Ride With the Devil (16 page)

“I don’t know.”

“What is this group of Regulators anyway?”

“We have been unable to keep a town marshal, and the sheriff is too far away to offer any protection. So we formed the Regulators to keep the peace. You may recall, Governor, we got rid of the Dawson gang a while ago.”

Governor Hubbard stroked his chin. “Yes, yes, I do remember that. And, as I recall, they were a bad bunch.”

“I’ll say they were. About as bad a bunch as you would ever run across,” Culpepper insisted. “Believe me, Governor, there were no tears shed when those boys went to meet their maker.”

“What about Edward Delaney?” Governor Hubbard asked.

“I beg your pardon?” Culpepper asked, surprised to hear Delaney’s name mentioned.

“I’m told that he was recently hanged after a trial that was, at best, questionable.”

Culpepper shook his head. “I don’t know where you are getting your information, but it is wrong. Delaney had a fair trial, complete with a judge and jury. Besides which, he was also wanted for murder in the state of Missouri. If we hadn’t hung him, we woulda had to ship him back to Missouri so they could hang him. Look, Governor, I’m not tellin’ you anything new when I tell you we’ve got outlaws in this state. I know that you have had to deal with them ever since you took office. First there was that business with John Wesley Hardin, then there was the riot down at Sandy Point.”

“That’s the truth,” Hubbard replied. “I sometimes think that Coke didn’t go to the U.S. Senate, he ran from this office.”

“Well, we’ve had to put up with the same kind of thing back in Salcedo. And the citizens were getting sick and tired of the criminal elements in their town. They needed something done, and we were the cure.”

The governor sighed and combed his hands through his great, bushy beard. “That may be the case,” he said. “But we can’t have the cure as bad as the sickness.”

“I agree, Governor. I don’t know what this is all about, but I intend to find out.”

“Do more than find out, Culpepper,” the governor said. “If you want my endorsement for your candidacy, then I expect you to clear this matter up. I’ll not have any of my constituents…” He looked at the telegram again. “…held hostage by your band of Regulators.”

“I’ll take care of it, Governor.”

In Salcedo, Culpepper’s surrogate, Rufus Vox, wandered around town on the day after the hanging, letting it be known by all who saw him that he was the one in charge.

Nobody knew for sure where Rufus Vox came from. Like many in the small town of Salcedo, he had shown up after the war. What nobody could understand was why, of all his deputies, Culpepper had chosen the man who seemed the least suited for the job. A few suggested that it might be because Vox and Culpepper had served together during the war. Others questioned that, though, saying that Culpepper had fought in some of the major battles, whereas Vox never got east of the Mississippi River.

For a while after he arrived in town, Vox hung out with a group of rowdies, displaced souls from the war who drank, gambled, and fought, all without any visible means of support.

Ed Delaney was a part of that group as well, though he was always on the periphery, having been a Union soldier during the war, while the others were Confederates. If Delaney had any friends in the group, it would be Vox.

When Culpepper began forming the Regulators Brigade, he recruited all of his deputies from that group. The town
council quickly complained that the men he was hiring were hardly representative of the best Salcedo had to offer. Culpepper replied that the men he hired were exactly what he wanted.

“These men are going to be asked to put their lives on the line,” he said. “I don’t need choir boys to do a job like that.”

“I aim to get myself hired on as a Regulator,” Ed Delaney told Vox one night over a bottle of whiskey they were sharing in the alley behind the saloon.

“Hah,” Vox said. “I never woulda figured you wanted to be a lawman.” He took another swallow of the whiskey, then handed the bottle to Delaney.

“I don’t want to be a lawman,” Delaney replied. “I hate the law and I hate anyone who has anything to do with it.”

“Then I don’t understand. Why do you want to join up with the Regulators?”

“Because of Culpepper,” Delaney said. He finished the bottle, then threw it at the privy, smashing it against the wall of the outdoor toilet.

“Hey! I’m in here!” someone called.

Both Vox and Delaney laughed.

“How’d you get to be such a good friend of Culpepper? He fought for the South, you fought for the North.”

