Chapter 23

Wednesday, August 12, 1891

DeWitt:

I had first watch, from nine Tuesday evening to two o’clock Wednesday morning. At two-o-eight, we were scheduled to be in Fort Worth, for a half hour of refueling, water replenishment, and restocking various dining car and coach supplies. When we stopped in Waco, Mister Delvecchio had added a few things to the train’s standard order, paying the conductor the difference. The conductor wired the additions to Fort Worth.

Moira had suggested that she and I both be on duty during the Fort Worth layover, so we went out on the exterior platforms at either end of the coaches, in uniform, shotguns in hand. Some of what the Patron and Marshal Lonegan had reported of their meetings had us nervous and on high alert.

At two fifty-five, with Fort Worth slipping away behind us, and with the train once more at speed, Moira and I both went inside and sat down at the table in the dining lounge. Everyone else had retired to their berths.

“You’re not going to turn in?” she asked.

“In a few minutes. I’ve been thinking about a couple things that have been bothering me.”

“Like what?”

“For one thing, why haven’t we included Flores on the watch schedule?”

Looking bemused, she said, “I have no idea. It never even occurred to me,” she chuckled, Then her eyes angled right and she said, “Maybe because only you and I were scheduled for security to begin with, and Flores was tacked on later, but as a witness, not a duty assignment. As it was, he got tapped for carriage driver.”

“Yeah, that’s true. And it does feel like he has his own assignment on the trip. Doesn’t really matter, the thought just struck me.” In fact, I had not found the night watches onerous. I was just puzzled about how I had missed something so obvious

“Is that it?” she asked.

“No, not hardly.” I pressed my lips together and sighed through them. “I was thinking about how this trip started out so well. Our group figured out that we might be looking for family members, and then Clancy’s name and description came from that witness in Waypoint, then all the links we developed between him and Yancy, and finally that Pinkerton report that tied everything together with a big red bow.”

“Yeah, I liked the way the group worked.”

Then I couldn’t help but shake my head. “But, today, it all went down the tubes and I feel like a cringing cur, scooting away from San Antonio with my tail between my legs.”

She shrugged, while raising her eyebrows. “I guess I know what you mean. We seemed about to accomplish something and then, phht, it all blew away.” She made a sweeping gesture with her hand. “So what do you think happened?”

“Near as I can figure it, two meetings happened, one with Missus McInerney and the other with Marshal Proctor. Seems to me, things looked even better after the Patron’s meeting with Missus McInerney. She as much as apologized for not stopping the twins.”

Moira looked uncertain. “There’s something that doesn’t quite ring true, there.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, from what Marshal Lonegan tells of Marshal Proctor’s account, Missus McInerney all but walks on water, due to the family legacy.”

I had to agree. “That’s for certain. Have you ever heard of a longer line of heroes?”

“All those men killed in battle, you mean? A long line of heroes or five generations of brave but incompetent warriors. Buy they left a legacy of increasingly wealthy and influential widows, daughters, and mothers, culminating in the legendary Hazel McInerney, the goddess before whom Texas trembles but who is unable to influence her own niece and nephew? That doesn’t wash.”

“You think she lied?”

After a pause, she said, “Now that you mention it, I think maybe somebody lied.”

Now I was more confused than when we started. “Hold on a minute. If you’re suggesting it wasn’t Hazel McInerney who lied, that leaves Marshal Proctor, Marshal Lonegan, or the Patron, also a Marshal.”

“And the only Marshal present at both interviews,” she pointed out.

That came like a slap in the face. “And the only one,” I mused, “in a position to immediately spot the discrepancy between Hazel McAnarney’s confession of her limited influence on her own family and Marshal Proctor’s claim she was not to be crossed by anyone within five hundred miles.” I didn’t care for where my own logic was leading, so I waffled. “But family relationships can be peculiar.”

She gave me a long, skeptical look, then shook her head, almost sadly, before adding, “And now we’re on a train running for the Texas border.”

Unexpectedly, her statement was another metaphorical slap in the face. I realized I’d been so deeply mired in my own feelings of cowardice that it hadn’t occurred to me that the Patron and Marshal Lonegan were actually the ones who were running. We were just along for the ride.

