Texas Killers (15 page)

“Sure thing,” replied the taller of Alex's companions, eyeing the
Comtesse
in a way that showed he resented being given an order by her. “Shall we do it
here,
so's you can watch we do it right?”

“I will wait at the other side of the clearing,” Charlene answered, bristling with indignation at such disrespect from a man she knew to be a hired killer and whom she regarded as a far from savory, if necessary, employee. “Hurry—
please!
”

“Yes—
ma'am,
” the resentful man growled, the pause indicating that the use of the honorific was meant to sound as much of an after-thought as the
Comtesse
's last word had been. “Do you-all have any special way you want him killed when we're—”

“Cut it out!” growled the slightly shorter of the hired guns. “Time's wasting and we don't want
anybody,
especially the Ysabel Kid, coming looking for them.”

“I've told them to leave Fritz alive until it's over,” Alex informed Charlene, as he joined her about fifteen minutes later. He was now wearing his cousin's clothing, but—although it was now too dark for her to notice—had retained his own gunbelt and revolver.

“Why?” Charlene demanded.

“So I can tell him that it was because of him the noble Rudolph was done to death,” Alex explained, his face aglow with savage satisfaction. “When he hears how, we won't have to kill him. He'll be so mortified that he'll do it himself.”

“C
OME ON,
F
RITZ!”
C
ROWN
P
RINCE
R
UDOLPH OF
Bosgravnia called with cheerful impatience, looking at the man he assumed to be his First Taster who was just jumping down from the wagon in which the food and intoxicating liquors were stored. “If you must do your duty, hurry along with it. You're keeping the good Doctor waiting.”

“Yes, Fritz, get a move on,” seconded Charlene,
Comtesse de
Petain. “I've heard so much about Doctor Seraphin that I can't wait to see him perform.”

Sitting next to Ludwig von Farlenheim at the right end of the long and sturdy collapsible table
that was one of the facilities he had provided for the hunting party's comfort—and with a more sinister purpose in mind—Charlene was eagerly awaiting more than the commencement of the entertainment. The scheme which she had hatched with him was approaching its culmination. Looking around, a sense of contentment and fulfillment welled through her. In spite of the various contretemps and mishaps that had threatened to ruin her endeavors, she was confident that at last everything was going as had been planned.

Having been compelled to leave Bosgravnia in disgrace, von Farlenheim had blamed the ruling family for his downfall. Nor had being well provided for and becoming a successful business man in the New World lessened his hatred. Learning of the Council of Noble Birth's intention, from a cousin who had visited him, he had offered his services. When told what would be required of him, he had stated that—although he possessed the necessary contacts locally—he felt it was advisable to employ an outside agency rather than somebody from his home town.

The precaution had proved justified when, without consulting von Farlenheim, Governor Stanton Howard had arranged for Ole Devil Hardin's floating outfit to act as the royal visitor's escort.
Fortunately, “Gustav Breakast's” local second-in-command had been poisoned by Beguinage before Dusty Fog reached him and the go-between's death at the hands of Town Marshal Benjamin Digbry had prevented him from being captured and interrogated by the small Texan. Prior to them having met their ends, they had arranged for all the specialized help that was needed to implement the scheme.

Taken all in all, Charlene considered that the intervention of Europe's “premier assassin” had been more beneficial than detrimental to her cause. While he had warned her against trying to kill the Crown Prince, he had refrained from taking measures that would ensure she could not. His own death and that of his female accomplice had removed any further threat to her from that direction. What was more, the woman had disposed of a much closer source of danger. If the treacherous maid had been arrested with the other anarchists, she would undoubtedly have disclosed anything she had learned in an attempt to save her own skin.

From that point, except for the
Comtesse
's error in judgment where the character of “Lady Winifred Amelia Besgrove-Woodstole” was concerned, everything had flowed along smoothly. She was drawing considerable satisfaction from the
thought that her defeat at the Englishwoman's hands would soon be avenged in no uncertain manner.

