“Thought them Teal boys usually worked those kinda jobs together. Bein’ as how they’re such a tight-knit, God-fearin’, lovin’ family and all,” I offered.
Culpepper dismissed my clumsy effort at humor and waved the stubby piece of his stogie around as though he might be about to make a long-eared jackrabbit appear out of the upturned Stetson hat that rested on his rude desk. “Could very well have been the case in the past, Lucius,” he said, “but not this time.”
“How so, Cap’n?” Boz said.
Culpepper raked stubby, dirty-nailed fingers through sweat-drenched hair. “Oddly, in this particular instance, appears the youngest of the Teal boys acted alone. Telegraph message I got from ole Cobb indicates as how Boston Teal is something of a blanket-headed idiot.”
Boz flashed a toothy grin. “I’ve heard as much.”
Company B’s commander nodded. “Friend Cobb allows as how given the slightest opportunity he felt certain Irby Teal’s baby brother could single-handedly screw up a one-hearse funeral. Get the distinct feeling that the poor, broke-brained bastard could mess up a ball bearing with a soiled dove’s favorite powder puff.”
“He botched the robbery?” I asked.
Culpepper took a lung-filling drag off his smoldering stogie. Blew a tub-sized smoke ring that circled over our heads, then gathered into an ominous, hovering, steel-colored cloud.
The cap’n flashed a sly grin then said, “Damned fine assessment of the circumstances there, Lucius. Seems the squirrel-headed son of a bitch had the money in hand. He was heelin’ a hot path to the street and the prospect of imminent, glorious escape, by Godfrey. Bet my entire poke the man had unrestrained visions of Messican senoritas, tequila with lime and salt, and a plate of fire-breathin’ enchiladas as he headed for his horse.”
“Cobb caught him?” I said, then grinned.
Culpepper waved away my comment with his cee-gar again. “No, Lucius, no. See, Teal hit the boardwalk out front of the bank at a run. Clumsy jackass stubbed his toe on something.”
“Aw, geez,” Boz mumbled, then rolled his eyes.
The cap’n almost laughed out loud. “Yep. Uh-huh. You see it a-comin’, don’t you, Boz? ’Pears as how the rusted head of an errant nail must’ve been pro-trudin’ from a loose piece of rough-cut pine. Or, hell, maybe the clumsy idiot just got tangled up in his own spurs. No way to tell, really.”
“Could be he’s just born dumber’n a baby bird, Cap’n,” I said. “You know, all mouth and no brains.”
Culpepper let out a short, snorting chuckle. “Doesn’t matter,” he went on, “ ’cause Teal tripped. Went down like an anvil in a well. Fell on top of his very own, fully cocked Colt’s pistol.”
Boz threw his head back, let out an extended, hacking snigger. “Don’t tell me.”
The cap’n showed a set of choppers fully capable of biting through an arm-sized cottonwood limb. “Yep. You guessed it, Boz. Landed on that big ole .45-caliber popper of his like a load of bricks. Shot his more’n stupid self in the foot.”
Boz grimaced. “Damnation, Cap’n.”
“Uh-huh. Blew his three biggest toes clean off. Made one helluva mess, according to Marshal Cobb’s wire. My friend said the boardwalk out front of the bank was covered with all manner of bones, toenails, rendered flesh, blood, and such.”
I squirmed in my chair and stamped a foot then mumbled, “Makes my own kicker hurt just thinkin’ ’bout it.”
The cap’n knuckled a stubble-covered chin with the back of a hand the size of a camp skillet. “Yeah, well, sorry skunk injured himself so bad he managed to get back up, but couldn’t run for spit on that blood-gushin’ two-toed stump of his.”
“That’s when Cobb got him?” I said.
Cap’n’s grin widened even more. “Nope, Lucius. Seems a group of wild-eyed, angry Rio Seco citizens jumped on his toeless, would-be bank-robbin’ ass. Came nigh on to kicking him slap to death before friend Cobb could arrive on the scene and stop ’em.”
Boz giggled like a little girl. “Too bad those good people didn’t save us a trip and just go on ahead and kill ’im.”
Another satisfied grin etched its way onto Culpepper’s face. “Cobb’s telegram mentions as how the youngest of the Teal boys had so many knots on his thick noggin when them town folk got finished with him, the man bore a striking resemblance to a west Texas horned toad.”
Well, the three of us got a rib tickler of a hoot out of that one. The pleasant thought of Boston Teal getting the crap kicked out of him by a bunch of angry hoople heads had the mystic power to satisfy the souls of all us badge toters and man hunters.
A sudden thought struck me. “Bein’ as how they ain’t all that far away, why don’t we just have some of them boys from Company A waltz over and take Teal in hand? Escort him on up our direction. Be a site easier than makin’ the trip all the way down to Rio Seco ourselves.”
Culpepper sliced a squinty, corner-of-the-eye look my direction. “Because I want him back here so I can be absolutely certain he’s dead once his neck’s been legally stretched. Let them boys from Company A get their hands on the walking stack of hammered manure, and there’s more’n a good chance we’ll never see hide or hair of the iniquitous polecat. Besides, I want the unqualified opportunity to piss on that bastard’s grave soon as he’s under a thick layer of legally sanctified Texas dirt.”
Boz squirmed in his chair. Picked at lint on one of his pants legs. “Now, that sounds right personal, Cap’n.”
Culpepper flopped into the chair behind his desk for the first time since we’d entered the pavilion. He stared off into space, as though distracted. “Boston Teal murdered my brother’s son during the course of one of his more heinous crimes over in Mesquite, boys. Nephew was only sixteen. Had his whole life ahead of him. Smart young feller. Think he would’ve made a fine man.”
That’s all me and Boz needed to hear and, from every indication, as much as the cap’n cared to say on the matter at the time. So we stuffed our hats on. Heeled it for our camp digs—a tent-and-log affair Boz had named the Viper’s Nest long before the pair of us had even met.
We set to getting ourselves ready for the trip. But you know the prospects for that particular excursion just didn’t sit well on my gizzard for some reason. Couldn’t put a definitive finger on the why of it, but like Boz, I began to feel uneasy about the whole situation from the minute we stepped out of the capn’s pavilion that blazing hot afternoon.
2
“. . . BLOW YOUR DUMB ASSES BACK INTO THE STREET . . .”
NOW, BACK IN them long-ago days weren’t no real easy method for getting yourself from Fort Worth to an out-of-the-way, one-dog burg like Rio Seco. So, with the captain’s emotional admonition to drag Boston Teal back up to Fort Worth quick as we could, or kill him, still a-ringin’ in our ears, Boz and I lodged our animals on a cattle car of the M.K. & T. flyer and rumbled south.
Feller just never knew what might happen on one of those raids, and we both hated like sulfurous Hell trying to make do with rented animals. Besides, I’d grown used to my blue roan, Grizz, and didn’t care for the experience of having to deal with the peculiarities of some bang-tailed rental nag that might well break down a few miles from the stable. Like the wise feller said, a man without a horse is riding the boot leather express. And you for damned sure didn’t want to be afoot out in the briars and brambles between Del Rio and Rio Seco. Stretch of sandy dirt, rock, and cactus is so desolate in places even rattlesnakes won’t pitch a tent.
Anyhow, we took the Katy line down to Waco. Loafed around in the depot there for nigh on two hours waiting on the Missouri Pacific passenger train that carried us on south to San Antone.