by J. T. Edson
Knowing of the plan so cryptically discussed by the lawmen, Belle Boyd slipped out of her hotel room’s window with considerable ease of mind. With Ritson dead and the other three members of the sheriff’s office riding on the mission at Smethurst’s side, she ought to be able to move with some freedom. For all that, she dressed in her male clothing, wore her gun belt and carried the lower section of her parasol handle in her right hand. It was no longer a piece of feminine frippery, but a deadly weapon. Telescoped into the handle lay a spring-loaded, metal-headed billy similar to the one she had used to kill an alligator and save Dusty’s life during their river trip to New Orleans. She left her wig topping a dummy made of baggage and covered with the blankets of her bed.
Despite the extreme urgency of the situation, she retained her caution on the brief trip from town. She wondered whether Ritson had passed on his suspicions and doubted if he had for the sheriff showed no interest in her. So she hurried away from town with slightly less than her usual care. However, she saw no sign of anybody following her and took the most direct route towards the deserted cabin. If she had happened to be looking back, her complacency might have received a severe jolt. From behind came a triple flicker of light as if somebody had unhooded and then covered a lantern in some kind of signal. Failing to see it, Belle walked on at a good speed.
Slowing down as she passed through the trees towards the building, Belle looked around for some sign of Dusty’s presence. A faint sound came to her ears as she approached the cabin’s door. Turning, she saw a shape closing rapidly on her and suddenly realized it to be bigger than Dusty. Nor did its general shape fit in with any of the floating outfit or Wedge she had seen.
Although she held the billy, she hesitated to make use of it on what might turn out to be a friend. Just too late she discerned that the man behind her was Deputy Baker. Lacking the time to draw out and lash around the billy, she whipped up her right leg in a vertical toe kick. Trained in savate, the deadly foot-and-fist fighting of the French Creoles, Belle knew how to pack considerable force behind her kick. The toe of her boot struck Baker in the groin, tumbling him backwards in doubled-over agony.
Before Belle could do more, either to escape or scream a warning in case Dusty might be in the vicinity, she heard the door open. A hand clamped hold of each shoulder, the position of the thumbs warning that they belonged to two different men. Then she was jerked into the room. Desperately she flicked the billy away, hoping that it would land where Dusty stood a chance of seeing it on his way to the cabin.
‘You’re too smart for a soft-shell girl, “Montoon”,’ snarled Spargo’s voice from her left side. ‘But not quite sm—’
Like a flash Belle stamp-kicked sideways. The heel of her boot struck the sheriff’s shin with enough force to bring a yelp of pain and release of her shoulder. However, the other man acted almost as fast. Still holding her, he shot out his other fist. Hard knuckles collided with the side of her jaw, snapping her head to one side. Her last thought as she collapsed into the blackness that roared over the flashing lights in her head was of the deadly dangerous news she must pass on to the hooded riders.
Sixteen – They’ll Blame the Hooded Riders
Wanting to ask Belle a favor, Mark Counter accompanied Dusty to the rendezvous that night. They followed the usual procedure of leaving the horses in a sheltered, well-hidden place and completed the journey on foot. Everything at the cabin appeared normal enough, but the way they approached it prevented them from seeing the girl’s discarded billy. Followed by Mark, Dusty stepped into the cabin and tried to pierce the darkness with his eyes. A faint scuffling sound came to their ears, causing them to halt. Even as their hands dropped towards the waiting guns, a light lanced from the center of the room and half-blinded them.
Something hissed through the air, crashing on to Dusty’s head, tumbling him to the floor. Mark sensed the presence of the man at his side. Then he too went down, clubbed by Baker.
From where he stood holding the lamp, Spargo watched the two men felled by his deputies. While he had expected only one of the hooded riders to arrive, he had placed both his men in position and felt pleased with his forethought. Triumph and satisfaction showed on his face as he looked at the two Texans. When credit came to be given for the capture, he aimed to claim more than his fair share.
Belle guessed correctly when assuming that Ritson had not shared his suspicions with the sheriff. However, the man had said enough before he died of his wound for Spargo to take notice and start thinking. Looking back on the whole affair, he had come to realize that ‘Miss Montoon’ stood the best chance of gaining access to items of interest and use to the hooded riders. From what Ritson said, he had first suspected the girl while watching her handle the Negroes during the Dalkins’ investigation. Spargo could never remember seeing a liberal-intellectual, such as ‘Miss Montoon’ claimed to be, who possessed that knack. Other things came into place; enough for the sheriff to decide that Belle bore watching.
Then he saw an opportunity to plan her downfall. While he could not imagine how, he knew that the girl would most probably know of Smethurst’s latest scheme. In which case she was sure to pass on the information to the hooded riders. The shooting of Ritson gave Spargo his chance. Guessing that the girl expected him and the deputies to ride with Smethurst, Spargo did nothing to change her mind. Telling Smethurst that his deputies could not make the trip, he used a lame horse as an excuse to let the other men involved ride on.
After some thought, Spargo guessed at where Belle met her contact. Leaving Baker to watch the rear of the hotel, the sheriff and Spurgis made for the cabin. The flashing lantern signal told them that she was coming. After capturing and securing her, they waited in the dark for the man she came to meet.
