Chapter Eleven – This Won’t Hurt You

Where’s everybody, amigo?’ Sergeant Waxahachie Smith asked, finding the Cantina del Chili Con Carrie’s dining-room unoccupied except for the owner when he entered at noon on Sunday.

Although the International Hotel offered excellent food, considering his time had been spent in a comparatively unproductive fashion the previous evening, Smith had come to the small cantina with the joint purpose of having his favorite kind of a meal and trying to discover whether there had been any further instructions for the unemployed hired guns from their mysterious benefactor.

The night before, taking advantage of the interest aroused by the arrival of Sir John Besgrove’s party, the sergeant had made for the saloon which was patronized by the men from the B Bar D. Satisfying himself that the foreman was present to ensure the cowhand was not led into mischief, as he had assumed would prove the case when seeing the signal Bradford Drexell had made, he had continued to keep watch from an alley across the street. When ‘Cousin Cyrus’ had left alone, he followed in the hope of learning who was behind the attempt to provoke trouble between the ranch crews.

Having delayed entering the brothel for a few minutes, so as to avoid letting the man he was after suspect his intentions, Smith had learned he made an error of judgment. ‘Cousin Cyrus’ had left by the rear door and there was nobody around who might have been able to supply information about the direction he had taken.

Realizing his hope of discovering something of use about the activities of the would-be trouble causer would not be fulfilled, the sergeant had returned to the schoolhouse. On reaching the main classroom, he had found the groups from the Rancho Mariposa and the B Bar D were still present. What was more, there appeared to be a much more relaxed atmosphere than when he had taken his departure. Watching what was going on, he concluded the improved state of affairs was produced by the people who had come in with ‘Monocle Johnny’.

Nor was Smith unduly surprised that such a thing had happened!

Not only was the beautiful woman related to the rancher, she was the wife of the already legendary Captain Dustine Edward Marsden ‘Dusty’ Fog xxxi and had acquired quite a reputation on her own account. A scion of the British aristocracy, she had elected to come to the United States and employ the alias, ‘Freddie Woods’, for some undisclosed reason. xxxii Despite being in what was still basically a ‘man’s world’, her capability had enabled her to own and operate the best saloon in Mulrooney, Kansas. In addition, having been elected as mayor, the policies she had caused to be adopted had ensured a standard of honesty and fair dealing which was the exception rather than the rule in the other trail end towns along the inter-continental railroad. Furthermore, since her marriage had brought her into a clan of considerable importance in Texas, she had proved to be a powerful influence upon the affairs of the State; particularly where its major source of income, the cattle business, was concerned.

Studying the way in which Drexell in particular was behaving, Smith had decided all he had heard about Freddie Fog’s personality and diplomatic skill was correct. The rancher was talking amicably with Besgrove and Ran-some Cordoba. What was more, there was a mingling of the cowhands from the three ranches, which had been conspicuous by its absence prior to the sergeant leaving. From various remarks he heard passed amongst them, he had guessed the change partially come about by the presence of the two red haired youngsters who had arrived with the beautiful woman. If their references to her as ‘Aunt Freddie’ were any guide, they also were part of the powerful Hardin, Fog and Blaze clan. Furthermore, other comments implied they worked on the OD Connected ranch and, as such, were able to indulge the local cowhands’ wishes to hear about the exploits of the spread’s floating outfit which had earned its members—now no longer as active as in earlier years—a legendary status among their kind.

Although Ransome had introduced Smith to Freddie and mentioned how his intervention had helped smooth over a potentially dangerous situation, he had not been invited to stay in their company. In fact, it had been made obvious by Besgrove and Drexell that his presence was an embarrassment. Therefore, rather than do anything which might have threatened the improved state of affairs, he had made his excuses and withdrawn. Satisfied there was no danger of hostilities breaking out amongst the crews, he had left the schoolhouse.

The search which the sergeant carried out in the hope of finding ‘Cousin Cyrus’ had proved fruitless and he had decided to end it by visiting the Cantina del Chili Con Came. Taking a couple of drinks and declining a meal, but promising to have lunch there the following day, he had learned the offer of free food was still in effect and a number of the professional gun fighters were taking advantage of it.

However, failing to discover anything else of interest, he had elected to call it a day and returned to the International Hotel. His room was at the front of the building and he had watched from his window the departure of the ranch crews. As had been the case during the later part of the dance, the groups from the spreads had behaved in a far more friendly fashion. He had noticed that, although the foreman and Tule were present, ‘Cousin Cyrus’ was not with the party from the B Bar D.

