by J. T. Edson
“You wanting something?”
“Is Jim Bludso here?” Belle inquired.
“He sure am, gal,” grinned the Negress. “Does you-all want him?”
“I’m his sister,” Belle replied.
“Ain’t dey all, gal?” asked the Negress and ambled away.
Crossing the room, the Negress halted by the big civilian with the three petty officers. A puzzled expression flickered across his face as the woman spoke and indicated Belle. One of the petty officers made a comment and his companions laughed, then the civilian rose and walked in Belle’s direction.
Studying the man, Belle formed an impression of strength, toughness and capability. He wore a short coat, open-necked shirt, trousers tucked into sea-boots and a long-bladed knife hung sheathed at his left side. Good-looking in a rugged, tanned way, he grinned as he drew near.
“Why howdy,” he greeted. “Are you-all a sister on my mammy or pappy’s side?”
“Why Jim,” Belle replied. “Pappy’s for sure. He told me to come here and speak to you about your extravagant ways. Three silk ball gowns for your wife, for shame.”
If the words carried any special meaning to the big man, he gave no sign of it. The smile never left his lips and he took the girl’s right arm in his big left hand. Gently but firmly he turned her towards the door.
“Let’s us go someplace quiet where we can talk about it,” he suggested.
“Why I just adore big strong men,” Belle purred. “But I don’t need force—”
“You keep on walking like we the best of friends, gal,” Jim Bludso ordered. “If you don’t, I’ll bust your arm.”
Belle carried the parasol in her left hand, but did not offer to take it apart as a means of defending herself. To do so in the hotel invited capture. Once outside, she and Dusty between them ought to be able to handle Jim Bludso. Unresisting, she allowed herself to be steered towards the front door.
Chapter 10
Another Talented Lady
With Bludso retaining a grip on her arm, Belle left the hotel. She darted a glance in either direction as she walked through the door, but could see no sign of Dusty. Wondering where the small Texan might be, she allowed Bludso to steer her along the sidewalk and into the alley at the left side of the building.
“Just what’s the game?” she demanded, realising that she ought to be saying or doing something.
“What do you know about those ball gowns?” Bludso countered, not relaxing his grip.
“Only what Madam Lucienne wanted me to know.”
“Who’re you?”
“Would you believe me if I said I was her dress designer?”
“No—,” Bludso began.
At that moment he heard a soft footfall behind him. So did Belle, but with a difference—she could guess at who approached quietly from behind them. Even as Bludso sent his left hand towards the hilt of the knife he wore, Belle made her play. With Dusty so close at hand, she decided not to release her skirt. Although retaining the garment lessened the methods by which she could defend herself, she felt adequate to the present situation.
Raising her left leg, Belle stamped backwards to drive the heel of her shoe hard against Bludso’s left shin. A croak of pain broke from his lips and he involuntarily loosened his hold on the girl’s arm. With a heave Belle freed herself and shot her elbow back to collide with Bludso’s solar plexus. Taken unawares by the attack, Bludso rocked back and struck the wall. A tough, hard man—riverboat life did not breed weaklings—he threw off the effects of Belle’s stamp and blow fast; the recovery might not have been so speedy if the girl used her full power. Before Bludso could make a move, Dusty stood before him with a lined Army Colt.
“Hold it right there, mister,” the small Texan ordered and the cocking click of the gun added its backing to the command.
Bludso was no fool. Maybe he lacked a comprehensive knowledge of gunfighters’ ways, but he knew enough to recognise top class work when he saw it. Small the man before him might be, but he handled the Colt with a casual, assured ease that told of long practice. From his voice, he hailed out of Texas and the Lone Star State had already begun to build its reputation for producing skilled revolver-handling men. Significantly the small Texan stood just close enough to ensure a hit, but too far away to allow a successful grab by Bludso at his weapon.
In addition Bludso could not overlook the manner in which the girl defended herself. Not in panic, but with deadly, skilled purpose and just at the right moment when his attention was divided between her and the approaching man.
