He wore a pained expression of injured innocence as he halted and half-turned to address the man who was more than twice his age. “We made a bargain, sir,” he reminded. “As soon as I had the money to give Julia all she’s enjoyed in the past, we’d have your blessing. Won’t you just come out and look?”
“Give my blessing to a thief?” the gray-haired man retorted.
“There was no other way, Mr. Gold,” Jefferson pleaded as the girl tried to pull him toward the buckboard. “And it wasn’t stealing, not really. Gambling’s a sin. You’ve always said it.”
“So’s stealing, only worse,” the old man snarled. “You cheated to get what you wanted.” His blazing eyes swung from Jefferson to his daughter and back again. “Both of you. And you got others to cheat with you. Even Howard, by God. So I’ve got no bad conscience about going back on my promise. You got each other, which is what you wanted. All you’re missing is my blessing. Now get out of this valley and don’t ever come back into it.”
He stepped back into the hallway, grasped the edge of the door, and slammed it viciously shut. The light behind the transom went out. And moments later, as Jefferson helped the girl up onto the buckboard, the large window of the sitting room faded. Just the orange flickering of a fire showed through the lace netting. Against it, Jefferson and the girl were silhouettes. She had her head bowed, and Edge heard the sounds of quiet sobbing just before her husband-to-be put one arm around her shoulders and used his other hand to flick the reins across the back of the horse. The buckboard jerked forward and started along the trail toward the wide way out of the valley.
“Turn around slow,” a man whispered, soft but harsh. If there had been just the one, Edge might have started slow and then whirled. But once his attention was drawn away from the departing buckboard, and he became aware that he was not alone among the out-buildings, he heard the sounds of two men breathing. The first man he saw was the emaciated stake-holder. He was leveling a Colt at the half-breed. Howy McNally, who was really ' Howard Gold and looked as much like his sister as she did her father, stood six feet to the right. He held an old-fashioned Colt revolving rifle.
The door of the bam behind them was open. Both were red-eyed from sleeping, and pieces of the straw in which they had been resting clung to their clothes.
“Rest the rifle against, the wall, mister,” the youngster with the battered face instructed. “Slow, like you turned. And don’t try nothing stupid. We don’t want nobody to get hurt.”
“I’ve already been hurt,” Edge replied easily, setting down the Winchester. “Real bad—in the bankroll.”
The thin man looked just as scared holding the gun as he had back in Jerusalem when he had been holding the money. “We should explain,” he said.
“The explanation I can work out for myself,” Edge replied. “What you should do is pay me what I’m owed.”
“Or you’ll do what?” the younger man sneered.
Edge curled back his lips in a grin that failed to reach his cold eyes. “Maybe take advantage of the fact that you don’t want to hurt anybody,” he said.
He drew. His upper arm did not move a fraction. But from his elbow to his fingertips the speed of the draw was a blur. At one split-second the Colt nestled harmlessly in his holster. In the next it was in his fist and pointing between the eyes of Howard Gold. It was a calculated risk, but of a kind upon which his survival had depended so many times. Gold might have fired in a reflex action, and the thin man might have squeezed his trigger from simple shock.
For long seconds, the far-off lowing of many head of beef was all that broke the silence trapped in the valley.
“If you guys don’t lower the irons, somebody’s sure gonna get hurt,” the half-breed said softly.
“You can’t blast both of us before one of us gets you,” Gold rasped, licking his lips.
“Chance I’m willing to take,” Edge replied in the same easy tone. “You know I’m a gambling man.”
The thin man’s Colt clattered to the ground. He cleared his throat to get rid of the lump of fear. “Don’t spoil it, Howy,” he pleaded. “Not now it’s all over. Nobody’s got hint yet.”
The tongue continued to moisten as the puffed eyes became clouded with thought. Then he lowered the ancient rifle and rested it against the wall. “What now?” he asked sullenly.
“We’ll go and collect my winnings,” Edge told him, waving the Colt to beckon the thin man across to stand next to Gold.
“Fat chance you’ve got,” Gold sneered.
“I reckon it’s in the bag,” Edge replied.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The troopers veered away from trails and turnpikes as they crossed eastern Virginia. They rode at night and rested during the day. They stole only once—clothing for Bob Rhett so that he could dispense with the gown and garish makeup. For the rest, they bought what they wanted—one man entering a town and going to the store while the others remained hiding outside. They spared the horses as much as possible to avoid the need of obtaining fresh mounts.
All could see the wisdom of Hedges’ plan, for they often spotted Rebel patrols and knew from rumors picked up in towns on shopping expeditions that the soldiers were seeking them. By staying out of sight and committing no crimes, they gave the enemy no opportunity to pinpoint their position and concentrate the search.
On the fifth day, they saw a marker pointing the way to Richmond in the gray light of breaking dawn. It indicated a distance of six miles which was too far, since it would mean that the troopers would cross the James River and enter the city in full daylight. And Hedges had no idea how easy it would be to find a safe place to hole up and wait until dark. Out in the country there were hiding places in plenty, and the captain led the weary-eyed and heavy-limbed troopers northward through an area of heavily wooded, rolling hills. He found a disused spur of the Richmond and Danville Railroad which deadended in a rotting locomotive shed, and here the men and animals could rest. But despite the utter lack of any sign that the shed had been visited in many years, each man stood a stint of guard duty.
