Death Mask (2 page)

Hillis was as surprised by their sudden appearance as Tanneman was. He spun in the saddle and fired his Winchester. Ranger Deconer groaned and stumbled. Both his drumstick and gun plopped onto the street. Only a few steps behind, Mirabile swung his Sharps in the direction of Hillis, and the big gun roared.

From the middle of the street, Kileen fired at almost the same moment. The younger Rose brother jerked sideways and toppled over. His rifle slid across the uneven street.

Holding his hand carbine in his right fist, Carlow never took his eyes off of Tanneman while the other Rangers fired at Hillis.

Tanneman sneered, but didn’t want to test the young Ranger. He’d seen him in action. He lowered his gun, but held it at his side.

“Glad you’re here, boys. We were told the bank was being robbed,” he said. “I’ve got the bank money here.” He patted the saddlebags. “For safekeeping.” He looked around. “I’m guessing we were given a false alarm. Haven’t seen any robbers. But it pays to be careful.” He tugged at the false beard, pulling it from his face. “That’s why we put these on.”

“Drop the gun, Tanneman,” Carlow pointed with his hand carbine. “You’re under arrest.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course you do. Drop it now.”

Slowly, Tanneman knelt and laid his gun, beard and the saddlebags on the ground. As he leaned over, a necklace made of jaguar teeth dangled from his shirt. He stood and held up his hands. But as his arms moved upward, he made a hand movement like he was pushing something away. A message? To someone across the street? The young Ranger wheeled to look. He saw only three frightened townsmen.

“That’s a good lad, Tanneman,” Kileen said. “No time we be havin’ for the wafflin’.”

“Wait a minute, boys.” Tanneman glanced at Hillis, who wasn’t moving. “You’ve got this wrong, boys. We thought the bank was being robbed.”

“It was. By you.” Carlow stepped closer.

“What? That’s silly.” Tanneman looked at Kileen. “Thunder, tell your nephew here we’re Rangers, not crooks.”

“Mirabile, check on Pig.” Kileen motioned with his gun. “Be hopin’ the lad’s not hurt bad, Tanneman.”

“I-I’m hit, Th-Thunder. I-I’m b-bleeding bad. My leg.”

Mirabile knelt beside Deconer, trying to calm him, using his kerchief to stop the blood oozing from the man’s thigh.

Tanneman motioned toward the downed Ranger. “Hillis thought you were the robbers. We were told the bank was being robbed.”

Not interested in pursuing Tanneman’s alibi further, Carlow started to say something, but deferred to the big Irishman. Kileen’s missing-teeth smile was like a jack-o’-lantern’s, but Carlow had long ago overlooked that image. This man was more like a father, a battlesavvy warrior of a father.

Shaking his head, the big Irishman laughed out loud. “Well, ‘tis a grand day for blarney, it be. As thick as meself can ever recall.”

Carlow was proud of him for making a stand against Tanneman. He knew it wasn’t easy.

Tanneman Rose turned toward Kileen, his eyes flashing. “I thought you were my friend. We shared dreams. And things of the past. But you’ve killed my brother. You’ll be sorry about this.”

“Aye. All who wear the proud badge of a Texas Ranger be sorry. About ye and Hillis,” Kileen said. “Ye have disgraced the fine brotherhood we be.” The big Irishman looked around the street. “An’ where be your fellow outlaws, Tanneman? Go easier on ye, it will, if ye be cooperatin’.”

Tanneman bit his lower lip and took several steps forward. His voice was barely a whisper. “Look. I’ll make a deal with you. Let me ride out of here. One of you can take the saddlebags and all of you can follow after me. Shooting and hollering. This piss-ant town is too scared to know the difference. Once we get away from here, I’ll keep going and you can split the money. There’s a lot in there.”

Without waiting for his uncle’s response, Carlow took three quick steps toward Tanneman, who was smiling. With his hand carbine at his side, Carlow’s left fist exploded into the evil Ranger’s face and blood burst in all directions. Tanneman staggered backward and Carlow hit him again, this time in the stomach.

Groaning, Tanneman grabbed for the hot pain with both hands.

“How dare you suggest we’re on your level, Rose, you bastard.” Carlow pulled back his fist for another blow.

Behind him, Kileen said gently, “No, me son. That not be the way.”

Carlow dropped his fist and stepped away.

