like that should be kept around, barefoot and naked most of the time. Why do you want her dead?”

“I have my reasons,” the big man said. “Right now they're none of your concern.”

“You hired Morgan Braddock to kill Kate Kerrigan,” Odell said. “The damn idiot tried to kill me and a redheaded whore.”

“Mistaken identity,” the big man said. “It happens.”

“I won't make the same mistake,” Odell said. “That is ... if I accept the contract.”

“You'll accept the contract. I agree to the fifteen hundred.” The big man looked around him and leaned closer to Odell. “Don't mess with Bat Masterson, Odell. He's got a nose like a bloodhound. I got a feeling the feller in the jail ain't gonna hang for killing the whores, but there's a good chance somebody else will. Maybe a ranny who least expects it. Maybe that somebody should think about putting a heap of git between himself and Dodge while the gittin's good.”

“I didn't kill them,” Odell said.

“Yes, you did, but I don't give a damn,” the big man said. “I need Kate Kerrigan dead. Do you want the job or no?”

“Two thousand and I want the horse ready at the livery when the job is done.”

“You come high.”

“Kate Kerrigan isn't a two-dollar prostitute.”

“No, she's a rancher and she's got powerful friends. Odell, make it look good, and be damn sure the killing can't be traced back to me.”

“I've contract killed before. Protecting the client's identity comes with the job.”

“Good. Now listen up. Go to the front desk of the Dodge House at four this afternoon and ask for the package someone left for you. Inside you'll find a thousand dollars. When it's over and Kate Kerrigan is dead, the other thousand will be in the saddlebags of a roan horse at the livery.”

“And then?”

“And then you get the hell out of Dodge and don't ever come back.”

“Your terms are acceptable. I don't know your name.”

“And you don't need to know it.” The big man rose to his feet. “Just take care of business, you hear?”

“You can depend on me,” Drugo Odell said.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-FIVE

Maddox Franklin left his post at the end of the Top Hat bar and stepped to the table where Bat Masterson was in conversation with Nellie Wilde.

The girl had recovered from her experience but had prevailed upon Bat to buy her a brandy. “For my nerves, like.” She couldn't tell him much about Drugo Odell that he didn't already know, but she was pretty enough and smelled nice.

He lingered longer than he'd intended.

“Hey, Bat, seems like your friend George Hinkle's got himself some trouble,” Franklin said.

“What kind of trouble?” Masterson said.

“Look out the window.”

Bat excused himself to Nellie, who didn't seem to care overly much, and stepped to the window where he had a clear view of the sheriff's office. He'd seen a lynch mob before and it looked just like the one on the street.

“Seems like they intend to string up that jasper you've taken an interest in,” Franklin said. “What's his name?”

“Hank Lowery.”

“Looks like he'll soon be Hung Lowery,” Franklin said.

“I'd better get over there,” Masterson said. “Hinkle is sure to make a bad situation worse.”

“Wait. I'll come with you. Let me get my gun.”

Bat was surprised. “You don't need to take a hand in this, Maddox.”

“I know. But I'm bored. Being a saloonkeeper isn't as exciting as I thought it would be. A lot of standing around mostly.”

“Not like being a Texas Ranger, huh?”

“That job was ninety percent boredom, as well.”

Maddox said something to the bartender and the man passed him his holstered Colt and a scattergun. He handed the Greener to Bat and then buckled his gun belt around his hips and grinned. “Right. Let's go raise some hell in Dodge City and be somebody.”

* * *

Kate had said her rosary and was about to get into bed when someone knocked on her door. She picked up the Colt from the nightstand and said, “Who is it?”

“Kate, it's me, Frank. We got ourselves some trouble.”

“Hold on.” Kate put on her dressing gown and opened the door. “Come in, Frank. What's happened?”

He stepped into the room. “Lynch mob outside the jail. The desk clerk is waking everybody so they can come join in the fun.”

“Oh sweet Jesus preserve us! Is Hank all right?”

“I don't know.”

Trace stepped into the room and looked at Frank. “I see you've already been told.”

Kate tightened her robe around her, slipped her feet into slippers, and picked up the Colt again. “Let's go.”

“But Ma, you aren't decent.”

“No I'm not decent. And my hair is tied back for war.”

“There speaks the Irish warrior princess,” Frank said, grinning.

“Damn right,” said Kate.

* * *

Sheriff Hinkle tried to placate the crowd of two score men who faced him outside the jail, half of them Texas punchers nearly drunk and up for any diversion. “Whoever told you I was releasing Hank Lowery is a damn liar. Where is he? Show yourself.”

“We were told you'd say something like that,” a gray-haired man said. “Now get that woman-killer out here or we'll come in after him.”

A half-drunk puncher yelled, “That jasper ain't goin' nowhere except the nearest crossbeam. We all know about what he done in Longdale . . . all them women and children he murdered an' scalped.”

That drew cheers and the mob surged forward, one man waving a noosed rope above his head.

“Damn you. I'll kill the first man who tries to enter this jail.” Hinkle's Colt was holstered, but he carried a shotgun.

“And I'll kill the second.”

It was a woman's voice, loud enough to make men stop in their tracks and look in Kate's direction. She stepped onto the boardwalk in front of the sheriff's office, Frank and Trace flanking her.

She stepped to the edge of the walk. “Hank Lowery will not be released until the real killer of Sarah Hollis and Alva Cranley is found. Who told you otherwise?”

“Lady, there's a lot of talk going around,” a man said.