“In the beginnin’ he fought for the South,” Delaney said. “But toward the end, he was nothin’ but an outlaw. I know what he done, and I aim to take care of him, soon’s I get the chance.”

“What do you mean, you know what he done?”

“There was three of ’em,” Delaney said, without being any more specific. “I already took care of two of ’em. And I don’t figure to get any rest until I’ve took care of Culpepper as well.”

“You ain’t makin’ a hell of a lot of sense, Delaney,” Vox said. “What is it you think Culpepper done?”

“It ain’t what I think he done, it’s what I know he done,” Delaney said, tapping his temple with his finger. Then he went into great detail, telling Vox exactly what he knew about Culpepper and how he found out.

“He don’t know that I know,” Delaney said when he finished the story. “But I plan to tell him.”

“When are you goin’ to tell him?”

“Just before I kill the son of a bitch,” Delaney said.

Although Vox and Delaney often got drunk together, when it came to personal advantage, Vox could and would discard any friendship if he stood to gain by it. Armed with the information he had gleaned from his drunken discussion with Ed Delaney, Vox went to Culpepper.

“I’ve got something you would like to know,” he said.

“What?”

“Uh-uh, it don’t work that way,” Vox said, shaking his head. “You make me your chief deputy in this here group you’re puttin’ together, then I’ll tell you what I know.”

“You’ve got to give me a hint, just so I will know whether or not the information is worth anything,” Culpepper said.

“What if I told you that Delaney plans to kill you?”

Culpepper was silent for a long moment, then he said, “I didn’t think he knew.”

“Then it’s true? What he said about you and them other boys really happened?”

Culpepper nodded. “Yes. When Delaney and his sister first showed up in Salcedo, I was a little apprehensive. But when neither one of them said anything, well, I figured it was just a coincidence that they were here. I mean, if he really did know, why hasn’t he done anything before now?”

“He told me he was waitin’ for the right time,” Vox said.

“Well, we’ll just have to make sure the right time never comes, won’t we?” Culpepper suggested.

“We?” Vox replied.

Culpepper smiled. “If you help me out with this, I think I can make it worth your while.”

Culpepper was the one who came up with the idea how to get rid of Delaney. But he depended upon Vox to carry it out for him.

It was easy enough to do.

Delaney was a bad poker player, but that didn’t keep him from playing. So when he got into a game with Billy Tyrone, a hide tanner who lived in a little house just on the edge of town, Vox saw to it that Delaney lost his horse.

“How could I be so dumb as to bet my horse?” Delaney complained after the game that night.

“Hell, you was cheated,” Vox said.

“You think so?”

“Do I think so? I know so. Hell, I seen Tyrone take an ace from the bottom of the deck oncet, an’ there ain’t no tellin’ how many times he done it when I didn’t see him.”

“You did? Why didn’t you say something?”

“And get myself shot? No sir,” Vox said. “But I tell you what I would do if I was you…”

“What?”

“I’d wait until the son of a bitch was asleep tonight, then I’d go out there and get my horse back.”

“You’re right,” Delaney said. He nodded. “You’re right. That’s damn well what I’m goin’ to do.”

The next morning, Vox’s very first act as Culpepper’s newly appointed deputy was to arrest his erstwhile friend. He was waiting for him when he returned to town with the stolen horse.

In exchange for his “quick action in finding the horse thief and bringing him to justice,” as Culpepper put it, Vox became chief deputy. At least, that was the published reason
as to why Vox, who was no more qualified than any of the other deputies, was made chief.

The real reason was the secret Delaney had told him, the secret that was now shared only between Vox and Culpepper.

IT WAS ABOUT TEN O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING when Judge Watermeyer came into the saloon. Buying a bottle of whiskey and getting a glass, he went to a table in the back, where he opened the bottle, filled the glass nearly to the brim, and began drinking.

After the first glass, Darci came over to sit at the table with him. He acknowledged her presence with a nod, but said nothing. Quietly, she reached across the table and put her hand on his.

The judge was a fourth of the way through the bottle when Doc Urban walked over to him.