It came to me, then, that I hadn’t been able to see the forest for the trees, to begin with, and now Moira just kept throwing more trees at me. To save face, I grasped at a straw.

“Very well, then, Lieutenant in charge of the Intelligence bureau, dazzle me. Tell me what’s really going on.” After I said it, I realized I now looked petty, on top of being a dullard.

Shaking her head, she said, “Take it easy on yourself, Wayne. It’s like Mister Malik said, we each bring a different way of looking at things, so we can see more when we combine our efforts. I hadn’t even realized someone might be lying before you mentioned the possibility.”

She was right, again. I needed to quit being so defensive. So I said, “Marshal Proctor’s story is too elaborate and logical for it to be something he made up just so he wouldn’t have to ride down to the next county to arrest someone, especially with us as a posse.”

She said, “And we wouldn’t be running from just those twins.”

“No, we wouldn’t. We’re running, or rather, our Marshals are running, from Hazel McInerney,” I concluded.

I stood up and said, “I’m going to make some coffee.”

“Make a full pot,” she urged.

I rested my butt against the edge of the galley counter while the coffee heated, my thoughts lost in the rhythmic sounds of the coach’s steel wheels rolling over the endless miles of rails, ceaselessly ticking across the rail joints.

Those tree-obscured forest began to take shape in my mind.

I poured coffee into two mugs, secured the pot toward the rear of the stove, then carried the mugs back to the big table.

“Thanks,” Moira said.

As I sat down, I said, “They’re both lying. The Patron lied when he told us what Hazel McInerney said. Then both he and Marshal Lonegan heard the truth of it from Marshal Proctor, so Marshal Lonegan knew the Patron lied, but Marshal Lonegan’s going along with it.”

Moira was nodding by the time I finished my reckoning. “That’s the only way everything makes sense,” she said. “Especially if you consider that we’re not running from something, we’re running toward something. I figure it’s the Patron’s family. I think Hazel McInerney is going for the eye-for an-eye, tooth-for-a tooth resolution. She believes the Patron killed her only child, so she’s going after the Patron’s children, and she as much as told him so. Ivanov and the twins are her agents.”

It was my turn to nod, but I saw one flaw in her logic. “That all makes sense, except if we’re running toward the Patron’s family, why are we headed north? His family is in Arenoso. That’s west, back the way we came from.”

She sat, quietly, lost in thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Yeah, well, my theory sounded good before you started poking holes in it,” she conceded.

“Whoa back,” I said to her. “I’m not saying you’re wrong, I think you’re right. Especially since the Patron sent a telegram to his wife less than two hours after he and Miss Peng met with Hazel McInerney. I think he was warning his wife. What I’m saying is, why are we headed north?”

She said, “Ostensibly, to go to Wichita.”

I thought about that for a minute, the ambient rail sounds a background accompaniment. Then it clicked, but in my mind. I said, “Not just ostensibly, but with purpose. Wichita is much closer to San Antonio than Waypoint is.”

Nodding, her eyes now gleaming, Moira said, “Of course. He has to go on the offensive, else he’ll have his family running and hiding forever.”

I said, “Exactly. The Patron has no choice. The law won’t work in these politics, so he’ll have to eliminate the threat himself.” I paused, then quieter, I said, “He’ll have to kill Hazel McInerney.” I paused again, seeing the progression of logic, then said, “And Marshal Lonegan realizes it. But, in order to give an appearance of law-abiding propriety, they have to maintain the lie.”

Now Moira was quiet. Eventually, she said, “In order for her death to end the vendetta, it means the Patron has to be known to be someplace else when Hazel McInerney dies.”

I said, “And it would be even better if she appeared to die a natural death.”

We sat there mulling it over, Moira’s chin sinking to her chest as she slowly shook her head ... Then her head abruptly came up, and I knew that Moira had reached some sort of conclusion. When she turned and looked into my eyes, I suddenly realized it, too.

Together, we said, “Miss Peng.”

