Sitting at a table in the Red Dog Saloon, Doctor Otto Grantz was so engrossed in a game of poker that he was unaware of the baleful gaze to which he was being subjected from beyond the other players!
Almost two months had passed since Grantz had read in a newspaper of the fate which had befallen his former associates!
Following the flight from Bonham County, the doctor had found there was a deterioration in his relationship with the older of the brothers in particular. Despite insisting his medical services were required for the new conspiracy that was planned, Teodoro had clearly been growing increasingly disenchanted by his failure to cure the drug addiction of Javier. To make matters worse, the younger brother had started to blackmail him, demanding a regular free supply of cocaine in return for remaining silent with regards to how the ambush had been carried out at his instigation. Nor was his problems with them his only concern. On learning what would be expected of him in the latest scheme, he had been all too aware whoever was injecting the blood from the cattle which had died of anthrax into the animals intended to be sent to Texas would face the possibility of contracting the highly contagious disease. lvii Therefore, he had decided the time had come for him to part company with such a potentially dangerous alliance.
On learning how the brothers met their end, although Grantz had realized he was likely to be another target for revenge by the man whose hands he had mutilated, he felt sure he had covered his tracks sufficiently well since leaving Mexico to avoid being located. He had come to the bustling mining town of Wilson in Colorado by a circuitous route and established a lucrative medical practice in an assumed name.
What the doctor did not realize was that he had made a serious mistake!
Serving as medical attendant to Javier Fuentes and a willing adjunct to schemes upon which Teodoro was engaged had been lucrative for Grantz. Aware from the beginning that he might need to escape the consequences of his actions, whether as a participant in ‘liberal’ political schemes or through selling Javier cocaine while pretending to be seeking a cure with ‘harmless’ heroin, he had taken the precaution of ensuring he would have sufficient money to make this possible. With the future in mind, taking advantage of being sent to Flamingo—where one of his earliest tasks had been to pretend Teodoro was wounded in the first ‘raid by cow thieves’—he had placed the considerable sum which had accrued in the bank. Needing the money to start a new life, also realizing that he dare not return to Bonham County to collect it, he had telegraphed for his deposit to be transferred to a bank in Taos, New Mexico. On receiving it, he had continued his travels.
However, being unaware of the influential support which the man he feared was receiving, the doctor had failed to envisage how serious an error he had committed and believed the possession of the money would ensure his continued safety!
The state of self deception was about to end!
‘God damn it!’ Grantz growled, watching the winner of yet another pot raking away his money. While speaking, he scowled in a sullen manner at the other five losers—who formed a cross-section of the local population’s occupations—in the hope of receiving sympathy, but gave no attention to the rest of the saloon’s occupants. ‘I’ve never had such bad hands!’
‘Happen you reckon yours are bad, look at these hands!’
Although he had established a reputation as being a bad loser, Grantz’s position as a medical practitioner offered protection against more than occasional verbal recriminations from those with whom he was playing. However, on this occasion, the comment which was made did not come from any of his six opponents.
Never one to accept criticism, or the expression of opinions different from his own, the doctor swung his gaze to the speaker. However, it halted on taking in the sight of the two hands—their skin white as if rarely being exposed to the elements—which were extended by a man who had arrived unnoticed by him to stand between a lean professional gambler and a bulky cavalry soldier at the opposite side of the table. For a moment, he was unable to decide what had caused the comment and the reason for the hands being displayed in such a fashion. Then he stared at the place where the forefingers should have been. It was obvious their removal had been performed with considerable skill.
Then realization struck home!
Grantz recognized the work as being his own!
Filled with a sense of grim foreboding, the doctor raised his eyes. They passed over Levi’s pants and a gunbelt with a staghorn handled Colt Civilian Model Peacemaker revolver carried butt forward in a holster set higher than was generally the case, a dark blue shirt, an open brown jacket that had its right side stitched back and a tightly rolled multicolored bandana knotted about a throat having darker skin than the displayed hands. Reaching the grim tanned face above them, his gaze confirmed what he feared.
‘You!’ Grantz gasped.
‘Me!’ Waxahachie Smith confirmed, remembering the last time an identical exchange—albeit in Spanish—had taken place.
The explosion set off by Donald Garfew Beech had blown open the safe and shattered the bottles containing the tainted blood. To ensure the complete destruction of the potentially dangerous liquid, he and the Texan had started a fire which gutted the hacienda. While this was happening, Ruiz ‘Paco’ Cervantes had removed the other major participant in the scheme by arranging for him to meet his death in what appeared to be an accident whilst trying to halt the stampeding cattle.
With the mission which had brought him to Mexico ended successfully, Smith had returned to Bonham County and found a letter from Mrs. Freddie Fog waiting for him at the Union Jack ranch. She had warned that, despite exerting all their influence, she and her husband were only able to obtain one concession in his behalf. He had considered it to be a mixed blessing. Although they had been told that criminal proceedings would be instituted against him if demanded by the Mexican Government, these would only be enforced if he was found in Texas. She had suggested, to prevent this happening—with the attendant possibility of hostility being aroused by the facts which would emerge during the trial—he left the State and did not return until he received word from her that the incident was forgotten and it would be safe for him to do so.
