Chapter 7

Brady was located just about atop of the geographical center of Texas, at the edge of the Hill Country. It had been established in the mid-1800s, and by 1876 had been declared the seat of McCulloch County. The old Dodge Cattle Trail had run through Brady, and what was believed to be the longest fenced cattle trail in the world stretched from the railhead in town southwest to Sonora, a distance of nearly one hundred miles. As the center of commerce for a wide area, it was a bustling community. The streets were crowded when Turnbo rode into town mid-morning three days after leaving San Angelo. Texas was in the midst of a blistering hot spell, so he had been forced to rest by day and travel by night to avoid the worst of the heat and conserve Hat's strength. Luckily, a nearly full moon gave plenty of light.

Turnbo paused at a horse trough on the town square to let his horse drink his fill, then rode diagonally across the square to the McCulloch County Sheriff's Office. He left Hat tied to the rail with a promise to get him rubbed down and fed as soon as possible. The deputy on duty looked up when Turnbo pushed through the door.

"Can I help you, Mister?" he asked.

Turnbo pulled his badge from his shirt pocket and held it out for the deputy to see.

"Sergeant J. S. Turnbo, Texas Rangers. The sheriff in?"

"He's in his office. Go right ahead, Ranger. You here about the bank robbery and killings?"

"That's right," Turnbo answered. He pushed through the wooden gate separating the office from the lobby and walked to the end of the hallway. The sheriff's door was open, so he went straight in.

"Sheriff?" Again, Turnbo held out his badge. "Sergeant J.S. Turnbo, Texas Rangers."

"Ranger, I sure as the devil am glad to see you," the lawman replied. He stood up and shook Turnbo's hand. "Sheriff Mel Owens. I'm hopin' Austin sent you down here to help find the men who robbed our bank and shot up half the town."

"That's right," Turnbo said. "I've been on the trail of those hombres for quite some time now. Still not any closer to findin' 'em than when I started. It's gettin' real frustrating, to put it mildly. Hopefully they left some kind of clue behind here in Brady."

"Not much of one, I'm afraid," Owens said. He picked up a coffee pot from the stove and held out a mug. "You want some coffee?"

"I could use some," Turnbo said.

Both men filled their mugs, then rolled and lit cigarettes before continuing their conversation. Turnbo settled into a corner chair.

"Tell me as much as you can about that robbery," he said.

"Of course, but I doubt it'll help you much," Owens answered. "Those men rode into town just before the bank closed. Cleaned out the cash drawers and vault."

"How many were there?"

"Four, plus one holdin' the horses. From what I've been told, they didn't plan on killin' anyone until one of the customers, Tad Thomas, tried to get the drop on them. Tad was a crusty old cuss who owned the Triangle T. When Tad pulled his pistol, Bill Bailey, one of the tellers, went for the gun in his drawer. Those renegades killed both of 'em. Two of my deputies, Matt Stringer and Izzy Quenton, heard the shootin'. They reached the bank just as the robbers came out the front door. Neither one of them even got off a shot before they were gunned down by those sons of bitches. Izzy was gut-shot. Took him three days to die. If I ever catch up to those bastards, I'll do the same to them."

"Your deputies never got off a shot?" Turnbo shook his head.

"No, they sure didn't," Owens confirmed. "At least two of those outlaws were real crack shots, accordin' to everyone who saw the gunfight . . . such as it was."

"I see," Turnbo said. "Five men altogether. Can you give me their descriptions?"

"Of course." Owens provided the descriptions, which matched those of the suspects in all the previous bank robberies Turnbo had investigated. However, he did have one new piece of information.

"The man holdin' the horses was kinda on the short side, with longish, light brown hair," he concluded. "Seemed to handle a six-gun just as well as the rest. It was him who put the first bullet into Matt Stringer."

"Well, it ain't much, but it's a little bit more to go on," Turnbo said. "Sheriff, I need to get my horse put up. I've been pushin' him real hard the past few days. Once that's done, I'll want to talk to everyone who was in the bank or saw those robbers."

