Never had Mark felt so completely at a disadvantage as he did when he saw the shape walking towards him from the blackness of the next building. The surrounding darkness prevented him from doing more than identify the approaching figure as being male, he could see nothing to tell him who the other might be. Nor could he think of any acceptable reason for his actions when the newcomer started to ask the obvious questions. Supporting the girl above him at arms’ length, Mark could not draw a weapon. If he removed one hand, always assuming he could hold Belle’s weight on the other, it was doubtful if she would be able to keep her balance.
Drawing a gun was no answer, and Mark knew it. While he wished to help the girl escape, he would not do so at the cost of another man’s life. Even if the newcomer proved to be a Pinkerton man reporting to Shafto, Mark doubted whether he could kill the other. Besides which, the sound of the shot would bring Burbage out to investigate.
Before any solution presented itself to Mark, or Belle—and, to give her credit, her first instinct was to warn him not to shoot the new arrival—the man spoke.
‘You-all should use the kind of hotel I do, boy,’ came Bragg’s drawling voice. ‘Then you wouldn’t have to sneak the gal in.’
Relief flooded over Mark at the sound of his old friend’s tones. ‘Damn you, Tule,’ he growled. ‘Kind of place you stop in, they’d not expect you to sneak anything but a pig inside.’
‘Not even that,’ said Bragg cheerfully. ‘You should hear ’em grunting in the room next to mine. You all right up there, ma’am?’
‘Apart from being scared white-haired, I’m fine!’ Belle gritted, realizing that she did not need to worry about the man below betraying her. ‘Hold firm just a mite longer, Mark.’
With that she started to shove up the window section as high as it would go. Cursing the dress and cloak, although she knew that Snodgrass would never have accepted her as a bona fide rich, naive Southern belle had she visited him dressed in the kind of clothing the present situation called for, she began to pull herself into Mark’s room. Cloth ripped, shapely legs waved wildly and a number of unladylike comments broke from Belle before she slid through the window. She landed in an undignified roll learned when coming off a horse’s back involuntarily during her rearing-years on the ranch. Rising, she looked out of the window at the two men and waved a cheery hand.
‘I’m all right.’
‘Wait until I come up there,’ Mark replied in as low a voice as he could manage with the hope of the girl hearing him but not the waiting man in the hotel. ‘Do it, gal. I’ve got a jim-dandy idea for getting your gear. And without needing to shoot up any of that Pinkerton bunch.’
‘Dang it, and I figured you to be eloping,’ Bragg said as the girl ducked back into the room. ‘Or have her folks set the Pink-eyes on your trail?’
‘Something like that,’ Mark agreed, turning to walk towards the corner of the building. ‘You game to help me bust the law a mite, Tule?’
‘I’m game. Figured there was something wrong when I saw you haul the gal into the alley back there. Got to thinking and remembered how you looked at her back on Hood Street yesterday. I’d’ve sworn then you recognized her and thought she’d speak. That’s mighty sweet-smelling perfume she uses, boy, if it does linger just a lil mite. So I tagged along just in case.’
‘You allow I’d fallen for the old badger game, or something?’
‘I don’t know what I reckoned, but I allowed to be on hand should you need some help.’
‘Which same I need,’ Mark admitted.
‘That figures,’ Bragg replied.
‘The gal’s Belle Starr and the Pink-eyes are waiting to grab her.’
‘Boy, I wronged you for sure when I thought you might be heading for trouble,’ the foreman stated soberly. ‘Yes sirree, bub, I was sure wrong.’
‘Was, huh?’ grunted Mark unsympathetically.
‘Yep. You’re not in trouble. It’s just that the water’s up over the willows and your swimming hoss died,’ drawled the foreman, mentioning one of the hazards a cowhand on a trail herd met in the form of a river running in full flood. ‘Let’s go get her out. Damned stinking Yankee Pink-eyes!’
‘We’ll do that,’ Mark promised as they reached the street and turned along the front of the hotel. ‘Only we do it this way.’
With that he quickly explained the new version of his plan. Bragg’s presence allowed Mark more scope and made his idea more practical than before. Although the foreman snorted and growled a curse when hearing of the Pinkerton agent in Belle’s room, he admitted that Mark’s plan ought to work given just a smidgen of Texas good fortune.
‘Anyways, you’ll have a mighty good reason for jumping him,’ Bragg continued cheerfully.
‘Things could go wrong,’ Mark pointed out. ‘If they do, we’ll have trouble.’
‘Day I start worrying about trouble, I’m going to quit working for you fool Counters and go live with my sister back East,’ Bragg answered. ‘The hell with the Pink-eyes. Who the hell do they reckon they are, coming to Texas and abusing honest folks this ways?’
