At the hospital, Tanneman reined up outside the gray building and swung down, tying both horses to the rack. Touching the brim of his hat to a passing couple, he went inside. He was pleased with himself. It was almost too easy. He would ask for the wounded Ranger and when no one was looking, Tanneman would kill him with his knife. He would be gone before the death was even discovered.
A stern nurse coming his way was the first step.
“Afternoon, ma’am. I’m United States Deputy Marshal Jubal Winchell,” he said, smiling and tipping his hat. “In town after some outlaws. Wanted to see Ranger Kileen, if I might. He’s an old friend.”
“Of course.” Her stern facade vanished in response to his smile and she indicated which bed the wounded Kileen was resting in.
He thanked her and headed that way.
Duval Jonas, the young boy with the head injury, saw him walking by and yelled out, “Hi, Ranger. Are you a friend of Time Carlow and Thunder Kileen?”
Tanneman spun in his tracks, fighting his mind for control. Such an announcement was the last thing he needed, but there was nothing he could do about it. He forced himself to smile and said, “Well, good afternoon, young man. What’s your name?”
The chair scooted beside the boy’s bed was empty and Tanneman guessed one of his parents had been there recently.
“I’m Duval Jonas. Ranger Carlow said he would be back to see me again.”
“Well, I’m sure he will, son.”
The boy pointed at the badge. “Is that a Ranger badge?”
“No, it’s not. I’m United States Deputy Marshal Jubal Winchell,” he pronounced. “I’m in town trailing some outlaws. Heard about Ranger Kileen and wanted to see him.”
“Oh, well, I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you,” Duval said. “Do you want me to go with you? The nurse says I can get up now.”
Trying to remain composed, Tanneman thanked the boy and said that he would prefer to go by himself. Obviously disappointed, Duval Jonas muttered his understanding and lay back on his bed. The disguised former Ranger moved away quickly, hoping for no more interruptions.
No one was in sight as he reached the foot of Kileen’s bed. The big Irishman was sleeping. He looked little different from the last time Tanneman had seen him up close. That had been the day Kileen and the other Rangers had escorted him to jail. Kileen, Carlow and Mirabile. The three lawmen had changed his life forever. The sight of them was burned into his mind. They raced through his dreams.
He smiled. Mirabile—and Deconer—were gone. Now Kileen. Then Carlow and McNelly, then it was done, except for some pissant jurors and that clown marshal. Tanneman’s demons would be satisfied. He touched the necklace under his shirt and mumbled. The thought of their reincarnations bothered him and he shook his head to remove the thought. He would know them, he assured himself—even if they came back as spiders or owls or horses. He would kill them again. His chuckle was louder than he wanted.
The big Ranger stirred and mumbled something in his sleep. His hands rested on his stomach above the blanket. Tanneman slipped around the bed until he was next to Kileen. A part of him wanted to wake Kileen up so he would know who was killing him, but that wasn’t smart. A quick slice across Kileen’s throat would end it once and for all. He withdrew the shiny blade, adjusted it in his hand for easy cutting and slid it toward Kileen’s neck.
“Good-bye, Aaron, you miserable bastard,” he snarled through clenched teeth.
“Hey! What are you doing? You said he was your friend!” Duval yelled.
The boy was out of bed and running toward Kileen’s bed and Tanneman. “Hey! He’s trying to kill him! Help! Help!”
Drawn by the boy’s alarm, Mariah Sanguel appeared from behind the temporary curtain that closed off another bed. In her hands was a filled bedpan.
“Eet ees a keeller!” she screamed, then ran toward Tanneman and threw the urine in the pan at him.
He stepped back as the yellow liquid slapped against his face and chest. She followed her liquid assault with a blow to his face with the empty pan.
Kileen awoke disoriented from Tanneman’s cry and saw the disguised former Ranger poised to kill him. The Irish Ranger’s left fist backhanded Tanneman, driving into his groin. The Irishman’s right fist followed to the same location. Both blows used all the strength he could muster. Fresh blood seeped onto his hospital gown as he fell back, exhausted.
Staggering from the awful pain in his groin, the burning in his eyes and Mariah’s continued blows, Tanneman dropped his knife and grabbed for his holstered pistol in a wild attempt to finish the job he had started.
Mariah slammed the empty pan onto his gun hand as he attempted to clear the holster. He screamed in pain and his gun flopped against the bed and slid to the ground. Dropping the pan, she leaned over and grabbed the fallen revolver. Tanneman cursed and pushed her out of the way. She bounced against the bed and fell to the floor, still holding the gun.
He ran, desperate for freedom.
Bravely, Duval stepped in front of him and stated, “You’re no lawman. You tried to kill Ranger Kileen.”
Cursing, Tanneman slammed the boy into the foot of the closest bed and raced on.
