by J. T. Edson
‘I should think it’s obvious what’s wrong,’ the actress put in, showing a mistrust which equaled that of her “husband”. ‘As all our troubles in Chicago were caused by agents of the British and United States’ Secret Service, it strikes us both as a very remarkable coincidence that an Englishman such as the Remittance Kid, as he calls himself, and a woman who was obviously born of upper class Southern States’ parentage should decide to travel on the same train as us and go out of their way to make your acquaintance.’
Despite having left Mulrooney without – at least as far as they were aware – the Chicago Police Department having guessed they would be going there instead of taking the more obvious course of fleeing the country via a port on the East coast, the events during the journey to take possession of the consignment of arms and the discovery that there would be an unavoidable delay before they could resume their journey had done nothing to improve relations between the conspirators.
Rather the opposite in fact!
The events on the train which had followed the arrival of Calamity Jane and Dobe Killem, then Belle Boyd – in her guise as “Lavinia Saltyre” – and Captain Patrick Reeder might have presented Cavallier with an opportunity to make their closer acquaintance, but doing so had aroused Vera’s disapproval as she had been left with no other company than that of her “husband”. She had made it plain that she resented not being the center of attention. Nor had the knowledge that her place in le Loup-Garou’s interest was being supplanted by two women she considered as far below her social position and importance made her any better disposed towards him. “Devlin” had been equally disenchanted by the situation, although his objections had sprung from being prevented from joining such obviously convivial company.
For his part, Cavallier had considered his time had been well spent.
On first becoming aware of the Rebel Spy’s and the Kid’s nationalities, le Loup-Garou had harbored suspicions similar to those expressed by the actress. However, he had become convinced that they were what they pretended to be; a not over scrupulous professional gambler and his mistress. Being unaware that Sergeant Magoon and the corporal were friends of Calamity and had agreed to help when told what would be wanted of them in Freddie Woods’ private quarters at the Fair Lady Saloon, he had seen no reason to doubt the information he had received from them with regards to the incident at Fort Connel. According to Magoon, the Kid had been suspected of cheating. However, the only one who might have been able to prove it had died as a result of a blow from the “fancy foreign toad-sticker” before he was able to do so.
Knowing something of the strict way in which Mulrooney was policed, Cavallier had not been unduly surprised when the Kid appeared on the train. Before it arrived at Stokeley, le Loup-Garou had become convinced that “Lavinia” and the Englishman might be of use to him. After his talk with her on the observation platform, neither the girl nor the Kid had done anything to arouse his suspicions. She had apparently decided not to mention the conversation and her ‘protector’ had shown not the slightest suggestion of being interested in him other than as a participant in a card game. Even the discovery that, on reaching Stokeley, he had booked himself and “Lavinia” into the same hotel as the conspirators had not struck Cavallier as other than a coincidence. A successful gambling man would always select the best accommodation, knowing it would offer opportunities to make the acquaintance of wealthy potential victims.
As the messenger le Loup-Garou was expecting had not arrived, his party could not set off immediately on reaching Stokeley. They were going to the rendezvous with the Indian chiefs who were to be persuaded to support the Metis’ rebellion, but he was disinclined to be in the vicinity for too long before the meeting took place. As he had pointed out, the cargo their wagons would be carrying when they set off on their hunting expedition’ would be too attractive for any brave-heart warrior who heard it was there for them to take any chances.
However, laudable and praiseworthy as Cavallier’s motives had been, the delay had done nothing to remove the rift between himself and the two anarchists. On the other hand, it had allowed him to spend the time in the company of the Rebel Spy and the Remittance Kid, without coming any closer to discovering their true identities or purpose, which had aroused the hostile comments from his fellow conspirators when he arrived to announce that the news they were awaiting had come.
‘They couldn’t have been in Chicago,’ le Loup-Garou answered, ‘unless they could be in two places at once, that is.’
‘We don’t know for sure they were in Fort Connel that night, “Devlin” pointed out, with some justification.