“Who started the talk?” Kate said. “And was he the one who told you that Hank murdered women and children in Longdale? That's a lie and he knows it.”

Men looked at each other until finally a puncher said, “We heard Hinkle is taking Lowery out of Dodge on the midnight train. We're here to see that ain't gonna happen.”

Muttered agreement passed among the crowd and again voices were raised in anger. A larger group of onlookers had gathered to watch the lynch mob and at least a hundred people stood in the street, eager for some action.

Kate realized she was losing them, and she placed her back against the office door. “Then you'll have to hang me, as well.” Her robe had slipped, revealing her shoulder and the top of her right breast. With her flaming red hair tied back in a green ribbon, she did look like a Celtic princess at bay.

“We can do that, lady,” a man yelled. “We can hang you next to Lowery.”

Angrier than Kate had ever seen him, Frank roared, “Damn you for a bunch of lily-livered skunks to threaten a woman like that. You want Lowery? All right. That's fine by me, but you'll have to step over your own dead to get him.” Frank drew his Colt. “Now have at it. My pistol is ready and my talking is done.”

No one in the street wanted to walk into Frank's revolver, and for a moment the mob hesitated. Then a shotgun blast tore through the air above their heads, giving them further pause.

His Greener smoking, Bat Masterson studied the crowd from the boardwalk. “I still got one barrel left. I want the bravest of you to step up, a volunteer willing to get his guts blown out as an encouragement to the others. Come now, where is there such a man?”

Beside him, the tall, elegant Maddox Franklin, gun in hand, smiled. “Make your play, boys, and deal me a hand. I already got five aces in this here iron.”

“Damn you, we're ready,” Frank Cobb yelled to the crowd. “Come and take the man you want to hang.”

Some of the men in the lynch mob were sobering fast. The prospect of rushing two shotguns, three Colts, and a Winchester in the hands of a young man who looked as though he knew how to use it was not a pleasant one. Besides, the federal authorities might not easily forgive the hanging of a beautiful woman in the streets of Dodge by a drunken hemp posse.

Calmer voices in the crowd, mostly merchants, urged the mob to disperse, promising that they would make sure justice was done and that no guilty person would escape the rope.

When she looked back on the incident, Kate was certain that a few of the hotter or drunker heads might have tried it, but the summer rain that had threatened all day came down in earnest, a Kansas frog-strangler that immediately spoiled the crowd's evening. It was no fun to hang a man in the rain. The ground turns muddy and everybody gets wet. The crowd quickly melted away under the guns of Kate and the others.

Hinkle spoke for everyone when he whispered, “My God, I hope I never have to go through that again.”

“We were lucky,” Masterson said. “The spark to light the fuse never came. It happens that way sometimes and sometimes it doesn't. When the fuse does get lit you end up with dead men on the street and a hanging.”

Hinkle took Kate's arm. “Mrs. Kerrigan, let's get you inside out of this rain.”

“Who started the rumor that Lowery was getting released?” Hinkle said.

“Drugo Odell?” Kate stood at the office window staring at the downpour that looked like steel needles angling into the street.

“Doubtful. What does he care if Lowery hangs or not?” The sheriff's face frowned in concentration. “I think whoever spread the rumor and worked up the crowd hoped it would draw you out from the hotel.”

A moment's silence followed that statement.

Then Frank Cobb yelled, “Oh my God!” He ran across the floor and dived at Kate.

They hit the floor hard even as a bullet shattered the window and thudded into the wall opposite. Masterson immediately blew out the lamp and rushed outside. Maddox Franklin was right behind him.

“There!” Franklin yelled and thumbed off a shot.

“Where?” Bat said.

“In the alley. I caught a glimpse of a man with a rifle.”

Bat was already running, the rain falling around him, mud kicking up from his pounding feet. He fired and fired again then vanished into the alley's gloom.

A few tense moments passed without a sound from the alley, then the roar of two revolver shots sounded . . . evenly spaced apart. Then silence again.

Bat reappeared, his Colt hanging loosely by his side, a disappointed scowl on his face.

“Did you get him?” Franklin said. The shoulders of his blue frockcoat were black with rain.

“I fired at shadows. I hit nobody.” Masterson slid his Colt back into the shoulder holster. “Whoever he was, he's long gone.”

Franklin starred into the darkness. “I reckon so. But I sure don't want to grope my way down a dark alley to put it to the test.”

“Me neither,” Masterson said. “Damn, I'm soaking wet.”

“That makes two of us.”

* * *

“Did you get him?” Sheriff Hinkle asked as the former lawman entered the office.

“Scared an alley cat or two,” Masterson said. “No, I didn't get him. I didn't want to walk any farther into the alley, that's for damn sure.”

Kate studied a bruise on her left arm. “You saved my life, Frank. And not for the first time.”

“Kate, somebody wants you dead real bad,” Frank said. “Apart from Drugo Odell, is there anyone you can think of in Dodge who hates you bad enough to kill you?”

Without a moment's hesitation, Kate shook her head. “No. There's no one.”

“You shot the tin man, ma,” Trace said, smiling. “Maybe it was him.”

“It wasn't a tin man I saw run into in the alley,” Bat said. “You can take that to the bank.”

Frank said, “Kate, we'd better get you to the hotel. You took a bad tumble.”

“Is that what you call it, Frank? A tumble?” Kate said.

Frank looked flustered.

She smiled. “I call it saving my life.”

“I reckon we're all agreed on that.” Masterson slapped Frank on the shoulder. “Well done, old fellow.”

Frank said nothing but proved to all present that he could still blush.