Читать книгу Gunsight Showdown: A Walt Slade Western - Bradford Scott - Страница 6

THE PRIVATE CAR, along with about every other convenience, boasted a tiny bathroom where Slade cleaned up to his satisfaction. After which he rejoined Dunn in the sittingroom of the coach.

“And now suppose you tell me what it was all about?” he suggested as he sat down and rolled a cigarette.

“An example of the harrassment to which I’ve been subjected ever since I started this blasted feeder which will eventually reach Chihuahua City,” Dunn growled. “Some hellion or hellions slid into the working force, which wasn’t hard to do—I have hundreds of men working on the line.”

“Five in number, I’d say,” Slade interpolated.

“What the devil do you mean by that?” Dunn demanded. Slade recounted his brush with the five night riders.

“I made a mistake in not throwing down on them with my saddle gun, but right then I didn’t know what they’d been up to,” he concluded. “Go on.”

“Yes, I guess those were the devils,” Dunn nodded. “They did a pretty good job with their dynamite blast. Smashed a locomotive, a crane and those boxcars. A plain wonder that they didn’t kill somebody. They would have if it wasn’t for you. I wouldn’t have believed there was a man in Texas who could stop that beam from sinking; but then, you’re always doing something nobody figures could be done.

“Well, as I was saying, I’ve been having trouble a-plenty. This isn’t the first incident. Had a couple of very suspicious fires, telegraph lines cut, a few shootings from the brush that scared the devil out of the workers, even though nobody was hit. Keeps ’em fumbly and jerky and slows up progress. Tonight was about the most ambitious try of all.”

“Who’s back of it?” Slade asked. Dunn shrugged his massive shoulders.

“Not easy to answer,” he replied. “I have opposition from the carters, who see the line cutting in on their business. A fellow named Gordon Plant owns several big trains. He’s a comparative newcomer here, I understand. He horned in on the Mexican monopoly. I’m just a mite suspicious of him, but there’s no proof that he has been back of the things that have happened. Down in Mexico there are folks who don’t look with favor on the coming of the railroad. Wild country down there, with plenty of wild men in it who see a threat to their questionable activities. Then there’s old Andy Jorg, who owns a big spread over to the east. His holding includes this section of the desert. He fought me tooth and nail. Refused to sell right-of-way across his land. We had to invoke Eminent Domain to get it. He’s mad as Hades and swears he’ll wreck the blankety-blank-blank railroad before he’s finished with it.”

“Sounds like a proddy old gent,” Slade commented.

“Uh-huh, he’s all of that,” Dunn agreed. “Well-heeled, too. Owns a tremendous property. A typical ranch of the Big Bend country, where cows require a vast acreage. A real old-timer, opinionated, stubborn, set in his ways. Has no use for plows, barbed wire, or railroads that come too close. Tried to point out to him that it would be to his advantage to ship from Presidio instead of running his herds north. Couldn’t see it. Said his dad and grandad ran their herds all the way to Dodge City, Kansas, and that what was good enough for them was good enough for him.”

Slade nodded thoughtfully. He was familiar with the brand—“King Canutes” trying to sweep back the tide of progress with a broom of violence and opposition. Wouldn’t work.

“Do you figure Jorg the kind who would resort to such tactics as were employed tonight and the other times you mentioned?” he asked. Dunn shrugged again.

“Frankly, he did not strike me that way,” he admitted. “But you never can tell, I’ve been fooled before. And there’s another angle to consider: sometimes a man’s workers get out of hand and do things the boss wouldn’t countenance.” Slade nodded agreement.

“Did you get a good look at those five hellions who threw lead at you?” Dunn asked.

“Only enough to convince me that they were or had been range riders,” Slade replied. “I couldn’t even say how they were dressed, but the way they sat their horses indicated long familiarity with the saddle. Which, however, has little significance and certainly should not be considered as pointing the finger of suspicion at Jorg.” It was Dunn’s turn to nod agreement.

“Speaking of cart trains,” Slade said, “I’ve a notion the one I met must have been one of Gordon Plant’s trains. I assume he doesn’t use Mexicans for carters.”

“That’s right,” answered the G.M. “Texans, I’d say. At least Americans from somewhere in the West.”

“And somehow they didn’t strike me as the sort really accustomed to following a mule’s tail,” Slade observed thoughtfully.

“Which is something to keep in mind,” Dunn remarked sagely.

“Yes, but nothing conclusive about it,” Slade pointed out.

“Guess that’s so,” Dunn conceded. “So we’re right back where we started—no proof against anybody. McNelty sent you down here, eh?”

“That’s right,” Slade replied. “He received your letter and thought it wouldn’t do any harm for me to amble down and have a look-see, especially as he didn’t have anything else on his mind right then, and was tired of having me hang around the Post.”

“Mighty glad you happened to be hanging around handy right at the time,” Dunn declared. “I’m feeling better already.”

“I hope you won’t end up disillusioned,” Slade smiled. The General Manager snorted derisively.

