“Who’s behind the stealing?” Murat asked, cutting off any further descriptions of Jacobs’s self-sacrifice.
“A woman.”
It said much for Murat’s self-control that he showed no emotion at the words even though disbelief welled in him. His eyes studied Jacobs’s face, but he read nothing in the pedlar’s expression.
“Does she have a name?” Murat asked.
“Like I said, Cap’n, I’m a poor man.”
Taking out his wallet, Murat peeled off a ten-dollar bill and slipped it into a grimy palm that engulfed it like a large-mouth bass sucking in a shiner minnow.
“Who is it?”
“Name of Ella Watson. She runs the Cattle Queen.”
“Can you prove it?” asked Murat.
“Proof the man wants!” yelped Jacobs in what, if possible, was a sotto voce wail of protest. “I tell him who is—I tell you, Cap’n, you Rangers should ought to arrest the feller who sold me this wagon.”
The last words came out in a much louder, complaining tone as a man walked from an alley behind them and passed by. Like all informers, Jacobs knew full well the delicate nature of his position and the danger it involved. He had no wish to become known as one who passed on confidential information to law enforcement officers and took all precautions possible to avoid raising suspicions. Not until the man had passed out of hearing distance did either the pedlar or the Ranger captain resume their conversation.
“I sure as hell haven’t had ten bucks worth yet,” Murat warned as the other seemed inclined to edge around the question of proof.
Which same proved to be a powerful argument and one which Jacobs could understand right well. He knew Murat paid high for information, but expected service and accuracy in return for the money spent.
“I don’t know much about it,” Jacobs admitted. “Wasn’t there for more than two days, pulled out as soon as I learned who was behind it. I figgered you’d want to know as soon as I could make it.”
“Likely. Who-all’s in it with her?”
“She gets some of the fool young cowhands to do the stealing. The young ’uns who haven’t got too much good sense but like to feel a gal’s leg now and then. Pays them for what they steal and gets the money back in her place when she’s paid them. She’s a might smart woman, Cap’n.”
“Sounds that way,” Murat grunted. “Nothing more you can tell me?”
“Not about her. Don’t know where she gets shut of the stuff once it’s been stolen or even where she keeps it while she’s waiting to sell.”
That figured to anybody who knew Jacobs. While the man willingly sold his information, he never took any extra chances in gathering it. However, Murat decided he had a start, a point where whichever man he sent up to Caspar County could make a beginning in breaking the spate of cow stealing. There was another point, a matter of some importance which Jacobs failed to mention.
“How about Bat Gooch?”
“He’s been there for just over a week and—how’d you know about him?”
“My mother had a voodoo-mama nurse,” Murat answered, cursing the slowness of the mails. When Governor Howard’s letter was dispatched Gooch still had not arrived in Caspar. Not that Murat intended to enlighten Jacobs; it did the Ranger captain’s prestige no harm to have Jacobs think he knew more than his actual knowledge. “Has he done anything?”
“Not much. Hasn’t made him a bounty yet that anybody knows about. Crither’s saying his losses’ve been cut already though.”
Strange as it may seem, the news did not relieve Murat’s anxiety as much as one might expect it to. If the fear inspired by Gooch’s name and evil reputation had scared the cow thieves off the Forked C range, the bounty hunter ought to be spreading the sphere of his activities real soon. From what he knew of Gooch, Murat reckoned the man would not be content with just wages and was likely to seek out victims on the neighboring ranges. Sure, Murat wanted to drive the cow thieves off the range and stop their activities, which Gooch’s presence might do—but there was such a thing as the price being too high. The sooner the Ranger captain could send one of his men to Caspar, the better he would feel. Even one Ranger on the ground might act as a steadying influence and prevent Gooch from going too far in his bounty-hunting search for wealth.
“There’s a couple more gunhands hanging around town,” Jacobs remarked. “Are on Ella Watson’s payroll, I think. They don’t say much, or do much. ’Course, they only came in the day afore I left.”
Once again the pedlar gave Murat worrying news. Hired guns always meant bad trouble. If Ella Watson had brought in a couple of guns, it might be for the purpose of nullifying the threat Gooch offered to her cow-stealing business—always assuming that Jacobs had his facts right and she did run the she-bang.
Without letting his concern show, Murat slipped another five dollars into Jacobs’s hand. “If you go south, see if you can learn anything about those stage robberies they’ve had down that way,” he said.
“Sure, Cap’n. How about that Caspar fuss?”
“I’ll send word to the sheriff up there and let him do what he wants.”
“Aren’t you sending your men in?” Jacobs inquired.
“Only if the local law asks for them,” replied Murat cagily.
While Jacobs had proved himself a reliable source of information on more than one occasion, Murat did not trust the man. Knowledge of the coming of a Ranger, or a party of Rangers, would fetch a good price from the right area and Jacobs might just as easily sell his news to the cow thieves as he had to Murat. So Murat did not intend to give too much away; not with the lives of his men at stake.
“Don’t reckon he’ll ask,” grinned Jacobs. “Sheriff Simmonds ain’t the best, or smartest, lawman in the West.”
“He getting paid for sitting back and doing nothing?”
“I couldn’t say, Cap’n. Only he’s sure dressing better now than he did last time I saw him, before the cow stealing started.”
“I likely won’t hear anything from him then,” Murat grunted. “Which same I’ve paid out fifteen iron men for nothing.”
“News is always valuable, Cap’n,” answered Jacobs.
“So they do tell me,” agreed the Ranger. “See you, Jake.”
“I’ll be around,” promised the pedlar. “You wanting me to go down south and see what I can find about the stage hold-ups?”
“If you’re headed that way—and afore you ask, don’t. You’ve made fifteen bucks off me for something I might not be able to put to use.”
Turning, Murat walked to his horse and swung into the saddle. Jacobs watched the Ranger captain ride away and then swung aboard his wagon. With an annoyed sniff, the pedlar started his team moving. He felt disappointment at not learning more about Murat’s plans. The Ranger captain most likely aimed to send at least one of his men to Caspar and to be able to identify the man might have proved profitable. Ella Watson would have paid well to know of her danger and be able to recognize it when the Ranger arrived. One thing Jacobs learned early was never to try to sell half information to criminals. While Ella Watson might be interested to know that the Rangers were coming, she was unlikely to pay for the information—at least not enough to make a return trip to Caspar worthwhile—unless Jacobs could also tell who exactly to watch for.
Murat rode between the two buildings and back on to the street once more, turning over the problem and Jacobs’s information in his mind. A worried frown creased his face as he continued his interrupted return to his company’s barracks. One thing was even more sure now. The Governor had been right to worry about the developments in Caspar County. Cow stealing was bad enough; but when both sides started importing hired killers the situation became far worse.