Ten Guns from Texas Read online

  “Well, do you approve of that?”

  “Oh, Miss Ireland, it ain’t my place to approve or disapprove. Neither me nor none of the others who work here don’t have no say at all on what goes on in this town. It’s like I told you. I’m just a prostitute.”

  “But this . . . this is outrageous. The entire town knows I am a prisoner here, and yet no one will do anything about it.”

  “There ain’t nothin’ nobody can do about it, Miss Ireland. Mr. Kendrick, he controls the whole town. Oh,” Glitter said. “Here he comes now. I don’t want him to see me talking to you. He said he don’t want nobody gettin’ too friendly with you. Please don’t be mad at me for walkin’ away from you.”

  “I’m not angry with you,” Rosalie said.

  Glitter managed to separate herself from Rosalie before Kendrick actually stepped into the saloon. Without so much as a glance in Rosalie’s direction, Kendrick started directly toward his table in the back corner of the saloon. It was different from the other tables in that it was larger and the chair sitting on the opposite side with its back to the wall was a large, high-backed, padded leather chair. That was the chair Kendrick took.

  Rosalie was well aware of how she stood out in this saloon, but she put that aside as she walked back to confront the man who held her fate in his hands.

  “Well, I see you found the saloon,” Kendrick said. “I do hope you are enjoying your stay in my town.”

  “There is no way I can enjoy my stay here, as long as I’m not free,” Rosalie replied.

  “Oh but you are free. Have you been restrained in any way? Tied to a chair, perhaps? Or locked in a room?”

  “No.”

  “And, just to show you what a nice man I am, I have instructed all the merchants in town to give you anything you want. Go to the restaurant and order anything you want to eat. I know you didn’t have a change of clothes with you when we took you, so feel free to go to the store and pick out anything you want. You won’t have to pay a cent for it. You are free to go anywhere in town that you wish.”

  “That’s just it. I don’t want to go anywhere in this town, Mr. Kendrick. I want to go out of this town.”

  “There is nothing more I would rather do than let you go, Miss Ireland. But I can’t do that until your father agrees to repeal the fence-cutting law.”

  “You know that he can’t do that on his own. That was a law passed by the state legislature. My father is a governor. He is not a king. He can’t just snap his fingers and repeal a law.”

  “Then he’s going to have to do all that he can to persuade the legislature to repeal the law, because you will be our guest for as long as that law is on the books.”

  “You, you are an awful man!” Rosalie said.

  “I’m sorry you think so, Miss Ireland,” Kincaid said. “I’m not really like any of the men you have encountered before. I’m well educated; I have an appreciation for the finer things in life. It’s just that, under the present circumstances, I have to set aside my finer qualities in order to accumulate enough wealth to enable me to live the life of a gentleman.”

  “You are no gentleman,” Rosalie said resolutely.

  “You have never seen me under the right circumstances, so there is no way you could know, is there?”

  “That’s where you are wrong. I know,” Rosalie said, and turning away from the table, she caught a glimpse of Glitter as she started toward the door. She tried to read the expression on Glitter’s face. Was it fear? Sympathy? She couldn’t tell before she left the saloon.

  * * *

  “Weasel,” Kendrick called to the bartender after Rosalie left. “I intend to use this place as a courtroom, so from now until I say otherwise, all sales of spirits will be suspended.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t sell any more liquor until I say that you can,” Kendrick clarified.

  “Yes, sir.” Weasel, like every other businessman and -woman in Blowout, had no option but to respond to every order and whim of Dirk Kendrick.

  The trial for Poke and Jug, if it could be called a trial, soon commenced. Kendrick was sitting in his padded chair behind his special table, acting as a judge.

  Two other tables were moved up to the front of the improvised courtroom, the one to Kendrick’s left, occupied by the prosecutor. Sitting behind the forward most table to his right were Poke and Jug and their defense counsel.