"Sure thing," Owens said. "Jesse Holms's livery stable is right down the street. Jesse'll take good care of your bronc. I'll take you to his barn, then we'll meet with everyone who was there that day. Reckon you'll want to start with Jack Hoskins? He's the president of the bank. Oh, and you'll sure want to talk with Sara Tate. Owns a dress shop, and makes clothes for most of the society women in town. She's a feisty gal. In fact, she tried to knock the gun out of one of those bastard's hands. All she got for her trouble was a bruised hip when he shoved her to the floor."

"You're right. I'll definitely want to talk with her," Turnbo said.

"Fine. Let's get your horse settled and get to work."

* * *

"So far I haven't learned much I didn't already know, Sheriff. It's getting really exasperating," Turnbo told Owens two hours later. They had talked with almost everyone who had been a victim of or witnessed the holdup of the Brady National Bank. All the answers merely reiterated the general descriptions and modus operandi of the outlaw gang plaguing west central Texas. "How many more people do we have to question?"

"Only one, Sara Tate. That's her place just ahead."

Owens indicated a small shop. "Velvet Mischief" was painted in bright purple letters on the sign hanging over its door. Several fancy gowns and dresses, along with colorful feather-adorned hats, were displayed in the front window. When Owens and Turnbo entered, a woman of about sixty or so looked up from a dress she was hemming.

"Sheriff Owens. This is an unexpected pleasure, seeing you this morning. What brings you by my shop? And who's your good-looking friend?"

"Good morning, Sara. This is Sergeant Turnbo of the Rangers. He's trying to round up the men who robbed the bank. Ranger, Sara Tate."

"Good afternoon, ma'am."

"Ma'am! No one has 'ma'amed' me in years, Sonny. Makes me sound danged old. Not that I'm not, but I sure don't need to be reminded of it," Sara answered, with a twinkle in her dark eyes.

"I'm sorry, Miz Tate," Turnbo said.

"No need to be sorry, just don't do it again," she answered.

"Sure won't," Turnbo answered with a smile. "Do you mind if I ask you a few questions about what happened the day of the robbery?"

"Not at all. I'll be glad to do anything I can do to help catch those men."

"Appreciate that," Turnbo answered. "I'm not gonna ask you for a description of the robbers, since everyone pretty much agrees on their appearances. Just tell me anything else you might remember or anything distinctive you might have noticed about any of those men."

"Certainly. I went to the bank that day to make a deposit. I was at the counter when the robbers burst in. They ordered everyone to lie down on the floor. I wasn't about to give them my money without a fight. When one of them, I believe he was the leader, the tall and skinny one who was givin' the orders, attempted to push me aside I grabbed his arm and tried to get his gun. He knocked me down, but not before I ripped open the sleeve of his shirt. It was a dark green shirt, and it wasn't very well made to rip that easy, I can tell you that. A seamstress notices such things."

"What else happened?"

"Well, the shirt tore, and that's when I noticed the mark on that man's right forearm."

"A mark. What kind of mark?"

"Seemed like a birthmark of some sort. Dark, oval shaped, pretty large. About the size of a mouse, I'd say. On the outside of his right arm, just a bit more than halfway between his elbow and wrist."

"Miz Tate, that's a very important piece of information. It may well help identify one of the holdup men. Can you think of anything else about that man or any of the others?"

"Not really. After I tore his shirt, he knocked me to the floor. Pointed his gun at me and told me if I moved he'd shoot me on the spot, woman or no woman, didn't matter to him. Wish I could tell you more. Also wish I'd had a gun that day. I'd have shot that man right between his eyes."

"I'm sure you would have," Turnbo said. He chuckled. "As far as tellin' me more, don't you worry about that. You've been very helpful," Turnbo assured her. "You've given me something definite to go on. I'm much obliged."

"Glad I could be of help," Sara answered. She looked the Ranger up and down. "Just wish I was thirty years younger, Ranger. Those men wouldn't have gotten my money if I were . . . and I'd ask you to dinner."

Turnbo laughed. "If I weren't in such a hurry I'd take you up on that offer," he said. "But I've got to keep after those renegades."

