by tiffy
ʺI come a long way with some pretty important information.ʺ He eyed Wilkinson, amazed for the hundredth time that this little popinjay was a man with whom Clark Jamison and Raoul Castal would ally. Both were members of the Mexican Association in New Orleans, an organization dedicated to appropriating Spanish land to create an empire in the West.
ʺAnd just what news from New Orleans?ʺ Wilkinsonʹs tone was neutral, his florid face expressionless.
Scudder spat with disgust, hitting the polished brass cuspidor in the comer with a loud ping. He saw the general wince with distaste and grinned nastily. ʺOh, them sneaky Spaniards ʹn Creole dandies is all cosied up with yer old friend Jamison. Seems both the Americans and the Frenchies in the Mexican Association want to join the Spanish officers whoʹll sell out their own flag to get rich.ʺ He eyed Wilkinson with the insult hanging in the air, thick as stale cigar smoke.
Wilkinson, too, was an officer selling out his flag. ʺWhat they want to know is when your man Pike should be in Santy Fe.ʺ
ʺI have already sent word to General Salcedo in Chihuahua City. Patrols will be scouring the Camino Real. Within two months, we should have our war,ʺ
Wilkinson replied smugly.
Scudder scratched his greasy hair, looking dubious. ʺJefferson has set his mind to keepinʹ peace with the Spanish. Way I rigger it, that crafty old man in Washington is watchinʹ ye . . . watchinʹ ye real close.ʹʹ He detected a faint tic under Wilkinsonʹs right eye.
ʺWhat do you mean?ʺ
Scudder smiled, revealing a wolfishly long set of strong yellow teeth. ʺYe had a young officer posted hereusta be under yer command in New Orleans. Named Shelby.ʺ
ʺShelbyʹs dead,ʺ the general said with flat finality.
ʺOh, he may be dead, but what about that blackhaired bitch whoʹs been swishinʹ
her tail at ye ʹn yer men, Madam Louvois?ʺ
Wilkinson looked mildly abashed, as if accused by his wife of some marital infractionone sin he would never commit. ʺWhat of the lady?ʺ He had not trusted her, but Scudderʹs next words nearly choked him.
ʺSheʹs Samuel Shelbyʹs sisterand we know she works for Thomas Jefferson.
Jamison riggers she come out here to do more than claim her brotherʹs body.ʺ
Wilkinson ran his fingers across his pink scalp. ʺThere is no body. The young troublemaker drowned in a boating accident. If you think sheʹs looking for some incriminating evidence in his personal effects, Iʹve had them thoroughly searched. There were a few notes, all disposed of now. I doubt she can cause any trouble.ʺ
Scudder chuckled mirthlessly. ʺI know she canʹt. I had her ʹn her man Coombs disposed of by a pair of river rats.ʺ
Wilkinson flinched openly now. ʺI will not countenance killing a female. You will call this off at once.ʺ
ʺAlready been done.ʺ Scudder spat again.
Wilkinson looked at the complacent oaf with his condescension back in place.
ʺUnless your thugs slipped into the Widow Fourierʹs place in the wee hours, the lady is in blooming health. She was at the Chouteausʹ ball last night.ʺ
Scudder swore, then stared at Wilkinson. ʺDid she tell ye her man Coombs was tryinʹ to hire that renegade Santy Fe trader, Quinn? Now I just wonder what theyʹre planninʹeh, General?ʺ
Wilkinsonʹs face went pale beneath his florid complexion.
The morning dawned with brilliant yellow sunshine and a brisk breeze off the river, making the August heat quite bearable. Elise wore a nononsense riding habit of blue homespun, certain she would not find the infamous Spanish renegade the least susceptible to feminine wiles. Indeed, she most definitely did not want to attract such a dangerous ruffian in any manner. She only wanted him to agree to her termsstrictly a business proposition.
As she bade the Widow Fourier good day and set out, she struggled to forget the previous evening. Several times she caught herself touching her lips with her fingertips, where he had kissed her. Who was the man? A French agent sent by Edouard? Absurd. Her husband was not even in the country and cared nothing for her activities. That seducer was probably an American. She stopped herself.
Forget him and concentrate on what you will say to Quinn.
ʺHow much are you planninʹ ta pay fer the trip?ʺ Elijah asked, noting her oddly agitated manner.
ʺI have my share of Fatherʹs estate, and I can probably arrange to draw on Samuelʹs as well now.ʺ
ʺThat much.ʺ He whistled low.
