Chapter Thirty
Its side lamps glowing yellow in the gloom, the stage rattled to a halt outside the depot in Austin. The two-story building was a holdover from the old Butterfield days that had been renovated and pressed into service by Abe Patterson.
A gray-bearded oldster stood on the porch outside the main door, peered into the gloom, and said, “Is that Buttons Muldoon, and if it is, who’s that with ye?”
“It sure is me, and this is Red Ryan, my shotgun guard,” Buttons said.
“Ach, I know him. I’m talking about the lady that’s with you.”
“Her name is Miss Hannah Huckabee, and she’s a paying passenger, Rush. So be civil,” Buttons said.
The old man touched the visor of his threadbare Confederate kepi and said, “Right pleased to make your acquaintance, ma’am.”
Hannah smiled. “And I you, Mr. . . .”
“Sanford, ma’am. Rush Sanford at your service.” Then to Buttons, “I never expected to see you here, Muldoon. This far south, you’re a long way off your regular routes, ain’t you?”
“A Texas Ranger commandeered the stage to carry a couple of prisoners here to Austin,” Buttons said. “Now one of them prisoners is dead, another lit a shuck, and the ranger is wounded and laid up in Fredericksburg. Ain’t that a kick in the butt?”
“Best to steer clear of the law when you can,” Sanford said. “At least, that’s been my experience.”
“Yeah, been mine too,” Buttons said.
“You can change your team here,” Sanford said. “I got bunks in the back for whoever wants them. Save you money on a hotel. That goes for you too, Red. Shoot anybody real recent?”
“Not real recent, Rush,” Red said.
“Too bad,” Sanford said. “There’s coffee in the pot. Unhitch and then come inside.”
Red climbed down from the seat and then held out a hand for Hannah, who joined him on the porch. “Shall we look at the accommodation?” she said.
“Don’t expect much,” Red said. “But Rush Sanford makes good coffee.”
The back room of the building had half a dozen bunks but no pillows or blankets. The place smelled of ancient sweat and rising dampness, and Hannah made a face. “I prefer to spend the night in a hotel,” she said.
“I don’t blame you none,” Red said.
“But I will sample Mr. Sanford’s coffee,” Hannah said.
The coffee was as good as Red had promised, and Sanford said the secret was in the Arbuckle if it was treated right.
After Hannah finished a second cup, she asked Mr. Chang to collect her luggage from the stage and accompany her to the nearest hotel.
“Good you have an escort, Miss Huckabee,” Sanford said.
Hannah smiled. “Are the streets in Austin that dangerous for a lady?” she said.
The oldster nodded. “Right now? Yes, they are.”
He walked away as though unwilling to say more, and Hannah wondered at that.
But Red heard what Sanford said, and since Latimer and Mr. Chang had elected to bed down in the depot, Red volunteered to take over the escort duties.
He said, “If the streets are really that dangerous, which I doubt, you’re better off with me, Hannah. It’s my duty as a representative of the Patterson and Son Stage and Express Company to see you safely to your hotel.”
Mr. Chang didn’t seem to mind. “Good idea. Man good with gun walk with more confidence,” he said. “Mr. Ryan good with gun.”
Carrying what luggage she needed, Red escorted Hannah in the direction of the Regency Hotel that Sanford had recommended for ladies of good breeding.
The coming of the Houston and Texas Central Railway had turned Austin into a boomtown with three-story buildings, gas street lighting, a streetcar line, and a population exceeding ten thousand. Red steered Hannah through a crowd of traders, construction workers, students, businessmen of every stripe, and here and there tall, taciturn ranchers in from the range. Hannah, who’d spent time in some of the greatest capitals in Europe, was nonetheless impressed with Austin, and she told Red that the town was “the Paris of the prairie.”
But Red had his reservations, and he was wary.
There were a lot of blue-uniformed policemen in the street, some of them mounted, and it seemed that every woman that passed was escorted by at least two men. There was tension in the air, and the crowded streets were unnaturally quiet, everyone talking in low voices . . . as though the city was gripped by a nameless fear.
Red dismissed the thought, guessing that the events of the past few days had put him on edge, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was not quite right with the city of Austin.
The Regency was a three-story stone building with a pleasant façade and an etched-glass double doorway. Inside, the furnishings were red velvet and gold, and the rugs on the wood floor were thick and added to the genteel silence of the place. The desk clerk, a balding young man in a high celluloid collar with a slightly disdainful air, spoke in a brusque tone as he welcomed Hannah and asked her to sign the register.
“Will you be alone?” the clerk asked,
“Yes, quite alone. My servant has found other accommodation,” Hannah said.
“Then rest assured that the Regency has first-class security, and you need have no fear . . .” He glanced at the register . . . “Miss Huckabee. There are armed policemen constantly patrolling the street outside, and there’s a bell on your bedside table that will raise the alarm in the very unlikely event that you feel in the least uncomfortable.”
Hannah smiled. “I’m armed. I don’t ring bells.”