“I never have and I don’t expect to this time,” he said, with emphasis. “Think anybody down here knows you are a Ranger?”

“I doubt it,” Slade replied.

“But as El Halcón, yes?”

The devils of laughter in the back of Slade’s cold eyes leaped gleefully to the front.

“So I presume,” he conceded. Dunn snorted again.

“That fool business of posing as an owlhoot too smart to get caught is going to get you into serious trouble sometime,” he predicted gloomily.

“So Captain Jim seems to think, but I’ll chance it,” Slade answered.

Due to his habit of working undercover whenever possible and often not revealing his Ranger connections, Walt Slade had built up a singular dual reputation. Those who knew the truth declared he was not only the most fearless but also the shrewdest of the Rangers. Others, who did not know the truth and knew him only as El Halcón maintained vigorously that he was just a blasted outlaw who somehow always managed to elude the toils of justice but who would get his comeuppance sooner or later.

Not that all were of that opinion. El Halcón had champions as well as detractors who said, “What if he has got killings to his credit? To his credit is right! Ever hear of him cashing in anybody who didn’t have it coming and overdue? That should be left to the duly elected or appointed officers of the law, you say? Uh-huh, but when the duly appointed or elected law officers fall down on the job, it’s up to somebody to take over. And that’s what El Halcón does. I’m for him!”

And so forth, and so forth, and so forth.

“Well, there’s Sam yelpin’ for us to come and get it,” said the G.M. “He’ll have something extra special tonight in your honor; he thinks a lot of you. He’s always quoting what the Mexicans say about you—‘El Halcón! the friend of the lowly, of all who are wronged or sorrow or are oppressed. El Halcón! the compassionate and the just!’ “

“Sam’s a fine person,” Slade replied, his eyes abruptly all kindness. “I am very fond of him.”

“But there’s always the chance of some trigger-happy deputy or marshal plugging you by mistake, to say nothing of a gun-slinger out to get a reputation by downing the notorious El Halcón, and not above shooting in the back to get it,” Dunn worriedly remarked.

Slade repeated his former careless remark, “I’ll chance it. Besides,” he added, “there are advantages in being El Halcón. Owlhoots who look on me as one of their own brand are apt to get careless. And as El Halcón there are avenues of information open that would be closed to a known Ranger.”

Dunn grunted, and didn’t look convinced.

Sam’s dinner fulfilled expectations and both railroader and Ranger did it full justice. After which they smoked over final cups of steaming coffee, with little to say, for both were pretty well worn out by strenuous effort and excitement.

Salde slept in the private car and awoke feeling much refreshed and, aside from a slightly sore back, was his normal self again.

“Mistuh Jim is already out on the job,” Sam said as he served his breakfast. “He said to let you sleep till you took a notion to wake up.”

“That was considerate of him,” Slade acknowledged. “I was a mite tuckered, having been in the saddle for about eighteen hours.”

“Uh-huh, and on top of that what you went through under that mess,” said Sam. “Man, oh man! That was something! You’d oughta been a lot more than a mite tuckered.”

Slade enjoyed a leisurely breakfast and after a cigarette and a chat with Sam, he sallied forth in search of Jaggers Dunn.

Everywhere he was greeted by smiles and nods and a waving of hands, the workers regarding him with the greatest respect.

A whisper was running through their ranks—“That’s El Halcón, the outlaw!”

“Huh, outlaw or no outlaw, he’s the bully boy with a glass eye for my money! If it wasn’t for him, Toby would have been a goner. Risked his own life getting under that sill and holding it up with the fire going like blazes over him. Don’t let Toby hear you say anything against him; he’s liable to take a pick handle to you.”

“I was just sayin’ what other folks say!”

“The devil with what other folks says! He’s okay.”

“Right!”

Locating the G.M., Slade found him with a clouded brow and a worried look.

“Things aren’t going right at all,” he growled. “The men are nervous and jumpy and fumbly. They hesitate to put a pick in the ground for fear of what might happen. Apprehensive about everything they do. And the work is suffering in consequence. Blankety-blank Plant and Jorg!”

Slade nodded without further comment; he was gazing southward, his eyes thoughtful. Dunn regarded him expectantly. He had learned to respect El Halcón’s silences, knowing that they usually presaged something important. He was not disappointed in the present instance. Slade abruptly turned to face him.

“A wild country down there,” he said, gesturing to the south. “Wild and rugged, but with great potentialities that will be realized with modern transportation. Cattle, wool, wheat, cotton, and other agricultural products. You used wise foresight in planning your line to Chihuahua City.”

“So I figured,” Dunn replied complacently.

“Of course you know,” Slade continued, “that the M.K. Railroad contemplates a line south and west from Del Rio?”

“Of course,” Dunn nodded. “Doesn’t bother me. They’ll be on the other side of the mountains and won’t encroach on our territory. No danger of them cutting in on our trade.”

“Perhaps,” Slade said. “Are you familiar with the country down there, Mr. Dunn?”

“With the survey line, yes,” the G.M. replied.

“Ever hear of the Cienaga Pass?” Slade asked.

