by J. T. Edson
“Practically impossible,” said Alice. “But I’ll let Fifi stay in my room. Don’t go to any trouble, just a few blankets will do and she can sleep on the floor. She’s used to roughing it.”
Only with an even greater effort did Eleonore restrain herself from planting a kick firmly on Alice’s rear at the words. For the past few days she had tried to explain to Mark and Alice how she loved her creature comforts. Sleeping on a hard wooden floor did not come under the heading of creature comfort where she was concerned. However, through the still open front doors, she could see the two men sitting their horses and so kept a grip on Alice’s bag and promised herself revenge at a later and more convenient date.
Not until alone with Alice in her room did Eleonore give vent to her feelings.
“Fifi!” she gasped. “She will be happy to sleep on the floor. I ought to—!”
“My good girl, that’s no way for a maid to address her mistress,” said Alice, trying hard to keep a straight face.
“Why you—!”
Not even Alice’s years of gambling training could help her now and she began to smile, then laugh. For a moment Eleonore glared at Alice and contemplated all kinds of violence, then she, too, saw the funny side of things and also began to laugh.
“We’re safe in here,” Alice remarked. “That pair of hardcases are still out front, but they’ll hear that Lady Alice Hatton-Green— I wonder where Mark dug that name up from, is a guest of Brenton Humboldt. They might be suspicious, but nobody in Holbrock’s going to ask their leading citizen questions about his guest.”
“They might, thinking to gain his approval by exposing us.”
“Not if they know Humboldt. He’d rather have us stay here as Lady Alice and her maid than have it known he couldn’t tell a real member of the aristocracy from a notorious gambling woman.”
Thinking on it Eleonore agreed with Alice’s judgment of Humboldt’s character. One thing was certain. Humboldt would not thank the man who showed him up as a fool.
At that moment a knock came at the door and Eleonore opened it and proceeded to give her impression of how a French maid should act. Luckily the men gained their ideas of French maids from the same source as Eleonore, the theatre, so they expected her saucy winks and behavior.
“Breeng eet een here, mon cherie,” she said to the burly man in the lead. “And be ver’ careful or ze Lady Alice weel be mo’ angry wiz me.”
With that she ushered the two men into the room, chattering in the most atrocious broken English Alice could ever remember hearing as she had the trunk set down just where her mistress would like it.
After the men left, Alice turned to Eleonore and grinned broadly. “Where did you pick up that accent?” she asked.
“My mother was French,” Eleonore answered, also grinning. “Don’t you think I’d make a good maid?”
“To be frank, no.”
“Or me. Look, I’d like to go into town and send a telegraph message to the Wells Fargo agent in Culver City and have him ship my trunk to me.”
Alice frowned. “That could be risky if Trent is still looking for us. But I suppose you’ll do it anyhow. It might not be safe for you to go alone though. I’ll ask Mark to walk in with you.”
Mark agreed to escort Eleonore into town and a few moments later walked down the main stairs to the hall with the girl at his side. Eleonore seemed determined to keep up her part as the French maid and carried on a chattering conversation in the same atrocious accent. She had cleared all traces of make-up from her face, except just enough to hide the traces of her black eye and, with her hair tucked up under the maid’s cap would have been all but unrecognizable as the famous Madam Moustache.
Just as they reached the bottom of the stairs, the sturdy door opened and Humboldt stepped out. He beamed at Mark, the kind of look he reserved for important and influential people.
“Mark!” he boomed. “Come on in and meet my future son-in-law.”
“Sure,” Mark replied. “Wait here, Fifi.” At the door he jerked his head towards the girl. “Lady Alice asked me to take her maid into town to do some shopping. So I said I would.”
“I’ll arrange for the buggy to be brought around for you, if you wish.”
“Thanks,” Mark replied sincerely, for he was a cowhand and never walked if he could avoid doing so.
“Come in then,” said Humboldt and beckoned to his footman to give the orders. “I trust Lady Alice is comfortable.”