By provoking the quarrel with his cousin and letting there be no doubt he was the aggressor, Alex von Farlenheim had provided an excuse for having himself sent away. His “disgrace” had also offered an acceptable reason for what was to come next. Without being aware of the coincidence, he had been put ashore and met at the point selected by the Ysabel Kid for the rendezvous with the U.S.S.
Nantucket.
As Amelia Benkinsop had guessed, it was an area known to smugglers, and the captain of the ship had once been in that line of work. On reaching Brownsville, he had completed the work he was hired to perform by sending the telegraph message to inform Ludwig of his younger nephew's “accidental death.” While this was happening, Alex had accompanied the men he had met to the vicinity of the hunting party's first base camp. Because of the necessity for the Crown Prince's whereabouts to be known at all times, in case news of importance had to be passed to him, it had not been possible for his itinerary to be kept a complete secret and Ludwig had known their destination.

The basic scheme had been evolved before the
involvement of Ole Devil's floating outfit, but their presence had caused a few minor changes. Not only had the hired guns demanded extra pay, they had been adamant in their claim that contending with the four young Texans, particularly the Ysabel Kid, required far greater caution than was previously considered satisfactory. However, gazing about her, the
Comtesse
found nothing to disturb her equanimity. None of the quartet were showing even the slightest sign of suspecting something was amiss.

One of the elements of the plot had been a nightly ritual established during the journey from Corpus Christie. Every evening, at Charlene and Ludwig von Farlenheim's instigation, dinner was served with Amelia Benkinsop and herself seated at each end of the collapsible table. Acceding to the suggestion, the Crown Prince had decreed that he, Dusty Fog, Mark Counter, Colonel Liebenfrau, Major the Baron von Goeringwald, their host and his nephew—after the captain had carried out his duty as First Taster—alternated their seating positions to give them all the privilege of being next to the ladies. There had been no objections from the conspirators, as they had seen the arrangement would benefit them when the time came to spring the trap. Although the Kid and Waco had been in
vited to join the party, they had stated that they would prefer to eat with Florence Drakefield and the Bosgravnian orderlies.

The owner of the medicine show on the pretense of wanting to move on to carry out another engagement had asked if he could give his performance before his audience began their dinner. In addition to giving his consent, the Crown Prince had shown his usual consideration—as the conspirators had anticipated he would—by stating that the meal would be delayed to let all the party see the show. So Waco, the Kid, the maid and the orderlies were standing at the rear of the table where it was essential they, especially the two Texans, should be.

Broad in proportion to his slightly less than medium height, Doctor Seraphin was an impressive figure. Yet, in spite of his top hat, flowing black cloak lined with red silk and raiment suitable for a formal social gathering, his neatly bearded face had the tanned texture of one who spent much of his life in the open. Despite a certain hardness about his features, and the fact that he carried a pearl-handled Colt Cavalry Peacemaker in a cross-draw holster on the left side of the gunbelt which was not in accord with the rest of his attire, there was nothing to suggest he might be other than a
very competent medicine showman. Having carried out a bombastic—yet entertaining—peroration extolling the virtues of “Doctor Seraphin's Elixir of Health and the High John Conquer root,” he had announced that he would demonstrate the qualities of manual dexterity that taking them regularly had bestowed upon him. Then he began to march in a flamboyantly impressive manner toward his garishly painted wagon. With one exception, his performance had held the attention of his audience as it was meant to do.

As Waco had demonstrated in the past—and would continue to do—he was possessed of an inborn faculty for observation and deduction. When he noticed an item was out of the ordinary, even though the exact reason might elude him at the time, he never entirely forgot it. That had been the case when he had seen the
Comtesse
and her companion returning from the hunt. His every instinct had suggested that something was wrong, but he had been unable to decide exactly what it might be. Certainly it was not the fact that she had selected Alex von Farlenheim to accompany her when she left the camp. Since learning the truth about Dusty's separation from the rest of the floating outfit at Brownsville, she had displayed a growing coolness toward them. So he had drawn
no other conclusion than to wonder whether her preference for the Bosgravnian was intended to make Mark jealous, or to repay the blond giant for not having told her the truth about the small Texan. Or it could be that, if she had forsaken her associates, she wanted an influential friend when she returned to Europe.

Nor, remembering the First Taster's adherence to the duties of his office, had the youngster found anything suspicious in seeing him enter the wagon which carried the stores instead of joining the rest of the party at the table. Charlene and he had not returned until the others were about to sit down and, even though the dinner was to be delayed until the performance was over, the table had been set and he was anticipating that the Crown Prince might want to take a drink while it was taking place.