  “Gentlemen”—Kendrick glanced toward the bar girls who were gathered in a frightened cluster near the silent piano—“and ladies, I will be acting as the judge during this tribunal. I am not without experience in this area. I’m sure that many of you are quite aware that I graduated summa cum laude from Harvard with a degree in law. I am a member of the bar of the state of New York and am therefore qualified to act as judge in this hearing.

  “I have appointed Carl Peabody as prosecutor, and Rex Welles as defense counsel. In doing so, I have leaned toward the defendant since Mr. Welles is a member of the bar of the state of Texas, while Mr. Peabody certainly is not.

  “You, you, and you,” Kendrick said as he began pointing to various men who were present for the trial. He pointed out twelve of them. “You gentlemen will constitute the jury. If you would, please, drag your chairs over there and line them up in two rows of six.”

  Once the jury was empaneled and seated, Kendrick turned to Peabody. “Mr. Prosecutor, you may make your case.”

  “Your honor!” Welles said quickly.

  “What is it, Mr. Welles?”

  “Do you intend to start this trial without voir dire?”

  “I do.”

  “But that’s highly unusual, Your Honor.”

  Kendrick laughed out loud. “Mr. Welles, we have assembled a court in a town without law, appointed as prosecutor someone who is barely literate, and as defender, a lawyer who was disbarred for drunkenness and corruption, and you say it is highly unusual that we are not having voir dire?”

  “I-I see your point, Your Honor,” Welles said in acquiescence.

  “I am glad that you do. Now, sir, if we may continue?”

  Peabody was sitting at the prosecutor’s table, picking his nose.

  Kendrick frowned. “Mr. Prosecutor?”

  No response.

  “Peabody!” he said sharply, when there was still no answer.

  “What?”

  “Make your case.”

  “Do what?”

  “Begin the prosecution.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Peabody stood up and looked toward the jury. “These two owlhoots here”—he pointed to the hapless defendants—“went to the governor ’n told ’im where we was keepin’ his daughter that we took. On account of that, we had to leave the cabin where we was holed up ’n bring her here.

  “That’s the same thing as treason, and people that commit treason has to pay the penalty. As the prosecutor, I’m askin’ this court to hang both of ’em.”

  “Counselor for the defense?” Kendrick said.

  Welles took a swallow from the bottle of whiskey he had been working on, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then stood unsteadily to begin his defense. “You have accused my clients of a heinous crime—treason—and if they are indeed guilty, they should be expected to pay the maximum penalty. But!”—he paused for effect, then looked directly at Jug and Poke before turning back to the “jury”—“how do we know they went to the governor to give him such evidence?”

  He held up his finger in order to illustrate a point. “Gentlemen of the jury, has someone come forward to say that they, personally, saw Mr. Poke and Mr. Jug talking to the governor?

  “As far as we know, nobody has made such a claim. And if they have made such a claim, they are not here to bear witness against my clients, for if they were, I would have, under the legal tenets of discovery, been made aware, both of their statements, and of prosecution’s intention to call them as witnesses.

  “It is clear, therefore, that no such people exist. Therefore, I would point out to you that Article t
hree, section three of the United States Constitution clearly states that No person shall be convicted of treason unless on the testimony of two witnesses to the same overt act, or on confession in open court.

  “We now know that no such witnesses exist, or if they do, they have no intention of testifying. And it is for certain that my clients have not confessed to the crime.

  “Ergo, ipso facto, you cannot find Mr. Poke and Mr. Jug guilty of treason. And, since treason is clearly the charge, and the only charge, as specified by the learned . . . uh . . . as specified by the prosecution, you, gentlemen of the jury, have no choice but to find the defendants innocent.”

  Welles, with a smug smile on his face, sat back down at the table with Poke and Jug, then grabbed the bottle of whiskey and turned it up for another long, Adam’s-apple-bobbing drink.

  Kendrick looked over toward the jury and right at Felker, whom he had appointed as the jury foreman. “Mr. Foreman, how does the jury find?”

  “Objection, Your Honor!” Welles said. “The jury has not yet adjourned for consideration.”