“Why sure. She’ll likely be down soon.”
In the study Mark met Iris Humboldt and her fiancé. The girl stood about as tall as Eleonore and had much the same build, although not the same beautiful features, or slimming down at the waist. She looked pleasant enough, not too bright, although well educated. This showed in the short conversation Mark had with her and Gavin Stout, her fiancé. Maybe she was not bright, but she must have had something, for Stout looked like a good catch. He stood six foot tall, with good shoulders and tapering to a slim waist. His head and eyebrows were blond, while his face looked to have been shaven only a few minutes before and sported neither moustache nor side whiskers although these were fashionable back east. His clothes fitted him well and followed the latest eastern trend. His hand, when Mark took it, felt soft as if it had never done any work.
“Pleased to meet you, Mark,” he said, giving the big Texan a searching glance.
“Have you been out west for long?” Mark asked, making conversation.
“This’s my first trip,” Stout replied, slipping an arm around Iris and squeezing her gently. “But we aim to make our home out here, don’t we, darling?”
They talked on for a few moments. Stout had a ringing voice with a strong upper-class eastern accent and he seemed friendly enough. He started to tell Mark about the honeymoon trip they planned after the wedding, but the destination of which they meant to keep a secret.
“No sense in having everybody know where to find us, is there?” he chuckled.
At that moment he glanced through the door and saw Eleonore standing in the hall. Filled with female curiosity she had stepped into view to see what kind of a man met with Mrs. Humboldt’s approval enough to be allowed to marry her daughter. She stood for a moment, looking hard at Stout.
A frown creased Stout’s brow and an expression of fear almost flickered on his handsome face for a moment.
“I didn’t know you had a new maid, darling,” he said to Iris.
“We don’t?”
“Then who—?”
“That’s Lady Alice’s maid,” Mark put in.
He did not fail to notice the expression of relief flicker across the man’s face, any more than he failed to see the fear which showed for a brief instant when Stout first saw Eleonore.
Before any more could be said, Humboldt returned with news that the buggy waited outside. Mark nodded to Stout and the girl, then left the room. Stout watched Eleonore pass out of sight, then turned back to talk with his fiancé once more.
Neither Mark nor Eleonore spoke as they left the grounds of Humboldt’s residence. The two hard-cases were not in sight and nothing out of the way happened as they drove along the rutted road making for the main business area of the town, towards the Wells Fargo office and the jail.
“Who was the handsome man you talked with?” she asked.
“Me,” Mark modestly replied. “I meant the other one.”
“That’s the bridegroom-to-be,” grinned Mark. “You handed him a shock coming out like that.”
“His voice gave me one. I thought I should know it. In fact I’m sure I ought to know that man, but I can’t place him.”
Mark thought of that. He did not know why Stout should looked surprised, almost scared at seeing Eleonore. His thoughts on the subject were broken by Eleonore’s hide searing comments on a friend who used trickery to make her sleep on the floor while the friend had a large and comfortable bed. The tirade lasted until they passed the Long Glass saloon.
“Say,” Mark drawled. “Yo
u sure make a real fetching maid, though.”
“Alice thinks so. With her ‘fetch me this’ and ‘fetch me that’,” groaned Eleonore. “Oooh! Why didn’t you say I was an eccentric lady who liked to have her maid dressed up. Then I would have shown Alice a few things.”
They were approaching the Wells Fargo office and Mark remembered something. “Say, if you need any money I can manage a stake until things go better for you.”
“I have enough for my needs, thank you, mon ami,” she replied. “I didn’t lose everything at Culver Creek.”
“But how did you carry it?” Mark asked, thinking back to the first night out of Culver Creek, when she came to tell him her life story.
“Zat is my beesiness, m’sieur,” Eleonore answered with a saucy grin and a wink, reverting to her assumed French accent for the benefit of the loafers who stood before the office.
“And real nice business, too,” Mark replied, jumping from his seat to help her down. “I’ll collect you after I’ve seen the town marshal—Fifi.”