“Judge, could I give you a little medical advice?” he offered. “If you are going to be drinking that hard, you might want to eat something. Especially this early in the day.”

“Yeah, Judge,” Paddy said. He still wore the bandage, the result of his encounter with the deputies the night before.

“How do you feel?” the judge asked.

“I’ve got a headache,” Paddy answered. “But other than that I feel all right.” He forced a smile. “I’m just glad they hit me in the head. We Irish are hard-headed, you know.”

Paddy had tried to crack a joke, hoping to chase away some of the judge’s melancholy, but it didn’t work.

“Listen, why don’t you let me have my Mary fix you something? Some ham and eggs, maybe? I won’t charge you nothing.”

“No,” the judge replied.

“That much whiskey on an empty stomach, to a man your age, could kill you,” Doc said. “Especially since you aren’t used to drinking like that.”

Judge Watermeyer looked at Doc Urban. “How long would that take?”

“At the rate you are going, not long,” Doc Urban said.

“That wouldn’t be soon enough,” Judge Watermeyer said. Pointedly, he took another swallow.

“As long as I’ve known you, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drunk.”

“I’ve never been drunk,” Judge Watermeyer said. “Not once in sixty-two years.”

“Then why start now?”

“Do you have to ask? Are you the only one in town who doesn’t know what I did last night? I made a mockery of the judicial system, and I sent a man to the gallows.”

“Yes, and from what I hear, you kept another man from hanging,” Doc said.

Justin Parker stepped into the saloon then, and seeing everyone gathered around a table in the back, walked toward it. He was a big man, and the anger he exuded was palpable.

Unnoticed by anyone, Hawke, who was just returning from his visit with Flaire, also entered the saloon. Not wanting to intrude into what he figured was an intense discussion of the events of the night before, Hawke sat at a table in the shadows on the far side of the room.

“I’m told I might find the judge in here,” Parker said.

“Who are you?” Paddy asked.

“The name is Justin Parker. I’m ramrod of the herd that’s camped just outside town.”

“Mr. Parker, I want you to know how sorry we are about what happened to your men,” Paddy said.

“You’re sorry? Three good men dead and all the hell you can say is you are sorry? Well, mister, sorry isn’t good enough.”

“Take it easy, Mr. Parker,” Doc said. “If you notice the bandage on the bartender’s head, that is the result of a skull fracture he got while trying to save your men. None of us are responsible for what happened last night. And believe me, we are as sick over it as you are.”

“That’s not quite true,” Judge Watermeyer said. He took another drink of his whiskey. “I am responsible for what happened last night.”

“Who are you?” Parker asked.

“I am Judge Watermeyer.”

“Is it true, what the blacksmith said? Did you really hold a trial in the middle of the street in the middle of the night?”

“I’m afraid that is true.”

“You are one sorry son of a bitch! If you weren’t so old, I would tear you apart with my bare hands! By damn, I just might do it anyway,” Parker said angrily.

“No, please!” Darci said, stepping in front of him. “It wasn’t his fault!”

“What do you mean, it wasn’t his fault? He’s the judge, isn’t he?”

“I was there last night,” Darci said. “I saw everything that happened. The Regulators pointed a gun at Judge Watermeyer’s head. If he hadn’t conducted the trial, they would have killed him. Then they would have hung Kendall anyway. And not only Kendall, they would have hung Pete as well.”

“At least they didn’t hang Pete,” Paddy put in. “Aren’t you the least bit curious as to why they didn’t hang him?”

“All right, why didn’t they hang him?”

“Because Judge Watermeyer stood up to them,” Doc Urban said.

“He told them that if they hung Pete, they were going to have to hang him as well,” Darci said.

“And by then half the town stepped in to stop them.”

“Yeah? Where was the town earlier?” Parker asked.

Doc shook his head. “I wish I could answer that for you, Mr. Parker. But the truth is, except for Paddy, who got clubbed over the head for his efforts, and the judge, who nearly got himself killed, nobody did anything in the beginning.”

“Why didn’t they? How could everyone just stand around and watch an innocent man be hung?” Parker asked.