Accepting the advice, Smith had set out in search of the man who had removed his forefingers. Nor had this presented too many difficulties, given the assistance he could call upon and his own experience in such matters. After Sheriff Daniel Tobin had learned of the transferred bank account, he went to Taos and picked up the trail. Despite Grantz having adopted an assumed name when the money was in his possession, his appearance and less than amiable demeanor had ensured he was remembered everywhere he went.
Already having learned the doctor’s nom deplume, Smith had located him within half an hour of reaching Wilson!
However, the Texan had decided to wait until the confrontation could be made in a public place!
Grantz’s habit of playing poker regularly at the Red Dog Saloon had offered the opportunity!
‘W—What do you want?’ the doctor croaked, crouching on his chair with a demeanor very different from his normal bombastic posture.
‘You know what I want,’ Smith replied. ‘Get on your feet and, happen you’re not toting a gun, I’ll be obliged if one of these gents will take his out, cock it and put it on the table where you can reach it easily.’
Silence, broken only by the scraping of wood against wood as the other players shoved back their chairs and came to their feet, fell over the room. Everybody within hearing distance realized what was implied by the words. Furthermore, although they might have if Grantz had been a more likeable person, not even the men around the table offered to point out he was a member of the medical profession or intervene in any other way. In fact, the only response was from the winner of the last pot.
‘You can have my gun, Doc!’ the big and burly miner offered, dropping a hand to the Colt Artillery Model Peacemaker in his low hanging holster.
‘I—I—I—!’ Grantz spluttered, coming to his feet and cringing with both hands rubbing jerkily at his torso.
However, regardless of an attitude of fear which was only partly simulated, the doctor had no intention of trying to avoid the confrontation. He was aware that, as long as Smith lived, he would never be free from the threat of retribution. Nor would pleading his position as a man whose life was devoted to healing gain the sympathy and support he wanted when the crowd heard why the Texan was behaving in such a fashion. Therefore, he knew he must deal with the situation once and for all immediately.
Doing so, the doctor told himself, would be easy!
Like many other medical men in the West, Grantz was always armed. He had realized that his way of life had given him an even more potent reason than many of his contemporaries for doing so. This awareness had encouraged him to practice drawing and using the Remington Double Derringer he carried in a concealed pocket of his vest with reasonable proficiency.
Confident his secret weapon would serve its purpose, the doctor snatched for it under the pretense of acting nervously!
Having heard a story told about Marvin Eldridge ‘Doc’ Leroy following the Western medical habit of carrying a weapon readily available for use, lviii Smith had not overlooked the possibility of Grantz being armed. In fact, he had considered this to be very likely where such a man was concerned. Nor did the suggestion of abject fear lull him into a sense of false security or over confidence. He knew there were few creatures more dangerous and liable to attack than a cornered rat.
The moment the Texan saw Grantz’s right hand change its rumblings into a determined motion, he responded!
Still experiencing a slight twinge of pain in his back, serving as a reminder of his changed circumstances, Smith allowed his trained reflexes to control his movements. Turning his right elbow outwards and almost to the level of his shoulder, he twisted his hand towards the staghorn grip of the Colt with the speed of a striking snake. Strengthened by the exercises he had taken, his second and third fingers wrapped firmly about the butt and, as he had discovered doing so offered added support, he hooked the fourth digit under its bottom. While this was taking place, his thumb coiled over the hammer’s modified spur. By snapping his elbow in, he not only twisted the revolver from its form-fitting holster but cocked the hammer without further effort by the thumb.
Even as Grantz’s Remington came into view, the four and three quarter inches barrel of Smith’s Colt was turned his way!
Aiming by instinctive alignment, the Texan relaxed the grip his thumb was applying. Freed from restraint, the hammer lashed forward to plunge its striker into the priming cap of the waiting cartridge. Leaving the muzzle to the accompaniment of the crash of detonating black powder, the ejected charge was not a single bullet.
Struck in the chest by the lethal triple ball load, Grantz was thrown backwards with the Double Derringer flying unfired from his grasp. Shattering the chair from which he had risen, he crashed to the floor. For a couple of seconds, during which the silence continued around the room, his gross body twitched and writhed. Then it was still.
‘I’m not meaning to sound all nosey-like, mister,’ the burly miner declared, ensuring he kept both hands in plain sight. ‘But I’d say you must reckon you’ve a mighty good reason for coming after “Doc Bother’’ like this..’ lix
‘You could say that,’ Smith confirmed, thumb cocking the slip gun without allowing its muzzle to point at anybody in particular around the table. However, every one of the six recognized the implied threat behind the action and all stood as if turned to stone. Satisfied there would not be any hostile moves against him, once again he displayed the three fingers of his left hand and turned the right to show it was in the same mutilated condition. ‘He did this to me!’
‘No matter he was a lousy son-of-a-bitch in everything else, he was a damned good doctor,’ the miner stated. ‘And it looks to me like he did a real good job of taking ‘em off.’
‘He did that!’ Smith admitted, satisfied his quest for vengeance was at an end and wondering when he would be able to return to his beloved home State. ‘Thing being, there wasn’t anything wrong with them when he cut them off!’