She smiled curtsied and entered the office. Mark climbed back into the buggy and drove along the street to halt before the marshal’s office. He left his buggy at the hitching rack and walked into the office. One look at the man behind the desk told Mark which of his stories he could tell. The man wore a town suit, just good enough in quality for him to be honest and even if Mark had not recognized him, he would have told the truth of the happenings in Culver Creek. He knew George Abbot well enough to expect a fair hearing and understanding of why he brought the two girls out of Trent’s reach.
“Howdy, George,” Mark said.
The old-timer’s leathery face creased in a broad grin. “Howdy, Mark.”
“Never thought to see you in a town like this.”
In the old days George Abbott ran the law in bad, wide open towns. Before the war and for a couple of years after it, his name went out far as a straight and brave lawman. However, his age began to tell and he gave up handling the wild ones to look for safer employment. He drifted to Holbrock and took on the badge, finding a growing town which but rarely saw the wild horse-play of cowhands.
“Shucks, it’s a living,” George went on after explaining his reasons for ending in Holbrock. “Better’n getting shot down by a wild bunch of wild yahoos on a spree. What brings you here, you ain’t just come along to see poor famous old George Abbott, now have you?” Before Mark could reply the office door burst open and the two hard-cases came to a halt, the one with the deputy’s badge pointing to Mark. “That’s him!” he yelled.
“Who, Brown?” asked Abbott calmly, though his eyes took on a frosty glint at the intrusion. “The big jasper who come in with those two gals.” Mark swung to face the two men, not liking the look of either. He heard the marshal’s chair scrape back and guessed Abbott had stood up ready to take cards. The marshal came around the side of his desk and halted by Mark.
“Where’d you come from, Mark?” he asked. “The OD Connected,” replied Mark, which was true—as far as it went.
“That’d mean you was a hell of a way off your line, happen you went to Culver Creek.”
“I tell you he was with two women!” Brown, the deputy snapped.
“Knowing Mark here, that don’t surprise me,” drawled Abbott. “Who are they, boy?”
“Guests up at Humboldt’s place. An English lady and her maid,” Mark replied, which again, as far as it went, was the truth.
From the suspicious gleam in Brown’s eyes he did not entirely believe Mark’s story. He threw a glance at Abbott and waited for the marshal to make some reply to the big Texan’s words.
“Look,” Brown finally growled, when Abbott made no comment. “A big cowhand, fitting this jasper’s description, and those two gals bust up the boss—Trent’s place in Culver Creek and I—”
“Thought in the fust place you said the gals took to fighting over who was to boss the big table,” Abbott interrupted. “Don’t sound likely that they’d be riding into town all friendly and sat on a wagon together, or however they come in.”
Brown scowled. “Yeah, well the boss wants them gals finding and send—”
“Your boss don’t run this town, office, or me!” Abbott barked.
“I’ll soon get the truth out of him!” Brown snarled.
He took a step towards Mark, coming in his most threatening manner and dropping his hand towards his hip. Mark did not bother to clench his fist. He swung his right hand around in a flat-palm slap which caught Brown across the cheek and sprawled him clear across the office. Brown’s pard gave an angry grunt and dropped his hand, then froze, for Mark’s left hand dipped even as he slapped the deputy down. The long barreled Army Colt came clear of leather and lined on the man, ending any moves he might be planning.
“All right,” Mark said quietly, yet in a voice the other man would never forget. “I’m saying this just once, so both of you listen good to me. I came up here from the OD Connected and I didn’t start any saloon brawl. If I see either of you in town comes nightfall I’ll spit in your faces. You hear me?”
“I hear you,” replied the second man, for Brown lay on the floor wondering what hit him.
“Then get your pard on his feet and out of here,” Mark ordered.
The man helped Brown to his feet and steered him from the door. Abbott followed them out on to the sidewalk and spoke words of wisdom.