“Maybe if I had called their bluff the first time,” Judge Watermeyer said. “Maybe I could have stopped them then.”

Doc Urban shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he said. “They had a blood lust on last night. If you had pushed it too far before they got it satisfied, they would have killed you.”

“I’m sorry, Mister…Parker, is it?” Judge Watermeyer said. “I’ve no words to tell you how sorry I am.”

“Yeah,” Parker said. He nodded, then sighed. “Yeah,” he said again. He stood there for a moment, trying to regain his composure.

“Can I get something for you?” Darci asked.

“I could use a drink.”

“Whatever you want, Mr. Parker. It’s on the house,” Paddy said.

“Whiskey would be fine.”

“Darci, would you? Get the bottle from under the bar.”

Nodding, Darci hurried over to the bar, poured a generous glass, and brought it back.

Parker took a swallow of the whiskey, then looked at the judge. “I just came back from talking to Pete. He says they’re holding him for accessory to murder. Is there something you can do to get him out?”

“I can issue a release order,” the judge said. “But I don’t know that it will do any good.”

“Why not?”

“Because if they decide to ignore the order, I can’t enforce it.”

“Issue the order,” Hawke said. “I’ll enforce it.”

Everyone turned toward the sound of the voice, surprised to see him sitting over in the shadows.

“Who are you?” Parker asked.

“I’m the pianist in this establishment.”

“You’re the what?”

Hawke pointed to the piano. “I play the piano in this saloon,” he said.

Parker snorted. “You are a piano player, and you are going to enforce the judge’s order?”

“Believe me, cowboy, when I tell you that if Mr. Hawke chooses to do so, he can enforce the judge’s order,” Paddy said.

“Really?”

“He is the man I would want on my side,” Doc Urban added.

Hawke did not join in the conversation. He merely sat calmly and quietly at the table, awaiting Parker’s response to his offer.

Parker studied Hawke for a moment, impressed with his confident demeanor. Finally he nodded.

“All right,” he said. “I’d be glad for you to enforce the order.”

“Paddy, get me a paper and pen,” the judge said. “I’d better write out the order while I am still sober enough to write.”

“You aren’t carrying a gun, Mr. Parker?” Hawke asked as they walked toward the Regulators headquarters.

“No,” Parker replied. “Oh, my cowboys like to carry them, but I rarely wear one. The damn thing just gets in my way. I guess I should’ve brought one with me.”

“No,” Hawke said. “You won’t need one. And if your men hadn’t been wearing guns last night, none of this would’ve happened.”

“Moses wasn’t wearing a gun,” Parker said.

“Touché,” Hawke said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“It means you have a point,” Hawke explained.

When they reached the headquarters building, Hawke pushed the door open and Parker went in first.

“Vox, this here is the man I was tellin’ you about. He’s the ramrod of the—” Gillis stopped in mid-sentence when he saw Hawke come in through the door behind him.

“You!” Vox said angrily. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Hawke looked around the office. In addition to Vox, there were five more deputies present.

“We have a court order, signed by Judge Watermeyer, ordering you to release your prisoner. Show him the paper,” Hawke said to Parker.

The cowboy held out the paper Judge Watermeyer had given him.

“I ain’t interested in no piece of paper,” Gillis said.

“I assure you, it is a binding order, demanding that you release Pete Malone to me,” Parker said.

Vox showed the note to Spellman and Cole, the other two deputies with him.

“Is this the judge’s writing?” Vox asked.

“How the hell would I know? I can’t even read,” Spellman said.

“It is the judge’s writing,” Parker said.

“Why should I believe you?”

“Because I watched him write it. So did Mr. Hawke.”

“That a fact?” Vox asked.

Hawke nodded, but said nothing.

“So what if the judge did write this order? What makes you think I’m going to obey it?”

“Because I will kill you if you don’t,” Hawke said easily. The words were spoken as calmly as if he had just asked the time.

“Mr. Piano Player, maybe you haven’t noticed it, but you are a little outnumbered here,” Vox said.

“I’ve noticed.”

He pointed to Parker. “And this fool isn’t even wearing a gun. What are you going to do? Draw on all six of us?”

