There were two wingback chairs opposite the desk where I was sitting. Berkeley poured himself some more coffee and sat in one of the chairs. He blew on his coffee before he took a sip.
“Your Indian pouch?” Berkeley asked motioning to Bob’s pouch on the desk.
I picked it up and looked at it some.
“Naw.”
I dropped it back to the desk.
“Belonged to the mean son of a bitch Vince was talking about.”
Berkeley blew on his coffee some more and took a sip.
I picked up the pouch again and looked at its handiwork. It was sure enough Indian-made — it had fringe, a few bear claws and rattlesnake tails dangling from the sides. The long waist strap was made of tightly woven deer sinew. I opened the pouch and dumped the contents on the desk.
“Whetstone, coin sack, comb, jerky,” I said.
I tossed the comb and jerky in the trash and picked up the small leather coin sack with a brass snap. I opened it. Inside, there was a single silver dollar, two Indian heads, and a folded-up piece of paper. I opened the paper. It was a newspaper article. I leaned over and turned up the desk lantern. I read the caption out loud:
Virgil turned, looked at me. I waved the article in the air.
“A keepsake, no doubt... from Bob’s pouch here.”
“Must be exploits accounted.”
Virgil took a sip of coffee.
“Read me the clipping.”
I leaned into the light and read.
58
Prison guards killed as Two Convicts Escape Huntsville. Murderer and Criminal Mastermind Break Out of Jail in Huntsville, TEX, March 1.
Years ago on the Sweetwater Ranch, now part of the infamous XIT Ranch, ranch foreman Jay Christopher Wood and his wife, Sharon, were brutally stabbed to death by Robert Brandice. Brandice was tracked down by Sweetwater’s law counsel, Virgil Cole.
“Law counsel?” Virgil said as he moved from the door and sat in the chair next to Berkeley, “That’s a new one. We were hired guns.”
“Least you got your name in the paper,” I said, and continued reading.
Brandice was eventually apprehended by Cole after a shoot-out that left Brandice on his deathbed. Brandice was subsequently found guilty and sentenced to hang, but his sentence was reduced to life, considering Brandice’s fragile condition.
“Fragile?” Virgil scoffed. “Fragile like a Chicago mill saw.”
Eleven years later, Brandice and his cell mate, John Wellington, walked out the front door of Huntsville Prison at seven o’clock this evening dressed as prison guards. The uniforms they were wearing belong to Huntsville guards Cameron Thomson and Gary Dempsey. Both Thomson and Dempsey had worked at the prison for twenty-plus years and were revered and respected senior employees of Huntsville. Thomson and Dempsey were found under the bunk in Brandice’s cell. Both had been tied up and stabbed to death. A homemade knife was later found at the scene. Brandice’s cellmate, Wellington, was serving a sentence of sixty-five years for second-degree murder and masterminding an embezzlement scheme that nearly brought down the Texas banking industry, leaving one person dead. Wellington had been incarcerated for two years prior to this escape. Wellington lost an arm while operating a steam lathe during his incarceration in Huntsville. Both men are considered extremely dangerous. Sheriff Daniel McGinley called for a posse just after midnight. He divided the men into four groups to scour the territories within a radius of the penitentiary. Sheriff McGinley offered a $1,000 reward for each of the men. Men at Large: Robert Boulder Brandice, forty-six. Brandice is described as a lean man, medium height, with long hair and beard. He has a history of violence and has been in and out of jail many times. John Bishop Wellington, fifty-five. Wellington is European; however, his nationality unknown. He’s tall, well mannered, speaks several languages fluently, and was reported to be an experienced Shakespearean performer.
I looked at Virgil. He put his cigar between his teeth, set his coffee on the desk, and picked up the Henry rifle.
“Thespian, huh,” Virgil said.
Virgil slid the Henry rifle under the light on the desk and pointed to three small letters engraved on top of the receiver near the rear sight.
Berkeley and I leaned in for a closer look.
“JBW,” Virgil said. “Not that it does us any good knowing who he is, but at least we got us a handle on the mysterious Yankee. John Bishop Wellington.”
I continued reading the remainder of the article to myself but stopped and looked up at Virgil.
“There’s more here, Virgil. This part provides us some good.”
Virgil looked at me; I continued.
Wellington’s crime gained the state’s attention when three prominent Texas attorneys — Stephen Humphrey, William Mills, and James Lassiter — were also indicted after the ill-fated embezzlement scheme went awry. Charges were eventually dropped on the three due to the lack of state’s evidence. Many believe Wellington was the scapegoat for the others, who were heavy with counsel.
I looked at Virgil, Virgil looked at Berkeley, and Berkeley looked at me.
“Attorney James Lassiter,” I said. “Huh, wonder if that is the same Lassiter who’s dreaming about aforementioneds and abrogate absentions in the Hotel Ark about right now?”
59
After the hard rain, a low mist was rolling in across the dark streets of Half Moon Junction. The air was dense and damp. We left the horses hitched in front of the jailhouse and walked the short distance up the street toward the Hotel Ark. For some reason it wasn’t until we were on the move that I realized how big Berkeley was. He was almost a foot taller than me, and moving at a quick pace like we were, his long strides were hard to keep up with.
“So this escaped convict, John Bishop Wellington,” Berkeley said. “You think this is his plan?”
“Don’t know,” Virgil said.
“What about Mr. Hobbs?” Berkeley said. “Do you believe there is a cooperation between the men, that they were in on this together, Hobbs, Lassiter, and this Wellington?”
“Don’t know for sure, either,” Virgil said. “Figure we’ll find out soon enough.”
“I have to say, Marshal, I was not remotely leery of Lassiter and Hobbs,” Berkeley said. “Frankly never crossed my mind they could be behind something like this, never. I considered them to be caring and intelligent.”
“Money makes smart men do stupid things,” Virgil said.
“Especially a half-million dollars,” I said.
“Especially,” Virgil said.
“I believed them, based on their relationship with the governor and their prominence, their credentials.”
“Bigger the credentials, bigger the prospect you’ll find a rat or possum at the bottom of the barrel,” Virgil said.
“What about the governor?” I said. “You think he had a dog in this hunt?”
“Be a fool if he did,” Berkeley said.
“Well, he is a Texan,” I said.
“That he is,” Berkeley said.
“And a politician,” I said.
“Questionable combination,” Virgil said, “but having his family and the Pinkerton agents along, I’d say he was set up.”
“I can tell you, he was in bad shape when we got him and his wife into the hotel room. White as paper. He just collapsed in a corner chair, closed his eyes as if it were a bad dream.”
“How do you want to go about this?” I said. “Rousing Lassiter up?”