“You saddle up and ride. I’m not having you getting killed in my town and that would sure happen should you go up against Mark Counter in a fair fight. And, just happen you’re fool enough to reckon on taking him any other way, me and his pappy were old pards, so I’ll be standing ‘side of him. And even if I weren’t I sure wouldn’t want to be the man who bushwhacked Mark Counter when Dusty Fog and the Ysabel Kid caught up with them. You go tell your boss there’s no sign of the folks he wants here.”
He stood and watched the men. In his time as a lawman Abbott learned much about handling hard-cases. He knew how they looked when they aimed to yell “calf-rope” before a better man. Brown and the other would not be staying on to trouble Mark, or Abbott would be surprised. He watched them slouch away and knew they would be out of Holbrock long before night-fall.
“Who are those pair at Humboldt’s?” Abbott asked, when he returned to his office.
“Poker Alice and Madam Moustache.”
“And Humboldt took them in?”
“He reckons they’re Lady Alice Hatton-Green and her maid. Tell you one thing though, I called in at Culver Creek. That’s where I met them.”
“Did, huh?”
“Sure. I’ll tell you how it all happened.”
At the end of Mark’s story, Abbott gave a low grunt. His expressed views on Trent as man and saloonkeeper came pungent and obscene. Nor did he for a minute doubt but that Mark told the full truth of what happened. He agreed that the two women were in no way to blame for what happened. Trent brought them together for the resulting fight and should have no cause to complain. Abbott chuckled immoderately as he heard how come the girls were now house guests at the Humboldt place.
“If he knew he’d throw a wingding,” the marshal stated. “I’m looking forward to meeting Poker Alice at that fancy dinner tonight. Sure, I’m invited.” He paused, studying Mark. “You seen the future son-in-law yet?”
“Why sure.”
“What do you reckon to him?”
“I only saw him for a few minutes,” Mark answered in a non-committal tone.
“Know what you mean. Why’d a handsome cuss like him, with money of his own, way he flashes it about, take a plain gal like young Iris?”
“They allow beauty’s only skin deep,” grinned Mark.
“Sure, especially when it’s got a ten thousand dollar dowry skin and maybe another ten thousand in jewelry to go along.”
Mark let out a whistle of surprise. “As much as that?”
“Yep. Give old Brenton credit, he sure dotes on that gal of his’n. She gets it all to make a start with.
Taking most of it along with ’em on their honeymoon.”
“You got a suspicious mind,” grinned Mark.
“That’s what keeps me alive,” Abbott replied. “Whyn’t you take a walk. I’ve got some important work to do.”
“Sure, I’ll pick Lady Alice’s maid up from the Wells Fargo office. See you tonight—and don’t snore too loud, the tax payers might hear you.”
Leaving Abbott spluttering and trying to make an adequate reply, Mark stepped from the office and decided to walk along to the front of the Wells Fargo building as the local stage had just come into sight and the usual sort of crowd gathered to see it arrive. He could see no sign of Eleonore and this surprised him, for he expected her to be waiting for him.
The coach came to a rocking halt before the stage office and Mark strolled down the sidewalk towards the rear of the crowd. He saw a drummer leap down and hold open the door in a manner which showed, by his gallantry, that ladies of some kind must be aboard. He offered his hand to assist a flashily dressed blonde woman from the coach and an equally flashily dressed young redhead came to the open door standing waiting to be helped down. Her eyes went around the crowd with some interest, starting on the side away from where Mark stood.
A man turned hurriedly at the rear of the crowd and bumped full into Mark as he started to walk away. With a muttered apology the man stepped around Mark and strode off along the street at a good speed. Mark turned to watch him go, for as they came together he had felt the hard shape of a short-barreled revolver under his coat.
Normally a man not carrying a gun would be an object of interest in Texas. For a man to carry one, even concealed under his coat, was completely ordinary—except that the man who bumped into Mark wore a black suit, round topped black hat, a black stock and white reversed collar. In fact the man who bumped into Mark wore the street clothes of a preacher belonging to a certain religious sect and Mark had never seen one who went armed about his work.
