Texas Killers (6 page)

“‘Just' just about sums him up,” Mark drawled.

“He gets called plenty of other things, though,” the Indian-dark Texan commented, strolling over followed by a clearly angry von Farlenheim. His admiring gaze flickered to the Englishwoman as he concluded, “Only we don't use such language afore ladies, deacons or children.”

“He'll likely try to tell you his name's Loncey Dalton Ysabel, ma'am,” the youngster whose only name was Waco
⁵
informed the Lady. “But he's better known, or worse, as the Ysabel Kid. Don't let that, or how he looks fool you. He's older 'n' more ornery—”

“You keep your lips together,” the blond giant ordered, but his attitude was that of an older brother addressing a favorite sibling. “Unless you-all want to tell us what kind of fool game you pair've been playing at.”

“It was all Lon's fault's usual,” Waco protested, jerking a thumb in a gesture filled with contempt
at the Ysabel Kid. “He's full of right smart notions. Trouble being, he only turns loose the bad ones.”

Carrying on, the youngster confirmed the theory Mark had already formed over what had happened. Listening from the concealment of the woodland after the Crown Prince and his retinue had landed from the
Nantucket
's barge, the two OD Connected cowhands had heard the doubts which were raised about their competence as his bodyguard. So the Kid had suggested that they gave an exhibition of their ability to move silently and undetected close by while the party were walking to the Coast Road. Keeping slightly ahead of Rudolph's portion of the party, Waco had seen the danger and had acted in the only way he could. Realizing how the youngster's behavior might be misinterpreted, the Kid had taken measures to prevent harm befalling him before he could explain what he was doing.

“Which I should've known a heap better'n do any fool thing
he
suggested,” Waco concluded, aiming a glare of well simulated disdain at his Indian-dark
amigo.
“All doing it proved's that we're sneaky and, looking at him, nobody needs to have
that
proved.”

“You proved more than
that,
” Rudolph objected. “I've never seen anybody who could draw
one revolver so quickly, much less two, then shoot with such accuracy.”

“Shucks,” Waco replied, flushing a little. “I wasn't figuring on
hitting
the snake when I cut loose. All I did was throw lead down there and hope it'd make you jump backward instead of down this side of the tree.”

“He can't shoot worth a cuss,” the Kid stated. “And, way he was stomping around, I figured you'd hear him for sure.”

“I never saw or heard either of you,” the Crown Prince objected. “Did you, Colonel?”

“No, Your Highness,” Liebenfrau answered and directed a sour scowl at von Farlenheim who was approaching with the three sailors. “Nor did
anybody
else!”

“It's not real likely any of them heard or saw us, Colonel,” the Kid drawled. “I learned that kind of sneaky moving from the
Pehnane
Comanche, which there don't come any better. And
I've
taught Waco
all
he knows.”

“Only about sneaky moving,” the youngster supplemented, addressing the words to the Lady. “He's not a whole heap of use for anything—”

“And that makes two of you,” Mark interrupted, eyeing Waco in a threatening manner, then starting to perform the introductions.

As had been the case when Rudolph had first spoken to the blond giant, he found the demeanor of the other two Texans equally unexceptionable. Furthermore, he considered that the way in which Waco particularly had coped with the potentially dangerous situation suggested they were well able to act as his protectors. Not only had the youngster reached the correct solution over how to deal with the snake very quickly, he had also realized that he must demonstrate his lack of hostile intentions when he had done so. That he had taken such a risk implied a complete faith in the Ysabel Kid being able to protect him from the advance guard until the position was explained. What was more, in spite of the sardonic comments which passed between them and the blond giant, it was obvious that there were very close bonds of friendship and loyalty among them.

Nor, the Crown Prince decided, could the two young Texans' behavior be faulted when they were being introduced to Liebenfrau and von Farlenheim. There was nothing self-conscious or deliberately brash in either's manner. It was clear that they respected the Colonel and neither showed any resentment or concern over the First Taster's stiff-backed and obvious disapproval.

“And this's Lady Winifred Amelia Besgrove-
Woodstole,” Mark concluded, indicating the Englishwoman who had waited in the background until the presentations of the Bosgravnian party were made.

