by J. T. Edson
‘You’d have some dealings with the Metis, I believe, George?’ Sir John Ramage remarked.
‘Some,’ the Colonel agreed. ‘And, before you ask, I don’t recognize any of the four.’
‘Perhaps the one who you captured will tell you who they are and what they were up to, Mr. Counter,’ another of the American businessmen suggested, the bearded man having been carried to the jailhouse by members of the crowd acting on the blond giant’s orders and no report having yet arrived as to his condition.
‘Going by what I saw him trying to do and know about his kind,’ French put in, before Mark could reply. ‘Even if he knows anything worthwhile, which I doubt, he won’t answer any questions.’
‘There’re ways of making fellers talk,’ the businessman asserted and darted a knowing glance at Mark. ‘Aren’t there, Mr. Counter?’
‘Not the kind you mean,’ the big deputy said coldly. ‘Leastwise, not in an office run by Dusty Fog!’
‘N—Nothing personal meant, I assure you!’ the businessman declared hurriedly, startled and not a little alarmed by the vehemence of the response to his hint that some form of torture should be employed to produce a solution to the mystery.
‘I’d like to know where they got that “bomb”,’ Waco put in, throwing a less than complimentary glance at Dinglepied as he too employed the incorrect designation for the device. ‘Or do those Metis always go in for things that fancy, Colonel?’
‘I’ve never known them to use grenades,’ French replied. ‘Although they seem to have a source of supply for other weapons. I’m going to see if I can find out where they come from as soon as I get home.’
‘And I’ll telegraph Cousin Solly down to the U.S. Marshal’s office in Topeka to see what his bunch can find out,’ Mark promised. 30 31 32 ‘Thing being now, though, Colonel. Do you reckon those four was all of them, or do we have more to look out for?’
‘There could be more,’ French answered. ‘Do you have any idea if they have white “liberal” supporters in your town?’
‘Nope,’ Mark confessed, then his gaze went pointedly to the youngster. ‘Leastwise, we don’t know yet. But somebody can forget any notions he might have about going out drinking and carousing with two certain young ladies and a gent from England. ’Cause Dusty isn’t going to like it when he hears what’s happened in his bailiwick and he’s going want to be told when he gets back if there’s like’ to be more to come. Fact being, he’s going to want to know what’s been done about finding out the what ’n’ when of all of it.’
‘Trouble with Dusty is he was spoiled as a button,’ the blond youngster informed Lord James Roxton, to whom he had eventually been introduced formally and had had accepted the suggestion that they took Babsy Smith and Ginger to ‘see the sights’ that evening. ‘Which being, he’s mighty set on allus having his wantings happen and, me being the cream of the marshal’s office, I’m going to have to go around ’n’ about to see he gets ’em.’
‘If you’re the cream, I can only thank the Good Lord that the rest of us’re the skimmed milk,’ Mark growled. ‘So you light a shuck and start pouring out some of that cream, or you’ll be showing the sights to the blister end of a shovel.’
‘He outranks me, you know,’ Waco told the young British aristocrat, albeit with his attention focused upon the blond giant ready to evade physical reprisals.
‘I understand, old boy,’ Roxton sympathized. ‘And, as you’re going to be unavoidably otherwise detained, I’ll take the ladies to see the sights without your invaluable—or would it be un-valuable—assistance, invaluable as that would be.’
‘Oh my Lord!’ Freddie Woods ejaculated, having been invited to remain during the discussion. Sharing what could only be described as a look of revulsion between Waco and Roxton, she continued, ‘Here’s another one starting to think and talk like a Texan!’
Chapter Seven – We’ve Got the Bitch!
‘Did you know what was going to happen at that place they call a railway station?’ Sir Michael Dinglepied demanded angrily, almost as soon as the main entrance to his suite at the Railroad House Hotel was closed by the bell-hop who had carried up his less than elegant or excessive baggage.