  “Objection overruled,” Kendrick replied. “You clearly have not made your case, and adjournment for consideration would just be a waste of time.”

  “Your Honor, you are prejudicing my case!” Welles complained.

  “You are out of order, Counselor,” Kendrick replied. “Mr. Felker, what is the verdict?”

  “We find them guilty,” Felker said.

  “Would the bailiff bring the defendants before the bench?” Kendrick asked, and when nobody responded, he looked toward Cahill. “That would be you, Mr. Cahill. I appointed you bailiff.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Cahill replied. “Get up there, you two.”

  Jug and Poke stood in front of the “bench.”

  “Mr. Jug and Mr. Poke—”

  “Don’t you want to know our real names?” Poke interrupted.

  “Not particularly. Jug and Poke are good enough. You two have been given a trial and found guilty of the crime of betrayal of the loyal band of brothers here assembled. As a result of that finding, I sentence you to be taken from here to a place where some contrivance may be assembled to facilitate the sentence of this court, which is to be hanged by your neck until you are dead.”

  “No!” Poke shouted. “If you’re goin’ to kill us, at least shoot us. Don’t hang us!”

  Kendrick rapped upon the table with the butt of his pistol. “This court is adjourned.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Rosalie was on the second floor of the Del Rey Hotel in a front room that overlooked the street. She had to admit that her accommodations were considerably more comfortable than they had been in the cabin. Her physical situation had improved, but her psychological situation had not. She couldn’t help but wonder and worry about what was going to happen to her. She didn’t know if her father would acquiesce to the demands of the people holding her or not. She did know that he would be doing everything possible to rescue her. And she knew that her father could muster considerable assets when needed. That thought brought her some comfort.

  As she lay on the bed with her contemplations, she heard a lot of shouting and laughing coming from the street. Curious as to what it might be, she stepped up to the window to look outside. Several people were gathered in front of the livery stable just across from the hotel. A long board extended from the loft of the livery, out into the street. The board was supported on the street side by a pole.

  Rosalie had no idea what was going on until she saw a wagon pass under the crossbeam. At first, the crowd blocked her view of the wagon, but when it got into position, she could see that four men were standing in the back of it. Two seemed to be bound up by ropes, their arms tied to their sides.

  “What in the world?” she asked aloud. As she watched, two ropes with nooses were thrown over the crossbeam, and the two men in the back of the wagon who weren’t bound fitted the nooses around the necks of the two men who were, then they jumped down, leaving only the two bound men.

  “My God!” Rosalie said aloud. She realized that they were the two men she had met in the street, the men who had told her father where she could be found. They were about to be hanged, and it was her fault!

  “No!” one of the men shouted. “You can’t do this! You ain’t got no right to do this! That warn’t no real court!” His voice was loud and filled with fear

  Rosalie, feeling tears of remorse, sympathy, and even a degree of responsibility, made fists so tight that she could feel her fingernails cutting into her hands.

  “My name is Paul Connelly! It ain’t Poke! It’s Paul! Paul Connelly,” the other man said. “If I’m goin’ to meet my Maker, I want Him to know who I am!”

  Not wanting to watch the actual execution, Rosalie turned away from the window, just as the team was lashed, causing them to pull the wagon forward. She heard the wagon move forward, and then a thumping sound, which she knew had to be the men reaching the end of the rope.

  “Woowee! Look at ’em swing!” someone shouted.

  Rosalie returned to her bed and lay there. With a shock, she realized that she could see the silhouettes of the two men swinging back and forth on the wall of her room, shadows cast from the late afternoon sun.

  When Dooley, Rand, and Beans rode into town an hour later, they saw a couple bodies hanging from the crossbeam that protruded out from the livery. A hand-lettered sign was nailed to the upright.

  POKE AND JUG

  THESE TWO TRAITORS WAS HUNG

  CAUSE THEY COULDNT

  KEEP THEIR MOUTHS SHUT

  They rode on down to the Pair of Kings saloon, tied their horses out front, then pushed in through the swinging batwing doors. Seeing Kendrick playing solitaire at his table in the back of the room, they walked back to see him.