And there was no griping about the captain’s overcautiousness. This did not surprise Hedges, for the attitude of the troopers had changed shortly after their explosive departure from Pineville. It was as if the roar of igniting gas had driven home to them the seriousness of their position. The last time they had been behind enemy lines was in far off Georgia, and they had been making a run for home. But now they were close to the well-protected heart of the Confederacy—and heading toward it. And as they neared their objective, their mood became less outgoing, more introspective. Each knew the reason for this change, but none uttered it—they were tasting fear, and to admit such a thing was not in their nature. Except, of course, for Rhett who had sought to alleviate his apprehension with low-voiced innuendoes directed toward Hedges’ bad judgment in getting the troopers into such a position, and with doubts about his ability to get them out of it.
But the willingness of the others to listen to the New England fag had grown less as the trek lengthened. Experience had taught them that in a tight comer they could have no better leader than the lean-faced, hooded-eyed captain. And anyway, in this particular situation, there was no alternative, for by his dour compliance with every order issued by Hedges, Forrest had proved himself uninclined to challenge for command. No man dared to voice the opinion that the mean-faced sergeant might be as scared as the rest of them. And that when men are scared they look to their strongest ally for leadership.
So the final day on the journey to Richmond passed as quietly as the one before. By turns, one man stood guard at the doorway of the shed while the others slept. Hedges stood his sentry duty from eight until ten, and when it was over, he roused all the men. They made a meal of jerked beef, cold beans, and plain water, then led their horses outside and mounted.
They rode in silence under a high, bright moon, crossing untracked country until the James River showed up as a silver streak in front of the cluttered skyline of
the city. Then they angled onto a turnpike which soon plunged through the buildings of the west side of Richmond. They crossed the river on Mayo’s Bridge and saw physical signs of danger as they rode at an easy walk along Fourteenth Street.
Since starting out from the old railroad shed on the spur, there had been merely the knowledge that they were within a spit in a high wind of the nerve center of the Confederacy. Then the silhouette of the city had been just an extension of the shadowy countryside, triggering the imagination into frightening fantasies of evil enemies lurking and watching.
But the many gray uniforms among the civilian garbs visible on the street were no imaginary figments.
“How many men you figure the Reb army has in this town, sir?” Forrest muttered, his eyes flicking suspiciously from left to right.
Hedges was also making a careful surveillance of the street, and he reached the conclusion that, barring accidents, they had nothing to fear yet. The street was quite heavily traversed, both by strollers on the sidewalks and riders and vehicles on the pavement. Thus, the Union troopers were not conspicuous as they moved easily through the city toward the intersection with Broad Street.
“Count the number you can see, then multiply it by any number you think of,” Hedges replied. “You might or might not come close.”
“The guys back at Hartford Gap didn’t know from nothing, uh?” the sergeant said.
Hedges made the turn onto Broad Street, his mind busy remembering the relevant details of a map shown to him by the Pinkerton man. “They didn’t consider it important,” he replied. “We ain’t here to take the city. Just kill old man Davis.”
Traffic, both riding and walking, was heavier on Broad Street. At the comer of Governor there was a large saloon doing big and noisy business. It was here that Hedges called a halt to the ride, hitching his horse to a rail at the side of the building. A large number of animals were already there.
“I could sure use a drink,” Seward said as he hitched his horse and peered in through a window. “Hey, they even got dancing girls in there.” ^
Douglas, Scott, and Bell crowded around the youngster to stare through the window. The fact that they had ridden into the very heart of the Confederate capital without being challenged seemed to have injected fresh courage into the men.
Hedges shot a cold glance at Forrest, who gave a curt nod to signal that he, too, recognized this as a bad sign. In the killing business, overconfidence could be a fatal mistake.
Forrest’s voice rasped through the din of music and laughter resounding from the big saloon. “You guys?” The quartet at the window turned away, their eyes still lit with the excitement of the scene through the pane. The mean look on the noncom’s face swamped their exhilaration.
“Hell, Frank,” Seward said sullenly. “It’s been so long since I had me a drink or a woman, I’m starting to feel like a monk.”
Forrest jerked a thumb toward the window. “Tough, brother. But you’re getting none of that.”
Seward shrugged and joined the others in looking toward Hedges.
“Leave the rifles,” the. captain ordered. “Only use your side arms if you have to—until after he’s dead.” “You got any idea what else we gonna do after he’s dead?” Hal Douglas asked, and it was the first spoken doubt in a very long time.
The corporal had a moment of regret that he had voiced it, as he was forced to bow his head under the pressure of a piercing stare from the slitted, blue eyes. But then he became aware that the renewal of confidence allowed the others to regard the captain with quizzical eyes.
“Yeah,” Hedges said, just loud enough to be heard above the noise of celebration coming from the saloon. Then he whirled and strode out onto the street.
The troopers watched him for several tense moments, then swung their eyes around to look questioningly at Forrest.
