Waco's Badge (16 page)

“Whatever you say,
‘Miss Starr
!'” Belle answered, her accent wavering a little due to annoyance.

“Come on out, you fellers!” Sarah instructed, as the men from the other side of the vehicle appeared escorting the shotgun messenger. “Come easy and with your hands empty. My other two boys are covering
you-all
and ‘Frenchie' with their rifles from where
you-all
can't see them, so don't try anything!”

“'Scuse me, Miss Starr, ma'am!” Tract put in, before the order could be obeyed.

“Well?” Sarah asked.

“Iffen I shed my gun, can I go stand by the heads of the lead team?” the driver requested. “Last time, they come close to bolting when some shooting started.”

“Do it!” Sarah authorized. “Only, if you-all fancy trying anything smart while you're taking that hawg-leg out, just mind what I said would happen to ‘Frenchie!'”

Watching the driver remove his revolver with obvious disinclination to use it as an offensive weapon, the self-appointed yet no less efficient leader of the Summer Complaints felt a half conceived thought nagging at her. However, she was prevented from trying to bring it to completion. Instead, she swung her attention from the disarmed Tract as he did as he suggested to the open right side door of the stagecoach.

Rising and keeping his hands held so there was no suggestion that he might be contemplating hostile action, Doc walked by Crowther. Using part of the money taken from the Summer Complaints, he had had the black cutaway coat he was wearing tailored so it offered a similar access to his ivory handled Colt Civilian Model Peacemaker as would his ordinary jacket. In spite of that, he had no intention of taking action until the time was more suitable. Jumping to the ground, he went to where Belle and Tinkler were standing.

Showing a caution equal to that of the pallid featured Texan, although each was offered a similar opportunity to render Crowther
hors de combat
at least temporarily due to his negligence while being passed, first Franks and then Glendon quit the vehicle. Dropping to the ground, each in turn went toward the rear of the stagecoach.

“Miss Belle
Boyd
!” the lady outlaw called, as the foreman was emerging, having scanned the sur
rounding terrain with eyes trained to locate hidden enemies and having drawn conclusions from the scrutiny. “Please ask your
three
hidden outlaws to be very careful with their
revolvers.
I would not wish to be shot, even by accident.”

“Don't let it worry you any, ‘Frenchie,'” Sarah replied, so engrossed in keeping watch upon her companions rather than the victims of the hold up—as she never trusted them to perform any task adequately—she failed to notice the discrepancies in the request. “They'll not bother you none, so long as those jaspers with you behave.”

“Then I hope they will behave
properly,
” Belle declared, being willing to bet she had achieved her purpose.

From what she could see, the lady outlaw was convinced the rest of the Summer Complaints had shown an equal lack of perception. Like Sarah, none of them commented upon her having being wrong with regards to the number and weapons of the “hidden outlaws.” Nor, it seemed, had they noticed how she had used the name of Belle “the Rebel Spy” Boyd instead of her own.
²

Everything, Belle told herself, now depended upon whether the male “victims”—Waco in particular—drew the correct conclusions from what she had said!

And upon the Summer Complaints not having called upon Deputy Sheriff Jackson Martin to play a more active part in their latest robbery!

If this was the case, the peace officer had concealed himself so well he defied being located!

By doing so, Martin would supply the Summer Complaints with a most potent ace in the hole!

The deputy could, in fact, turn the tables completely against the lady outlaw and her companions!

I
NSIDE THE STAGECOACH, JUST AS OBLIVIOUS AS
Sarah Siddenham and the rest of his associates that he had heard an opinion being given, Stanley Crowther stood eyeing Waco disdainfully!

Since his arrival in Arizona Territory, the Summer Complaint had frequently suffered humiliation when brought into contact with cowhands due to their disinclination to accept unproved his belief that he was a person of greater intelligence and capabilities than themselves. Such incidents, bruising his over-inflated ego, had left him with a considerable bitterness and antipathy where they were concerned. His one attempt to assert himself had ended so painfully and quickly, he had never had sufficient courage to try
again. However, finding himself with one of the disrespectful breed apparently at his mercy, he realized he was being granted an opportunity to take at least partial revenge.

