Next morning all Austin buzzed with talk of the robbery. Although almost every outlaw band in the State received credit for looting Snodgrass’ safe, the Pinkerton agents did not announce Belle’s part in it. That did not surprise Mark. Most people in Texas knew that the girl only robbed people who deserved, by their treatment of others, to be trimmed. Probably Snodgrass demanded that the identity of his robber be held back. He had suffered a heavy personal loss, and his ego badly bruised, but felt things could be far worse. If folks learned that Belle Starr had robbed him, they might easily fight shy of depositing or leaving their money in his care. Maybe Shafto might not have been so compliant but had he not objected to people knowing that a woman had out-smarted him.
When the girl apparently did not return to collect her property, Shafto gathered his men and went out of town looking for her. The sheriff of Travis County offered to lend the services of his posse, but Shafto declined. So two groups of men rode from the State capital to scour the surrounding district in search of some sign of Belle’s passing.
Mark spent a quiet morning, although he could not help wondering how soon it would be before Shafto heard of the slit-open mattress in Belle’s room and began to get suspicious.
After attending to his horse, Mark paid a delayed courtesy call to the Governor. In addition to being the man appointed to clear up the mess left by Davis’ corrupt administration, Stanton Howard was a friend of both Mark’s father and Ole Devil Hardin. So he would have regarded Mark’s non-arrival as a slight. Explaining that he figured Howard had enough on hand without entertaining every drifting cowhand, Mark excused himself for not appearing sooner, or attending a formal visit at the Governor’s mansion. They discussed state affairs, including the organization of more Ranger companies to fight the criminal element, talked of cattle and general matters. At last the Governor saw Mark out, apologizing for not being able to offer the same standard of hospitality and sport received when he had visited the OD Connected shortly before taking office.
At lunch Mark met Bragg and a number of the men who had shared his first night in the Bigfoot Saloon. After the meal they went to the rear of the livery barn housing both Mark and Bragg’s horses to pitch horseshoes.
The game had been going for some time when an interruption came. Riding tired horses, the sheriff’s posse came from off the range. At the lead rode Sheriff Jules Murat, a tall, slim, handsome man who wore range clothes, yet managed to give the appearance of being dressed in some fancy European Hussar’s uniform and that he should wear a cavalry saber instead of the two matched Army Colts holstered at his sides. A successful rancher, he had accepted the post of county sheriff—soon to be followed by appointment to captain of a Texas Ranger’s company—to do a job of work and not as an office-filler mainly concerned with politics or lining his pockets. One of Mark’s chief concerns for Belle’s safety had been the knowledge that Jules Murat would be hunting for her.
Urging his mount at a faster pace, Murat cut ahead of the rest of the posse and drew rein before the horseshoe pitchers. His eyes went straight to Mark and Bragg, worry in them as he started to speak.
‘Mark, Tule, there’s bad trouble.’
Looking past Murat, Mark and Bragg saw a tarp-wrapped figure draped across the back of a harness horse. Before Mark could start to think that Belle had been shot and told of their part in her escape, Bragg let out a low curse and headed towards the posse. Then Mark noticed that three more members of the sheriff’s party led harness horses, although without the sinister loads of the first. Next Mark realized that the shape wrapped in a tarpaulin sheet would be too big for Belle. Suddenly, with shocking impact, he understood what made Bragg act in such a manner. Murat dropped from his saddle at Mark’s side.
‘Is it—?’ Mark began.
‘It’s Sailor Sam,’ agreed the sheriff quietly.
‘An accident?’
‘No, Mark,’ Murat replied.
‘Then what—?’ Mark demanded.
‘We’d been out since morning and nary a sign of whoever robbed Snodgrass could we find. Coming back in we saw where a wagon’d been driven off the trail. It had maybe six riders with it, so we followed the line. Found it in a clearing down close to the Colorado—’
‘And?’
‘Don’t ask me what’d happened. All the gear’d been turned out of the wagon, opened up. There were signs of a helluva fight and Sam’d been shot in the back of the head.’
‘So you brought his body in,’ Mark said.
‘We’d tired horses under us, Mark,’ Murat replied. ‘It’d been afore noon that they shot Sam and left soon after. With a start like that, we needed fresh mounts to catch up.’
‘Sure you did, Jules,’ Mark admitted and walked to where Bragg stood cursing in a low, savage voice. ‘Let’s get our rifles and the hosses, Tule.’