‘Certainly not!’ Shaun Ushermale denied, with what might have been righteous indignation. However, having heard of the incident, past experience should have warned him to expect the question with its suggestion of being close to an accusation. Although he and the baronet were on more intimate terms than merely those of employee and employer, having the suspicious and petty-minded nature of their kind, neither trusted the other—or any of their associates, for that matter—to any noticeable degree. Showing he considered such an attitude was widespread, he continued in an aggrieved fashion, ‘And if that fellow you sent me to see was aware of it, he never mentioned anything to me. But then, I don’t suppose he would.’
Having remained with the rest of the party from the west-bound train until the end of the meeting at the Fair Lady Saloon, learning enough to suggest there may be other people in Mulrooney already working towards the same end that he hoped to achieve, Dinglepied had come to occupy the accommodation rented for him by Harland Todhunter. On his arrival, he had found Ushermale waiting in the suite.
The young man had been sent ahead in his capacity as confidential secretary to make contact with somebody they had been assured by an associate of their persuasion in Washington, D.C., would be sympathetic to their ideals and render whatever local information and assistance they might require. He was returning from visiting the sympathizer when he had been accosted by the three cowhands outside the Winstanley Livery Stable and had received his first sight of the beautiful black haired Englishwoman.
Having made good his escape from the trio’s unwelcome attentions, the young man had been disinclined to leave the safety of the hotel. Instead, he had remained in the suite he had occupied as was authorized by Todhunter—who knew nothing of the true reason for him coming ahead of the rest of the party—on reaching Mulrooney. Nor had hearing of what happened caused him to leave what he considered to be sanctuary. He had been told by the reception clerk, who came upstairs to supply the information as being of interest to him, that nobody in the party he was expecting had been injured and he had declined the suggestion that he might want to go to find out whether his employer needed any assistance.
On coming together, the memory of the incident at the Mulrooney passenger depot and the response it elicited from the baronet momentarily caused both him and his secretary to forget the important news each had meant to impart!
Seeing the sullen droop which came to Ushermale’s lips, Dinglepied reminded himself- as he had on previous occasions when some contretemps threatened their relationship—of the danger causing resentment could create for him. The young man knew enough about his private affairs to ruin his career and perhaps even cause him to be sent to prison if provoked into disclosing the details to the wrong people. With that in mind, he decided to pass on some information which he felt sure would heal the breach and return them to the status quo.
For his part, Ushermale was equally wary of antagonizing his employer. While he was in possession of various facts which rendered betrayal less likely to happen, he was all too aware of how vicious and malicious the baronet could be if aroused. Having no desire to face the consequences of his past misdeeds, not all of which were minor, he felt a diversion would not come amiss. Fortunately, he believed he had the means to bring this about.
‘Do you know who I’ve seen?’ Dinglepied and his secretary said in the same breath.
‘I’ve seen that damned Lady Winifred Besgrove-Woodstole!’ the baronet announced, after he and Ushermale had paused and stared at one another for a moment.
‘I knew it was h—!’ the secretary began, furious that his surprise had been destroyed. However, wishing to create the impression of possessing more information than was the case, he revised his comment. ‘I saw her before you did!’
‘I didn’t know you’d
seen her in England, so you’d be able to recognize her,’ Dinglepied countered, unwilling to even share the credit for the discovery.
‘Of course I did!’ Ushermale lied, equally disinclined to concede guesswork rather than personal knowledge had produced his recognition. ‘She was always running around the West End with the rest of those idle, useless dregs of so-called Society.’
‘Anyway,’ the baronet said, so excited by the thought of what the discovery entailed to remember that Lady Winifred Besgrove-Woodstole had only rarely visited London and, on those widely spaced occasions, never mingled with the type of young aristocrats to which his secretary referred. ‘We’ve got the bitch!’
‘How do you mean?’
‘A warrant was sworn for her arrest.’
‘So I heard,’ Ushermale admitted, but did not sound enthusiastic over the knowledge.
‘If she is taken back,’ Dinglepied said, with the kind of impatient patience often shown when a less than intelligent child is being given an explanation of something it should already understand. ‘She’ll stand trial for murder.’