“Southrons hear your country call you,” Belle said quietly.
“Up lest worse than death befall you,” Bludso replied, feeling just a touch relieved at the familiar password. “Why didn’t you say you were one of us?”
“You never gave me a chance,” Belle pointed out. “I think they’ve got Madam Lucienne. There were two of Pinkerton’s spies at the shop when we arrived.”
“So it was you pair who downed Turnpike and Kaddam,” Bludso said. “Come with me, this’s not the place for us to stand talking.”
With that Bludso turned and walked through the alley towards the rear. He showed such complete trust that Dusty and Belle did not hesitate to follow. At the back of the hotel a flight of stairs ran up to a first floor room and Bludso began to climb them. Not until then did Belle request advice.
“Where’re we going?” she asked.
“This’s where I live and I can’t think of a better place for us to talk,” Bludso answered. “It’s better we go this way than through the front door. Those Yankee brass-pounders’re used to me meeting gals, but not when the gal has a feller along with her.”
“It’s your play,” Dusty stated.
At the top of the stairs Bludso opened his room’s door and walked straight in. Deciding that the man probably did not need to use correct manners with his normal run of lady-friends, Belle followed and Dusty brought up the rear. As soon as they entered the room, its door slammed behind them and a lantern’s light burst out from under cover. Dusty cursed, bringing up his gun, but was so dazzled by the sudden light that he could not see anything more than a milky-white blur. Nor did Belle fare any better. Dusty carried her bag in his left hand, which allowed her to jerk the head from her parasol and free its deadly billy. Armed in that way, she still could barely see enough to use the billy. Clearly Bludso expected the light. On entering, he must have kept his eyes closed and avoided the main impact of the glare. Out came his knife and he dropped easily into a knife-fighter’s crouch. Facing Dusty and Belle, he darted a glance at the woman who stood holding a bucket with which she had covered the lighted lantern until it was required.
“You sure fell for that one, Belle gal,” the woman said with a broad grin.
“Don’t shoot, Dusty!” warned Belle, recognising the voice.
When Dusty’s eyes cleared, he saw a plump, jovial-looking woman with hair that retained its red tint through liberal use of henna dye. Even clad in a cheap dress such as a woman of the dock-area might wear, she gave off an air of theatrical leanings and looked as if she played a part rather than belonged to the district.
“You know them, Lucy?” asked Bludso.
“Not the feller, but the girl is Belle Boyd.”
“So you’re safe after all, Lucienne,” Belle said, reassembling her parasol.
“Sure,” Madam Lucienne replied. “I see you worked out where to come from my ledger. I didn’t have time to take it with me when I lit out.”
“Sorry, Miss Boyd,” Bludso said, sheathing his knife. “I didn’t know who you might be and wasn’t in a position to raise the question. So I figured that it’d be best to get you up here where Lucy and me could tend to your needings. Let’s get sat down, in case I have callers.”
Sitting around the table, the quartet got down to business. After Dusty had been introduced, Madam Lucienne told how she escaped from the two Yankee agents.
“I don’t know how they found out about me,�
� she said, “but I recognised one of them and pulled out the back when they came in at the front. I came down here, changed and have been with Jim from this morning. We aimed to see if we could get into the shop and collect the ledger tonight.”
“We’ve saved you that chore,” Belle told her. “Is there anything else of importance in the shop?”
“Nothing that they can find, or would help them if they did,” Lucienne replied. “I never kept written records if I could help it and all my other gear’s safe. What brings you and Captain Fog into New Orleans, Belle?”
“Something really important,” the girl replied, darting a glance at Bludso. “How do you fit into this?”
“Jim and I work together,” Lucienne explained. “He passes on the information our folks gather when he goes up river.”
“The Yankees need good engineers,” Bludso went on. “I’m one of the best and they can trust me. I’ve helped keep some of their boats working—.”
“After he and his men damaged them in the first place,” grinned Lucienne. “So you can trust Jim all the way.”
“Of course,” smiled Belle.