“Come on, you drunken son-of-a-bitch!” Crowther growled at the recumbent and unmoving blond haired Texan, nudging him with a knee. “Wake up, god-damn you!”

When the words and jolt produced no effect, the Summer Complaint gave a grin of delight. Satisfied he was safe from reprisals while doing so, he tucked the Colt Storekeeper Model Peacemaker into his waist band, this time at the front. Grasping the breast of the open necked shirt with his right hand, he intended to raise the head and shoulders of his seemingly defenseless victim and bring a return to consciousness by slapping the tanned face.

Before Crowther could advance his scheme beyond gripping the front of the shirt, he received a shock similar to that which had so disconcerted Benjamin Eckland during the preliminary stages of the previous hold up!

Cold as the blue of a Texas sky just before the eruption of a summer storm, the eyes of the intended victim opened!

There was no suggestion of recovering dazedly from a drunken stupor in the gaze!

As had been the case with Eckland, an appreciation of what was portended by the sight caused Crowther to jerk away!

The Summer Complaint was no more successful than the shotgun messenger had been!

Rising swiftly on either side of his right arm as he was releasing the shirt involuntarily, Crowther felt two powerful hands grasp the lapels of his jacket. As they started to jerk forward, Waco twisted his lower body and slammed the right knee into the small of Crowther's back.

Such was the speed, force and completely unanticipated nature of the attack, there was nothing the Summer Complaint could do to counter it!

“It's a trick!” the Texan bellowed, as his efforts were propelling the startled Easterner away from him. “Kill him!”

Hearing the commotion, Sarah, Fiona Crenshaw and their male associates outside the stagecoach looked in its direction. At the sight of a shape coming through the open door at some speed, not one of them waited to make an identification. Believing Crowther had given the warning, every Summer Complaint acted upon it. Turning from the people they were covering, two Winchester Model of 1873 carbines and three assorted handguns bellowed almost simultaneously. Not all were pointed with anything approaching accuracy. In fact, only a blunt nosed .44 bullet
¹
from
the shoulder arm which had killed Maurice Blenheim and one of more conventional shape, with a caliber of .45, discharged by Sarah found their intended—if incorrectly selected—mark. They were, nevertheless, sufficient. Caught in the chest and head while still falling from the vehicle, either injury being fatal, their recipient was dead before he arrived on the ground.

A belated realization of what they had done caused the surviving Summer Complaints, with the exception of Fiona, to start returning their respective weapons to the previous alignment!

Granted the diversion they desired, the intended victims of the hold up set about making the most of it!

First into action was Doc Leroy!

Coming out and crashing with such speed only one man was
almost
capable of equalling,
²
the pallid featured Texan's ivory handled Colt sent a bullet into the head of Dennis Orme as he was working the lever of the Winchester which had just killed for the second time.

Slightly slower, but ahead of the others, Peter Glendon brought the Remington New Model of 1874 Army revolver from its cross draw holster. Although he did not intend such leniency, its bullet crippled the right arm of Thomas O'Carroll before the second carbine could be fired again.

Lacking the competence of the men around him
where fast gun handling was concerned, Jedroe Franks was nevertheless third into action. However, on twisting the Colt Storekeeper from its spring retention shoulder holster and throwing a shot at Kenneth Alan Taylor, he made an error in tactics which had proved fatal for more than one man in similar circumstances. Although the bullet grazed the Summer Complaint's left side, eliciting a yell of pain and causing him to stagger a couple of paces, he still kept hold of his Colt. What was more, he showed indications of being willing to use it. Despite seeing this, having had time to think what he was doing instead of merely reacting by instinct to circumstances, the young Easterner could not bring himself to respond due to the realization that such an act would cause the death of another human being.

