Chapter 9

We got back to town and took care of the necessaries. Bob sent somebody to tell the mayor what had happened to the marshal. In less than 20 minutes, the mayor showed up all upset because Eagle Pass no longer had a working marshal. He actually resorted to wringing his hands as he tried to absorb the ramifications of the sudden disaster.

Since Bob was the one in charge of the posse, the mayor gravitated to Bob for advice. Though he did not know Bob personally, he did know of Bob's reputation, so he asked Bob to take the job of marshal. Bob refused the job offer, and he asked why the mayor didn't promote one of the deputies.

The answer was that there were no deputies! Both deputy marshals had left town about three weeks ago to head for the gold fields in NMT up around Las Vegas. What had the mayor worried the most was that a city the size of Eagle Pass just could not exist without a marshal.

By this time, the mayor was practically on his knees begging Bob to take the job as marshal. This wasn't the first time Bob let his sympathy for somebody in trouble to get in the way of his own good sense. Only a little more begging by the mayor and Bob took the job of marshal, but he added one condition: I was his deputy! The mayor was so glad to get us that he set Bob's salary at $60 per month and mine at $40. That was a lot of money, so we figured that we were pretty well off.

Eagle Pass was a right nice town, one that most anybody would like living in. The jail had an apartment attached to it that was big enough of both of us. There was an attached kitchen, not big, but adequate. This let me indulge in some of the normal domestic duties. I usually cooked breakfast and supper, and we ate dinner at one of the restaurants in town. The apartment was in good shape, the privy out back was even a two-holer!

We settled into a routine of visiting the businesses in the morning and early afternoon to make sure that everything was going smoothly. The afternoon was usually spent in one or more saloons just getting a feel for the pulse of the community. And the last thing we did in the evening was to walk through the business district making sure that all of the stores were locked up properly and there was no mischief going on. Occasionally, we would lock up a drunk for his own protection, but there were few of these.

We were into our second month of patrolling Eagle Pass when we ran into our first big trouble. Somebody decided to start a protection racket in the Mexican section of town. As usual, the Mexicans didn't fully trust the Anglo law, so they were slow to report the trouble to us. In fact, it wasn't until a small store was smashed up and the owner beaten that we had any inkling that trouble was afoot.

Both of us hate bullies, and that was the way we thought of the people in the protection racket. When the first incident happened, we tried to get cooperation from the store owners, but they didn't know us very well, so nobody wanted to talk.

We didn't get our first break in the case for three weeks, then we happened to be walking down the street when we heard a commotion from a store in the next block. Bob and I ran to see what was going on. We found three Mexican toughs playing hell with the store contents while a fourth one held a gun on the owner.

It was obvious what was going on, so we didn't hesitate. Since a gun was already drawn, we didn't waste time talking, but started shooting. Bob put a bullet through the back of the man with the gun. The bullet impact caused him to jerk his hand so that the discharged bullet wound up harmlessly in a wall.

Meanwhile, I had my own gun drawn and pointing at the other three Mexicans who stopped in surprise at the sound of the gunshot. One thing about it, the sound of a .44-40 going off in a small room will surely get your attention!

I said, in my best hidalgo Spanish, "Put your hands up or you will wind up like your friend." The authoritative sound of my voice and the choice of accent was enough to shake them into compliance. I kept them covered while Bob took their weapons. My God, they were a walking arsenal! The four thugs yielded 11 revolvers and six knives; the store owner had to provide us with a croaker sack to carry all of the weapons in. We made sure that the store owner was OK and sent for the undertaker before we marched the thugs to the jail.

We locked up the Mexicans and held them for the district judge who was due in town in nine days. Bob wrote up a report for the county DA charging the four men with malicious destruction of property. That would get them two to five years in jail when they were convicted.

The next day, a real Mexican dandy and two companions showed up at the jail wanting us to release our prisoners. I stood to one side where I could keep an eye on the two obvious bodyguards while the dandy talked to Bob. I'll have to say this for the dandy: he was real subtle when he offered the bribe to let the prisoners go. He was willing to pay $50 each for the men, and that was a passel of money!

Bob was real polite when he turned down the offer, even when the offer was raised to $75 per man. Bob also said that he wanted the protection racket stopped before somebody else got hurt. At this point, the dandy was right put out with Bob, but he did leave before the situation got nasty. After he left, Bob commented that we had not heard the last of this, and I had to agree.

The cells were separated from the office by a solid wall, so you had to go through a doorway to get to the cells from the office. There was no outside door back among the cells, so you had to go through the office to get to them. However, there were barred windows to the outside, one for each cell. Sometime that night, pistols were passed through the windows to the three inmates; they planned an escape for the time when they received their breakfast.

I cooked the breakfasts for us and for the prisoners, so I had to get an early start. Bob and I ate, then the breakfasts were taken in to the prisoners. Our usual procedure had been to have Bob carry in two breakfasts and come back for the third one. I went with him to unlock the cells and generally keep an eye on the prisoners.

I unlocked the door to the cell holding the far prisoner in line and Bob handed him the breakfast tray. As the man reached for the tray, I caught a glimpse of a gun. I didn't hesitate! I shouted, "THEY'VE GOT GUNS!" and slammed the cell door. At the same time, I drew my gun and started shooting. Bob dropped one of the breakfast trays he was holding and drew his own gun.

I shot the man in front of Bob—the one I figured to be most dangerous because of the proximity to him. Meanwhile, Bob threw the tray at the man in the next cell, and he reflexively ducked. That provided the time Bob had needed to draw, but I had already shot him and was aiming at the third man. I fired, but the bullet hit a bar and was deflected. That man was aiming at me and preparing to shoot when Bob got off his shot which was not deflected before it hit the third man in the chest.

We now had three dead men and a mess with food all over the floor! I mentioned the food because you know who was going to have to clean it up, dammit! We checked the three prisoners to make sure that they were all dead, which they were. Bob went for the undertaker while I went for the broom and mop. Sometimes, it's hell being a woman!

At least, Bob was stuck with writing up the report and sending it to the county DA and the sheriff. Thank God we lived in a time when people believed you when you said something was true, so we didn't have a big to-do about the three dead prisoners. The sheriff did send a deputy by to take a sworn statement from us and to express his congratulations on the affair, and that was the end of that.

Word of what had happened had quickly spread, and we received several free beers at various saloons over the next few days. Our relations with the Mexican community nose dived for the same few days because we had killed three "defenseless" Mexican prisoners, but the truth spread, and our stock went very high within the Mexican community when they got the complete story.