For a moment, her face revealed the anxiety she had so successfully hidden, but she spoke calmly. ʺI plan to offer only a thousand to Santiago Quinn. I suspect that will be adequate for some wilderness outlaw. Outfitting for such a long trip might be somewhat costly. We shall see. You said he is already arranging a caravan now. Surely two passengers can cause him little inconvenience.ʺ
Elijah remembered his earlier meeting with the hard‐eyed renegade and thought Quinn might consider a white female on a sidesaddle more than a ʺlittle inconvenient,ʺ but he held his peace as they crested the rutted road and cleared a stand of hickory trees. They had agreed to meet Quinn at the local race course a few miles north of the city. The sight that greeted their eyes exceeded the squalid waterfront in barbarism.
The track was no more than a muddy quarter‐mile circle on the prairie. A motley assortment of humanity clustered in small groups, most avidly watching a race between two horses whose riders seemed more intent on slashing and gouging each other with rawhide quirts and fists than in controlling their swiftly moving steeds. One rider was a naked savage clad only in a breechclout, the other a ʺBoston,ʺ as the St. Louis Creoles called Americans. The mountain man was almost as scandalously dressed as the Indian, wearing only greasy buckskin breeches and heavy boots, which he used to wicked advantage, kicking his opponent.
They crossed the finish line with the Indian ahead by a nose. A cheer went up from the crowd, interspersed by highly inventive cursing in all the languages that Elise spoke and several others she did not. Elegantly dressed Creole gentlemen and rude Kentucky backwoodsmen collected bets. Some of the ʺBostonsʺ looked none too sober in spite of the early morning hour. Indians, rivermen, and black slaves added to the chaos. Elise scanned the crowd, trying to imagine which of the disreputable criminal types would be Quinn, finally settling on a swarthy little fellow arguing with a riverman in Spanish‐accented English. Then she had a closer look at the big Indian who had just won the race.
He was that scoundrelʹs companion! As if conjured, a second tall head appeared beside the savage, with the sun glinting off his dark russet hair. He was again dressed in buckskins, elaborately fringed and worked with a highly colored quill design. The savage clothes seemed molded to his body. There was something about him, exotic, mysterious. Damn the man!
She turned to Elijah. ʺDo you see the renegade?ʺ
ʺOver there. Appears to be a big winner, betting on his partnerʹs horse.ʺ Coombs pointed to Spybuck and Santiago, who was collecting yet another bet from a surly ʺBostonʺ who misliked losing to an Indian.
As Elise tamped her outrage from a high flame to a simmering burn, Santiago sauntered arrogantly toward them with the Indian at his side. He nodded curtly to Coombs and then appraised Elise with deliberate slowness. ʺIʹm frankly surprised to see a lady at the racetrack, Miss Louvois.ʺ He glanced from her to Elijah. ʺI believe we have business to discuss, Mr. Coombs. Where is the other fellow who wants to go with us to Santa Fe?ʺ
Elijah knew he was in over his head. Quinn and his friend must be the white ruffian and Indian who had rescued Elise at the waterfront. ʺYe have met?ʺ
ʺTwice,ʺ Elise replied coldly.
ʺBoth times my pleasure, Miss Louvois. Allow me to introduce my partner, Spybuck.ʺ The Creek nodded silently. Santiago loved the way the pulse in her throat revealed her agitation. Turning his attention to business, he asked Coombs, ʺAre you still interested in the trip?ʺ
ʺYes, we are,ʺ Elise replied and took smug satisfaction in the look of frank incredulity spreading across his f
ace.
ʺWhite women do not ride the Royal Road, Missʺ
ʺIt is Mrs. Louvois. Iʹm a widow,ʺ she lied, continuing the convenient fiction she had used to explain Edouardʹs absence for many years. ʺAnd I shall be the first to cross overland to the Spanish capital. I have important business there.ʺ
Santiago stared at her with narrowed eyes, hard as green glass, then looked contemptuously to her rented nag. ʺYou expect to ride nearly a thousand miles sidesaddle?ʺ
ʺI was born and raised in Virginia, Mr. Quinn. My riding abilities are superb, I assure you.ʺ
ʺThe prairie and mountains out west are not Virginia.ʺ
ʺNeither are the islands along the Ohio River, but I managed to traverse them in spite of outlaws and pirates. Iʹll endure any discomfort necessary to reach my goal. If youʹre arguing to drive up your price as guide, it wonʹt work,ʺ she said in a dulcet voice.