“Lady Wini—!” Waco began, losing his smile and snapping his eyes around to look briefly at the Kid. Then, swinging an interrogative gaze to Mark, he received a negative shake of the head. Turning his attention back to the Lady, he no longer displayed his earlier admiration and his voice became almost defensive in its neutrally polite timbre as he went on, “I'm pleased to meet you-all, ma'am.”

“It's a right honor to make your acquaintance, ma'am,” the Kid continued, but his even tone held no suggestion of friendliness and his Indian-dark features were devoid of any expression. “We don't often meet a for real lady out this ways.”

“Well now, seeing's we all know each other, how about us moving on over to the Coast Road?” Mark inquired, giving no hint as to what could have caused his companions' response to the introduction. “The quicker we get you gents into cowhand clothes, the earlier we'll have you-all into Corpus Christie.”

Although none of the Bosgravnians appeared to have noticed the change in the Texans' attitudes,
the Lady was more perceptive and felt disquieted. She had already sensed that something about her was disturbing the blond giant, but had thought it to be no more than an objection to having had the added responsibility of her presence forced upon him without prior warning. If that was the case, neither of his companions had been sharing his sentiments. It was not until they heard her name that they had changed their way of thinking where she was concerned. In which case, unlikely as the explanation which sprang most readily to mind might seem, she knew that she could find herself in a difficult situation.

F
OR A FEW SECONDS AFTER HE HAD DELIVERED HIS
mocking comment, Alex von Farlenheim wondered if he had pushed Charlene,
Comtesse de
Petain too far. Never had he seen a human countenance display such concentrated venomous rage as that which twisted at her beautiful features. If looks could have killed, the glare she directed at him as her right hand closed almost spasmodically around the fan on the table would have tumbled him lifeless to the floor. Alarmed, he tensed ready to defend himself if she struck at him with the device she had grabbed.

However, despite being a-quiver with fury,
Charlene had sufficient strength of will and intelligence to prevent herself from acting in a manner which would attract unwanted attention. Promising herself that she would be avenged upon the young Bosgravnian once he had served his purpose, she concentrated upon regaining her composure. What she discovered as she glanced at the dining-room's door warned that there was an urgent need for her to do so. Forcing herself to smile, she raised her right hand in what could have passed as a friendly wave.

“
He's
seen us and is coming over!” the
Comtesse
warned, losing the smile briefly as she turned her gaze to von Farlenheim and gritting out the words
sotto voce.
“So, whatever you do, be very
careful
in how you act, and think first about all you say.”

Having finished reading the note left by “George Breakast,” informing him that his terms had been accepted and arranging a rendezvous if they did not meet at the Edgehurst Warehouse, Dusty Fog had commenced what was purely a precautionary glance around the lobby of the Portside Hotel. Seeing the couple in the dining room, he had guessed what brought them there and had felt sure that they had not come with the go-between's knowledge or approval. Their attitudes, when his gaze first reached them, supplied
a clue as to how the discovery of “
Rapido
Clint's” real identity was being received. So, even before the
Comtesse
had made the pretense of having just become aware of his presence, he had decided what to do.

Thrusting the note into his trousers' pocket, the small Texan strolled toward the couple. He noticed that Charlene was the more composed of the two. While she was managing to smile as she watched him approaching, von Farlenheim scowled and moved restlessly. Dusty considered that, of the two, the young Bosgravnian was the more likely to make some damaging statement if handled in the proper manner. He was equally aware that the woman would do everything in her power to prevent it from happening.

“Why howdy,
Comtesse,
Mr. von Farlenheim,” the small Texan greeted, removing his hat and coming to a halt at the table.

“Good morning, Captain Fog,” Charlene replied, proving just as adept at speaking English as she had while employing German. “This
is
a surprise. We had no idea that you were in Corpus Christie. But, if the change to the color of your hair means what I think it does, that is hardly surprising. Won't you join us?”

“Why thank you 'most to death, ma'am,” Dusty
drawled, having hoped for the invitation. Giving no sign of noticing von Farlenheim's baleful glare, he hung his Stetson by its
barbiquejo
on the back of the chair he drew out. Then, acting as if the Bosgravnian was not there, he sat down and continued to address the woman. “And what do
you-all
think the change means, ma'am?”

“That the telegraph message you were supposed to have received from your uncle was a fake,” Charlene answered, flickering a look at von Farlenheim as he stirred in irritation over the Texan's treatment. “You pretended you had been called home so that you could leave Brownsville with your appearance changed and come to find out if there is any danger here to Rud—His Highness.”