Then, seemingly from out of nowhere, Miss Peng whispered, “Yes, Miss Peng.”

Both Moira and I abruptly sat up in our chairs and reached for our shoulder holsters, before we finally grasped the situation: Miss Peng was sitting at the head of the table, a steaming tea cup in front of her. Neither of us had noticed her arrival.

My heart felt like it had tried to escape my chest. I took a big gulp of air and released it slowly. Moira looked equally affected. “My god,” she said.

By her sudden and entirely silent arrival, I was ready to recognize Miss Pang as having supernatural powers.

Miss Peng said, “My Master warned Marshal Lonegan about you two, but he thought you would not tease it out until after we had returned to Wichita.” She took a sip of tea, then continued. “So that you may get some rest tonight, Inspector DeWitt, I will concede this advancement of your theorizing on how it might be done: widow’s weeds.”

She took a sip of tea, and added, “Now, with that said, the only way we save the children is if no one talks about this, even better if no one so much as thinks about it. Am I understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” we answered, in unison.

Miss Peng rose, almost as if lifted from above, took the tea cup, and walked silently toward the other coach.

Moira and I looked at one another and spoke at the same time:

“Never in my life -- “ she began.

“That is the most -- “ I started, before we both began laughing, albeit quietly. A sense of relief flooded me.

But I finally had to ask, “Widows weeds?”

Moira said, “It’s perfect. She’ll travel with a heavy veil and dark clothes, as if mourning a very recent death. People tend to give women in full mourning garb more consideration, while leaving them undisturbed. With her refined voice, as it is, she won’t be recognized, either as herself or even as Chinese.”

I rose to go to my berth, but stood at the table, picturing Miss Peng, shrouded in black, aboard a train, arriving at San Antonio, disembarking, walking along the... “A coffin,” I said to Moira, “She should be accompanying a coffin. It will draw attention away from her.”

(DeWitt)

1400 Durham Avenue

Wichita, Kansas

August 12, 1891

My friend Long Hand,

I expect you will recognize the bearer of this letter, Wayne DeWitt, an Inspector with our railroad police, and now a Deputy US Marshal. You may recall meeting him recently, in the hot spring pool.

I remind you of a conversation we had, on the night we dealt with the men who tried to blow up the tunnel. You had approached me to offer the assistance of you and your brother -- in some of my endeavors. Now I need your help at Ranch Home.

For reasons which will become apparent, I am unable to provide you with details except in person, and my business and medical care keep me here in Kansas, for the time being.

In my place, I am sending Inspector DeWitt who will explain the situation. It will involve you and your brother relocating temporarily to Ranch Home.

To meet the need of answering others’ interest in why you visit Ranch Home, I would have you evaluate our string of ranch horses and to also take a look at our sale breeders. Finally, though I know you will come in friendship, I have every intention of reimbursing any and all expenses arising from travel and for your absence from your Sonora County home and business.

Inspector DeWitt also carries my letter to Sheriff Ulney seeking his approval for your temporary absence from his ranks.

Thank you, my friends.

Shadow

1400 Durham Avenue

Wichita, Kansas

August 12, 1891

Dearest Beloveds,

Wayne DeWitt should be arriving at Summer Lake by Friday’s (14th) northbound Loop train. He is departing here tonight, but will go first to Dorado Springs to recruit some specialized help. And so, on Friday, please send the family four-in-hand coach to Summer Lake to meet the train, unless he notifies you otherwise. I would expect Long Hand and Stream-In-Winter to be in his company. As part and parcel of my plan, please make no special celebration of their arrival, other than your own warm greeting.

Here is the crux of the problem: You must be on guard against threats of physical harm, especially against the children, from the likes of Yancy and Clancy Webber and Stanislaus Ivanov. It is possible others may be hired to assist them. I am enclosing copies of their wanted posters to share with Denis and the others.

Wayne will have more details and will explain why I have to remain here. Wayne is also prepared to brief Andy and Christina, within certain limits, and to brief the constables and, as necessary, Sheriff Edwards, though also in abridged detail. I would suggest both of you sit in on any such briefings so as to be aware of the limits to other parties’ information.