Kileen rushed past him, muttering, “This be the way.” His own right fist slammed against Tanneman’s chin and the man flew into the air. The huge man stood over the unconscious outlaw Ranger and shook his fist.

“Be sendin’ ye back to Persia, I be. Ye have blackened the fine name o’ the Rangers. Blast ye, Tanneman Rose.”

A week later, a special guard of two Rangers, Mirabile and Kileen, led a subdued Tanneman Rose into the courtroom for trial. Actually, it was a warehouse not being used at the moment. The building was packed with interested townspeople, sitting on hastily brought-in logs or standing. A reporter had come from as far away as Dallas.

Circuit Court Judge Wilcox Cline was presiding, having arrived by stage the previous day and staying at the Gleason, where he had a regular room.

Outside, Carlow was in charge of making certain no one entered the makeshift courtroom carrying a weapon. For an hour before the trial, men stepped up and laid their weapons on the table set up for the purpose. Asleep at the Ranger’s feet, Chance made most of the approaching men wary. Carlow guessed several men disclosed weapons they might not have otherwise, because of the wolf-dog’s presence. At least, that was what he told the other Rangers later.

Galloping hooves grabbed his attention as two riders whirled into view. They reined their horses hard, jumped down and hitched them to the rack in front of the warehouse. As soon as he saw their faces, Carlow knew they must be Tanneman’s brothers, even though he had never seen them before. Both were tall and thin with ice blue eyes, like Tanneman and Hillis.

A thought raced through Carlow’s mind: Could they have been in town during the attempted bank robbery and had Tanneman’s hand movement sent them away? Rumors of a gang were plentiful, but so far there had been only one holdup where more than two were definitely involved. A lawman had been killed then. By ambush. Carlow turned his attention to the advancing men. Were they here to watch—or to attempt to break their brother out? He needed to assume the latter.

The older man had a face that reminded Carlow of a panther. A raw-boned panther. Somewhat the same as Tanneman, only older, and thicker in his jaw and cheeks. A long scar on the man’s right cheek spoke of violence in his past. Powerful arms reinforced that idea. He was dressed roughly, wearing clothes of the range and a wide-brimmed hat that had seen much weather.

The youngest Rose, Barnabas, was eighteen. He, too, looked like his brothers, only his appearance didn’t seem quite right. It was something in his eyes, combined with the way his body occasionally jerked uncontrollably. His shirt and pants were too small and well-worn; an odd-shaped fedora was cocked on his head. He wore a pistol attached to a lanyard around his neck. Under his worn shirt was a jaguar tooth necklace just like Tanneman’s. It was visible where his shirt lay open, its top buttons missing.

Stepping up to the gun table, Portland sneered and laid two short-barreled Webley Bulldog revolvers on the table. One from each coat pocket. Carlow had seen British handguns like them before and knew they were double-action weapons.

“I take it you two are related to Tanneman. Brothers, I suspect.”

“Damn proud of it, too, Ranger. I’m Portland. This here fool’s Barnabas,” Portland said, staring at the Ranger.

He motioned for his younger brother to come up and leave his gun. Barnabas shook his head, then placed his fists on his hips defiantly. His shoulders and head shuddered.

“Get your ass over here and leave that damn gun,” Portland growled. “Or I’ll rip it off your scrawny neck.”

Blinking his eyes wildly, Barnabas hurried toward the table, lifted the gun lanyard over his head and laid it on the table. He patted the gun affectionately, then looked up at Carlow. The corner of the youngest Rose’s mouth twitched.

“You the one who killed Hillis?”

“No. But your brother tried to gun down a Ranger. He made the decision. To die instead of surrendering.”

“W-what do you m-mean? Decision?”

Nonchalantly, Carlow looked at Portland and said, “You tell him. You were there. I’m busy.”

Portland’s eyes flashed hatred for an instant. Then he grabbed Barnabas by the arm and pushed him toward the door. Barnabas asked his bigger brother what Carlow had meant and Portland told him to shut up.

“Tell your little brother not to try goin’ in until he gets rid of that gun in his boot,” Carlow barked, and reinforced his command by drawing his hand carbine.

Portland jerked his brother to a stop. The big man’s face was crimson. He let go of Barnabas and turned around, glaring at Carlow.

The young Ranger’s eyes connected in heat with Portland’s. The big man blinked and looked away.

“Barnabas, get that damn pistol outta your boot.”

The youngest Rose frowned and rolled his shoulders.

“Do it now, you damn fool.”