The clerk managed a smile that lasted about half a second and said, “Then all will be well.”
As though he was making small talk, Red said, “I noticed that there’s a great many policemen in the street. Are you expecting trouble?”
The clerk’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he said, “No. No, there’s no trouble in Austin.”
“Tell him the truth, damn it.”
Red turned to see a man at his elbow, a bearded giant in a caped, tweed overcoat, and a brown bowler hat who looked to be around forty years old. He had an S-shaped pipe clamped between his teeth, and when he removed it to speak, a gold signet ring gleamed on the little finger of his left hand.
“The police are on the street because people live in terror of the Servant Girl Annihilator, a monster who has murdered seven women already and is on the lookout for more,” the man said. “He attacks women while they’re sleeping and chops them up with an axe. Skulls split wide open, that kind of thing.” He stuck out his hand. “Rufus T. Proudfoot of the Pinkerton Detective Agency. I’ve been in town a few days investigating the murders.”
Red shook his hand and said, “Red Ryan, shotgun guard with the Abe Patterson and Son Stage and Express Company.”
“And your lovely companion?”
“Miss Hannah Huckabee. She’s an adventuress.”
Proudfoot’s shrewd eyes took in Hannah’s safari clothes and pith helmet and goggles and said, “And indeed she looks like one. It’s a real pleasure to meet you, Miss Huckabee.”
Hannah dropped a little curtsey. “Likewise, I’m sure.”
“Are you staying in Austin for a while or just passing through?” Proudfoot said.
“Passing through,” Hannah said. “I’m bound for New Orleans.”
“On the Patterson stage,” Red said.
“New Orleans is a wonderful town, Miss Huckabee. You will not be disappointed,” Proudfoot said. “Business or pleasure?”
“A little of both,” Hannah said. “I’d hoped to gather supplies for a balloon trip around the world I’m planning. But recently I’ve thought to begin my trip in London or Paris and head east across Europe and into Asia and beyond.”
“Ah, around the world in eighty days, I’ll be bound,” Proudfoot said. “Haven’t we all read Mr. Verne’s wonderful book?”
Hannah said, “Unlike Phileas Fogg, I’m in no hurry, so it will take longer than eighty days. I do very much want to visit the African continent and spend some time in Cathay again.”
“Wonderful!” Proudfoot exclaimed. “Africa, the Dark Continent, mysterious Cathay, you are indeed an adventuress.”
The Pinkerton got his key from the clerk and looked at the one in Hannah’s hand. “Ah, we’re both on the third floor. Tonight, you’ll be quite safe as you slumber, Miss Huckabee. I’m both armed and a light sleeper.”
Proudfoot took out a gold watch as big as a pie plate and said, “It’s six-thirty now. Miss Huckabee. I know this is short notice, but perhaps I could interest you in supper tonight?”
“Yes, I’d like that,” Hannah said. “I’ve grown tired of bacon and beans.”
“Then I’ll meet you here in the lobby at eight?”
“Yes. Eight will be fine.”
Proudfoot touched the brim of his hat. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Ryan.”
“You too,” Red said, disliking the man and more than a little jealous.
* * *
“So why did she agree to have supper with him?” Buttons Muldoon said.
“She told me after all that’s happened she wanted to do something normal, something civilized, she called it,” Red Ryan said.
Buttons shook his head. “By times, womenfolk have strange notions.”
“Miss Hannah have stranger notions than most,” Mr. Chang said. “One time she have dinner with John L. Sullivan, the famous pugilist. Mr. Sullivan got drunk on champagne, and Miss Hannah carried him home. Next day, Mr. Sullivan send her three dozen roses.”
Red’s interest perked up. “I’ve heard of him, the Boston Strong Boy.” He shook his head. “When I was a booth fighter, I never boxed him, though. Probably just as well.”
“Just as well for who?” Buttons said.
“For me,” Red said. “From what I hear, Sullivan is a handful.”
Without appetite, Red used his fork to push around the tough beef and mushy beans on his plate. Rush Sanford wasn’t much of a cook.
“Buttons, you heard about the Servant Girl Annihilator?” he said.
“Yeah, Rush told me about him,” Buttons said. “It’s a bad business. One of his victims was an eleven-year-old girl.”
“Hannah Huckabee is our passenger, and it’s our duty as representatives of the Abe Patterson and Son Stage and Express Company to keep her safe while she’s in Austin,” Red said.
John Latimer was stretched out on a cot and now he sat up and said, “Red, do you think Hannah is in real danger?”
“No, I don’t think so. The Pinkerton has a room in the Regency Hotel on the same floor.”
“Unless the Pinkerton is the killer,” Latimer said.
“He was brought in a few days ago by the mayor to investigate the murders,” Red said. “They all happened before he arrived.”
“Miss Hannah will only be in town tonight,” Buttons said. “I reckon she’ll be safe enough with the Pink.”
He didn’t know it then, but terrifying events would soon prove Buttons Muldoon very wrong.