“I don’t trust folks on face value either,” Bludso said with a grin. “Which you may have noticed.”
Which put the meeting on a friendly basis again. Bludso, being a cautious man, did not object to Belle showing the same traits. Both worked in a business where the penalty for failure was death, and had learned early not to take any unnecessary chances.
Quickly Belle told of the discovery made in Arkansas and explained the serious threat posed by the counterfeiting for Bludso’s benefit. Soon the engineer’s face set in grim lines and he nodded his head.
“We’ll have to stop it,” he stated. “Thing now being, how to do it.”
“We’ll have to raid Gaton’s place,” Dusty said. “Only before we do it, I’d admire to know what force he has guarding it. We may need help.”
“That I can supply,” Bludso replied. “And I can fix it to learn all we need to know about Gaton’s guards. Got the combustibles we’ll need stashed away, too.”
“Do you have a man who knows how to break open a safe?” asked Belle.
“I don’t reckon so,” admitted Bludso.
“That’s where I can help,” Lucienne put in. “I can take you to a man who’ll supply a safe-breaker for a price.”
“I’ve five hundred dollars in gold in my bag,” Belle told her. ‘Will that be enough?”
“If not, we’ve our own supply to back you,” Lucienne replied. “While Jim learns all he can about Gaton’s place, you, Dusty and me will go visit this feller.”
“Who is he?” Belle asked.
“Harwold Cornwall.”
From the way Lucienne merely said the name, she concluded it to be enough and ought to tell the others all that was necessary. The name meant nothing to Dusty, although the time would come when he took an interest in the affairs of Harwold Cornwall.1 Certainly he was the only one present who did not know the man named.
“Hell, Lucy!” Bludso burst out. “You can’t take a lady like Miss Boyd into Cornwall’s place.”
“Can we trust him?” Belle asked, ignoring the man’s comment.
“About as far as you could throw a bull by the tail,” Lucienne replied. “But if the price’s right he will do what he can for us.”
“You have to excuse a half-smart lil country boy like me,” Dusty drawled. “But just who is this Cornwall hombre?”
“A thief,” growled Bludso.
“And just about the biggest in New Orleans,” Lucienne went on. “He’s smarter than most and the law’s never proved a thing against him. But he’s behind most of the law-breaking in the City.”
“Most of his kind got out before the Yankees arrived,” Bludso continued. “I reckon they thought there wouldn’t be any pickings.”
“Not Cornwall though,” Lucienne finished. “He runs a place called the Green Peacock not far from here. It’s real popular with the Yankees.”
“And you figure he’ll help us?” asked Dusty.
“If the price’s right he will,” Lucienne agreed. “Not that we’ll let him know why we want the safe-breaker. If he learns later, he won’t dare open his mouth about it. Anyway, I know enough about Cornwall to keep him quiet.”
“Let’s go then,” Belle suggested. “We’ve only three days to handle this business.”
“Why the rush?” Bludso inquired.
“A submersible is coming to pick us up three nights from now. So we’ll have to move real fast.”
“We’d best start right away then,” Lucienne stated. “You see to your end of it, Jim. I’ll take Belle and Dusty to see Cornwall.”
“Will it be safe for you to walk through the streets, Lucienne?” asked Dusty. “With the Yankees looking for you and all.”
“A change of clothing and hair-style’s all I need,” the woman assured him. “And I’ve had both of them here. Don’t forget that it was mostly the wives of the Yankee officers who knew me—and there’ll be none of them where we’re going.”
“How about the pair we had a run-in with at your place?” Dusty went on.
“From what I heard, neither of them are in any shape to be walking the streets tonight,” Lucienne answered.
“We have to take that chance anyway, Dusty,” Belle warned. “Lucienne can deal with Cornwall better than either of us.”
“That’s for sure,” agreed Lucienne. “I talk his language, Dusty. Come on, Belle. We’ll go to my room and fix ourselves up.”
“Something more suitable in clothing is definitely called for,” the girl admitted, running a hand down her dress.