‘Or that they weren’t,’ Cavallier countered, the objections only serving to strengthen his obstinacy on the matter. ‘Unless you can tell me why those two soldiers should have lied about it.’
‘Just what’s behind all this interest you’re showing in them?’ “Devlin” challenged, being unable to think up an acceptable answer.
‘It’s because of the woman, I should imagine!’ Vera accused.
‘She is the most beautiful, I admit,’ Cavallier answered, running a far from complimentary gaze over the actress’s thin features and angular figure. ‘But I have little interest in a jailbird—’
‘A jailbird?’ “Devlin” repeated. ‘Do you mean she’s been in prison?’
‘She could hardly have become a jailbird unless she had, mon cher Pére Mathieu,’ le Loup-Garou replied, employing the mocking tone he had always used when addressing the anarchist while the other was posing as a priest. ‘She has only recently served six months for the theft of a necklace in San Francisco and that may not have been the first time. However, it is the Remittance Kid I’m interested in, not her.’
‘Why?’ “Devlin” challenged.
‘I’ve watched him playing cards,’ Cavallier explained. ‘He’s so good I’m not sure whether he is very lucky, or cheating – and I can usually tell when somebody is. Not that I greatly care if he does cheat. He has the kind of background which will make him of great use to me if he accepts my suggestion that he accompanies me—’
‘You’ve told him what we’re …?’ “Devlin” began rising from the table with such vehemence that he threw his chair over.
‘Calm yourself mon cher Pére Mathieu,’ Cavallier advised, his right hand going across to scratch his stomach very close to the hilt of the “Green River” knife. ‘Do you think I have been so foolish that I would say, “M’sieur le Remittance Kid” I am proposing to raise the Metis in rebellion against the Government of Canada and wonder if you would like to join us”?’
‘Then why are you …?’ Vera commenced, laying a hand on her “husband’s” sleeve and darting a look of warning at him.
‘For a most practical reason, mademoiselle,’ le Loup-Garou replied without duplicating “Devlin’s” relaxation. ‘My struggle to establish the Metis as an independent nation will not soon be over. Nor, grateful as I am for your help in obtaining the arms, will you be able to render any further assistance to me in it; particularly as the diversion which should have been provided by your Irish dupes is now unlikely to take place—’
‘They might still go through with it even though we didn’t get the arms for them,’ “Devlin” protested, setting the chair on its legs and sitting down.
‘They might, but I would say they won’t,’ Cavallier answered, then raised a hand as both the anarchists were on the point of speaking. ‘Oh, don’t worry. I will honor my promise of offering you sanctuary even though your scheme failed. But, as I said, you are no longer able to render any further assistance.’
‘And he can?’ Vera asked disbelievingly, not caring for the realization that she had heard the truth and their safety was in the hands of le Loup-Garou.
‘He has qualities I can make use of,’ Cavallier stated. ‘There will be many advantages to having the services of a man who can mingle with British Army officers at their own level and would even be able to pose as one if the opportunity arose. And t
hat is what the Remittance Kid would be able to do,’
‘But will he do it?’ “Devlin” wanted to know, appreciating how a person possessing such qualities would prove a valuable asset in the Metis’ uprising.
‘That we shan’t know unless he decides to come along and help me to fleece you of your money when we go hunting tomorrow,’ Cavallier replied, without mentioning he had made tentative hints which had not been accepted as eagerly as would have been the case if the Englishman was trying to join the party. Seeing the glances exchanged by the anarchists, he smiled and delivered the news which had brought him to their room. ‘Yes, my messenger has come and Pm going to find Lincoln and tell him he can set off in the morning,’
‘Will you be able to persuade the Englishman to come?’ “Devlin” asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Cavallier confessed. ‘But Pm going to seek him out and put it to him after I’ve found Lincoln,’
‘Do you think he’ll help you when he finds it’s for something a lot more risky than just cheating me?’ the anarchist continued.