“You're close to calling it right, ma'am,” Dusty declared, knowing that the amendment in the
Comtesse
's way of referring to the royal visitor had been made as a reminder that she was on very good terms with him.

“Only
close
?” Charlene asked, pouting in a way which she knew made her look puzzled and, by appealing to the masculine ego, generally produced either information or some other service that she required from the man she was addressing.

“Shucks, I didn't need to come here to find out if there was going to be any danger, ma'am,”
Dusty elaborated, mentally conceding that the woman knew how to utilize her physical attractions to their best advantage. He felt sure she had employed them against the other members of the floating outfit, but was confident that none would have succumbed. “I
knew
that there would be. So, seeing's how that Beguinage
hombre
's the biggest danger of all, I came here acting like a hired killer hunting work to see if I could smoke him out.”

“Good heavens!” Charlene gasped, guessing what the term implied although she had never heard it used in such a context. Her hand fluttered up to her throat in well simulated alarm and she went on, “You mean that, in spite of knowing he had killed others with the same intention, you deliberately allowed Beguinage to believe you would be willing to kill Rud—His Highness?”

“It seemed like the only thing to do,” Dusty confirmed, still ignoring von Farlenheim's presence at the table.

“But how gallant and courageous of you!” the
Comtesse
praised, changing her attitude to one of wide-eyed admiration. Although she doubted whether the small Texan came into such a category, especially after her lack of success where his three companions were concerned, she continued to employ tactics which had lured more than one impres
sionable young man—and some who should have been old enough to know better—into her clutches. “I hope that your brave and noble endeavors have been rewarded with the success they deserve.”

“There's some who'd claim they have,” Dusty answered, adopting an air of blatantly false modesty which he felt sure would annoy von Farlenheim. “Fact being, Beguinage'll not be killing anybody else.”

“Do you mean that you have captured him
already
?” Charlene gasped, genuinely impressed by the thought.

So was von Farlenheim, in spite of his resentment over the way in which the small Texan was treating him. Like the
Comtesse,
he was aware that every law enforcement agency in Europe had tried in vain to apprehend the assassin and none had even achieved as much as learning his identity.

“No, ma'am, not
captured,
” Dusty corrected, without giving as much as a glance to the other occupant of the table. “Way things turned out, I had to shoot him.”

“Shoot him?” von Farlenheim barked, unable to restrain himself any longer. He remembered his uncle's comments regarding the small Texan's abilities where handling firearms were concerned. “So he is dead then!”

“I've never seen anybody wind up deader,” Dusty replied, deciding that the time had come for him to start trying to profit from his treatment of the young Bosgravnian. “Not even that jasper from up north who offered me two hundred and fifty dollars to gun the Prince down.”

“Two hundred and fif—!”
von Farlenheim commenced heatedly, swinging a glare of accusation at the
Contesse.

“I
agree,
Alex!” Charlene said, in a purr that was charged with a furious warning when taken in conjunction with the savage glare she turned upon him, before he could continue. “That
does
seem a paltry sum for agreeing to assassinate such an important person—Not that I know anything about such things, of course.” Then, looking as if the thought had just struck her, she returned her attention to the small Texan and set about diverting his thoughts from the Bosgravnian's potential gaffe, “But are you
sure
the man was serious, Captain Fog?”

“Why else would he have come to me, ma'am?” Dusty inquired, showing nothing to suggest he had drawn any conclusions from von Farlenheim's comment.

“Perhaps he was nothing more than a somewhat foolish young man who hoped to be able to tell his
friends that he had met a famous—hired killer, I think you called yourself.”

“That's what I made folks think I was,” Dusty conceded. “But, happen that was
all
there was to it, he paid a high price for doing it.”

“A
very
high price,” the
Comtesse
agreed, throwing another prohibitive frown at von Farlenheim. Looking back at the Texan, she continued, “Why did you kill him?”

“I didn't,” Dusty corrected, watching the Bosgravnian swing a startled and worried glance at the woman.

“But you implied that he had be—!” Charlene protested, bringing the words to a halt as a waiter who had entered arrived at the table. She sounded just a trifle relieved as she went on, “I'm afraid we've already eaten, Captain Fog. But if you would care to take something—?”

