William Johnstone: Texas Bloodshed

“Well, almost escaping, then,” Bo said.

Brubaker blew out his breath so hard it made his drooping mustache flutter slightly.

“Do you two ever shut up? My God, every Texan I ever met just loved to flap his jaw!”

“I might take that as an insult,” Scratch said, “if I didn’t know you liked to play Forty-two. Shoot, you can’t get mad at a fella who likes to play Forty-two. Now, Moon is a different story. I never liked that game near as much.”

Brubaker went back to muttering under his breath and moved a couple of steps ahead of them. He was shorter, so he had to hurry to stay ahead of their long-legged strides.

Behind his back, Bo and Scratch grinned at each other. It probably wasn’t the smartest thing in the world, hoorawing a lawman like that, but the deadly serious, short-tempered Brubaker made such a tempting target.

When they reached the courthouse, the deputy escorted them not to Parker’s courtroom but to an office adjacent to it. Parker was waiting there behind a big desk covered with papers. Despite the number of documents, there was nothing messy or littered about the desktop. The papers were in neat stacks, and a person could tell just by looking at them that everything was in its proper place.

Parker greeted them by getting to his feet and saying, “Come in, gentlemen, come in. I’m afraid I can’t offer you drinks or cigars. The decorum of the court, you know.”

“That’s fine, Your Honor,” Bo said. He and Scratch had both removed their hats when they came into the courthouse. Knowing Parker’s fearsome reputation, they didn’t want to do anything to show disrespect toward him.

Parker waved them into a pair of chairs covered with Morocco leather that were placed in front of the desk.

“Have a seat,” he instructed. “I hope Marshal Brubaker didn’t interrupt you in the middle of anything important.”

“We were about to have some Irish stew at Corrigan’s place,” Scratch said as he sat down and balanced his cream-colored Stetson on his knee.

A faint smile tugged briefly at Parker’s mouth for a second. He resumed his seat behind the desk and faced the Texans. Brubaker sat in a straight-backed chair off to one side that didn’t look nearly as comfortable.

The judge got right down to business by asking, “Do you know anything about those prisoners you helped to apprehend while they were trying to escape?”

“We’ve heard their names spoken, but that’s about all we know,” Bo said.

“That and the fact that the blond gal’s a holy terror,” Scratch added.

“That’s a good description of Cara LaChance,” Parker agreed. “She’s the inamorata of an outlaw named Hank Gentry.”

“Inam-what?” Scratch asked.

“The judge means that Miss LaChance and this Gentry hombre are sweethearts,” Bo explained.

“Oh. Well, she’s right pretty, no doubt about that, but she didn’t strike me as the cuddlesome sort. Leastways, not unless you like to cuddle up with a rattlesnake.”

“Hush up and let the judge talk,” Brubaker snapped.

Parker lifted a hand and said, “That’s all right, Marshal. I want to make certain that Mr. Creel and Mr. Morton are clear about everything that’s involved before I make my proposition to them.”

“You’ve got a proposition for us, Your Honor?” Bo asked with a surprised frown.

“That’s right, but first you should know that the LaChance woman, along with the other two prisoners, Dayton Lowe and Jim Elam, are all members of what is without a doubt the most vicious outlaw gang operating in the Territory at this moment. Marshal Brubaker was able to arrest the three of them, but there are at least a dozen more of the desperadoes still at large.”

Scratch looked at Brubaker and asked with newfound respect in his voice, “You went after fifteen of the varmints by yourself?”

“I never figured on being able to capture all of them at once,” Brubaker explained stiffly. “But I thought if I was smart enough, I might be able to whittle ’em down a few at a time.”

“Marshal Brubaker is extremely intelligent,” Parker said, “and one of the toughest officers I know. His only flaw is an occasional tendency toward overconfidence.”

“Guilty as charged, Your Honor,” Brubaker said, looking straight ahead.

“The point of what I just told you, gentlemen,” Parker went on to Bo and Scratch, “is that not only are these three prisoners quite dangerous in their own right, they have friends still at large who represent a grave threat.”

“You said there are a dozen more in the gang, Judge?” Bo asked.

“That’s right.”

Bo shook his head and said, “I don’t think even that many men would dare to attack the courthouse right here in Fort Smith, if you’re worried about them trying to break those three out of jail.”

Parker leaned back in his chair.

“I agree with you, Mr. Creel, but that’s not what I’m worried about. You see, the State of Texas has a prior claim on the prisoners. Before the Gentry gang fled northward into the Territory, they operated quite successfully south of the Red River, holding up numerous trains and banks in Texas and murdering a considerable number of innocent people.”

Bo said, “I figured a federal court would trump a state court when it came to such things, Your Honor.”

“It’s actually a federal court that wants them, the one that covers the eastern district of Texas,” Parker explained. “Gentry and his gang looted the mail bags in the express cars of those trains they held up, which makes their crimes fall under federal jurisdiction. Because those offenses were committed before their crimes in the Territory and elsewhere were carried out, it’s the federal court in Texas that has first claim on them.” A faint tone of dislike came into Parker’s voice as he added, “Judge Josiah Southwick.”

“Bigfoot Southwick’s a federal judge now?” Scratch exclaimed in astonishment.

Parker’s eyebrows rose. “You’re acquainted with Judge Southwick?”

“We knew him in our younger days,” Bo said. “He was a lawyer then.”

“Part lawyer, part snake oil salesman,” Scratch added. “Mostly snake oil salesman.”

Brubaker snapped, “Keep a civil tongue in your head. That’s a federal judge you’re talkin’ about.”

“I’m sure I’ve been called worse than a snake oil salesman,” Parker said. “At any rate, Judge Southwick has requested that any members of Gentry’s gang who are captured be transferred to his jurisdiction for trial, and a short time ago I received a telegram from the Justice Department directing me to comply with that request.”

“You’ve got to send the prisoners to Texas,” Bo said.

Parker nodded. “To Tyler, to be precise. Judge Southwick’s court is located there.”

“That’s a shame,” Scratch said. “You were probably lookin’ forward to droppin’ ’em through the traps out yonder on that big gallows o’ yours.”

“I don’t look forward to men being hanged,” Parker said with a frown. “But I am dedicated to seeing justice carried out. In this case, that justice will have to be dispensed in another court. The matter was decided in Washington and is out of my hands. My responsibility is to see to it that the prisoners are safely transported to their destination. To that end, I’ve charged Marshal Brubaker with delivering them. Despite what happened earlier, I remain convinced that he’s the best man for the job.”

“I expect you’ll be sending a number of deputies with him,” Bo said. “You have to be concerned that the rest of the gang will try to rescue those three.”

Parker laced his fingers together on the desk and nodded gravely.

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about,” he said. “Unfortunately, you overestimate the manpower I have available to me at the moment, Mr. Creel. All my deputies are engaged on other chores.”