ʺLady, I donʹt frankly give a damn if you offer the Emperor Napoleonʹs crown jewels. I will not take a woman to Santa Fe!ʺ He turned away, but her hand on his arm stayed him.
ʺI must be in Santa Fe as quickly as possibleitʹs a matter of life or death!ʺ
ʺI agreeyour life if I took you.ʺ
Elise had not felt so much like stamping her foot since Samuel had put a frog in her boot when she was ten years old. Samuel! ʺMy brother is being held captive there and I must free him.ʺ The minute she blurted out those words, Elise could have bitten off her tongue. She had never given anything away in bargaining before! But her younger brother might be languishing in a Spanish prison!
Santiago raised one eyebrow cynically. ʺAnd he is your only brother, the light of your life, imprisoned unjustly by the Spanish?ʺ
ʺHeʹs the only family I have in the world,ʺ she replied tightly. ʺHe is also an American patriot on a special mission to avert war between Spain and the United States. There are others who want war, and they will stop at nothing.ʺ
He studied her flushed, beautiful face. She was a regal little enchantress, used to getting her way, but did she really care for this brother? ʺThese men who want war with Spainare they by any chance in league with the debonair fellows who tried to abduct you at the river?ʺ
ʺYes. I wish you had not killed them both. We could have questioned them.ʺ
ʺI abjectly apologize for our thoughtless behavior,ʺ Spybuck interjected drily, startling both the woman and Coombs with his precise English.
Elise struggled to conceal her amazement and smiled, nodding her head to him.
ʺItʹs not that Iʹm ungrateful, Mr. Spybuck, but I am desperate. I must reach my brother before the men who hired those thugs to kill me, kill him. I will not impede your journey. No one wishes to reach the Spanish capital any faster than I.ʺ
ʺThe way there is filled with swarms of black flies and mosquitos that will chew you alive, sun and wind to blister that satiny white skin, and a dozen hostile tribes of Indians who would love nothing better than to have all that shiny black hair to decorate their lodge poles,ʺ Santiago said conversationally. She did not flinch. ʺIʹll take my chances. If I slow you down, you have every right to leave me to the tender mercies of the prairie you so vividly described, Mr. Quinn.ʺ
Coombs blanched. ʺElise, ye might wish to reconsiderʺ
She shook her head, silencing him with a look he knew well. ʺI will pay you one thousand dollars in silver now. Another thousand will await you here in St.
Louiswhen we return.ʺ
He regarded her with detached amusement. That was a good summany times the going rate for a guide. By the cut of her clothes and the company she kept, Santiago imagined Elise Louvois was rich. He decided to find out how rich.
ʺThat isnʹt enough,ʺ he said, his hands casually resting on the brace of .67 caliber Hawkins pistols in his sash.
ʺI told you I wouldnʹt be coerced into raising my price.ʺ She tapped her foot until his eyes lit on it in amusement. Angrily, she stopped the irritated gesture and stared back at him. Damn the arrogant renegade!
ʺYour offer is too low,ʺ he said flatly.
ʺThis could be a matter of war between my country and yours. Surelyʺ
He laughed mirthlessly. ʺIf youʹre trying to appeal to my patriotism as a Spanish subject, youʹre wasting your time and mine. Spanish justice made me an outlaw.ʺ
ʺI shall file that away for future reference, Mr. Quinn. You have not a shred of compassion or loyalty. How does two thousand to start and another two thousand upon returning sound?ʺ
ʺMake it three thousand each way,ʺ Santiago said, rubbing his jaw as he watched her. Very rich indeed. And very desperate. ʺDone. I shall have Mr. Coombs bring you the first installment this afternoon.ʺ
Santiago nodded. ʺBring Spanish silver, no bank notes. Weʹll leave tomorrow from here at daybreak. There will be no amenities on the trail.ʺ
ʺI shall survive without a ladyʹs maid, Mr. Quinn,ʺ she replied with cool disdain.
PART II
THE ROAD TO SANTA FE
Chapter Seven
Elise spent the day packing suitable clothes, while Elijah purchased horses for their journey. When they met to finalize their plans that evening, he had a bit of disturbing information for her. He had seen the Mexican Associationʹs hired killer, Jedediah Scudder, here in St. Louisarguing with Santiago Quinn.