While a moralist might have pointed out that Belle Starr did not come under the category of ‘honest folks’, Mark let the matter ride. Comforted by the knowledge that he had a loyal friend at his side, the blond giant led the way into the hotel. Seated to one side of the front entrance, Shafto lowered the newspaper he pretended to be reading for long enough to look at Mark and Bragg. Then he raised it once again and gave the impression of being engrossed in the latest Austin happenings. Discussing the likelihood of Sailor Sam arriving the following morning, Mark and the foreman crossed the lobby and halted at the desk. After collecting his key and asking for any messages, Mark led Bragg upstairs.
On entering his room, Mark found that Belle had not wasted her time. While she still wore the cloak, her dress lay in a neatly folded pile on the bed. Guessing what the cloak concealed, Mark almost wished that Bragg was not on his heels. Belle looked calm and unruffled despite having climbed through the window and undressed quickly. Smiling from Mark to Bragg, she looked expectantly back at the big blond.
‘You see, I waited,’ she said.
‘If you hadn’t, I’d’ve caught you and paddled your hide,’ Mark replied. ‘I put a heap of thinking into getting you out of here.’
‘Thinking don’t come easy to them Counters, ma’am,’ Bragg went on. ‘I’m Tule Bragg, his pappy’s foreman.’
‘Mark’s told me about you,’ smiled Belle.
‘It’s lies, every danged word of it!’ Bragg insisted, then became sober. ‘You ready, boy?’
‘Passage’s clear, let’s give it a whirl,’ Mark replied. ‘We’re going to haul that jasper out of your room, Belle gal.’
‘No—’ she began.
‘Boy’s got a real tricky lil idea worked out, ma’am,’ Bragg put in.
‘Has he told you who you’re helping and why?’
‘Yep. Not that he needed to tell me, there’s only one Belle Starr.’
‘You’ll be making me blush next,’ she said and turned to Mark. ‘How do you plan to do it?’
Mark told her and she nodded in agreement. Not only did the plan stand a good chance of working, but it offered Mark and Bragg a passable excuse for their actions. Certainly the new scheme sounded safer than Mark’s original idea. So any objections she might have felt died away. Her chief concern had been for Mark’s fate after she made her escape, knowing the vindictive nature of her hunters, if everything went smoothly, the worst light Mark could be regarded in was for acting a touch hastily.
‘Go to it,’ she said.
‘We’re on our way,’ Mark replied.
For all that, only Bragg walked along the deserted corridor towards Belle’s room. Mark remained at the door of number twelve and Belle stood out of sight behind the door. While waiting for the men to join her, she had drawn the curtains to prevent any chance of being seen from outside. Everything depended on how the man in her room acted.
Coming to number seven, Bragg drew close to the door and turned its handle. He heard a scuffling sound from inside and pressed his ear against the panel. For a short time nothing happened, then he detected stealthy footsteps approaching inside the room. Swiftly and silently the foreman glided along the passage and around a corner out of sight of Belle’s door.
Slowly the door to Belle’s room opened and Quigg’s head emerged. He looked towards the corner around which Bragg disappeared. Acting as if he had just arrived and was letting himself into his quarters, Mark coughed. Just as Mark hoped would happen, Quigg swung to look his way and then ducked back into the room. To a casual observer the man’s actions would have appeared highly suspicious, one of the things Mark counted on happening.
Darting along the passage, Mark dropped his shoulder and charged the door. The Houston had been built to last, its rooms far more soundproof than those of most hotels in Texas and its doors stoutly constructed. Struck by two hundred pounds of driving muscle and sinew, the door still burst open. Standing just behind it, Quigg saw his danger too late. The door swung inwards, catching him and sending him sprawling across the room. He hit the wardrobe, which halted his progress and saw the blond giant enter.
Once again Quigg acted as Mark wanted him to do. Spluttering a curse, the dude stabbed his right hand into the sagging pocket. While most western men would have reached for their gun, Mark figured that Quigg went for a weapon he understood better than a firearm. Anyway, Quigg’s action gave Mark the excuse he wanted.
Bounding across the room even as a wicked leather-wrapped, lead-loaded billy whipped from Quigg’s pocket, Mark ripped a punch into the man’s belly. The billy fell from Quigg’s hand as he grabbed at his middle and doubled over. Up came Mark’s other hand in a driving blow that caught the dude’s offered chin with smooth precision. Lifted erect by the blow, Quigg smashed into the wardrobe again. His legs buckled under him and he collapsed as if he had been suddenly boned.
‘Neat,’ said Bragg at the door. ‘Nobody’s showing themselves.’