Please express my love to the children, preferably with blubbering lips on their bellies.

Yan and I send our heartfelt love.

Emil

(Wednesday, August 12, 1891)

Friday, August 14, 1891

Malik and Peng had arrived in Kansas City on Thursday.

Donning theatrical quality false whiskers, eyeglasses, and a bowler, Malik had rented a Post Office box under the name, Elgin Joseph, Esquire. The same afternoon, they had wired the Dos Santos County, Texas, Chamber of Commerce, seeking urgent references of the better cemeteries in San Antonio’s northwest quarter. This was Hazel McInerney’s neighborhood.

Now they were in Doctor Edelman’s office. The Doctor was tsk-tsking over the condition of Malik’s stump.

“Mister Malik, this tissue has accumulated fluid rather than continuing the course of reduction on which you were so successfully launched. Have you given up on the regimen of restorative techniques which you were following?”

“No, Doctor, not at all. However, this past week presented a significant family problem which required a lengthy train journey in the company of several other federal marshals and deputies, along with a couple stressful meetings.”

“I’m not sure I understand, Mister Malik.”

“Nor is there any reason why you should let that lack of understanding trouble you, Doctor. I have every intention of gaining the healthy tissue necessary for the use of my chosen appliances, as soon as practical. It is simply that my efforts for that purpose have, of necessity, been relegated to a secondary concern, for the time being, while I resolve issues threatening my family’s safety.”

Edelman looked at him for a moment, then asked, “You are serious, are you not? There is some actual threat to the safety of your family?”

“Precisely, Doctor.”

“Might I know the expected duration of this threat?”

“That would not be an ... appropriate estimate for me to share, Doctor.”

“Do you want to suspend your visits here for that uncertain duration?”

“No, Doctor. I am concerned with the condition of the stump and would appreciate your ongoing supervision, especially as conditions might threaten my progress. Moreover, I will continue the routines as much as I am able. I remain anxious to don the appliance.”

“Very well then, do the best you can while you serve your family.”

(Friday, August 14, 1891)

Saturday, August 15, 1891

Malik and Peng were alone in the Chen Niao. It was early morning, and they both wore long silk robes, though the sun was well up. He was seated on the couch under the windows, she was on the floor, at his feet. They were both drinking tea and eating shortbread cookies from a box they had purchased the day before.

Malik was examining a yellow powder in a stoppered glass tube about the size of his little finger. He asked, “How does it work?”

“It simply stops the breathing by relaxing and paralyzing the diaphragm.”

“Don’t they know what you’ll use it for where you bought it?”

“It has other uses. In lighter doses, it prevents coughing. In even lighter doses, it can encourage coughing, to help expel phlegm from the lungs. It is of common trade in Chinese apothecaries.”

“How will you introduce it?”

“By solution. I will use chloroform, as you did, to induce unconsciousness. Then I will dribble the solution down her throat as she sleeps. The swallowing reaction is not affected. This method does not cause spotty hemorrhaging in the eyes, as often happens when one is suffocated. It is quickly broken down by stomach acid, leaving no sign of its ingestion.

“You’re confident of its efficacy?”

“I have used it before.”

“And you’re confident in the pharmacist?”

“He enjoys a favorable reputation among the Chinese.”

“Yan, I don’t mean to be second guessing you. It’s just that, you’ll be on your own, so far away. And, should you be caught, they will not be holding you for trial. You will be summarily executed by that she-fiend’s minions.”

“I love you, as well, Master.”

“Fact is, you’re more capable of a mission like this than I ever was, on my best day.”

“I was trained for it, Master. It is what I do.”

The death of young children being common, coffin makers would have finished products of appropriate size alongside their normal ready-to-go stock. In his disguise as lawyer Elgin Joseph, Malik purchased a small coffin and had it placed under a tarp in the buckboard he had rented.

Then, depending on his familiarity with dress shops, as the landlord of such a venture in Waypoint, he made the purchase of a set of full mourning dress. Since the need for such clothing was often unexpected, a few ready-made sets were kept on hand in most larger shops.