Fortunately for Franks, neither Doc nor Glendon harbored such scruples. Each was aware of the danger. Knowing Taylor was behaving in the fashion of a cornered rat, both met the threat in the fashion of trained gun fighters. Turning, their respective revolvers thundered at almost the same instant. Killed instantly, the bullet sent by the Summer Complaint in his last moment alive was deflected just above the head of the young Easterner.

While Toby Winkler was almost as competent as the slim Texan and the stocky foreman, his sense of duty prevented him from joining them in the drawing of revolvers!

Instead, the shotgun messenger devoted his efforts
to protecting what he imagined to be a female passenger who was defenseless and probably too scared to do anything in that line by herself!

Silently praying that her belief that no members of the gang were hiding close by was correct, Belle Starr had reached into the reticule at the first sign of trouble. Even as her right hand was starting to slip the Manhattan Navy revolver from its holster, she felt herself grasped and swung around to be pushed away from the rear end of the stagecoach. Spluttering a furious exclamation, despite realizing why she was being treated in such a fashion, she fetched out the weapon while regaining control of her movements. Coming to a halt, she swung her gaze to find out what was happening.

Giving only scant attention to the male Summer Complaints, all of whom were being dealt with by her companions, the lady outlaw devoted her interest to the two young women. Only one struck her as being likely to give trouble; but it was the one against whom she had the greater animosity.

Knowing the men she had brought into the desperate situation, Sarah had no faith in either their courage or their ability as gun fighters. Even before the lack of the latter was made obvious, she concluded there was nothing to be gained by making a fight; particularly in contention against men who were clearly most skilled in matters
pistolero.
As usual with her, to think was to act. Instead of trying to use the Merwin & Hulbert Army Pocket revolver,
she turned and fled toward where their horses had been left.

Seeing the woman who had tried to have her blamed for robbery and murder was running away, Belle tossed down the reticule. With her left hand reaching toward the waist band of the black shirt, she set off in pursuit. However, she was not allowed to catch her quarry without interruption.

Amazed by the way in which things were suddenly and terrifyingly going wrong, Fiona had allowed the revolver she had fired—to miss Crowther and remove Walter Tract's hat in passing—to fall from her hand. Seeing the “French woman” apparently rushing at her, but being unaware that she was not the objective, she was sufficiently spirited to try to meet what she believed to be an attack. Having no interest in the little blonde, whose motives and status in the gang she had deduced accurately, Belle lashed a backhand slap with the left arm which sent her spinning aside and ran on.

Not very far, however!

Giving a squeal of pain mingled with rage, Fiona hurtled after her assailant!

The first intimation received by the lady outlaw of the second attempt at intervention came when she felt her skirt being grasped from behind. Having been prevented from doing so by the blonde's first try, she had once more put her left hand to preparing to make use of a modification to the garment which she had copied from Belle “the Rebel Spy” Boyd. A tug
at the fastening of the waistband caused it to loosen and open sufficiently wide for the skirt to be discarded more quickly than by conventional means. Having it grabbed by Fiona, who had dived and was falling, made the function perform even more rapidly.

Although Belle felt her movements being impeded, the skirt was sufficiently voluminous so that when it opened it failed to trap her completely. Staggering, but without falling, she contrived to liberate first the right and then the left leg. In doing so, exhibiting the tight fitting black riding breeches and Hessian leg boots beneath the discarded-garment, she was compelled to make a half turn. What she saw warned she was not yet finished with the attentions of her assailant.

Having landed upon hands and knees, displaying a rubbery agility regardless of her buxom build, Fiona bounded to her feet and into the attack once more. Despite admiring her spunk, the lady outlaw was disinclined to accept any further delay in going after the leader of the gang. Stepping to meet the intended assault, she made effective use of her longer reach. While she swung another back hand blow, this time it was with the right fist. This held her revolver, but it was the knuckles and not the barrel or frame which made the contact. Struck at the side of the jaw, the little blonde made another involuntary twirl away from her objective. On this occasion, however, she was unable to remain on her feet. Stunned by the blow, she pitched face forward on to the ground and lost all interest in the proceedings for several seconds.