After him came a determined Mariah with his revolver in her hands, not daring to shoot in the hospital.
Pulling himself up, the boy yelled after her, “Get him, Miss Mariah. He’s not a lawman. He’s a killer.”
Tanneman cleared the hospital door, his mind a whirl of fear. He jumped on the bay, yanking free the reins and the lead rope of the wagon horse, and spurred the new mount away. The chestnut followed, its gallop barely keeping up with the long-legged bay.
Mariah cleared the hospital door and saw him escaping. With both hands, she cocked the gun, aimed it and fired. She missed and cocked the weapon again. But he had already disappeared down the closest alley. Gasping for breath, she ran after him, reaching the alley only to see that it was empty.
Hurrying toward the marshal’s office, she saw Time Carlow running toward her from the other direction and waved the gun in the air. The young Ranger was by her side quickly.
“What’s the matter, Mariah?”
“A killer…he try to keel…your friend. Beeg Thunder. He had a…big knife…and thees gun.”
His face revealed the question before it came.
“Your uncle…he ees…all right,” she said. “He hit…thees keeller…in the…ah, private area. I heet heem with a bedpan. Threw ze night’s waste at heem.”
“Which way did this man go?” Carlow asked.
“He rode down that alley.” Her voice sagged. “He ees gone.”
“How did you get his gun?”
She explained what had happened, including the boy’s alarm. She described the man as best she could, including the badge on his coat lapel.
It had to be Tanneman.
Carlow spun and headed away, biting his lower lip to keep his emotions from spreading onto his face. Tanneman Rose had almost killed his beloved uncle. Then Carlow stopped.
Mariah shivered and dropped her hands to her sides. Her lips quivered. Carlow turned back and brought her to him. She whimpered, and her fear burst into his shoulder. He held her shaking body as she sobbed out the emotion.
His own tired mind whirred. Tanneman’s quick return to Strickland meant he was confident. So far, he had a right to be.
Mariah’s gentle hand against his chest sent the threat scurrying for the corners of his mind. She looked up into his eyes.
“I am sorry,
Señor
Carlow,” she whispered. “I do not mean to cause you ze embarrassment of such public…display.”
He chuckled and wiped the last tear working its way down her cheek. “Thank you for saving my uncle’s life. And holding you makes for a wonderful day.” He brushed away more dampness. “I only wish the circumstances were different. I’ve got to go after him.”
Neither noticed two women walk past them, smiling and talking again only after moving out of earshot.
Mariah held up the gun. “Here ees gun.”
She smiled softly and backed away slightly. “Oh, please be so careful…please. Come back to…us.” Mariah shivered and dropped her hands to her sides.
“Take care of Duval—and my uncle—’til I get back,” Carlow said quietly. “I’ll tell the marshal what has happened. He’s awfully busy right now, but he’ll send over a deputy to stand guard when he can.”
“
Si.
”
Tanneman Rose cleared a shallow hill, eased his new horse into a walk and looked back at the small shapes that were Strickland. A Texas sun had taken charge of the day and was pushing everything toward cover. He looked down at his empty holster and cursed. At least he was still carrying a Winchester.
The stench of damp urine on his coat and shirt filled his nostrils. He had to assume someone would come after him. That someone would be Time Carlow. Of all the Rangers, Tanneman feared the young gunfighter the most. He was certain Carlow had been a Roman commander in a previous life.
Swinging his mount to the west, Tanneman headed for his peddler’s wagon. The chestnut following struggled to keep up. If he moved quickly, he should be able to create the right picture for the young Ranger when he came. So he could kill him. Easily.
Anger swelled again as he galloped across the prairie with his wagon horse running as fast as it could. He hated Kileen and Carlow—and he hated failure. The need for perfection gnawed on him and drove him.
As soon as Tanneman reached the wagon, he removed the saddle and bridle from the bay and slapped the animal on the rear. Startled, the horse whinnied and began to run. He was certain the road itself would not reveal that he had left town with two horses. There were too many tracks of horses and wagons.
He tossed his saddle gear into the wagon and covered them with blankets, then began work to become the peddler again. His urine-stained clothes were quickly hidden in the back of the wagon, along with the empty gun belt. His goatee was replaced by the peddler’s beard, and then he finished the rest of his transformation. He swore at himself again at the realization that one of the heavy eyebrows was missing. He would have to go with his own until he found more among his disguises. Now was not the time to look.
It took a few minutes, but he found another handgun, checked the loads, shoved it into his waistband and mumbled a Persian prayer, really just jibberish he had decided was from his previous life.
Quickly he harnessed the two horses and placed the reloaded Sharps behind the wagon seat, where it could be easily reached. Only then did he put on his coat, keeping his right arm inside his shirt and coat so it looked like it had been amputated. His fingers curled around the butt of the pistol.