Finally, he wired a cemetery in the vicinity of the McInerney home requesting the opening of a child’s grave “in a pleasant location, near trees, if available.” By separate wire, a fee was transmitted and detailed arrangements were made for transport of the coffin and the grieving mother.

With a sandbag in the sealed coffin, now in the baggage car, Peng, swaddled in mourning, assumed a seat in a Pullman sleeper late that evening.

In the morning, Malik returned to Wichita to fight his sense of dread.

DeWitt:

Malik Hacienda

Ranch Home, Arenoso

Saturday, August 15, 1891

Dear Melissa,

You’ll never guess where I am (that is, unless you have read the heading). Well, I won’t keep you on tenterhooks. I am in one of the guest rooms of the Patron’s childhood home, on the Malik Ranch, about 27 miles northeast of Waypoint.

Unfortunately, the reason I am here is not as pleasant as the accommodations. There has been a threat against the Patron’s family.

Since the threat emanates from Texas, the Patron has remained in Wichita, closer to the source. He has sent me out here to help his brother coordinate the family’s defense. I have brought three Sonora special deputy marshals from Dorado Springs and there are two deputy sheriffs from Jackson County, three private ranch constables, a dozen ranch hands, and four specially-trained Celestial warriors from nearby Summer Lake, all making up the defensive force. The Chinese and the Sonora Indian deputies patrol the remote portions of the ranch while the others watch the ranch approaches and provide a twenty-four hour cordon around the hacienda where the family -- Beatrice Malik, Wren Tsosie and the children, Thomas (2), Paul (2), and Aspen (4+) -- is forted up.

The hacienda is of the traditional design and was originally built to serve as a small fortress, by the Patron’s father, Valerian Malik, in ‘51. It’s central courtyard has shade trees and a splashing fountain that seems to introduce a cool note to the summer afternoon. The children love to play in it, and they splash around, clothed only in sunlight. Their laughter is infectious.

Those children, and their cousins, are a delightful bunch already calling me “Uncle Wayne.” Indeed, I feel as if the family has adopted me, and I have been here barely more than a day.

You might enjoy this intriguing fact: The Patron’s Beatrice and his brother’s wife, Christina, both of elfin stature and gamine features, could pass for identical twins, though no blood relationship is known. Their only major difference is their hair color, Beatrice having red hair and Christina blonde. I have heard tales of the confusion that likeness caused before Beatrice was well-known here in the village. Even Christina’s own husband was once taken in, if the story can be believed.

Ranch Home is actually a small town, but still a community with a village feel. It has grown up around the hacienda and is the residence of the ranch and farm hands and their families. There is a generous plaza, a Catholic church, two more churches under construction, a recently completed catholic school, a secular ranch school, a bakery, a new butcher shop being built, a general store, and several other businesses and shops. Most construction is adobe, so Ranch Home has a very rustic but consistent feel, without the glaring irregularities or unsightly trash heaps so common in other towns. And it’s right on the banks of the Rio Isabella, a substantial year-round stream and the source of a wide network of irrigation canals and planned mills.

In all, it seems a friendly and productive place, a bit remote perhaps, though a railroad sub-branch passes within five miles, nowadays. It is readily apparent that my Patron and his brother, Andy, who is the Patron of this ranch, are universally admired and respected. I say woe to him, or her, who trespasses here with nefarious intent against any Malik.

With that reminder, it is time for me to make my rounds. I will put this letter in the afternoon mail bag, to be carried into Waypoint.

I trust this finds you well.

With my warmest regards,

Wayne

(DeWitt)

(Saturday, August 15, 1891)

Wednesday. August 19, 1891

Malik was picking over the meatloaf and mashed potatoes dinner that Mister Wu had prepared, his worried distraction painted on his face.

The knock at the front door would not be heard in the kitchen, where Mister Wu was cleaning pots and pans, nor was anyone else in the house. Malik pushed back from the table, dropped his napkin next to the place setting, stood, and walked, via the adjoining hallway, to the front door. Through the glass he could see Raul Castillo and Dixie Yeats on the front porch, looking solemn, in summer’s late twilight.