‘Time alone will tell us that,’ Cavallier admitted. ‘But, from what “Lavinia” has said about him, he has little love for the English since he was cashiered from their Army for cheating at cards and disowned by his family. So I believe he will not be averse to causing them trouble, especially as he will be very well paid for doing it.’
‘He’ll do it for money all right!’ Vera declared, ever eager to think the worst of anybody who did not subscribe undeviatingly to her beliefs. ‘All of his kind are rotten to the core and corrupt,’
‘That’s as maybe,’ “Devlin” conceded grudgingly. ‘But only as long as he’s what he seems to be and can be trusted,’
‘I agree, mon cher Pére Mathieu,’ Cavallier replied. ‘But that is something else for us to consider. If they are what you fear, it is better that we have them where we can watch over them – and kill them if there is the slightest suggestion they should be.’
‘Dadnab it, Kid!’ Jebediah Lincoln was protesting, as le Loup-Garou walked towards the table at which he was one of the participants in a game of poker. Although he was clearly trying to sound light-hearted and avoid giving offence, he was not entirely able to keep a note of asperity from creeping into his voice. ‘Don’t you ever lose?’
‘Only when I’m playing against my aunt, the Dowager Duchess of Brockley, old chap,’ the Englishman replied, raking in the pot to add to an already considerable pile of money in front of him. ‘It’s advisable to do so in that case.’
Despite his genuine desire to obtain the Remittance Kid’s services, combined with an antipathy to the thought of allowing the anarchists to see him fail in something he had stated an intention of bringing about, Cavallier was aware that achieving his purpose would be far from easy.
The coming of the railroad had brought a growth and prosperity to Stokeley which was in excess even of the boom which the rest of the State of Montana was currently enjoying. With the tracks being pushed onwards, there were numerous construction and other workers using the town as a base. Miners, cattle and sheep ranchers brought in their respective means of livelihood for disposal and, along with soldiers from nearby Fort Stokeley, their employees found relaxation or entertainment upon which to lavish wages. Fur traders and other businessmen in Saskatchewan and Alberta found not only a more readily available market for their wares than existed in their own regions, they could also come and use the town as a staging point via which they could travel to the Eastern Provinces more quickly by any overland route north of the international boundary.
With so many potentially lucrative sources of wealth available and other almost as fruitful towns throughout the State, a professional gambler would be unlikely to accept an offer to leave just to help fleece one wealthy businessman. Nor would telling the truth make the proposition any more attractive. At the moment, Cavallier could do no more than suggest the financial benefits of enlisting in his cause for Metis independence. He considered it unlikely a man like he imagined the Kid to be would be influenced by vague promises. There was, however, one thing in his favor. Stokeley’s town marshal had acquired a reputation for capability and ran the town with an iron hand, taking grave exception to trouble-causers, thieves and crooked gamblers. If he had a reason, he would not hesitate to order the Englishman to leave and was likely to pass warnings to other peace officers throughout the State.
Having come to the Worn Out Tie Saloon on being informed that Lincoln could be found there, le Loup-Garou studied the other players in the game and felt elated by what he saw. They were the freighter’s four drivers and a far from prepossessing bunch. From all appearances, they had shared their employer’s misfortunes and none were enamored of the prospect of losing.
That applied particularly to Waldo Matchetto. Largest of the quartet, he had a beard-stubbled surly face which warned correctly of a brutal nature. Bare headed, with greasy shoulder long brown hair, he wore a filthy buckskin shirt, U.S. Cavalry breeches so encrusted with grease and dirt they had lost almost every trace of their original color and heavy, flat heeled black boots. The belt around his bulging paunch carried a massive bowie knife at the left side and a Colt Cavalry Model Peacemaker on the right. While he could not claim to be one of the names which was mentioned in any discussion about experts in either’s use, he felt he had no cause to complain about his ability.
