by J. T. Edson
“What the hell happened to you?” he growled.
“I met another of your ‘sisters’,” Belle answered coldly. “Sister Ruby.”
“Ruby Toot?” Jim said. “I’d forgotten about her. I’m sorry about that, Miss Boyd. See, she was going with a Yankee Army engineer working on the new defenses they set up. I got to know her and picked up details of the work they did. Trouble being the engineer left soon after and Ruby figured I should take his place.”
“What if Cornwall sends somebody around here asking questions?” Dusty put in. “He’ll likely learn what caused the fuss between Belle and that Toot gal.”
“He won’t learn a thing,” Jim replied. “Early tomorrow I’ll see those Yankee brass-pounders and let on that you stayed the night here with me, Miss Boyd.”
“You’ll ruin my good name,” smiled the girl. “But Cornwall may move sooner than that.”
“What do we do then?” the engineer asked.
“Play smarter than he does,” Belle replied.
At about the same time that Belle laid her plans to circumvent Cornwall’s efforts to find her, the man learned of the failure to follow her party to its hideout. He had made excuses to his guests on learning of Belle’s departure and contented himself with the knowledge that Slippery Sid and Latour waited at Paupin’s home ready to trail them. When the battered pair returned, interrupting an enjoyable evening, Cornwall started to ask questions. First he learned the cause of the trouble between Belle and Ruby Toot. Talking with the three petty officers, Cornwall could not decide whether the girl had been one of Jim Bludso’s ‘sisters’ or merely a victim of mistaken identity. While the most sober of the petty officers insisted that the ‘sister’ visiting Bludso had been a brunette, as opposed to Annie Buckhalter’s girl having blonde hair, Cornwall decided to check. Calling over one of his most reliable men, Cornwall gave orders.
“Yeah?” Jim Bludso called sleepily in answer to a knocking at his room’s outside door. ‘What’s up?”
“Got a message for you, Mr. Bludso,” a male voice answered.
“Can’t it wait until morning?”
“No, sir.”
Outside Jim’s door, the man saw a lamp lit and its glow drew closer. From all the signs, Jim had just left his bed. Naked to the waist and supporting his pants with one hand, bare-foot and with hair rumpled untidily, the big engineer scowled at his visitor in the light of the small lamp.
“Who-all is it, Jim honey?” asked a girl’s voice from inside the room.
“Hush your mouth, gal!” Jim barked.
By moving around in a casual manner, the visitor found he could make out the bed. A shape moved uneasily in it and, although unable to see much, he judged it to be the female speaker. Further than that, a mass of brunette hair showed in contrast to the pillow.
As if noticing the man’s interest, Jim reached out a hand to draw the door shut and hide his ‘bed-mate’ from view. Then he growled out a demand for information as to the reason for the visit.
“There’s Yankee ironsides due in early tomorrow and they want you to gather a gang ready to help clean its engines,” the man answered.
Although he received a blistering cursing for disturbing Jim with such unimportant news, the man went away contented. Returning to the Green Peacock, he told Cornwall that the brunette was still with Jim Bludso. Cornwall decided that the Yankee petty officer either made a mistake, or deliberately stirred up trouble with, Ruby Toot in the hope of seeing a fight before the one arranged in the ring. While disinterested in Ruby’s injury, Cornwall cursed bitterly, his invective being directed at the time wasted in checking the story. There would be little or no chance of finding where the safe was that ‘Annie Buckhalter’ planned to rob in time to grab off a portion of the loot, if she intended to strike that night. Maybe it would be for the best. He would not be too sorry to learn that the woman brought off her proposed robbery and slipped safely out of New Orleans; ‘Annie Buckhalter’ knew far too much about him for comfort.
Jim Bludso put out the lamp when the man reached the foot of the stairs, but did not return to his bed. Instead he stood by the window and watched his visitor depart, while drawing on his shirt.
“I reckon he fell for it, Miss Boyd. Shall I follow him?”
The bed creaked as Belle swung her bare feet out of it. Dressed in her male clothing, less the riding boots, she crossed the room and halted at Bludso’s side.