For all that, Waco had been unable to shake off the feeling that he was missing something of vital importance. It was not a sensation he found conducive to relaxation or peace of mind. In fact, it continued to nag at him with such persistence that it distracted him continually when he should have been engrossed in the masterly display of a medicine showman's art.

Watching von Farlenheim throw aside the stop
per of the bottle he was carrying and start to walk toward the table, Waco was presented with another puzzle. While the night was dark, there was sufficient light thrown by several strategically placed lanterns and the lamps on the table to illuminate the majority of the camp site. So he noticed that the discarded object glistened in a fashion alien to a piece of cork as it fell and bounced on the ground. He was reminded of how a small crystal ball had sparkled while it was being twirled before him as a man had attempted to hypnotize him.
¹
Yet he had never seen a bottle of liquor intended for human consumption secured with anything other than a cork. Certainly none of those which had previously been brought from the wagon had had glass stoppers. To the best of his knowledge, only one kind of substance required such a means of retaining it.

A confirmation that he was thinking along the right lines came from seeing that von Farlenheim was not adhering to his usual routine. When carrying out the duty on the previous occasions, he had always delivered the bottle wrapped in a white cloth. That he was not now drew Waco's attention to the careful way in which he was handling the
bottle. His right hand was around the neck and the left grasped the bottom, ensuring it was kept erect and none of its contents would spill.

Just as the youngster reached that point in his observations, something else caught his eye and he felt as if he had been doused by a jet of ice-cold water. At last he realized what had first aroused his sense of perturbation.

The weapon in von Farlenheim's holster was a
Colt Cavalry Model Peacemaker!

It should have been the British-made Adams .450 sidearm that the Bosgravnian had insisted was superior to any single-action revolver!

Waco's speculations began to formulate into accurate deductions, beginning with the remembrance that Fritz von Farlenheim's younger cousin had been almost his exact double and had owned a Colt Cavalry Peacemaker.

Yet Alex von Farlenheim was supposed to have been drowned on the way to Brownsville!

If the report had been false, it could only have been made with Ludwig von Farlenheim's cooperation. He had admitted that the captain of the ship had been associated with him in running cargoes through the Union's blockade during the War Between the States and there was no doubt that he had received the telegraph message.

There could be only one reason for the pretense that Alex had been killed. So that he could be sustituted for his cousin. Fritz's duties as First Taster placed him in an ideal position to poison the Crown Prince. However, unless the noxious potion was slow in its action, to carry out such a deed would result in Alex's apprehension as soon as the effects were noticed. If Waco's theory regarding the contents of the bottle were correct, there would be no doubt of it as soon as Rudolph took a drink. He could not believe that the young Bosgravnian would be willing to sacrifice himself in such a manner.

An alternative sprang to the youngster's fertile mind!

Its concept was alarming!

Unless there was a diversion, Alex would be arrested immediately he had carried out his assignment.

So there would be a diversion!

It could only come from one place!

Ludwig von Farlenheim had done more than organize his younger nephew's supposed death and substitution for Fritz, he had arranged for Doctor Seraphin to come and entertain the hunting party. As was usually the case with members of his profession, the medicine showman had arrived in his distinctively painted wagon.

The site of the camp had been selected so that, particularly with the Ysabel Kid present, it would be practically impossible for intruders to approach even at night without being detected. Yet, in spite of being large enough to carry several passengers inside it, the wagon had not been searched when it arrived.

With the conclusions drawn, Waco had to decide what action he should take.

And quickly!

Von Farlenheim was approaching the table and Seraphin had almost reached the wagon.

Although Waco had helped to unhitch the team and tether them with the hunting party's animals, he had not paid any great attention to the vehicle. Now he noticed something that had sinister implications in the light of his deductions. He had anticipated a slight delay while the men he felt sure were concealed in it leapt out at the ends, but realized that this might not be necessary.

The wagon had the general appearance of a fair-sized delivery van, in that it had a rectangular wooden box-shaped body instead of a canvas canopy. Embellished with the owner's name and advertising his wares, the side panel could be lowered to form a counter. Unless the youngster missed his guess, the cord attached to the bolt at
the top ran along to pass around a pulley, then hung down at the rear, which allowed it to be opened quickly.