It would be so nice to kill Time Carlow. With a snap of the reins, Tanneman headed out of the ravine, making certain his new tracks covered the bay’s brief stop.
It would merely look like he was coming to town, as he had done before. How was a slow-witted peddler to know tracks were important? He chuckled.
One more chance at Kileen, that’s what he wanted. One more chance. But he wouldn’t press it; killing Carlow would more than make up for it. He had already decided that after killing Carlow, he would reenter Strickland as a peddler. Nighttime would be a good time to go to the hospital. This time he would silence that fool boy first. And that Mexican nurse, if she were around.
A half hour down the road, he saw Carlow advancing. The young Ranger had his hand carbine resting over his saddle; his wolf-dog moved ahead of him easily.
Tanneman took a deep breath. Would Carlow suspect him? See through his disguise? No, he reminded himself. There was no reason for the Ranger to suspect the peddler. None at all. He would see what he expected to see. Like everyone else.
Carlow watched the peddler’s wagon approach. The wolf-dog growled and he told Chance to stay near him and be quiet. The beast obeyed, but kept baring his white teeth.
“I know what you’re thinking, Chance. Be quiet. I get it.”
Carlow reined up and held up his hand. “Afternoon, sir. I’m in pursuit of a man. Black hat. Goatee. On a bay. Did you happen to see him?”
“Wal, I sur nuff did, suh,” Tanneman said in his best Missouri drawl. “He dun went by me sumthin’ fierce. A while back, it were. I jes’ was fixin’ to head to town.”
“Where was he headed?”
Tanneman’s hand tightened around his hidden gun, then changed his mind. The pistol was for an emergency only. Trying to shoot through his coat was too risky. Certainly he could clear the gun, but that would take longer. Too long against someone like Carlow with his hand carbine in readiness. Tanneman wanted to kill him outright, not just wound him. An injured Time Carlow would be a nightmare.
Tanneman pointed behind him. “Reckon thataway, suh.” He paused and declared, “Got sum tobaccy. Chewin’ an’ see-gars. Real cheap.”
“Not today, thanks,” Carlow said, nudged his horse into a lope and rode past.
Tanneman reached behind the seat for the Sharps. He took a deep breath. No. He needed to have a clear shot at the Ranger, not some hurried attempt. Time Carlow was known for his ability with a gun. Some said the young Ranger was better than he was.
The sharp crash told him what he had done before he saw it. The spider jar was shattered, slammed by the butt of his rifle as he retrieved it. He saw the spider move away from the wad of dried grass.
“Oh. Oh, Portland. I’m sorry. So sorry.” He looked around for something else to put the spider in, but it had disappeared. His shoulders shook. “Oh well, enjoy the wagon.”
He returned his attention to Carlow and climbed down from the wagon. As soon as his boots hit the ground, he knew it was too late. The young Ranger had disappeared into the wash where he had camped. Would he suspect something? Tanneman told himself that was unlikely. All anyone could tell from the wash was that a wagon had been there and that a rider had come through and ridden on. Not even an Apache could read anything more. Besides, Carlow would be in a hurry to catch up with the rider in front of him. That would make him careless.
Should Tanneman turn the wagon around and go after him? Or wait for Carlow to come out of the wash? He didn’t like either idea. The Ranger would be suspicious if he rode back, even if he announced his approach with a loud question. Carlow would see the wagon before a clear shot was possible.
Go back to town! Yes, go back to town and, this time, finish off Kileen. It was a perfect idea. No one would pay any attention to him as the peddler. No one ever did. He would be gone before anyone knew what had happened. Then he would plan his next move: to kill Carlow. The young Ranger would be following that horse for hours, maybe days. Eventually the animal would turn toward Strickland, of course, but it might meander for a while after deciding it didn’t need to run anymore. He laughed shrilly. Had he dreamed such a strategy? Of course he had.
Climbing back into the wagon, he shoved the rifle back among the other merchandise and wondered if he should look for the spider. Not now. He would look for Portland after he was finished with Kileen. Portland would enjoy hearing that news.
Tanneman snapped the reins and the two wagon horses responded with a trot, then a rough canter. Nightfall was gaining control of the land. The marshal’s office was definitely the center of activity as his wagon rolled into town. It looked like a gathering of townsmen had spilled out onto the boardwalk. Light from the marshal’s office painted their strained faces.
He chuckled to himself.
As he walked his horses through town, a woman yelled at him from the sidewalk.
“Peddler? Oh, peddler! Please stop.”
He was annoyed by the distraction, but reined in his horses.
“Yes, ma’am, kin I be of service?”
The woman straightened her hat and walked away from her husband toward the wagon.
“Peddler, do you have any large pots? I can’t find what I’m looking for anywhere in town.”