Indulging in the luxury of having nothing of especial importance demanding his time, the sergeant had slept late that morning. Rising, he had carried out his routine of exercises and taken a bath. By doing so, he had been too late for breakfast in the Hotel and had come to the Cantina del Chili Con Came as promised to the owner with the dual purpose of partaking in his favorite kind of meal and finding out whether there had been any further developments of interest to a ‘hired gun’.

You are too early, senor,’ the owner replied, his fat face wet with sweat.

For a meal?’ Smith queried.

The food has just finished cooking, senor,’ the owner answered, hoping the watch he had kept on the street and his having only unfastened the door when he saw the Texan approaching had not been noticed.

Could be the weather’s scared everybody except me off,’ the sergeant suggested, having observed dark clouds suggestive of an approaching storm while walking from the hotel.

Many of my customers go to Morning Mass, senor,’ the Mexican explained, forcing himself to try to appear his usual jolly self. He was alarmed by the instructions he had received a short while earlier from a man who he was in no position to refuse. Furthermore, there were three obvious ‘hired guns’ waiting in the kitchen and they had warned what would happen to himself and his wife, held by them, if he should fail to produce the desired result. ‘The rest don’t get up this early and you are the first to come.’

But not the last, you hope,’ the sergeant drawled.

Not the last, I most surely hope,’ the owner agreed, still compelling himself to sound jovial. ‘And what can I get for you?’

A bowl of your excellent chili con came, amigo, and re-fried beans on the side,’ Smith ordered, wondering whether the slightly agitated attitude of the Mexican was caused by having news he considered might not be received well by a ‘hired gun’. ‘I’ll follow it with pecan pie and some coffee.’

Muy pronto, senor,” the owner declared and, frightened in case his state of perturbation might warn the Texan that something was wrong, he scuttled away rapidly to avoid being asked any further questions.

Brought as promptly as was promised, the steaming bowl of reddish-brown chili con came and the pile of re-fried beans on a plate proved to taste as good as their predecessors eaten by Smith at the cantina. Being hungry and enjoying the meal, he did not notice the way in which the owner repeatedly glanced towards the door of the kitchen and then to the front windows. Pushing away the empty crockery, he was about to ask for the dessert he had ordered when he became aware of an overwhelming feeling of dizziness. Shaking his head, he placed his hands on top of the table and tried to rise. He found that his legs refused to support his weight and a strange lethargy was creeping over him. Before his brain could register that more than one pair of swiftly moving footsteps were approaching, blackness descended and he crumpled forward. He did not feel himself lifted by two of the hard faced men who had been waiting for his collapse, or being carried towards the kitchen from which they had emerged.

~*~

It’s no use blaming me, Javier!’ Doctor Otto Grantz claimed, showing no sign of concern over the wrathful way in which his visitor was eyeing him. ‘I have to pay the high price my suppliers ask.’

Then why not take it without paying?’ hinted the young Mexican, his dilated eyes and the twitching of his unhealthily grey features showing the symptoms of being in need of what a later generation would term ‘a fix’.

Because, my young friend,’ the doctor replied, in the manner of one explaining something to a far from bright child. ‘Despite having to live and work in this benighted land, I have no desire to have my life brought to an end. Especially such a one as would be my fate if I was stupid enough to try what you suggest.’

I’ve got the men to protect—!’ Fuentes began.

Your brother has the men,’ Grantz corrected.

Asa Coltrane and some of the others do what I tell them!’

So I’ve heard. And I’ve also heard how well they did when you tried your game at Rancho Mariposa.

 

For a moment, the doctor thought he had pushed his visitor too far!

Raw, close to animal rage, twisted at Fuentes’ face and he lurched from his chair with his far from steady hands hovering over the butts of his guns!

Who’ll get it for you if anything happens to me?’ Grantz inquired, contriving to keep his alarm from showing.

You aren’t the only one selling it!’

True. But can you find somebody else?’

I—I— !’ Fuentes croaked, realizing he did not have

another source of supply and sitting down again. ‘May all the saints damn you to hell!’

That might worry me, but I’ve never believed in their existence,’ Grantz purred, satisfied the danger had passed. ‘However, at this moment, our problem is you. Clearly the heroin isn’t serving its purpose. Therefore, you must have more cocaine. Unfortunately, as I’ve told you, it costs a great deal of money.’

