A cold, gray, death’s head moon, that provided little in the way of illumination, hung in the inky, cloud-laced sky off to the east. Lack of good light made it nigh on impossible for me to tell exactly where we were gonna finally end up.
Suppose we’d fumbled along in the dark for close to half an hour. Of a sudden, my escort rocked to a wobbling stop. He slapped his ample belly and laughed, raised a stubby finger and pointed out a barely discernable wooden gate lit by a flickering lamp that gave off little more light than a candle.
The rough entryway hung from iron hinges mounted into a stone wall plastered over with a coat of pink stucco that glowed in the glittering darkness. Eerily, dozens of blank-faced dolls dangled from pieces of twine all around the entrance, or were tacked directly onto the door’s pitted, splinter-laced surface.
My thick-gutted guide said, “ ’S heere, senor. Thees ees Seenator Webb’s grande hacienda. La hacienda de las muñecas . Jesus was correcto, no? That bartender at the cantina, he lie like a yellow dog. He knows where ees Seenator Webb’s hacienda. Everyone knows.”
Ole Jesus didn’t say another word or wait for anything by way of a reply. He simply flashed a toothy grin, tipped a sombrero the size of a wagon wheel, threw a one-handed wave over his shoulder, and stumbled off into the all-enveloping darkness. Suppose he couldn’t have gone more than a dozen steps when I heard dogs yapping again. Big dogs. Kind of animals a feller wouldn’t want chasing him. Then, there was a round of hot-sounding Spanish that I took to be rather pointed curses.
I stepped off Grizz and tried the gate. The heavy entryway swung open on well-oiled hinges with absolutely no resistance. I could easily see, from my new vantage point, that several rooms in the house were still lit. Bushes outside the casa’s windows, and the trees scattered around the courtyard, dripped with all maner of dolls that looked like some kind of odd fruit. A big ole live oak, in one corner of the courtyard, sported dozens of those tiny figures. Eerie sight sent a cold wave of chicken flesh up my spine.
Kerosene lamps, or perhaps candles, bathed each of the visible, interior spaces with a dancing, yellowish-orange, near unearthly glow. Someone moved from room to room, then stopped.
I pulled one of a pair of hand-braided lariats from a thong on my saddle. All rolled up, that piece of leather felt like a length of coiled steel. Strolled over to the nearest puddle of light bleeding through a set of glass-paned double doors on the ground floor. Took up a spot just on the edges of the shimmering glow, so as not to be seen. A dull, watery radiance oozed from a large, central room behind the glass doors and spread across the sheltered, tile-covered veranda highlighted by a fountain that made a pleasant trickling sound.
Inside the house, directly across the room from where I hid in the darkness, a man stood in a chair and worked at balancing himself. He had his back to me as he ran both hands along the edges of the wooden frame that surrounded an enormous, colorful painting of a bullfighter. The picture dangled from a thick piece of wire draped over a nail driven into the wall above the fireplace mantel. With as much stealth as I could manage, I slipped across the terrace’s open space and tried one of the horizontal, metal door handles and found it locked.
I thought the situation over for a racing ten seconds or so. Suppose I could’ve kicked the door to pieces. Wasn’t much there but milk-colored glass held together by some flimsy-looking wooden framing. But I figured as how shattered glass and yelling people might bring a crowd. Gunshots could easily prove even worse. I did not care for the possible results brought on by either eventuality.
Made a hasty decision and headed for the hacienda’s front entry. Gave the door about half a dozen hard-fisted raps. I held my lariat against one leg and turned a bit sidewise and away from the spot where I figured the light would fall on me.
It took a spell, but the door suddenly popped open. Gent I’d seen standing on the chair carried a kerosene lamp in one hand. He peeked around the opening he allowed for several seconds, then stepped out so I could see him. Up close, he bore an astonishing resemblance to the slightly older Nathan Webb’s bullet-riddled corpse. He peered at me across the threshold, as if he wanted to slap me nekkid.
A wicked sneer curled his upper lip when he growled, “Who’n the hell’re you and whatta you want this time of night, mister?”
I whipped off my hat and bowed slightly. Stuffed the hat back on, then flashed my badge. Tried to sound humble and apologetic at the same time when I said, “Lucius Dodge, Texas Ranger. Sorry to be a bother, sir, but are you Senator Webb?”
26
“... WE’VE SEEN MORE’N OUR SHARE OF BLOOD . . .”
AXEL WEBB TURNED at the waist and cast a nervous glance over his shoulder, as if he thought someone might be trying to sneak up behind him. He glared at me again, shook his head, and looked even more irritated, but also a bit puzzled. His confusion appeared to have abated a bit, when he said, “No. Sorry, but Senator Webb can’t be contacted at the moment. He, well, he’s out of town on business. Yeah, out of the state actually. In Denver, I believe.”
“Might I inquire as to when you expect him back, sir?” I said.
“Not absolutely certain. But there’s every chance he won’t return for several weeks—most likely. In my estimation, the senator could be gone as long as a month. Perhaps more.”
I tried my best to feign the aspect of a man utterly surprised and deeply disappointed. Toed at the foot-square, rust-colored Mexican tiles beneath my feet. “Damn. That is a shame,” I said. “Real shame. My superiors felt certain we could find him here.” Patted the front of my jacket. “I have important communications for the senator. Rode all the way from Austin. Didn’t even stop along the way.”
A more than inquisitive look crept onto Axel Webb’s softly lit face. “Well, I’m his brother. Closest and only kin he has that’s still living. You can tell me anything you wanted to tell him. Shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll make sure he gets any message you might choose to leave.”
I cast a series of suspicious glances around the empty courtyard behind me, then turned back to the brazen killer. He took a half step back when I leaned into the doorway and whispered, “Well, don’t want to be a bother, but I think it would probably be best if I came inside, sir. Wouldn’t want anyone to accidently pass by in the street and hear what I’ve got to say. ’S a matter of fairly significant state business, you see. Great deal of money at stake. If the information I carry should get out, could result in dire consequences, dire. Sure you’ll understand.”
“It’s that important, huh? Money, you say?”
“Indeed, sir. Indeed, yes. Communications I carry on my person come directly from the capitol. Office of the governor, you see. My instructions were that I should hand these documents over to Senator Webb himself. But, if he’s not here, I suppose it’d be all right if I left this particular bit of news with you, sir. Seein’ as how you’re his brother and all.”
I could still feel a degree of resistance and lack of enthusiasm when Ax Webb testily placed the lamp on a table just inside the door, stepped to one side, and waved me over the hacienda’s rugged threshold. ’Course, I gallantly removed my hat and motioned for him to lead the way.
We’d just crossed into the room off the patio, where I’d first spotted him, when I whacked the brigand across the back of his head with that heavy length of twisted leather. The lariat made a slight hissing sound just before it caught him below, and behind, his right ear. The son of a bitch struck the floor like a man who’d got hit in the head with the butt end of a .10 gauge coach gun. Thought sure I’d knocked him into the black oblivion of the next week.