Tanneman bit back his irritation. “No, ma’am. Dun solt all my big pots. Sorry. Got some tobbaccy for your husban’.”
The woman halted and shook her head. “No. I’m looking for a large pot. Can’t believe I can’t find it. I’ll just order one from the catalog.” She spun on her heels and returned to her husband without another word to Tanneman.
Relieved of the distraction, he continued across town, heading for the hospital. His hidden hand gripped and regripped the Colt resting in his waistband. He stopped the wagon at the rail and gathered a gunnysack from behind the seat. He shoved several small items into it. If he were stopped, he would explain that he was making a delivery for the young Ranger who had purchased candy for the Irishman. He shoved a towel inside the bag as an afterthought; it would help muffle the gunshots.
As he approached the hospital door, a bearded gentleman in a top hat stepped from the shadows. Tanneman hadn’t noticed him before. The bearded man’s suit and shirt were wrinkled. He leaned on a cane with his left hand; his right was cradled behind his back, in a courtly pose. Tanneman guessed he was the hospital administrator—or possibly a doctor. The decision was a simple one: kill the fool now or kill him when he left.
“Good evening, peddler…where are…you going? It is…getting late.” The voice was stilted and slow. Eastern, perhaps.
The top hat’s brim was just wide enough—and pulled down enough on his forehead—to shove darkness across most of the bearded man’s face. Tanneman avoided his face anyway.
“Evenin’ suh. I be bringin’ sum sweets to the wounded Ranger inside. His young friend bought them from me—to give him. That be all right?” Tanneman said in his Missouri drawl.
“That is…nice. You will…have to find…your own way. Only a few…on duty…right now. Eating supper…you know,” the man said without moving out of the shadows.
“‘Course. I shouldna haff trouble,” Tanneman said. “If’n I do, I’ll come back an’ maybe you-all kin he’p me.”
“Well, I am not…supposed to…leave here,” the man said. “Someone tried…to kill…the big Ranger today. In my…hospital, no less. Deputy just…went to get…some supper, so I am…standing in…for him.” He waved his cane. “Not sure…what I can do, though, I haven’t…a gun. Don’t believe…in them…you know.”
“Oh my! Did ya git ‘im?” Tanneman waved his arm.
The man shook his head and touched his beard. “Oh no. He got…away. Say where…did you see…that young Ranger? He went…after him.”
Tanneman knew he should have expected this. He pointed toward the south. “He came past my wagon. Outside o’ town. Said he were a’chasin’ someone—an’ asked me to bring his friend this candy. Paid me cash money.”
“I see.”
Tanneman was anxious to go in, but knew it was smart to act like he wasn’t.
“I’ll jes’ be a minute, suh.”
“Did you forget one of your eyebrows?” The gentleman raised his cane and poked it into Tanneman’s stomach. His voice was changed. Hard. Challenging. Tanneman knew that voice.
The words jolted Tanneman more than the cane. His left hand went to his face instinctively, then dropped, and he stared at the shadowy figure before him. Time Carlow! How could that be? He was riding in the other direction.
“You’re under arrest, Tanneman. For the murders of Judge Cline; District Attorney Johnson; our friend, Ranger Pig Deconer; and for a fine juryman in San Antonio. Probably more. And for attempted murder of my uncle.” He lowered the cane as his right arm swung forward. A short-barreled Colt in Carlow’s right fist was aimed at Tanneman’s midsection.
“Wha…suh, ya must have me mistaken for another,” Tanneman blurted, trying to regain his composure. His hidden hand tightened around the Colt in his waistband.
“Wasn’t sure it was you. Out on the road,” Carlow said. “Had a hunch you’d come here. If I was wrong, I was going to start on the trail tomorrow. Your disguise is real good, Tanneman. Real good. Now it’s over.”
“Suh, I am not this Rose fella ya be expectin’.”
“Unbutton your coat real slow,” Carlow demanded. “I’d better see that hidden hand opened. Palm up. With nothing in it.” He motioned with his gun. “After I left you, I hurried back. The boys at the theater were nice enough to lend me all this.”
Orange flame erupted through Tanneman’s coat. A split second behind, Carlow’s Colt roared three times.
Tanneman’s gun fired again. He groaned and toppled to the ground.
The young Ranger stepped next to him, yanked open his coat and pulled the gun from Tanneman’s stiffening fingers. His top hat rolled off his head and bounced on the dying ex-Ranger.
“I-I’ll b-be back…to k-kill you,” Tanneman whispered and his head sank to the side. “Hillis…P-Portland…B-Barnabas…where are you? I’ve got the mon…” His eyes lost their light.
Carlow staggered. It was over. He heard footsteps coming from inside the hospital. His hand was crimson where he held his side, and then he fell.