My brother—!’ the young man commenced.

Will only pay the price of heroin,’ the doctor countered. ‘Ach! If I only had enough money of my own!’

How do you mean?’

The people who supply me have a large quantity they want to dispose of.’

How large a quantity?’

It would not only last you for at least two years, there would be enough left over for you to sell the rest of your friends when you get back to Mexico City and more than cover the cost.’

What would the cost be?’ Fuentes asked.

Two thousand, five hundred dollars,’ Grantz replied.

Where would I get that kind of money?’ the Mexican demanded.

The same place you tried before, perhaps,’ the doctor suggested, then glanced at the clock on the instrument cabinet of his reception room. Picking up a bunch of keys from the top of the desk at which conversation was taking place, he unlocked a drawer. Watched by his visitor, whose tongue ran across clearly dry lips, he removed a small box. ‘Here, this will last you a few days. However, it is the last I have until I can raise the money to buy more.’

And if I bring you the money?’ Fuentes asked, as he snatched the offering with an almost pathetic eagerness. ‘All of it?’

Then I will buy the whole supply and your problem will be solved,’ Grantz promised, hoping the young Mexican would not think to ask what he was expecting to gain from the purchase. ‘Now you’d better be going. By the way, don’t the Cordobas—?’

Those high and mighty bastards, ordering me from their house like I was some stinking peon!’ Fuentes spat out, the worst of his temper always being aroused by any reference to the people who owned the Rancho Mariposa. ‘One day I’ll pay them back for the way they’ve treated me!’

And who can blame you,’ Grantz inquired, his manner sycophantic and giving no indication that it had been his intention to revive such memories and sentiments. ‘Don’t they come to Evening Mass here in town every Sunday, like the good Catholics they are?’

Yes,’ Fuentes admitted, but was clearly puzzled by the question.

And there’re quite a few places between here and their hacienda where an ambush could take place,’ the doctor elaborated. ‘By the cow thieves who’ve been raiding around here, I mean.’

Yes!’ the young Mexican ejaculated, an appreciation of what had been meant by the words now striking him and he nodded with vigor. Coming to his feet, he went on as he started to make for the door, ‘Yes, they do and, who knows, those cow thieves might make another raid tonight.’

It certainly looks like their kind of weather is coming up,’ Grantz admitted, darting a glance from the window to where the black clouds were moving across the sky. ‘And perhaps it would be better for you to get going. It looks like there’s rain coming and I don’t doubt you’ve got quite a few things to do before Mass ends.’

That I have,’ Fuentes confirmed, the ravaged lines of his handsome face taking on an expression of evil. ‘And you can let your suppliers know that you’ll take all they have off their hands.’

That was close. He’s getting more edgy by the day,’ Grantz breathed, after his visitor had left and he was going into the room which served as an operating theatre when he had surgery to perform. ‘This business isn’t going the way Fuentes planned. So, providing that young hop-head gets the money, it’ll give me a stake to get as far away from here as I can travel should things go wrong.’

The arrival of Javier Fuentes had been expected by the doctor!

Like many of the crowd of wealthy young radicals to which he belonged, the Mexican had started to try to counteract a sense of inadequacy by smoking marijuana) which he and his kind had insisted was harmless and even beneficial. The effect had been obtained for a time, but—as was all too frequently the case—he had found its potency diminishing. Complaining of this deficiency and acting upon Grantz’s suggestion, although Teodoro was unaware of where the responsibility lay, he had turned to the vastly more potent and effective cocaine.

Knowing how much of the soul-destroying white powder Javier had purchased at their last meeting, the doctor had realized the stock was deplete and had anticipated there would be a need to replenish it. Since hearing of the abortive visit to the Rancho Mariposa and guessing its real purpose accurately, he had been contemplating how he might acquire a larger sum than had already accrued from his services. Having planted the idea in the receptive mind of the young Mexican, which he knew to become even less stable when reminded of the well justified humiliation suffered at the hands of the Cordoba family, he had donated just enough of the potent narcotic to ensure sufficient bravado would be aroused for it to be acted upon.

Already involved in the political activities of the Fuentes brothers in Mexico, Grantz was helping with the most ambitious scheme so far attempted. He had been instructed to precede them to Texas and, without allowing their association to be known, set up a practice in Flamingo. The death of the previous medical practitioner shortly before his arrival had allowed him to do so without that particular complication arising. Despite his failure to ‘cure’ the younger brother’s addiction—which, to give credit where it was due, was the last thing he wanted to do with such a lucrative patient—he had already been of one service to the elder sibling by virtue of his profession and was to do something else, this time in the surgical line, that morning.