“I’d say let him go and tell his boss,” she replied. “He’s certain that you have a girl in here and I’m sure Cornwall will think the Yankee brass-pounder made a mistake.”
“I’m not sorry that jasper came,” Bludso stated. “If he’d held off much longer, I’d’ve been asleep.”
“I was,” put in Dusty Fog’s voice from the side of the room.
“And me,” Paupin went on. “That’s a smart scheme you thought up, Miss Boyd, but now let’s grab some sleep shall we?”
“Go ahead,” smiled the girl, crossing to the interior door and opening it. “I doubt if they’ll try again, so I’m going to bed. Good night.”
With that, the girl left Bludso’s room and went to the one she would share with Lucienne. All in all Belle felt that the boredom of waiting in the dark for a visit from Cornwall’s man had been worthwhile. She felt sure that the saloonkeeper would be fooled and thrown off their trail. That only left the main problem, the destruction of the counterfeiting plant, for them to worry about. Nothing could be done about that until they learned more about the Gaton house’s defenses. She wondered if the men she met at Lucienne’s shop had recovered and made a guess at her mission or identity.
So far neither had. In a room at the military hospital Kaddam lay unconscious and with a fractured skull, while Turnpike waited for the drugs prescribed by the doctor to overcome the pain of his throbbing head and let him sleep. Before he could think of the events at Madam Lucienne’s shop, sleep claimed him and he did not wake up until late the following morning.
Even then Turnpike did not rush to resume his interrupted work. Lethargy induced by the drugs kept him content to lie in bed until a recurring thought nagged its way through to him. Had there been more to the affair at the shop than a mere attempt at robbery? Before being sedated, he had learned all he could about the couple’s actions and escape; but the doctor insisted that he must sleep before doing anything about it.
Sitting up, Turnpike called for his clothes. For all that, it was late in the afternoon before he entered Lucienne’s shop. Making a thorough examination, he found the till empty and the ledger gone. His own people had searched the shop without finding anything to lead them to its owner, or tell of her activities. Yet he felt sure that his information as to her being a Confederate spy was true.
Could the theft of the ledger be more than coincidence? Did Lucienne send those two with orders to collect it and prevent whatever it contained falling into the wrong hands?
Certainly such skill with a gun as the small man showed could not be found in the normal sneak-thief. Turnpike would never forget the speed with which the man drew and fired at him.
Leaving the shop, Turnpike returned to his department’s office and read through records, trying to find some report of the small man. Night came with him no nearer to an answer. He sat alone in the office, thinking about the small man. Then he turned his attention to the woman, remembering that she did all the talking and showed a fair turn of speed in handling Kaddam.
Going into the shop, knowing it to be in Yankee hands, called for a special brand of courage. One name leapt instantly to mind in connection with such an act. Belle Boyd, the Rebel Spy, had the audacity and nerve to do it. Yet she was reported to be in Arkansas. It seemed highly unlikely that Lucienne could have contacted Belle Boyd so quickly. Of course the Rebel Spy might have come to New Orleans on some other mission. Turnpike could think of only one thing in New Orleans big enough to attract Belle Boyd. Rising, he dashed from the office in search of a carriage.
Thirteen – The
Raid
“Six men?” Dusty Fog said in surprise, looking at the big, powerful Negro at Jim Bludso’s side.
“That’s all,” replied Willie, Bludso’s striker. “They turns out all the colored folks afore dark.”
“Maybe they move a guard in after dark,” Dusty remarked.
“No, sir,” Willie answered. “Once in a while they has visitors, but only one or two of ’em at a time. I asked around among the house staff and they know.”
“It’s possible that they think they don’t need a big guard, Dusty,” Belle pointed out. “They don’t know that we stopped the consignment and hope to avoid attention by not having the house heavily guarded.”
“They sure ain’t like that Yankee colonel along the street from ’em,” Willie commented. “He’s done got thirty men on hand all the time guarding him.”