‘There’s not the slightest chance she’ll be found guilty and hang,’ Ushermale answered, sounding disappointed in spite of his frequent claim to abhor the infliction of capital punishment regardless of how serious an offence had warranted it. ‘You know how those damned Tories and the rest of those upper class parasites stick together.’
‘She might not hang, or even be found guilty, with the kind of jury who’ll be picked to try her,’ the baronet admitted, also showing he found the prospect far from appealing. However, he brightened a trifle as he went on, ‘But the scandal of her trial will do tremendous damage to the Tory Party, no matter what the verdict. It could even divert attention from poor dear Laurence. He’s suffered so much, having to live in exile since that aristocratic bitch killed poor Gerald and Tommy.’
‘There’s one problem though.’
‘What is it?’
‘We will have to get the bitch to England before she can be tried.’
‘That won’t present any problems,’ Dinglepied claimed. ‘Uncouth and barbaric as these damned Americans are, with the pressure we can have brought to bear by our associates in Washington and New York, they’ll be willing to have her arrested and held for extradition.’
‘Who’s going to make the arrest?’ Ushermale inquired, delighted to have information overlooked by his employer.
‘They must have a police force, even in this godforsaken hole,’ the baronet answered, noticing the response and wondering what he had missed. ‘In fact, I know they do. Three of its detectives were at the railway station and save—stopped the poor fellows who were trying to assassinate Todhunter and his cronies.’
‘Oh yes, they have a police force all right!’ the secretary conceded, having discussed his ‘narrow escape’ at the livery stable with the desk clerk and received a fair amount of information when complaining about the lack of official protection he was afforded. ‘And, from what I’ve been told, she has them all wrapped around her little finger like her kind do the police in England. They'll never arrest her.’
‘Then we’ll get somebody who will,’ Dinglepied asserted. ‘Perhaps the chap you've been to see will be able to help us on that.’
‘Unless he was lying, he should be able to,’ Ushermale admitted, but he clearly had reservations on the possibility. ‘According to him, he has all kinds of useful connections.’ Knowing his employer to be parsimonious by nature, he paused before continuing with a thinly concealed relish, ‘But he says they’ll all need paying for whatever we want them to do.’
‘Don't they always?’ the baronet whined, having a reluctance to part with his own money under any circumstances; although always willing to accept payment for his services. ‘Go and talk to him—!'
‘Why not have him fetched here?' the secretary suggested, having no liking for the prospect of leaving the safe confines of the luxurious hotel after his experience earlier in the day.
‘The less people know about him working for us the better!’ Dinglepied claimed, with justification considering what he was hoping to achieve. ‘So you can go and see him without me. Doing things like that is why I’ve brought you over here with me.’
‘Dear Lady Winifred,
I can understand that, for obvious reasons, you might not wish to spend too much time in conversation about a certain matter with the other British members of the Commission for which I have the honor to be chairman. However, I would deem it a pleasure and a privilege if you would come and meet me behind the Railroad House Hotel this afternoon at half past one so we could have a private chat. I’m sure your family in Melton Mowbray would be delighted to receive information at firsthand about your recent activities and I will be delighted to supply it on my return to England. You may rest assured, upon my word of honor as a gentleman, that I will not disclose your whereabouts to anybody else.
Yours sincerely Sir John Uglow Ramage, Bart.’
Standing clad in brief black lace underwear—which established beyond any shadow of a doubt her Junoesque contours were provided by nature and needed no artificial assistance—matching silk stockings, supported by scarlet suspender straps, and high heeled red pumps, Freddie Woods lowered the letter after having read it through twice and frowned.
‘Who did you say brought this, Babsy?’ the black haired beauty inquired.
‘Bertha reckoned it was a bloke who could be a gandy dancer,’ the close to buxom little blonde replied, referring to the senior ‘barmaid’ on duty downstairs.