While the other players seethed with questions they wished to ask Murat, all remained silent as they realized the gravity of the situation. Hearing what Mark said, one of them stepped forward.
‘Do you need any help, amigo?’ he asked and it was a genuine offer, not made out of a morbid desire to take part in a manhunt.
‘No thanks,’ Mark gritted. ‘Tule and me’ll tend to all that needs doing.’
‘Let me go get a fresh horse and I’ll ride with you,’ Murat put in.
Without any hesitation Mark gave his agreement. Murat might be sheriff of the county which housed the State’s capital, but he was also a mighty efficient practical peace officer. Shrewd, capable, honest, he fought crime hard and, where necessary, trod on toes without a thought of their owner’s social standing. Such a man would do to ride the river with and be of the greatest help in the grim work ahead of them.
‘Do you have anybody who can read sign, Jules?’ Mark asked.
‘Tejas Tom there,’ the sheriff replied, indicating a tall young Indian wearing a town suit, collarless shirt and derby hat. ‘Don’t let his duds fool you, he’d run the Ysabel Kid a close second in reading sign.’
‘We’ll see to Sam for you, Mark,’ one of the horseshoe pitchers promised. ‘You go fetch what you’ll need, I reckon we can saddle your hosses.’
‘Thanks,’ Mark replied. ‘I’ll pay for the burying so see he gets the best.’
Half an hour later Mark rode out of Austin with Bragg, Murat and Tejas Tom, the last two on fresh mounts. During the ride, Murat went into greater detail of what they saw and deduced from the Indian’s reading of the sign.
‘I’d say those fellers laid for him, hiding just off the trail,’ Murat told Mark and Bragg. ‘Made him drive down there where they couldn’t be seen. Then it looked like he lit into them.’
‘Plenty big fight,’ confirmed the Indian. ‘That feller put two-three down at least afore they shoot him.’
That figured to anybody who knew the fist-fighting ability of Sailor Sam. The knowledge that his old tutor went down fighting made Mark feel a little better, although it did nothing to lessen his determination that Sam’s killers would pay.
Two miles out of town Murat brought his horse to a halt and pointed to a clump of scrub oak trees close by it. ‘This’s where it happened. They hid up in the trees and rode out peaceable like. Then they took him off towards the river.’
Following the direction Murat indicated, Mark saw the tracks left by Sailor Sam’s killers. While he did not put himself in the same category as the Ysabel Kid when it came to reading sign, Mark could tell that the men had ridden from their cover at a leisurely pace. Most likely Sailor Sam took them for a bunch of cowhands heading into Austin and looking to pass the time of day with him. By the time he realized the danger, it was too late to escape. So he behaved sensibly, going along with the gun-backed orders while watching for a chance to turn the tables on his captors. At the other side of the trail he saw where the wagon left escorted by the cook’s killers. Starting his horse moving, Mark followed the tracks.
None of the party spoke as they rode through the wooded country in the direction of the Colorado River. Then at the foot of the slope, well-hidden from the trail, they came into sight of the wagon. Apart from unhitching the team and taking the cook’s body along, nothing had been moved. Boxes and barrels lay on the ground, their tops opened and a few contents scattered.
At Murat’s suggestion they left the horses well clear of the wagon and went forward on foot. Tejas Tom took the lead and as he drew near the foot of the slope began to describe the men who made the different sign.
‘One was big feller, plenty hefty, ride bay mare. Two of ’em tall, lean, got dun and blue roan. ’Nother middle height, heavy with it, ride bay man-hoss. Other two maybe five foot ten, one lean, other heavy, got a black and iron gray hoss.’
Having seen the Ysabel Kid in action, Mark knew just how accurate a well-trained visual tracker could be. He did not doubt that when they finally caught up to the gang, the descriptions would prove correct. Going on, Tejas told how Sailor Sam fought and finally went down, shot by the tallest of the slim men. The Indian took Mark and Bragg to where a small rock rose from the springy grass. There they saw the marks made by a man falling down hard, but the Indian showed them something more important.
‘See um?’ he asked, pointing to a black mark on the side of the rock. ‘Him shoot from ground after him knocked down.’
Igniting black powder threw out an awesome muzzle-blast as Mark well knew, but only in a forward direction. Which meant that the man must have held his gun barely out of the holster to shoot. Then Mark remembered the Wycliffe clan. The men he met in the Bigfoot Saloon fitted the description of part of the gang. More than that, Billy Wycliffe carried his gun in a swivel holster and did not need to draw the weapon to shoot. Fired from the leather, his Colt’s barrel would have been low and close enough to leave the powder burns on the rock.