Not that any of the other drivers could be considered significantly superior to Matchetto in the matter of looks or cleanliness. All were dressed in much the same fashion, the variations being in the matter of nether garments and headdress. Solly Snagge was almost as big, black bearded, with a well-worn brown Stetson hat. Slightly shorter, but marginally heavier, Joe Polaski wore a red woolen knitted cap, aged Levi’s pants and had a scar down his unshaven right cheek which did nothing to improve his looks. Tallest of the quartet, lean and mournful looking, sporting a Burnside campaign hat and buckskin trousers that had to have seen better days., Frenchie Ponthieu was slightly cleaner when compared with his associates, which was not saying much for him. Each was armed with a knife and a revolver, but none carried the coiled bull whip which usually identified members of their trade.
‘Her again!’ Ponthieu grumbled, eyeing his depleted wealth sullenly. His voice had a harsh New England timbre and no trace of a French accent. ‘All I can say is, if she’s any luckier than you, she must be real lucky!’
‘Maybe luck’s got nothing to do with it,’ Matchetto suggested offensively.
‘Damn that flea!’ the Kid ejaculated, his right hand disappearing in a languid manner beneath the off side of the cutaway coat where it started to scratch his back. He had done so on two previous occasions since joining the game, excusing himself for the same reason. Without bringing the hand out so it would be able to reach for the hilt of the badik which emerged from the garment’s left flap, he looked straight into Matchetto’s scowling face and continued in a faintly mocking tone underlaid with warning, ‘I hope you’re not implying something other than my skillful play and a fortunate run of the cards has been responsible for your losses?’
‘What if I am?’ the driver challenged, starting to ease back his chair.
‘I wouldn’t like to think anybody had doubts about my honesty,’ the Kid answered, still speaking almost mildly, but his right hand came into view grasping the butt of a British made Webley Royal Irish Constabulary revolver. Placing the weapon on the table alongside his winnings, without removing his hand or pointing the short barrel at anyone in particular, he went on and this time there was open menace in his voice, ‘Are there any?’
Taken unawares, as Lincoln had spoken of the Englishman as a knife fighter who professed never to employ firearms, Matchetto gulped and subsided on to the seat he had been on the point of quitting. In spite of his bullying and aggressive nature, he had sense enough to know when the cards were stacked against him. The way in which the revolver had been brought out and was being handled suggested a greater proficiency than h
e had been led to expect.
‘Take it easy, Kid!’ Lincoln requested, equally surprised to discover that the Englishman carried a revolver and, as obtaining a replacement would be far from easy at what he deduced from Cavallier’s arrival was likely to be short notice, having no desire to lose a driver. ‘Waldo didn’t mean anything!’
‘With all due disrespect, old boy,’ the Kid answered, showing no sign of being mollified. ‘That’s for him to say, not you.’
Silence began to descend upon the hitherto busy and noisy barroom as a realization that something with dramatic possibilities might be taking place. Beginning with those nearest to the Kid’s table, more and more eyes were turned in that direction. Drinks and other activities were forgotten as the next developments were awaited with wary trepidation or vicarious interest depending upon the observer’s proximity to what might become the line of fire.
The anticipated, hoped for even in some cases, clash did not materialize!
‘What seems to be the trouble, gents?’ asked a calmly authoritative voice.
Strolling with what might have been taken as an aura of nonchalance from where he had been talking with the owner of the Worn Out Tie Saloon, Marshal Dixon Troop was tall, handsome and in his late thirties. He wore neat and well-tailored range clothes, but his boots had flat heels more suited to walking than working cattle and the ivory handled Colt Civilian Model Peacemaker hung in a holster designed to permit its rapid withdrawal when necessary. There was neither arrogance nor bombast in his bearing, only the suggestion of competence in his specialized line of work.
‘We appear to have run into a slight difference of opinion, constable,’ the Kid replied, without taking his attention from Matchetto.
‘It looks that way,’ the peace officer conceded dryly, glancing pointedly at the Webley. ‘And, which being the case, you won’t be needing the gun.’
‘Possibly,’ the Kid answered. ‘However, as there appears to have been an element suggestive of bad sportsmanship developing, I thought I’d better take it out to ensure I wouldn’t need it.’