‘Not somebody from the Railroad House?’ Freddie asked, glancing from the envelope in her left hand to the sheet of paper it had held and knowing both were the kind supplied in every room for the use of their guests by the management of the establishment to which she had referred.
‘No, ma’am,’ Babsy answered. ‘I asked Bertha about that and she said the geezer told her the porter from the hotel give him the price of a drink to fetch it over. Is something wrong?’
Freddie did not reply for a moment!
Although Sir Michael Dinglepied had not accompanied them, the rest of Harland Todhunter’s party had returned to the Fair Lady Saloon the previous evening after having settled into their respective accommodation at the Railroad House Hotel. They had agreed with the suggestion from the black haired beauty that, to coin a phrase she had acquired from military members of her family, no ‘shop would be talked in the Mess’ and the business which had brought them to Mulrooney was not mentioned. However, on being asked his intentions, Lord James Roxton had asserted that he would stay with the others and postpone the ‘seeing of the sights’ in the company of Babsy and Ginger until Waco could make up a quartet.
Only one slight discordant note had marred the pleasures of the evening!
When asked why she had come to live in the United States, by the American businessman who had antagonized Mark Counter during the meeting in the side room, Freddie had treated him as she had predecessors who showed a similar unwelcome interest in her private affairs. There had been such a chill in her reply, ‘For my health, sir,’ that he and everybody else present had refrained from displaying further curiosity. Nevertheless, despite having a thoroughly good time in the company of a different—somewhat more cultured—quality than was usually her lot since starting to run the saloon, she had been more relieved than sorry when they had taken their departure. What was more, because of the reason for her departure from England and having elected to adopt a vastly different way of life under an assumed name in the United States, she had concluded it might prove inadvisable to meet the members of the British Railroad Commission on a social basis unless there were also some of the Canadians or Americans present.
That morning, there had been no chance of Freddie meeting any of the party she had welcomed at the railroad depot. Being aware that she was going have a fair amount of her time devoted to them throughout the visit, she had occupied herself in making preparations to do so. She would be
accompanying them in her capacity of mayor of Mulrooney to various functions organized by interested local businessmen, or to festivities laid on at other places of entertainment—her sense of diplomacy having directed that she asked her business rivals to participate and receive an equal share in the benefits which would accrue from such activities—so wished to make sure they had everything they would require.
Having gone to various establishments, arranging for things she believed would be needed to help give the visit an opportunity of succeeding, the beautiful and competent young woman had called at the office of the town marshal to learn what, if any, developments of interest might have occurred. She was informed by Mark Counter—who, as first deputy, was in charge during the absence of Dusty Fog—that he had received a telegraph message stating his superior and Deputy Frank Derringer would be returning with their prisoner from Hays City on the noon train. She already knew this, having received the same message, but the pleasure which she had experienced was not caused by relief that the marshal would soon be available to resume control of the office. The enforcement of law and order had, she was willing to admit, been run quite satisfactorily in his absence by the other three members of Ole Devil Hardin’s floating outfit who were serving as his deputies.
However, apart from the news of the impending return, there was nothing positive for the blond giant to report!
Although the bearded Metis had regained consciousness, the injury to his mouth had rendered him unable to talk. Because he had behaved in such a violent fashion on his recovery, he was being kept under restraint in one of the cells. Despite the Ysabel Kid and Waco having circulated throughout the town, they had not discovered anything to suggest there might be more of Arnaud le Loup Garou Chavallier’s adherents lurking in the vicinity with the intention of continuing the attempt to disrupt the activities of the British Railroad Commission.
Returning to the Fair Lady Saloon and coming up to the bedroom of her living accommodation, Freddie had removed her ‘street’ attire preparatory to donning ‘working’ clothes of a more obviously revealing nature. Before she could do so, Babsy—who was already clad in the fashion adopted for wear in the barroom—had brought up the letter. Regardless of the friendly atmosphere which had prevailed throughout the previous evening, bearing the decision she had reached in mind, the black haired beauty was surprised and puzzled by its contents.