Watching the girl leave, Dusty wondered what she intended to change into. Certainly the travelling suit would not fit into the scene at a fancy New Orleans saloon any more than the maid’s outfit.
While waiting for the women to return, Dusty and Bludso talked. Although the big man could shed no light on Lucienne’s past, or guess how she might know a man like Harwold Cornwall, he seemed certain that she could gain the criminal’s co-operation. In the course of their conversation, Bludso admitted that he knew of the secret submersible dock, but did not blame Belle for her reticence on the matter. He also seemed just as sure that he could learn all they would need to know about the lay-out and personnel at Gaton’s house.
“My striker off the old Prairie Belle’ll do it,” Bludso stated confidently. “Ole Willie’s real slick at learning things.”
“How about the combustibles?” Dusty asked.
“We’ve all we need in a safe place.”
“Best not make plans until we know exactly what we’ll need, though, Jim.”
“Nope. But I can raise all the men we might want at short notice.”
After that the conversation turned to more general matters; the progress of the War in the East and Arkansas was discussed, then Bludso spoke of conditions in occupied New Orleans.
At last the door opened and the women entered. Used as he had become to the way in which Belle could change her appearance, Dusty still stared hard at what he saw. To the best of his knowledge, the girl brought along only two dresses and the male clothing. Yet she walked into Bludso’s room clad in a manner more suited to a saloongirl than a travelling lady or a maid.
A blonde wig replaced the other and her beautiful face carried stage make-up like any saloongirl’s. Although she wore a black skirt still, it clung tighter to her and glinted flashily instead of being drab. Above the skirt, a sleeveless white satin blouse hugged her torso, left her shoulders bare and its decollete was cut low enough to allow the valley between her breasts to show. Despite its excellent quality, the jewellery she wore looked cheap and flashy when taken with her general appearance. Nor did the deadly parasol look out of place.
“Well?” she asked.
“That’d really make Uncle Devil bristle,” Dusty grinned. “How’d you do it?”
“Turned the skirt inside out and tightened it,” the girl explained. �
��Took the sleeves and part of the top off my blouse and turned it inside out too. Will it do, Dusty?”
“Do? I wouldn’t know you if I’d seen you passing in the street,” Dusty enthused. “Do all women’s clothes have such fancy fittings?”
“No,” Belle replied, then nodded in Madam Lucienne’s direction. “But I have a very smart seamstress.”
“I’ll be the last to deny that,” grinned the woman.
Turning his attention to Lucienne, Dusty realised that he stood in the presence of yet another talented lady. In addition to being able to design clothes ideally suited to a female spy’s specialised needs, Lucienne proved to be almost Belle’s equal at changing her appearance. She too now looked like the kind of woman who frequented saloons, with her hair and dress changed so that they met the required state. In fact both she and Belle looked so different that Dusty could understand their confidence at not being recognised.
At the corner of the Busted Boiler, Bludso left Belle, Lucienne and Dusty and went to organise his part of the business. The trio walked along behind the buildings for a time and then came out on to the street. With Lucienne guiding them, they passed quickly through what had been the centre of better-class waterfront entertainment before the War. Even with the Yankees in occupation several saloons remained open and drew trade.
The Green Peacock proved to be the biggest, best and most popular place on the street. In fact it drew such a volume of business that Dusty wondered if some special entertainment brought in the crowd. Music blared from a tolerably good band, mingling with laughter, droning conversation and the clatter of glasses. Naturally the majority of the customers wore Federal uniforms, although some civilians were present. Clearly the saloon rated highly, for Yankee Army, Navy and Marine personnel of various ranks gathered in it.
In the centre of the room stood a raised wooden platform, square in shape and with an upright post at each corner supporting two tight ropes which stretched all the way around. Dusty recognised the construction as a ‘ring’ of the kind used to stage fist fights. While the Texas Light Cavalry preferred more basic methods of settling their differences, or laid their sporting emphasis on events involving the use of horse or gun, a near-by Confederate infantry regiment went in for pugilism and often held prize fights to relieve their boredom between spells of active service.