At which point the Indian dropped another bombshell. ‘Was girl with wagon.’
For a moment the words did not sink into Mark’s furiously-thinking head. Then he stared from Tejas to Bragg and said, ‘A girl?’
‘Not from the herd, that’s for sure,’ Bragg stated.
‘Sign show she jump off box and run. Feller go after her and drag her back. They take her with ’em when they go.’
‘Sam must’ve picked her up on the way in,’ Murat guessed. ‘Maybe from one of them nester spreads down that ways.’
‘I reckon I know who killed Sam,’ Mark said quietly.
‘Who?’ asked the sheriff.
‘Billy Wycliffe.’
‘Why him?’
‘We had a run-in with ’em last night,’ Mark explained. ‘Billy was wearing his gun in a half-breed holster.’
Having seen the powder blackening on the rock, Murat knew what Mark meant. However he did not take the other’s suggestion at blind face value.
‘And you figure they jumped Sam to get even?’ he asked.
‘No,’ admitted Mark. ‘I don’t reckon they’d go a round-about way like that to get even with anybody.’
‘Weren’t but four of ’em we saw,’ Bragg reminded Mark.
‘Way the fellers at the Bigfoot talked, there’re plenty more,’ Mark replied.
‘That’s for sure,’ Murat agreed. ‘Only you can’t be sure it was them, Mark.’
‘Everything points that way,’ Mark replied, his big hands working in the unspoken, deadly rage which filled him. ‘We’ll know for sure when we find them.’
‘Likely,’ answered the sheriff.
‘It’s a heap more than likely!’ Mark snapped. ‘Sam fought back. That means all of them are carrying marks he gave them.’
‘Let’s go get ’em!’ growled Bragg.
‘We haven’t more than a couple of hours afore dark,’ objected Murat.
‘We’ll have a start for morning,’ Mark put in. ‘Maybe you’d best leave it to Tule and me, Jules.’
‘To run them down and nail their hides to the wall?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Is that the way Hondo and Dusty Fog taught you to handle the law?’
‘Damn it to hell, Jules!’ Mark snapped. ‘You knew Sailor Sam. He was a good-hearted cuss who never did harm to anybody who wasn’t asking for it. He worked for pappy near as long as Tule here ’
‘Which shouldn’t stop you thinking and acting right,’ Murat said quietly. ‘Sailor Sam was your friend, Mark. Only if you start thinking on that instead of on proving who killed him, you could make a mistake.’
‘Maybe,’ Mark replied.
‘There’s no maybe about it and you know it!’ Murat snapped. ‘Sure everything points to the Wycliffe bunch. Only that’s a mighty small description Tejas gave us and it could fit plenty of men. I can tell you three fellers in Austin alone who use a half-breed holster, two of them would fit the description of the one who shot Sam if it comes to that.’
‘You figure one of them two did it?’ growled Bragg.
‘Nope. One of ’em’s a Wells Fargo messenger and the other works for me as a deputy. I just mentioned them to show you that it could be somebody else,’ Murat replied. ‘Not that I reckon the Wycliffes wouldn’t pull something like this But they’d want a reason for doing it.’
‘Maybe figured to rob Sam,’ Bragg guessed. ‘Figured he’d have money to pay for whatever supplies he bought in town.’
‘Not if it’s the Wycliffes,’ Murat answered. ‘I wouldn’t put robbing a blind man’s begging-cup past the young ’uns, but Churn’s not that cheap. So if he was along, they came after more than the chance of picking up a few hundred dollars. And I went through Sam’s pockets; whoever killed him hadn’t.’
Which ruled out robbery as the motive for the killing. In such a secluded spot, a well-armed gang meaning to steal would not be deterred by having murdered their victim. With robbery apparently ruled out, the question of motive rose once more. It seemed unlikely that the Wycliffes would take their revenge on Sailor Sam, or even that they knew his connection with Mark and Bragg.
‘Who’s on the trail behind you, Tule?’ Mark asked.
‘Nobody that we know of.’
Occasionally the trail crew following another herd would take steps to slow down and pass it so as to reach the railhead market first. So every trail boss kept a wary eye on his rear, ready to counter such moves. While killing the cook would have at least nuisance value, Mark doubted if that had been the reason for Sam’s murder. Yet it was a possibility, slim maybe, but Mark knew one could not afford to overlook the most slender chance. Murder, very sensibly, carried the death penalty, so a man like Mark Counter knew better than make the mistake of picking the wrong suspect when hunting for a killer.