‘Get Belle here pronto,’ Mark replied, kneeling by Quigg and making sure he could not hear or see anything.
Not until Bragg left to obey the order did Mark find time to look around the room. It seemed that Quigg had spent his time searching Belle’s property, for every drawer had been turned out and her clothes lay in a pile on the floor of the wardrobe. Hearing the rapid patter of feet, Mark turned and saw the girl enter. Annoyance flashed on her face as she studied the condition of her belongings, then she gave a chuckle.
‘Much good that did him,’ she said.
‘Is anything missing?’ Mark asked.
‘There was nothing for him to steal,’ she replied. ‘And he didn’t look in the right place for the things that matter.’
Going to the bed, she drew away the covers until she exposed the mattress. Like all the other Houston fixtures, it offered the guest plenty of comfort; being thick and well packed. Collecting a pair of scissors from the workbasket Quigg upended in his search for evidence, Belle cut open the stitching at the bottom of the mattress. Reaching into the slit she made, the girl drew out a man’s shirt and levis pants. She then carefully closed the gap and rapidly remade the bed. All the time she worked, Mark stood guard over the unconscious Pinkerton agent and Bragg remained at the door, watching the passage.
‘Move it, Belle,’ Mark said. ‘He won’t be out much longer and I don’t want to have to hit him again.’
‘All right,’ she replied, darting to the wardrobe and taking out a pair of riding boots ‘This’s all I need. My gunbelt, saddle and hat’re with friends.’
‘How about the rest of your stuff?’ asked Bragg, indicating a velvet-lined box which stood open on the dressing table and showing several items of apparently costly jewelry.
‘That can stay here,’ Belle answered. ‘It’s not real and the clothes were bought for this job. If I leave them, it will give me a start.’
‘They’ll not know you’ve been back,’ Bragg admitted.
A low moan from Quigg warned them of the need for movement. Holding the clothes and boots, Belle left the room and headed towards Mark’s quarters. Waiting until the girl entered and closed the door, the two men hoisted Quigg up between them and hauled him out, then along towards the stairs.
Throwing off her cloak, Belle stood clad in a brief set of underclothes which would have aroused Banker Snodgrass’ suspicions had he been privileged to see them. Not that he would have found anything to complain at in the way she filled the flimsy silk. Kicking off her shoes, she retained the black stockings which showed her magnificent legs to their best advantage and donned the trousers. Next she drew on the shirt, tucking it into the pants and buttoning it up. The riding boots came next. Belle drew them on, snuggling her feet into the comforting touch of the stout leather. Then she thrust the Manhattan revolver from her reticule into the waistband of her pants. With a sigh of content, she knew that she could now make good her escape.
A coiled rope hung on a peg fixed to the side of the wardrobe. Modern in many ways, the Houston still retained the traditional Western style of fire precautions. Taking the rope, Belle doused the lamp and went to the window. She drew back the curtains and looked out. Satisfied that nobody watched the rear of the building, she slipped the honda of the rope over the hook stoutly fastened to the wall and tossed the other end out. Then she gathered her property, wrapping the cloak around her dress and shoes. At the window, she let the bundle fall and waited to see if its soft thud attracted any attention. When it did not, she climbed from the window and slid rapidly to the ground.
‘Thanks for everything, big feller,’ she breathed, looking up at the window. ‘I’ll never forget this.’
Her chance to repay Mark would come much sooner than she imagined.
Hearing the thud of feet on the stairs, Shafto started to lower his newspaper to take a surreptitious glance. When he saw Mark and Bragg hauling Quigg down between them, he lost his casual air. Crumpling the paper, he threw it aside and came to his feet. Behind the reception desk, the clerk stared with bug-out eyes and a mouth that hung wide open.
‘Get the marshal here,’ Mark ordered in a loud voice as he and Bragg let their groaning burden drop ungently to the floor.
‘We caught this jasper robbing a lady’s room.’
‘But—but he’s a—!’ spluttered the clerk.
‘Go fetch the marshal, son,’ Bragg told a gaping bellhop who came loping up. ‘They do say this town’s so plumb law-abiding that a feller has to ask real polite afore he shoots a thieving son-of-a-bitch.’
‘There’s no call to do that,’ Shafto growled, coming to the desk.
‘You wouldn’t say that had you seen the sneaky way this hombre ducked back inside the lady’s room when he saw us coming,’ Bragg replied, stirring the moaning Quigg with his toe. Then suspicion glowed on the foreman’s face and he took on the attitude of a country-bumpkin in the big city for the first time. ‘Maybe you’re in it with him, feller.’
‘I am, in a manner of speaking,’ Shafto agreed and started to reach for his inside breast pocket.