ʺNaturally I slid into the back of the tavern and listened around the corner. It seems Quinn has sold guns to Scuddersmuggled in from Canada.ʺ
ʺWeʹve intercepted several of those arms shipments bound for New Orleans over the past months.ʺ She chewed her lip in vexation. ʺCan we dare go with Quinn in light of this? He plays the role of disinterested trader well, but what if heʹs in league with Wilkinson?ʺ
ʺI donʹt think so. Scudder tried to buy his way onto the caravan, but Quinn refused him. Seems there was a dispute over payment for the weapons. Quinn had to extract his price from Scudder at gunpoint. I think heʹll have no more dealings with the conspirators.ʹʹ
ʺBad business, non? ʺ Elise asked cynically. She would never trust the renegade.
ʺWhat of Scudder? Do ye think heʹll try to kill us again?ʺ
Elise considered. ʺHe will have little time, since we leave tomorrow.ʺ
Recalling another matter, Coombs reached into his coat pocket. ʺHereʹs the weapon ye asked me to purchase. The eight‐inch barrel is a bit big for a womanʹs hand, but an English screw‐barrel pistol is less likely to misfire.ʺ
ʺI wonʹt make the mistake of carrying it in a reticule, either.ʺ
She unscrewed the barrel and checked the mechanism, then replaced it and slid it into a long open pocket cut in the side of her skirt. ʺI had Madame Fourier sew large pockets in all my clothes to conceal weapons, although I didnʹt explain that purpose to her. My mistake was in not carrying a real gun with me to this vile wilderness.ʺ
Elise shivered. ʺIf God will not cross the Mississippi to St. Louis, how bad will it be by the time we travel all the way to Santa Fe?ʺ
Sleep eluded Elise that night. She lay staring into the darkness, haunted by piercing green eyes and a cynical white smile. I shall be traveling for weeks with him. Her fingers again touched her lips, and she remembered that kiss. How different it was from any other, certainly different from her husbandʹs.
Elise hung suspended in that twilight world between sleep and wakefulness until a sudden rustling noise at her open window roused her. She looked through the sheer netting on her bed and saw a dark figure blocking the moonlight, moving toward her! She tried to roll across the bed, but the sheets slowed her just enough. A big calloused hand clamped over her mouth while the other arm wrapped around her waist, squeezing the air from her lungs.
She clawed frantically beneath her pillows for her pistol while she bit down on his fingers as hard as she could. Jedediah Scudder cursed, and she renewed her efforts.
ʺWastinʹ yer time, bitch. I mean to finish ye, but first . . .ʺ He ripped open the sheer white‐lawn nightrail and pinched her breast painfully.
&nb
sp; When a strangled cry escaped her, Scudder laughed. He imprisoned her beneath him and thrust a fat pillow over her face. Everything started to go black, when suddenly Scudderʹs weight was gone. She could feel the bed rock as her attacker fought with someone. Scooting toward the headboard, she searched frantically for her gun while two blurry shadows thrashed and punched each other. Elise saw her gun lying on the floor where her struggle with Scudder must have knocked it. She slid from the mattress and seized the weapon. But who to aim at?
When a shaft of moonlight hit Scudderʹs face, Elise leaped onto the bed, jammed the gun into his back, and fired. The impact threw her against the headboard, but the shot was surprisingly muffled by his body. She huddled in the pillows, still clutching the gun as Scudder hit the floor.
ʺElijah?ʺ
ʺIʹm afraid not,ʺ Santiago replied as he rolled the dead man face‐up and examined him. ʺCoombs is dead. I was riding up Walnut Street when I saw two men struggling. I recognized Coombs and tried to help, but this bastard stabbed him and vanished down an alley. I tried to summon help, but Coorobs was dying. He told me to come herethat Scudder would try to kill you next.ʺ
Elise bit down on her knuckles to keep from crying aloud. ʺElijah has been my friend for two years. He . . . he was a good man.ʺ
ʺIʹm sorry for his death, but grateful for my life.ʺ He pried the knife from Scudderʹs hand. ʺHe could have killed me, too,ʺ Santiago said simply as he stood up. ʺIs your hostess deaf not to have heard all this?ʺ
ʺShe is hard of hearing, and her room is at the opposite end of the house. The servants sleep downstairs. If you had not come . . .ʺ She shivered, thinking of Scudderʹs vile breath and cruel hands against her flesh.
ʺAre you all right, madam?ʺ She looked like a beautiful waif as she sat huddled in the center of the big, disheveled bed with her inky hair gleaming silver in the moonlight. Her gown was ripped, revealing the milky swell of a breast, and she was fighting back tears. Somehow Santiago knew this was not a woman who cried often. He placed one knee on the mattress and reached out to her, taking the gun from her hand and tossing the spent weapon to the foot of the bed. Then he gathered her into his arms and held her.