  “Ah, good to see you boys.” Kendrick was holding a red eight, looking for a play. “Where are the others?”

  The three men looked at each other, didn’t reply.

  “Never mind. I’ll see them later. What did you do with MacCallister and the others after you killed them? I hope you didn’t just leave the bodies there.”

  “MacCallister ain’t dead,” Beans said.

  “There ain’t none of ’em dead,” Rand added.

  “What do mean, none of them are dead? You were forewarned that they were coming, weren’t you? All you had to do was set up an ambush.”

  “Yeah, well, it warn’t nothin’ like that,” Dooley said.

  “All right. Let me see if I have this straight,” Kendrick said. “You were forewarned, you had plenty of time to find a defensive position, they had to advance in the open, and you had every opportunity to fire upon them from ambuscade, but the ten of you ran away?”

  “They didn’t nobody run away,” Dooley said.

  “Then how is it that you are here? Where are the others?” Kendrick asked.

  “There ain’t no others. This here is all there is of us. The others was all kilt,” Beans said.

  “Are you telling me that you three are the only ones left alive?” Kendrick said in disbelief.

  “Marvin, Morris, Peter, ’n the others is dead,” Rand said. “They was all kilt by MacCallister ’n the ones that come with ’im.”

  With a disgusted shout of anger, Kendrick swept the cards off the table. “They killed seven of you and you killed none of them?”

  “Nary a one,” Beans said.

  “Then why, may I ask, are you three still alive? What did you do? Did you run away and abandon the others to their fate?”

  “No, it warn’t nothin’ like that. The others was already dead before we got took,” Dooley said.

  “Before you were taken? What do you mean, you were taken? Are you saying you surrendered to them?”

  “Yeah, well, as it turned out, we didn’t have no choice. They had us covered, ’n if we hadn’t surrendered, they would have kilt us,” Dooley said.

  “It would have been better had they done so. If you were captured by them, how, may I ask,
did you get here? Did they let you go?” Kendrick looked at them in horror. “Good Lord, you didn’t lead them here, did you?”

  “No, we didn’t lead ’em here,” Dooley said. “What happened is, we got took to jail. But then, Sheriff Wallace, well he up ’n let us go after MacCallister ’n the others left town.”

  “Sheriff Wallace? You were taken into Merrill Town.”

  Dooley nodded. “Yeah.”

  “You said Wallace let you go after they rode off. Where did they go?”

  “I don’t know for sure, but Bullock thought they might have been goin’ out to the Slash Bell Ranch,” Beans said.

  Kendrick sat for a long moment, drumming his fingers on the table as he glared at the three men. “I assume that as you three rode into town, you did see Poke and Jug hanging out there, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah,” Rand said. “We seen ’em.”

  “Good. I’m glad that you saw them because I want you to know that that’s what happens to people who cross me.”

  “Look, Kendrick, we didn’t cross you,” Dooley said. “We done just what you told us to do. We waited there for ’em to show up, ’n when they showed up, we commenced a-shootin’ at ’em.”

  “But you didn’t kill any of them.” Kendrick’s response wasn’t a question. It was a statement of contempt.

  “No,” Dooley admitted. “We didn’t kill none of ’em at all.”

  “I suppose I should have paid heed to the old proverb, never to send boys to do men’s work,” Kendrick said with a disgusted sigh.

  “It warn’t like that, Kendrick,” Dooley said. “It warn’t like that at all. Them fellers could shoot, ’n I ain’t never seen nobody who can shoot as good as MacCallister. It don’t seem to make no difference to him how far away he is from whatever it is he’s a-shootin’ at. Why, he hits it purt’ near ever’ time he pulls the trigger.”

  “Pick up the cards,” Kendrick ordered.

  The three men complied.

  With the cards recovered, Kendrick shuffled them, then dealt himself another hand of solitaire. “Where did you say MacCallister and the others went?”