Licking his lips, Barnabas laughed and pulled up his pants to reveal another Webley Bulldog revolver stuck down in his boot. He pulled it out, laughed and held the gun.

“Either drop it or bring it back to the table. Make your decision now,” Carlow said.

Barnabas mouthed the word “decision” and slowly let the gun drop from his hand. His head and shoulders quivered again. He laughed again and Portland shoved him again toward the door.

A step away, he turned toward Carlow. “We were at our ranch that day, Ranger. It’s a long ride from here.”

Carlow knew he had guessed right: the two brothers had been in town on the day of the robbery. It had to be. Tanneman’s motion was for them to stay hidden. There was no proof of that, of course.

The two continued inside and took seats on the back row. Tables were set up, one each for the defense, the prosecution and the judge. The judge’s table had two chairs—one for him and one for witnesses. District Attorney Waddell Johnson had been brought in to handle the prosecution; Tanneman had decided to be his own attorney. He had refused to tell where earlier bank robbery money was hidden—or if he had a gang.

Time Carlow joined Kileen and Mirabile on the first row of logs. Chance stayed outside as he had been told. Next to them were the town marshal and the bank’s president and owner. Ranger Pig Deconer was too weak to attend. Seated to the right of the rows was a jury of twelve men, all townsmen.

“This is the worst part of it.” Hump-shouldered from too many years in the saddle, Mirabile shook his head and checked his pocket watch. It was the sixth time he had done so.

Marshal Timble looked at Mirabile and smiled. “Know what you mean, Ranger.” His pockmarked face received the lines cracking from around his eyes.

Mirabile’s sunburned face showed the tension of the entire effort. He withdrew the makings from his shirt pocket and methodically rolled a cigarette. Kileen was glad to see him occupied for the moment and not talking. Snapping a match to flame on his belt buckle, Mirabile let the new smoke drift casually around his face and asked about something that had been on his mind ever since they learned of this assignment.

“Captain never told us how he knew the Rose boys would be coming here,” he said. “Do you know? You being with the captain the longest an’ all.”

Together, the four Rangers—and the two Rose brothers—were part of the Special Force of Rangers led by Captain Leander McNelly. The other unit was the Frontier Battalion, led by Major John B. Jones. Kileen had served with the legendary captain since the Rangers had finally been reinstated after the war.

Kileen rubbed his unshaved chin, stood and stretched. He looked bigger than his six foot two frame and 220 pounds. “Hillis, he be a wee bit o’ a talker. After sippin’ a mite o’ whiskey.”

He ran his hand across his mouth, wishing he could have a drink from the flask in his coat pocket. He was worried Tanneman might suddenly change himself into some animal and escape. That was what the evil Ranger said he had been capable of, in his previous life.

A drink would sure help. Kileen thought about getting up and going outside for a quick swig or two. Of course, it was against Ranger rules to drink on duty. It was a rule the big Irishman consistently ignored—and Captain McNelly consistently ignored his breaking of it. Kileen was too valuable not to do so.

“So, Tanneman’s little brother spouted off, eh?” Mirabile said, studying his cigarette.

“Aye.”

Kileen stretched again, trying to decide what he should do.

“But how could they do it—and none of us know?”

Kileen shifted his weight and glanced at Tanneman Rose seated at the defense table, apparently deep in concentration. Kileen growled, “Rangers be doin’ their fine an’ sacred duties. Aye, busy we be. Meself, I suppose a smart man be able to do such robbin’ without our knowin’.”

He wanted to say the man had probably transformed himself into something else, or someone else, but decided it would only upset Mirabile. He explained that Ranger Manuel Ramos had overheard Hillis Rose bragging about how rich he and his brothers had become. Hillis had whispered to the man next to him that they were headed to San Antonio and winked.

“Manuel’s a good man, even if he is Mex. Surprised the captain trusted the Rose boys so long.” Mirabile drew on his cigarette and let a white finger of smoke dance around his battered hat and disappear. “You know, I’m too old for this. Bertha wants me to quit. Spend all my time workin’ our ranch. When this is over, I’m gonna do it.” He checked his watch again.

After telling his wolf-dog to remain outside, Carlow had taken a seat beside Kileen and asked him if he knew Tanneman had two brothers. The big Irishman indicated he knew, explaining that Tanneman had said they had a small cattle ranch not far from Bennett.

“Think they’re part of this?” Carlow asked, glancing back at the two Rose brothers.