“Nothing for me, ma'am,
gracias,
” Dusty drawled, realizing to his annoyance that the interruption was allowing the Bosgravnian to recover his composure.

“You may bring our account,” Charlene informed the waiter and, after he had withdrawn, turned back to the Texan. “Isn't he dead, then?”

“He's dead all right,” Dusty admitted, deciding that there was little chance of eliciting any guilty
admissions from the pair. He might have succeeded with von Farlenheim if he could have kept the conversation along the lines it had been taking, but the arrival of the waiter had broken it, and Charlene would make sure that it did not return to such a dangerous level. “But I didn't kill him. The town marshal had heard he was a hired gun from up North, figured he might be after one of us, and shot him before I could stop it.”

“How
unfortunate,
” the
Comtesse
declared, sounding so solicitous that the sentiment might have been genuine. Noticing that von Farlenheim was making no attempt to conceal his relief at learning there was no danger of the go-between betraying them, she concluded it would be wise to remove him from the small Texan's presence. She had already deduced that Dusty was hoping to provoke him into some incriminating comment and had managed to prevent it happening so far. Her gaze went to the clock on the wall and she gasped, “Good heavens. Is that the time? We must go and greet His Highness when he disembarks, Alex.”

“There's no rush, ma'am,” Dusty drawled, as von Farlenheim followed the
Comtesse
's example and started to rise. “He's not coming in on that steam-sloop.”

“I don't understand,” Charlene replied, continuing to stand up.

“He and his party've been landed along the coast a ways,” the small Texan explained. “Mark and the boys're waiting there and will be fetching him in later today.”

“You're a much more clever man that I thought, Captain Fog,” the
Comtesse
stated truthfully, although she was writhing inwardly at the latest evidence of how she had been outwitted. “I'm delighted to find out that Rud—the Crown Prince's welfare is in such capable hands, aren't you, Alex?”

“Yes!” von Farlenheim barked, the word leaving his mouth like the cork popping from a bottle of champagne.

“So much excitement!” Charlene gasped, fanning herself with the empty left hand and picking up the fan in the right. “I feel that I must have a breath of fresh air to revive me. Let's take a stroll, Alex.”

“Yes,” the Bosgravnian acceded, wanting an opportunity to speak with his fellow-conspirator privately.

“Perhaps you would care to accompany us, Captain Fog?” Charlene suggested, making the invitation sound genuine although she hoped it
would be refused so she would be free to deal with von Farlenheim.

“I'd admire to, ma'am,” Dusty replied, appearing equally sincere. “But I'm figuring on getting my hair back to its real color before the reception tonight.”

“His Highness will be here in time for it?” the
Comtesse
asked.

“Why sure,” Dusty confirmed. “One thing you can say about those boys of mine, they
always
follow orders. Which's why Mark didn't tell you the truth about where he was going, ma'am. I hope you-all don't hold it against him, but he'd been told to keep it to himself.”

“That was quite correct,” Charlene declared, guessing the comment had been made to provoke either herself or von Farlenheim into a protest. She wondered what other orders Mark Counter had been given with regard to herself, but was consoled by the thought that she had neither done nor said anything to suggest her involvement in the plot against the Crown Prince. “You may tell him that I understand. We will see you at the reception?”

“You can count on it, ma'am,” Dusty answered, standing and lifting his hat from the back of the chair. Watching the couple walk away as he was donning it, he grinned and thought, “Now
that's
given you both something to think about, I'd reckon. And, lady, you're going to have to do some right fancy explaining to him, the way things have gone wrong for you.”

Despite his conclusions, the small Texan knew he had not removed the couple as a threat to the life of the Crown Prince. While he felt sure that they were involved, “Breakast's” death had ruined one way by which he could have gained evidence of their complicity. The conversation that had just taken place had also failed to produce any proof. Nor could he now hope to gain it by means of Mark's association with Charlene after what had been said. In fact, the discovery she had made would make her even more wary and hard to trap.

Unlike many men of his age and period, Dusty had no sense of masculine supremacy. He realized that he was up against an intelligent, unscrupulous and dangerous antagonist in the
Comtesse de
Petain. Thinking of other members of her sex against whom he had found himself in contention over the years, he did not consider the fact that she was a woman made her any the less deadly. Rather the opposite, as she was an expert in turning her physical attributes to good advantage. He wished that he had another of her gender to help him by meeting her at her own level.