Murat’s warning had worked. With the first flush of his anger worn off, Mark remembered the training he received in peace officer work from two of the most enlightened lawmen in Texas. Although grief nagged at him, the blond giant forced himself to face the issue with an open mind. While almost certain that the Wycliffe clan were behind Sailor Sam’s death, he was prepared to search for other possibilities.
‘Let’s make a start,’ he said. ‘We’ll see which direction they’re headed if nothing more.’
Satisfied that they could learn no more at the scene of the crime, Murat gave his agreement to Mark’s suggestion and told Tejas to cut for sign. Quickly the Indian collected his horse and led the way along the tracks left by the departing killers. From the leisurely way the tracks had been made, fear of discovery did not cause them to leave before looting their victim. Nor did they go far. Swinging off through the trees, the tracks halted in cover near the trail. Once again the horses had been left tied to trees or bushes—it had been hair rubbed from their coats along with traces of urine which told the Indian each horse’s color and the fact that one was a mare—while their riders went on foot to watch the trail.
‘Stopped here for a spell,’ Tejas told the others. ‘Maybe hour.’
‘Looks like they were fixing to grab off and rob anybody who come along,’ Bragg growled.
'Or they waited for somebody special,’ Mark went on. ‘Maybe they weren’t after Sam at all.’
‘Whoever it was, they didn’t find him,’ Murat stated. ‘They fetched their horses and rode off.’
‘Go up that way,’ Tejas said, pointing.
‘There’s a nester’s place maybe two mile along the trail,’ Murat commented. ‘Let’s go ask if he’s seen anybody go by.’
‘He should notice six men and a gal passing,’ Mark said as they started to ride in the direction indicated by Tejas Tom. ‘If they’ve still got the gal along.’
‘They took her,’ the Indian replied. ‘Leave her fastened to a tree while wait at side of trail. Then come back for her and hosses.’
While riding along, Tejas Tom had the others help him keep watch for sign of the other party leaving the trail. However there were several places at which Sailor Sam’s killers could have swung off without leaving any tracks, due to the nature of the ground. Certainly they did not take their horses off at any point where sign would show.
The nester showed some surprise at seeing the sheriff’s party ride up to his cabin. However Murat possessed a reputation for fair dealing and was made welcome. Accepting the offer of a cup of coffee, the men dismounted and entered the small cabin. Mark and the others sat around the table while several children hovered in the background and stared wide-eyed at them. When asked if he had seen Sailor Sam’s wagon go by, the nester nodded.
‘Sure did. He stopped here and had a cup of java, seemed a right friendly sort of a jasper and talked real pleasant.’
‘Not anymore,’ Bragg put in bluntly. ‘He’s dead.’
‘The hell you say! And the gal that was with him?’
‘They took the gal along with them,’ Mark told the man.
‘I’m not at all surprised!’ snorted the woman of the house. ‘She looked—’
‘Hush now, Martha!’ the nester said.
‘You knew her, ma’am?’ asked Murat.
‘No. She’s not from these parts, I’d swear. Looked like some fancy woman, headed for Austin to work in a saloon.’
‘She didn’t dress like one,’ objected the nester.
‘Or like a decent woman, in her shirt and pants, or with all that paint and powder on her face!’ his wife answered.
‘She didn’t come back this way with maybe six fellers on horses then?’ Murat inquired.
‘Nope. I’ve been outside here working all afternoon and nobody come by,’ the nester replied.
Studying the man, Mark felt sure that he spoke the truth and had not been paid by Sam’s killers to remain silent. Which meant that the gang must have left the trail at one of the points where their tracks did not show. Only an extensive search, or some luck, would find the tracks where they left the hard ground. Mark knew that making it at such a late hour of the day would be futile.
‘Do you get many wagons coming by here?’ he asked, thinking of the gang’s actions after leaving Sam’s body.
‘Some, mostly neighbors or cooks from trail herds going through,’ the nester replied.
‘Don’t forget that trader who comes through maybe once a month,’ his wife put in. ‘It’s near on time he was coming by.’
‘Trader, ma’am?’ Mark repeated.
‘Hell yes!’ ejaculated the nester. ‘Him. Why sure. Say, he’s a feller with a beard and used a four hoss wagon just like that the cook this morning drove.’