“Me not be knowin’. Findin’ out soon, we’ll be doin’, me thinks.”

“Yeah.”

Judge Wilcox Cline entered the packed courtroom. He was young for the job and eager to please his constituents, especially Captain McNelly. His hair was thinning fast and the baldness gave him, he thought, a certain look of authority, and of age. Seated behind the table and chair brought in for the purpose, he still looked more like a college student than a judge.

After announcing the purpose of the gathering, Judge Cline turned to Johnson and asked him to present the state’s position. Enjoying the attention, Johnson stood and paced the creaking floor as he delivered a blistering attack on Tanneman and Hillis Rose. Most of the jury actually nodded when he finished.

“What does the accused have to say on his behalf?” Judge Cline asked, without really caring about the answer.

Tanneman stood, drawing himself to his full height. He was dressed in a dark suit with a new boiled shirt and fresh collar; his cravat was a dark crimson. The clothes were actually from his travel gear and had been properly pressed for the occasion. Around his neck, outside his clothes, he wore his jaguar necklace. He looked impressive—more so than the wrinkled district attorney—and a bit strange.

Carlow whispered this observation to Kileen. The big Irishman dismissed the concern as inconsequential, but his eyes didn’t leave the necklace. Tanneman had told him of its significance.

The young Ranger couldn’t help recalling how fascinated with the theater Tanneman was. He reminded Kileen, whose only response was to mumble something about beards. Whenever they were in a town where theater was going on, Tanneman had always taken time to see the performance. There was no doubt that Tanneman was acting now. This was his stage. It bothered Carlow. He didn’t think Johnson was ready for the recital.

“Gentlemen, this is a most unfortunate day—and yet it is a bright one for San Antonio,” Tanneman declared, motioning toward the jury. “First, your money is safe. Thanks to the Texas Rangers. Second, none of your townspeople were harmed in this incident. And thirdly, you have the opportunity to deliver true justice today—for I am an innocent man, as well as a proud and decorated Ranger. So was my brother.”

He stepped around the table and headed toward the seated jurymen.

Carlow looked at Kileen; the old Irishman shrugged his shoulders and mouthed “shaman.”

“For you see, the reality is, my brother and I went to the bank because we heard it was being robbed. It is our sworn duty to protect you. To protect Texas.” He paused to let the words sink in.

“My fellow Rangers, as you will hear, were also in wait,” Tanneman continued, making a motion toward the seated Rangers. “There have been a spate of bank robberies lately—and the Rangers were trying to catch the men involved.” He straightened his cravat. “My brother and I were not on that assignment. And did not know of it.” He stared at the closest juryman, a thick-faced man with uneven teeth. “That is common, of course. Each Ranger has his own assignment. My brother and I were en route to El Paso to help stop cattle rustling there. A nasty problem involving border crossings.” He shook his head to emphasize the seriousness of the situation. “We stopped in your fine town to get a bite to eat. Trail food can be mighty poor sometimes. Especially when neither of us cook well.”

Several jurors chuckled.

His continuing tale was fascinating as he strutted back and forth. The Rose brothers had just come to town when someone ran by, telling them of the bank being robbed. They had hurried to the bank. He said they had taken the money as assurance it wouldn’t be stolen. He left out the beards covering their faces.

Without a pause, he went into a full explanation of how the Special Forces of the Rangers worked. Under McNelly’s command, most of his forty-Ranger unit worked the border region. Mexican and Indian raiders hit and ran across the Rio Grande with some regularity. Friction between ranchers—and between ranchers and farmers—occupied Ranger time as well. Bank robbery and even upheavals of local citizenry would bring state law enforcement. McNelly’s objective was to stabilize the region in two years. Rose’s presentation had nothing to do with the case, but it served to bring the jury into seeing him as one of the noble lawmen in the state.

He went on to explain the other Rangers thought he and his brother were the bank robbers, adding that the jury should understand that lawmen, like himself, were especially concerned about dishonesty in their own ranks.

“All in all, it was a terrible mistake, costing the life of my brother, a fine Ranger. This lack of communication may tell all of us of the need to inform all Rangers of what and where their brethren are involved. It is my great wish that you will see through this terrible mishap and grant my innocence so that I may again serve the great state of Texas—and my dear brother be honored in death,” he concluded as he walked back to the defense table and sat. His fingers danced along the individual jaguar teeth.