Resuming her twice interrupted pursuit, Belle ran through the trees in the direction she had last seen the taller girl disappearing. Although she scanned her surroundings, she could not locate her quarry due to the dense undergrowth. However, the crack of revolver shots from ahead gave her an indication of where to go. Other sounds, following the three detonations, warned why the weapon had been discharged.

“God damn it!” the lady outlaw ejaculated, coming into a clearing and seeing Sarah riding away; also that the shots had frightened off the horses belonging to the other Summer Complaints. “You'll not get away from me that easy, you bitch!”

“They do say it's the first sign of going
loco,
” Waco drawled, having left his companions to deal with the situation at the stagecoach and followed Belle, “when folks start talking to themselves.”

“I'd love to hear what Betty Hardin says to
you
after I've written her!” the lady outlaw answered. “Help me catch one of their horses, please.
Two
Belle Starrs are
one
too many and I'm aiming to make sure it stops!”

 

Although she had not heard anybody approaching the ranch house on horseback, Sarah Siddenham was more curious than alarmed when she heard its front door open!

Not for the first time, the over confidence which was the chief weakness of the Summer Complaints' otherwise competent leader was causing her to under-estimate the gravity of her situation!

Satisfied she had prevented all chance of an immediate pursuit by scattering the rest of the horses, none of which was the equal of her own mount in quality, Sarah had not seen anything to make her revise the opinion as she was fleeing from the disastrous attempt to hold up a second stagecoach. Instead of taking the kind of circuitous route and employ the methods of hiding tracks learned from Deputy Sheriff Jackson Martin—although these had not been successful, as they failed to prevent Waco from following the Summer Complaints to their headquarters—she had returned by the quickest route. Leaving her badly lathered horse to take care of itself on her arrival, she had entered the ranch house to carry out the plans she had made during the flight from Pinal County. Feeling certain that any of the gang who survived would not hesitate before betraying her, with the probable exception of Fiona Crenshaw, she knew she must not delay her departure. In fact, but for one vitally important consideration, she would not have returned at all.

The theft of the money on the night of what the Summer Complaints referred to as a game of “strippoker” had proved to be a blessing in disguise. While it had led to Sarah and her companions electing to carry out the second hold up, despite having learned the neighboring rancher had no designs upon their property, it had improved her own situation in one respect. She had lost her “table stakes,” but this had affected her far less than any of the others. Not only
had she frequently emerged a winner from earlier conventional poker games, but she had abstracted some of the loot put aside for the furtherance of their scheme. As the money had been hidden separately in her bedroom, it was not included in the sum stolen by the three masked intruders. Added together, winnings and abstractions would be more than sufficient to let her escape from the immediate vicinity long before the stagecoach could be taken to either Red Rock or Marana and the authorities informed, then to continue her flight out of Arizona.

Tossing the bag containing the money on to the bed alongside the blonde wig she had removed, Sarah started reaching for the Merwin & Hulbert revolver more as a precaution than with any belief she might need it.

“Leave it where it is, ‘Belle Starr!'”

Hearing the feminine Southern drawl from the door of the room, Sarah tensed as she looked over her shoulder. For a moment, as the newcomer had discarded the black travelling costume, the wig and was barefoot, explaining how the silent approach had been possible, she failed to recognize the “French woman” from the stagecoach. What she did notice immediately, however, was the short barrelled weapon resembling a Colt 1851 Navy revolver which was lined unerringly at her. There was something in the demeanor of the new arrival, whose blonde hair was cropped as short as her own—a requirement created by the need to wear wigs in the hot climate of
Arizona—warning it would be extremely unwise to disobey.