seemed the shooting had aroused half the town, for the throng was constantly augmented by new arrivals volleying questions that nobody could answer.
“Can you tell us what happened, Cápitan?” Amado pleaded.
Slade told him, briefly. Amado swore in two languages, Estevan adding a few pungent Yaqui expletives for good measure.
“And if it weren’t for your courage and quick thinking, the ladrones would have gotten away with whatever they were after,” Amado declared. “One more good deed to the credit of El Halcón.” Estevan nodded emphatic agreement.
“Here comes the alcalde,” somebody shouted. A moment later the mayor, a portly individual with a pleasant face and sharp eyes, pushed his way into the cabin.
“Cien mil diablos!” he gasped, staring at the body of the sailor on the floor.
“Not a hundred thousand devils, but enough, Don Pedro,” said Amado.
“But what is the meaning of this?” demanded the bewildered official.
Amado told him, vividly. The mayor walked over to Slade and solemnly shook hands.
“Cápitan, I am honored,” he said. “Gracias for what you did. What is in the safe? I know not for sure, but I feel safe in saying there is a large sum of money from a Laredo bank. I was informed that they intended to dispatch it to Brownsville by steamer, because of the rash of stage and train robberies with which we have been plagued of late. The plan was supposed to have been a guarded secret.”
Slade nodded, not at all surprised; Veck Sosna always seemed able to learn everything. If El Halcón had been inclined to be superstitious, he would have believed the hellion put into practice some gift of divination or mental telepathy.
“When the Señor Clark, the steamer’s captain, arrives, doubtless he can tell us for sure,” added the mayor.
At that moment the jefe politico, the chief of police, put in a tardy appearance. The mayor glowered at him.
“And you, I suppose, were swilling pulque in some pulqueria while murder and robbery were being done,” he accused his subordinate. The policeman looked abashed and muttered something of just pausing to quench his thirst with a glass of the Mexican beer.
“Besides, I knew not there was aught of value aboard the boat,” he added defensively. “Why should one keep watch over hides and tallow?”
The mayor grunted and did not appear mollified. But before he could frame a scathing retort, an elderly man with grizzled hair and a weather-beaten face entered. He swore bitterly as his eyes rested on the slain seaman. Slade gathered that he was the Bravo’s captain, which proved to be the case.
The skipper swore again when what had happened was outlined for him. He turned to Slade, held out his hand.
“Thanks, cowboy, for sorta evening up the score,” he said. “And the Company will want to thank you too, and a mite more. Better’n twenty-five thousand dollars in that box. Yes, you did a fine chore and I won’t forget it.” He gestured to the dead sailor.
“That poor swab was with me for five years,” he added. “Most of my boys have been sticking around for quite a spell. I’ve got so I sorta look on them as if they were my own kids; hurts when something happens to one of them.”
“I can well understand,” Slade remarked. “Captain, who all knew the money was to be sent down the river on the Bravo?”
“Why, only the bank officials and myself were supposed to know,” the skipper replied.
“Could some of your seamen have learned of it?” Slade asked. The captain hesitated.
“Well, some of them might have guessed it, at least guessed we were carrying something of value,” he admitted. “The cashier of the bank delivered the money to me in person and watched me lock it up.”
Typical of the way “official secrets” were guarded, Slade reflected. However, he merely nodded and let the subject drop. Sosna had somehow learned the money was on the steamer. How? Perhaps he’d find the answer to that one later.
“And now,” suggested the mayor, “suppose we drag that dead ladrone in here where it’s light and examine him.”
The body was hauled in unceremoniously by the heels. The dead man appeared to be an ordinary individual of medium height and build. His pockets disclosed nothing of significance, so far as Slade could see.
“Anybody recognize him?” he asked. There was a general shaking of heads. Which was what El Halcón expected. He raised one of the fellow’s hands and scrutinized it, then the other; he turned to the Bravo’s captain, who was squatting beside him.
“What do you think?” he said.
“The same as you do,” the skipper replied. “Yep, he was a deepwater man not so long back; only hauling on lines will put that sort of marks on a swab’s hands. Nothing strange about that, though; we get quite a few of ’em in Brownsville. Mostly Gulf men who sign on with the little coastwise trade wind ships. A lot of ’em have been around quite a bit. Sort of settle down here.”
“I suppose some of your hands are former deepwater men?” Slade suggested.
“About half of them, I reckon,” the skipper admitted.
“And this fellow would have been able to speak their language and associate with them without attracting any attention.”
The skipper shot him a shrewd glance. “Uh-huh, I reckon,” he replied. “Wouldn’t be surprised if he could use his ears good, too.”
“Exactly,” Slade nodded.
Another example of how Veck Sosna worked, and of his uncanny ability to corral followers who would best serve his purpose. The man in question mingled with the Bravo seamen and listened to what was said. Perhaps was able to adroitly steer the conversation into a discussion as to what cargo she bore coming down from Laredo. Some loquacious individual might have mentioned the bank cashier’s visit with the captain, the significance of which Sosna would have interpreted correctly. Yes, the Sosna touch.
His deduction was corroborated a moment later when the Bravo seamen, having heard what happened, came streaming aboard. They mingled their curses with the skipper’s and grouped around the dead outlaw.
“Say, I remember this lubber!” one exclaimed. “He was drinking with us in Laredo. Got to gabbing about ships he’d sailed on. One of them was the Gloucester, a schooner I signed with once. He knew all about her, all right.” A couple of his companions nodded agreement.
The skipper glared at them. “And I suppose some of you swabs blabbed about what you thought was in the cabin safe,” he said accusingly.
An uncomfortable silence followed. Slade felt pretty sure that one or more of those present suffered twinges of conscience but preferred not to incur the captain’s wrath by saying so. Well, it didn’t matter one way or another who was guilty of imprudent loquacity. The damage had been done, providing Sosna with opportunity of which he had been quick to take advantage.
Slade stood