He stopped, frozen immobile by the barrel of Bragg’s big Dance ramming into his favorite belly.
‘Don’t you-all try it!’ the foreman warned. ‘I’ve allus heard you city jaspers are mighty tricky.’
‘Damn it!’ Shafto yelled at the clerk. ‘Tell them who I am!’
‘This’s Mr. Shafto of the Pinkerton Detective Agency,’ the clerk announced, trying to sound as if it was not his fault. ‘That’s one of his men.’
‘You should try paying your help better, mister,’ Mark said as Bragg thrust away the Dance.
‘Huh?’ grunted the startled Shafto.
‘We found him in that pretty young lady’s room and from the way her gear was thrown around, he’d been robbing her.’
‘He was waiting there to arrest her!’ Shafto snarled, kneeling at Quigg’s side. ‘Did you have to rough-handle him this bad?’
‘I’d say “yes” to that,’ Mark replied calmly. ‘When I got to her door, I didn’t knock polite and shout, “Hey, are you-all in there robbing the lady.” I went in fast.’
‘And when that jasper started reaching for his pocket, ole Mark didn’t reckon he was looking for his wipe,’ Bragg went on. ‘Which same that hombre can reckon he come off lucky. There’s some who would’ve shot him first and apologized when they found that all he wanted was his handkerchief.’
Shafto looked at the two men in cold anger, yet he thought only that pure accident caused the disruption of his plans. Any man born in the range country, where gun-handling was taught as a matter of simple self-preservation, would have acted in the same way under the circumstances. Only, as Bragg had said, many would not have restricted themselves to merely knocking Quigg unconscious when he had tried to produce the wicked billy Shafto knew he carried.
Before any more could be said, the front door burst open and a disheveled, red-faced Banker Snodgrass charged in. Mark could never remember seeing a man look so all-fired, out-and-out furious as Snodgrass did as he bore down on the Pinkerton agent. An expression of almost sick realization began to creep over Shafto’s features, as if he could guess what was coming.
‘Shafto!’ Snodgrass howled. ‘Just what kind of fool game are you playing?’
‘What’s happened?’ countered the detective.
‘Damnit, I pay your Agency a retainer to be protected and I expect value for my money, sir!’
‘But what—’
‘You come to see me with the tale that my bank’s going to be robbed. So I allow you every facility, let you bring in men that I’ll have to pay for—and what, I say what happens?’
‘Maybe you’d best tell me,’ Shafto growled.
‘I’ve every intention of telling you, sir!’ screeched the banker. ‘While all this high-priced help that I don’t aim to pay for are sitting watching my bank, my house is robbed.’
‘Your house?’ gulped Shafto.
‘My house, sir, my home!’ Snodgrass went on. ‘As I returned to discover.’
Shafto’s mouth dropped open, then clamped home in a tight line. Watching the Pinkerton agent, Mark could see him making an almost visible attempt to rally under the shock. Despite the blond giant’s antipathy, he could not help admiring the manner in which Shafto regained control of himself. Standing at the desk, the detective glared down at the moaning, writhing Quigg, then looked at the clerk.
‘Get Burbage from the back!’ Shafto ordered. ‘I’ll go with you in a minute, Mr. Snodgrass.’
‘Go to it,’ the clerk said and the bell hop took a reluctant departure.
‘What’s up?’ asked Burbage, coming from the rear of the Then he skidded to a halt and stared at Quigg. ‘Who—’
‘I’ll explain later,’ interrupted Shafto. ‘Go up to her room and wait in case she comes back.’
‘Sure. What happened to Quigg?’
‘Forget him, damnit. And make sure that you stop in the room so nobody sees you.’
Then Burbage guessed what had happened and a broad grin creased his face. Hired temporarily for his local knowledge, he had so far found the smug, big-city condescension shown him by his employers annoying. It seemed that they were not so smart after all. Quigg must have been seen looking out of the girl’s room and was jumped by the two cowhands who took him for a thief.
It was a mistake anybody could make. Yet Burbage began to get an uneasy feeling that something went wrong in it. Realizing that he would have to stay on the alert while dealing with a smart, range-bred girl like Belle Starr, Burbage put out of his head the nagging, all but forgotten something which pricked at him.
After Burbage went to take over his new lookout post, Quigg had been taken into the clerk’s office and Shafto accompanied Snodgrass to the scene of the crime, Mark went back to his room with Bragg.
‘The lil devil,’ the foreman said with an admiring grin as he pulled in and coiled the rope. ‘She pulled the damned job after all—and in a way that only Snodgrass could get hurt.’
‘Him and Pinkerton’s bunch,’ corrected Mark. ‘They won’t forget it, Tule.’