“That’s a mighty big guard for a colonel’s residence, even in occupied territory,” Dusty stated. “It’s near on half a company.”
“There’s not been sufficient civic unrest to warrant that big a guard,” Belle agreed. “How close to the Gaton house are they, Willie?”
“A quarter of a mile, ma’am,” the Negro replied. “Only they’d not need to shout for help. There’s a telegraph wire running down the back from Gaton’s house to where the colonel lives.”
It was mid-afternoon and Dusty’s party gathered in Jim Bludso’s room to hear Willie give his report. Clearly the’ big Negro possessed excellent methods of gathering information, for he gave a very clear picture of the house. In far less time than Dusty would have believed possible, Willie had gathered enough details to make planning the raid feasible.
No white man could have done it in so short a time. Posing as a freed, but unemployed slave, Willie visited the Gaton house’s servants’ entrance and asked for work. Being big, strong, jovial and attractive to women, he ingratiated himself rapidly among the household staff. While it turned out that they could not hope to gain permanent employment for him, the staff let him stay with them. In return for helping with their work, they gave him much information and permitted him to see around both building and grounds. He noticed that the gardens appeared in need of attention, but his offer to do some tidying up met with refusal. For some reason or other, Massa Gaton gave orders that none of the staff must stray from the paths and had discharged one man who started to go amongst the bushes. Although unable to make a search of the garden and learn the reason for the ban, Willie managed to see the telegraph wires.
“They runs across the garden from a downstairs window,” he said. “And the one to the colonel’s house ain’t on its own.”
“There’re more of them?” asked Dusty.
“Sure are, Cap’n. I saw two more. Only they was fastened about eighteen inches above the ground and to the bushes. Couldn’t see where they went and didn’t find a chance to look closer.”
“You know what they are, Dusty?” Belle put in, the words a statement rather than a question.
“Trip wires,” he replied. “The Yankees used them and ground torpedoes up around Little Rock. One end of the wire’s fastened to a pull-primer and when you hit it, the charge goes up.”
“That’s what I thought,” the girl confirmed. “Maybe they’ll have the torpedoes in place too.”
“Give them their due, those Yankees are smart,” Dusty said. “Just six men at the house, but a good-sized guard on hand. Not in the house to draw attention and start our folks wondering why they’re there, but close enough to arrive in a hurry if they’re needed.”
“The telegraph manned day and night, most likely,” Belle went on.
“You can count on that, ma’am,” Willie remarked. “Least-wise there’s one room downstairs that’s allus got a man in it. Maid I asked allowed he’d got him some scientifical instrument in there, but she didn’t know what it was. Way she described it, I’d say it was a telegraph key like I saw a few times on the river.”
“Which room, Willie?”
“First on the right at the foot of the main stairs, Cap’n. Door was shut all the time I was there.”
“Locked?”
“If it was, the gal didn’t mention it.”
“I never did like them too easy,” Belle sighed. “If we set off whatever’s at the end of one of those trip-wires the telegraph operator starts sending a warning, even if the soldiers don’t see and hear the explosion.”
“Or goes to tapping his key should anybody slip through the wires and get into the house,” Dusty continued.
“Can we break in?” Bludso demanded.
“We’re going to make a try,” Dusty assured him. “We’ll have to go tonight, too if we can.”
“The longer we wait, the better chance for Cornwall to find us,” Lucienne put in. “Or for the Yankees to hear something and get suspicious. I’d say tonight, if it can be done.”
“Are you set, Jim?” Dusty wanted to know.
“Got all we need, Cap’n. We cut open some incendiary shells and poured the stuff into small barrels. A couple of them ought to do all we need. How many men do you want?”
“As few as we can manage with. You, Willy, Saul and—”
“And me,” interrupted Belle. “No arguments, Dusty. This’s my assignment and I mean to see it through.”
“Belle and me then,” Dusty finished and grinned at the man. “Giving in to her straight off saves time. She sure is a strong-willed gal.”
“Will that be enough?” asked Lucienne. “You don’t need more men?”