While waiting for the arrival of the men he was expecting, the doctor thought about the development he had heard was threatening the scheme upon which he was engaged. From what he had been told by Rabena a short while earlier when they met to discuss the part he was soon to play, providing the Texas Ranger fell into their hands, there was a danger of the hostility amongst the other ranchers—which was so essential to their plans—being brought to an end. The banker had been requested by Monocle Johnny Besgrove and Brad Drexell to send a messenger who would be trusted to ask Teodoro Fuentes to join them in a meeting intended to organize a round up covering all their spreads and satisfy everybody that none had stolen stock upon it. Aware of what the result would be, the doctor and his fellow conspirator also wondered why they had not heard the body of Moses Claybone had been found. xxxiii

Grantz’s thoughts on the subject were brought to an end by hearing a buckboard draw to a halt at the side door. Opening it, he discovered the plan to capture Waxahachie Smith was successful. While a third was clearing keeping watch on the ends of the alley between the surgery and its nearest neighbor, two of the hired guns—who, although actually hired by Fuentes, had been in town pretending to be waiting for an employer—carried the unconscious Texas Ranger inside. Closing the door behind them, he told them to lay their victim upon the table he used for operations and, when this was done, to go into the next room until he called for them. Left to himself, he removed his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves. Then he meticulously scrubbed his hands and arms up to the elbows. Having done so, he crossed to the table and ran his gaze over the instruments of his trade which he had placed in a position convenient for them to be selected and used.

The previous evening, on hearing what was planned, Rabena had remarked a couple of well aimed blows from an axe or meat cleaver would achieve the desired result. Grantz had replied with pompous dignity that he was a doctor, not a butcher. He did have pride in his skill, which was considerable regardless of his otherwise dubious professional ethics, but this alone had not provoked the response. No matter how the enterprise turned out, he wanted to be able to claim he had acted in all good faith when two men brought him a third who he had assumed to be a hired gun like them. When, or if, questioned by the authorities, he would say they had told him that their companion had been hurt in an accident and, as a result of his examination, he had decided there was only one way to act if he was to save the victim’s life.

Checking upon Smith’s condition, the doctor sought for any suggestion that the drug he supplied to be used at the Cantina de Chili Con Came had failed to produce the desired effect. At the conclusion of his examination, he felt sure that he could carry out the operation without there being any chance of a premature return to sentience.

This won’t hurt you,’ Grantz remarked to the motionless and uncomprehending sergeant, as a crash of thunder heralded the commencement of a storm. ‘At least, not until you finally regain your wits and, provided my orders are carried out, that won’t be for some days.’

Swabbing Smith’s right hand with disinfectant, but—the inadvisability of breathing on the patient not yet having been appreciated by the medical profession—without attempting to cover his own mouth and nostrils with a cloth, Grantz selected one of the razor sharp scalpels which were his pride and joy.

Making the first incision an inch or so above the point at which he proposed to make the amputation, with the elements giving what seemed a Wagnersque accompaniment to the foul deed he was performing, the doctor sliced through the epidermal layer down each side of the forefinger towards the palm and carefully peeled back a section of skin between the knuckle and the first joint. Continuing to exercise the utmost care, he snipped through subcutaneous tissue, tiny blood vessels and tendons encased in their own lubricating sheaths until he reached the actual bone. Once the phalange had been separated from the metacarpal bone that was part of the intricate structure of the palm of the hand, he folded the peeled back section of skin over the wound to form a protective pad. This he secured with tiny stitches which would have elicited a sigh of envy from the most expert seamstress and, laying the severed finger aside to be destroyed when he was finished, he covered the hand with an equally neat wrapping of spotlessly clean bandages. Working just as carefully and unhurriedly, he repeated the procedure on his ‘patient’s’ left forefinger.

Without even waiting to wash his hands, or noticing the storm had blown over while he was completing an excellent —albeit totally unjustified—piece of surgery, Grantz called the two men from the other room. Giving one a bottle of dark brown liquid, he told them to carry out the rest of the instructions they had received from Fuentes. Waiting until they had taken his ‘patient’ outside and he heard the buck-board moving off, he set about removing all the evidence of the operation he had performed.