“Why, no,” Dunn answered.

“The same applies to most people up here, and to the majority south of the Rio Grande, for it is not really a pass at all, being unapproachable from the east for horses or carts. It’s a canyon that runs right through the mountains, from east to west. As I said, it cannot be negotiated from the east, for it boxes on the east by perpendicular cliffs, not very high but unclimbable.”

“Then what good is the darn thing?” Dunn asked, although Slade was convinced that his quick mind had already grasped the implication.

“For nothing as is,” Slade replied. “But with modern excavation methods it would be no great chore to dig and blast an opening on the east. Then you’d have an almost water-level route through the mountains, not far south of the Rio Grande, and a straight shoot to tap the territory you hope to exploit.”

“And you think—” Dunn began, his eyes snapping.

“I rather more than think,” Slade answered. “As it happened, last year, before you revealed your intention of a line to Presidio and on to Chihuahua City, I was trailing a certain gent I thought used the canyon for a shortcut. I was mistaken in that, as I realized when I came up against the box end of the canyon. But,” he added impressively, “while I was in there, I saw stakes and other unmistakeable evidence that a survey line had been run through the canyon. Right then I was at a loss to comprehend what it meant. Wasn’t much interested, anyhow. Had other matters in urgent need of attention. But when I heard you had started this line and received the letter you wrote Captain Jim, I began to get an inkling of what it might mean, having already heard of the M.K. plans to build south and west from Del Rio. So you see it may not be either Jorg or Plant who is responsible for your troubles. You are familiar with the M.K. methods and know that ethics is just a word they may have noted in the dictionary. Beginning to get the notion?”

Dunn swore with explosive violence. “You’re blasted well right I am,” he growled.

“So,” Slade concluded, “you may have something in the nature of a railroad building race on your hands. The first to get through to Chihuahua will be in a position to negotiate mail, express and shipping contracts. Delaying tactics may well be in order, something you have encountered before.”

“Uh-huh, and a couple of times you pulled the fat out of the fire for me,” Dunn said. “Now you’ve really got me bothered, for I never knew anybody who could sum up a situation faster or more accurately. I’m afraid you’re right this time, too. Confound it! I can’t fight fire with fire. I’m just not made that way.”

Slade nodded sober agreement. Jim Dunn was a square-shooter and would never stoop to unethical practices no matter how great the provocation.

“You going to stick around?” Dunn asked.

“That’s what I’m here for, is it not?” Slade countered. “I was sent here to investigate your complaint of unlawful activities going on in this section. Last night was an example of sabotage that might well have cost one or more lives. As a Texas Ranger that is very much my business, and it is my duty to see, if possible, that the culprits are brought to justice.

“They’ll be brought to justice, all right,” Dunn predicted grimly, “but as to whether they’ll ever stand trial is problematical. I’ve noticed that in such cases, El Halcón is quite often judge, jury, prosecutor and executioner. Well, often that’s the only way to do it, so more power to you. Now I suppose you’ll need an excuse to stick around, so how about taking charge of things here? After all, I have a few more things to think about other than this blasted feeder; I’ve been away from the main office too long as it is. Although you’re not working at it, I don’t believe there’s a better engineer in Texas, and you have a rare knack, something born to, not acquired, for inspiring men to be fiercely loyal to you. Already the boys admire and respect you for what you did last night, and I’m confident you won’t have any trouble with them.”

“Thank you for your confidence in me, sir,” Slade replied. “But don’t you have a field engineer on this job?”

“Yes, I have,” Dunn replied. “John Butler, a first rate construction man, but I’m afraid he doesn’t get the work out of the boys he should. He’s down at Presidio right now, superintending the construction of the approaches for the bridge across the Rio Grande, a highly important project as you well know.”

“Decidedly so,” Slade conceded. “Did Butler run the surveys for the approaches?” Dunn shook his head.

“There’s another example of the bad luck that’s been dogging me ever since I conceived this project,” he said. “The surveys were run by Potter Quigley, a good bridge engineer, but right after he finished that part of the chore he took sick and quit. Said the climate down here would kill him if he stayed. Could be; it is a devil of a section for anybody not accustomed to such conditions. I was planning to try and transfer another man here, later, although it would disrupt other work to do so. Now with you here I don’t have to worry about that, if you’ll take over.”

“Perhaps Mr. Butler won’t take kindly to being superceded, which is what it amounts to,” Slade suggested. Dunn chuckled.

“Well,” he said dryly, “having seen you in action a few times, I predict that if his dissatisfaction proves too vocal he is liable all of a sudden to wonder how come the sky fell in on him.”

Slade laughed. “I’ve a notion Mr. Butler and I will make out together,” he replied. “Yes, I’ll take over the chore—gives me a chance to keep my hand in, as it were.”

“Still planning to go in for engineering?” Dunn asked curiously.

“Oh, sure,” Slade admitted. “After a while, when I decide to leave the Rangers.” Dunn smiled and did not comment.

“Come on over to the car and I’ll give you your authority,” he said.