“No. Just you.”

“You do realize, don’t you, that if you do that, you’ll be killed?” Vox asked.

“That is a very distinct possibility,” Hawke agreed.

“And the cowboy, here, will be killed,” Vox added.

“Yes, that is also a possibility,” Hawke said.

“Just a possibility?”

“There is also a possibility that some of you will be killed.”

“Well now, we are just full of possibilities this morning, aren’t we?” Vox chided. “Can’t you do any better than that?”

“Oh yes,” Hawke said. “I can do better than that. There is one absolute.”

“And just what would that one absolute be?” Vox asked with a smirk.

“You will absolutely die,” Hawke said.

Gauging the intensity in Hawke’s eyes, the smirk left Vox’s face. Tiny beads of perspiration broke out on his upper lip.

“Uh, let me take a look at that judge’s order again,” Vox said. The paper was lying on the desk in front of him, and he picked it up and looked at it.

“Yeah,” he said. He licked his lips and cleared his throat. “Yeah, this looks like the judge’s handwriting, all right. Spellman, go back there and let that cowboy out of jail.”

“Don’t you think we ought to wait until the Colonel comes back and let him—”

“I’m in charge here,” Vox said sharply. “And I said let him out of jail. Now! We’ve got no choice. This here is a judge’s order.”

“All right, whatever you say,” Spellman said, reaching for the keys.

“You,” Vox said, looking at Parker. “I’d advise you to get on back to your herd and don’t be coming back to Salcedo.”

“Mister, all the horses in Texas couldn’t drag me back to this hellhole of a town,” Parker said.

At that moment Pete appeared. Seeing Parker, he smiled.

“You did it,” Pete said. “You got me out.”

“Come on,” Parker said to his cowboy. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Titus Culpepper looked out the window of the train. It was dark, but a full moon reflecting off the desert sand presented a landscape of silver and shadow. Close by the tracks, little squares of golden light moved rapidly over the track ballast, measuring the train’s speed.

He had no idea what had happened in his absence, but he was willing to bet any amount of money that Vox was the cause. He had taken a calculated risk when he made Vox his chief deputy, but Vox had put him between the rock and the hard place. Vox had information about him that he didn’t want out, especially now that he was running for the United States Congress.

He wished Mason Hawke would have accepted his offer. Vox would have protested, and maybe gotten himself killed
in the protest. That would have taken care of a lot of his problems.

Maybe he should have been more specific as to the amount of money Hawke could have made. No, that wouldn’t have made any difference. Money had nothing to do with it. Hawke had turned him down because he didn’t want to work for him. Hawke always did think he was a little better than everyone else.

It was like that when they were children together, back in Georgia. In front of the church, once, Hawke found a little cloth bag. When he looked inside, he saw that it contained several dollars.

Culpepper offered to keep quiet about it, if Hawke shared the money with him. But Hawke took the money inside to the preacher. As it turned out, it was money from the church building committee, and at church the next Sunday, the preacher praised Hawke for finding it and turning it in. Hawke thanked the preacher but said that Culpepper deserved some of the praise because they had been together when he found it.

Culpepper’s father talked to him that evening. “Boy, you are lucky Mason Hawke was with you,” he said. “If you had been alone, I know damn well you would’ve kept it, and you would have wound up in a lot of trouble.”

It was the same way during the war. Hawke saved his life once, and was promoted to sergeant because of it. That made Hawke his platoon sergeant.

Then came the battle of Gettysburg. When they were ordered to withdraw from Little Roundtop, Hawke was wounded. Culpepper pulled him off the battlefield. It was an act that had more the appearance of bravery than the fact. In truth, Culpepper was abandoning the field anyway, and it didn’t require a great deal of effort on his part to pull Hawke
to safety. And, in his mind, it finally put him one up on Hawke.

For three years Culpepper had fought for whatever pay the army gave him, and even though he eventually made sergeant, he hardly ever had enough real spending money to buy himself a drink. Then he heard about the war in the West, and how certain guerrilla organizations were supporting themselves by whatever contraband they could come by.