“It ought to be enough,” Dusty answered. “We have to go quietly, so the smaller the party, the better.”
“How about you, Lucy gal,” Bludso grinned. “You want to come along?”
“Not me,” the woman laughed. “The days when I went in for that kind of stuff are long over. I’ll stay here ready to do anything that needs doing. How do you intend to play it, Dusty?”
“This’s how I reckon,” he replied and outlined his plans. Night found the party Dusty named standing before the Gaton house. With Jim Bludso and Willie as their guides, they passed unnoticed through the town and that despite the kegs and other equipment they carried. For the most part they went by back streets and other deserted ways, but occasionally needed to pass other people. At such time the men gathered around Belle, who was definitely feminine despite her male attire, and gave an impression of being a group of revelers on their way home from some celebration.
Luck favored them in that they found St. Charles Avenue deserted. The big gates of Gaton’s house were closed and locked.
“We’ll have to go over the wall,” Belle breathed.
“Around the side then,” Dusty replied and led the way. Even in the alley separating Gaton’s home from its neighbor, the surrounding wall rose ten feet high and carried pieces of broken glass fixed to its top. When Dusty heard of the added protection, he laid plans to circumvent it. Unfastening the thick roll of blankets he wore slung across his shoulders, Dusty looked to make sure Belle kept watch and then walked to the base of the wall. Already Jim Bludso and Willie had set down the small kegs they carried and stood waiting to do their parts. Placing his right foot into Bludso’s cupped hands, Dusty thrust himself upwards with the left. At the same moment Bludso began to lift and Dusty rose up the wall. Willie’s hands went under Dusty’s left foot and the two big men hoisted the small Texan into the air until he was level with the top of the wall, then held him there.
Supported by the two men, Dusty spread a thick pad of blanket over the top of the wall. Although the broken edges of the glass made uncomfortable bumps, they could not cut through several thicknesses of the folded material. Sitting astride the padding, Dusty gave the grounds a quick scrutiny and saw no sign of guards. Already Paupin was being hoisted up by the two men and at Dusty’s signal took a seat facing him. Leaving her post, Belle joined the men. She unslung the coil of rope from her shoulder and tossed one end to Dusty so he could haul up Paupin’s tool bag. Next Belle came up and joined the two men on t
op of the wall.
“I’ll go down first,” she whispered.
Gripping the rope, Belle slid down it to the ground with Dusty holding the other end. The girl kept close to the wall, taking the bag which Paupin lowered and then the two kegs. On the other side of the wall, Willie handed Bludso up to the waiting men and then received their help to climb up and drop down, joining Belle.
“Keep close to the wall!” Dusty ordered.
When making his plans, Dusty gambled on there being no trip-wires or ground torpedoes close to the surrounding walls, or on the main path to the house. Unless he missed his guess, the Yankees would expect an attacking party to approach through the cover of the bushes and must have laid their defenses accordingly. So he planned to reach the house by the front path; doing the unexpected often paid dividends.
“I’d like to unlock that gate before going to the house, Cap’n,” Paupin breathed. “If we have to run for it, there won’t be time.”
“It’s your game we’re playing, Saul,” Dusty answered. “Go to it.”
By the time they reached the gates, Dusty knew the first part of his gamble had been successful. They had encountered no trip-wires or ground torpedoes so close to the wall. Nor had Paupin found any difficulty in opening the heavy lock securing the gates. Before going further, the party took precautions against being recognized. Each one carried a cloth hood, made up that evening, designed to cover the head and trail down to the shoulders. In addition the men wore clothes which could not lead to their being identified. Slipping on their hoods, taking care that they could see through the eye-holes, the party advanced silently along the edge of the path.
Lights glowed in the main hail and a few other rooms, showing that at least some of the six men were present and not yet in bed. The sight did not cause any thought among the party that Dusty’s plans were going wrong. Working on the assumption that the Yankees would expect any such an attempt to come between midnight and dawn, Dusty arranged for them to reach the house just after nine o’clock. In that way, he hoped to take the defenders by surprise.