“You reckon he’s got an idea, Frank?” John Scott asked.
“Only he knows about that,” Forrest replied. “All I know is that I don’t.”
He led the way out onto the street. Hedges was well advanced along Governor Street, and the troopers had to hurry to catch up with him as he entered Capitol Square. It was lit from the surrounding streets and from the windows of the state administration buildings within. Gray-uniformed figures with rifles at the slope arms position marched in the pattern of sentry duty at the front, rear, and sides of just one building. There were two men covering each approach. But with every sentry making his about-face at a comer, it meant that would all have to be rendered inactive simultaneously to avoid the alarm being raised.
The Union infiltrators watched the building from a clump of trees on the northeast side of the square. Their presence' aroused no suspicion, since other people were about—soldiers and civilians, men and women, in couples and groups of three, four or more. It was close to midnight now, but the lateness of the hour did not diminish curiosity about and interest in the home and office of the president of the Confederacy.
“Hard nut to crack,” Forrest growled as Hedges finished rolling a cigarette and lit it.
Hedges spat out a flake of tobacco. “Didn’t figure it to be easy. But we’re hard nutcrackers from way back, ain’t we?”
“Crackers is right,” Rhett drawled.
“How you gonna work it, Captain?” Forrest asked.
“Shortest distance between two points is a straight line,” Hedges answered, taking a final drag at the cigarette, then dropping it and grinding out the embers beneath his heel. “Let’s try it that way.” He glanced at the sergeant, Seward, and Douglas. “The four of us. Bell, Scott, and Rhett, give us a twenty-yard start, then follow. Move easy, like sightseers. If the going gets rough, every man’s on his own.”
He set off before the troopers had a chance to question the tactic, strolling out from among the trees and ambling toward the closed gates in a wrought iron fence surrounding the building. The men he had selected for his group had to take several hurried paces to catch up with him, then slowed to match his casual gait. Other groups and couples were in the area, watching the patrolling sentries and the lighted windows of the building some fifty yards beyond the barrier of the railed fencing.
Hedges halted on the gravel driveway across from which the gates were hung and eyed the catch from under drooping lids. The catch was fastened, but the padlock hung free at the end of a length of chain. Beyond the gates, the driveway cut between neatly trimmed lawns dotted with flower beds and featured both bushes and trees. The bright moon and splashes of light from surrounding streets seemed to broaden the space between gates and building.
The three-strong group of troopers joined the advance party at the gates. They all took their lead from Hedges and stared silently at the building. Some people joined them while others strolled past.
“Forget the quiet way,” Hedges hissed at Forrest, the words issuing from the side of his mouth, then leaned close to the sergeant and lowered his voice still further to whisper in his ear.
Forrest grinned. “Make a change for you to take the big risk,” he muttered.
“They don’t come any bigger than putting my back toward you,” Hedges responded softly, then lunged forward.
He burst wide the gates with the heel of his boot and jerked out his Colt as he broke into a run along the arrow-straight driveway. “I’m gonna kill him, the bastard!” he bellowed, firing wildly toward the solid door of the building.
Behind him, pandemonium broke out. The crowd at the gateway shouted in alarm and warning. Those people in other parts of the square yelled demands to know what was happening, then scurried forward to see for themselves when they received no comprehensible answer. Ahead of him, the sentries at the front of the building were going into their about-face before the doorway— which "meant that those at the sides were midway through their routine and out of sight.
Hedges had covered a quarter of the distance when he fired a second time, talcing care to aim. The bullet thudded into the shoulder of one of the surprised sentries,
and he spun around and crumpled. The second sentry snapped down his rifle, slapping his cheek against the stock.
Forrest drew his Colt and fired from the hip. The bullet whistled close to Hedges’ right ear, and the captain cursed the sergeant’s narrow miss as he pitched forward, rolled across the skin scraping gravel, and came to an untwitch-ing rest on the edge of the lawn.
“I got him!” Forrest yelled above the shouts, and grinned into the startled faces of the Union troopers. “I got him! Let’s go see him!”
He started forward, and the surging of the crowd behind them forced the other troopers to set off in pursuit.
The sentry at the doorway continued to aim his rifle, but he did not squeeze the trigger. The man on the ground struggled into a sitting position and concentrated upon trying to stem the blood oozing from his shoulder wound. Two more sentries appeared at the comers of the building, rifles at the ready. But they held their fire. The door of the building was flung open and four Rebel officers peered anxiously out into the night, revolvers drawn.
“What the hell?” one of them demanded.
Forrest reached the prone form of Hedges first, closely followed by the five other Union men. But within moments a crowd of more than fifty excited, curious bystanders clustered around, and their number was quickly swelled as others ran through the gates to find out the cause of the uproar.
“Let’s take him inside where we can see him!” Forrest roared, shoving violently at Billy Seward to indicate that the youngster should lift Hedges’ feet. The sergeant grasped the captain’s shoulders.
“Halt them!” one of the officers screamed as the crowd surged forward again, led by Forrest and Seward struggling with the burden of Hedges. Rhett, Scott, Bell, and Douglas were immediately behind the leaders.
Death's Bounty Page 13