"Well, if you ever come back to Brady, Ranger, the offer stands," Sara said.

"I'll remember that," Turnbo answered. "In the meantime, if you remember anything else, tell Sheriff Owens here. He'll get word to me. Now we'll let you get back to your work. Good afternoon."

"I'll do just that," Sara promised. "Good-bye, Ranger, and good luck. Good-bye, Sheriff."

"Afternoon, Sara."

"Told you she was a feisty ol' gal," Owens said as soon as they left the shop.

"She sure is all of that, and then some." Turnbo agreed. "She'd do to ride the river with anytime. More importantly, her recallin' that birthmark just might be the break I've been lookin' for. I've seen a man with that same mark somewhere. Just wish I could remember when and where."

"It'll come to you," Owens answered. "Meanwhile, from the looks of you, it appears you haven't had a good meal since leavin' San Angelo. How about some drinks and a good steak?"

"That sure sounds good," Turnbo said. "And I am famished. Eaten nothin' but cold bacon and hardtack for three days now."

"Then let's wet your throat and fill your belly. We'll head for Buster's Saloon. Best drinks and grub in town."

* * *

Turnbo and Owens were halfway through their meal when the Ranger slammed his mug of beer down, with an oath.

"What is it, Ranger?" Owens asked.

"I just remembered where I saw the man wearin' that birthmark!" Turnbo answered.

"Where?"

"I'll tell you in a minute, soon as you answer one question for me. Was there a travelin' show here in Brady durin' or just about the time of the robbery? Would've been a bunch of men and several women."

"Now that you mention it, yes, there was. Came into town a few days before, left the day after," Owens answered. "You think those were the people behind the robbery?"

"I'm almost certain of it," Turnbo said. "Saw their show up in San Angelo. One of their acts was excerpts from Shakespeare plays."

"Never did go for that high-falutin' stuff," Owens interrupted. "I did see the show, but didn't much care for it, except for the dancers of course. Those gals sure had some fine-lookin' legs. And that Tangela Peele. What a voice."

"Don't matter none. Just hear me out," Turnbo urged. "Durin' that part of the show, the actors wore period costumes and their arms were exposed. That's when I saw the birthmark Miz Tate recalled. The leader of the outfit is a tall, skinny hombre named Ross Lucast. He's the one with the birthmark. Kinda surprised that didn't come to me soon as Miz Tate told me about the mark. Plus, one of the witnesses said the leader squinted, as if he needed spectacles. Lucast wears spectacles, but I'd wager he takes them off when robbin' a bank. Another witness said the leader was kind of jumpy, and couldn't seem to keep still. That sounds like Lucast too. And now that I think on it, some of the other actors match the descriptions of the men we're lookin' for. They've gotta be the hombres I'm after."

"I sure wouldn't bet against that," Owens said. "What's your next move?"

"First off, I'm gonna head for the Western Union office. I'll send wires to all the places where robberies occurred, to see if Lucast and his troupe were in town when the banks were held up. Second, do you happen to recollect where that outfit was headed next?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. Lucast mentioned they were headed for Junction."

"Good. I'll send my messages, wait for replies, then start off for Junction first thing in the morning."

"What about wirin' the law down in Junction to pick up that bunch, or any Rangers down that way?"

"There aren't any Rangers anywhere near that territory at the moment." Turnbo said. "I will telegraph Headquarters about Lucast and his bunch, just in case they happen to give me the slip. And I am gonna wire the Kimble County sheriff down there to keep an eye on 'em, but not to pick them up quite yet. Unless they commit an actual crime within the boundaries of Kimble, he doesn't have jurisdiction anyway. Besides, I don't know if they'll still have any of the stolen money on them or not. Sure don't want to spook those boys before I have a chance to recover at least some of those funds. I also want to make sure I have proof that'll put them in jail for a long time, or more likely hang them. Besides, mebbe I'll have some good luck for once. Lucast and his bunch can't travel very fast with those old rigs they use for haulin' all their actin' stuff. I might catch up to them before they reach Junction."

"Makes sense," Owens agreed.

Turnbo downed the rest of his beer.

"Let's head to the telegraph office."