‘Any more of them around?’ the sheriff hissed, having doused the light once it had served its purpose.
‘Can’t hear any,’ Baker replied from the open door.
‘I don’t reckon they’d chance having too many come here,’ Spargo guessed. ‘Get the big lamp lit and let’s see what we’ve got.’
Spurgis obeyed and light flooded into the room. With a gag in her mouth, Belle stood on tiptoe in the center of the room, her arms drawn up, apart and lashed to the beam. None of the trio as much as looked at her, being more interested at that moment in examining their two victims. Bending down, Baker rolled Mark over and unbuckled his gunbelt. When Spurgis turned Dusty, he stared hard and let out a low snarl.
‘This short cuss’s the one who jumped us in the Bonham saloon.’
‘The one who stood at least six foot six and weighed all of three hundred pounds?’ Spargo sneered, recalling the vivid description given by his deputies to excuse their failure.
‘I’ll fix him g—!’ Spurgis began.
‘If he comes to before you’ve got his guns and roped him up, you’ll wish he hadn’t,’ interrupted the sheriff.
Clearly the argument packed plenty of weight with Spurgis. Putting aside his desire to stomp the small Texan into the floorboards, the deputy unbuckled and removed the gunbelt. Then he looked at the bone-handled Army Colts.
‘I’ll be damned!’ he breathed. ‘I’ll bet this’s the feller who made wolf-bait of Ritson.’
‘Ritson was no slouch either,’ commented Baker, having completed the disarming of Mark. ‘Come on, let’s get them lashed up.’
Keeping a wary eye on Belle, for Baker had given a profane testimony to her savate skill, Spargo removed her gag. Then he nodded to where his deputies had raised Mark ready to fasten him to the beam.
‘I’d say these are two of the hooded riders’ top hands,’ he remarked.
‘I never saw them before,’ Belle answered.
‘Maybe they’ll feel the same way about you—at first.’
Taking the rope knotted about Mark’s right wrist over the beam, the deputies fastened it to his left. In their hurry to secure Dusty, the men failed to notice that Mark sagged against the rope instead of being held erect like the gi
rl. Raising Dusty, the deputies lashed him into position in between Mark and Belle, hands above his head and feet barely touching the floor.
Although his Stetson had broken the main force of the blow, Dusty did not recover in time to prevent himself being tied up. At first the room seemed to be whirling about him, then it settled down and he saw just what kind of a fix he was in. One look told him that he had never been in a tighter spot. Twisting his head, he saw that Mark had also recovered and understood the gravity of the situation.
‘So you’re the leader of the hooded riders,’ Spargo said, standing before Dusty with hands on hips.
‘Am I?’ the small Texan countered.
Stepping forward, Baker drove his fist into Dusty’s belly. Pain knifed into Dusty, but he could do nothing to lessen it.
‘I’m going to enjoy this,’ the deputy sneered, whipping a backhand low across Dusty’s face. ‘Don’t talk too soon, beef-head.’
Then he flung himself backwards as Dusty tried to kick him. Spargo shot out a hand, caught the deputy’s arm and halted him as he started forward to resume the attack.
‘You’ll get nowhere like that,’ the sheriff stated.
‘Reckon the big un’ll talk easier?’ Baker replied.
‘They’ll both talk—if we ask them through the girl here,’ Spargo answered and nodded to where a riding quirt lay by the wall alongside the Texan’s gunbelts. ‘Go get it and ask her.’
‘That’s fine with me,’ Baker said, touching himself where Belle kicked him.
‘Listen good to me, you two,’ Spargo told the Texans while Baker collected the quirt. ‘I want to know where the rest of your bunch is. Their names, your names and who’s behind you.’
‘You wouldn’t believe we’re just a couple of cowhands passing through and looking for a place to spend the night, would you?’ Dusty asked.
‘Don’t fuss me!’ Spargo snarled. ‘It’s the girl who’ll suffer. Show them what I mean, Baker.’
Grinning evilly, the deputy swung the quirt around. Dusty saw the lash bite into Belle’s shoulders, heard her sudden intake of breath and noted the way her spine arched in pain. Yet no sound left her to tell just how much the blow hurt.
‘You bastard!’ Dusty gritted. ‘You cheap, gutless, soft-shell bastard.’
‘That’s not what I want to know,’ Spargo answered and nodded.
Again the quirt laced across Belle’s shoulders. Apart from a deeper hiss of breath and sharper curvature of the spine, she gave no sign of feeling it.
‘Southrons hear your country call you,’ she gasped. ‘Up lest worse than death befall you, To arms, to ar-rms, to arms in Dixie.’
The extension of the second ‘arms’ came as the quirt bit home again. Looking past her raised arm, she stared straight at Dusty and shook her head. She did not know if there was any hope of escape, but realized that giving the required information would achieve nothing. Spargo did not intend to take them in for trial, they knew too much for that. Talking would only hasten their deaths, although Belle doubted if her own demise would come quickly. So she gritted her teeth against the pain, screwed up her eyes to hold back the tears and silently prayed that Dusty would hold down his feelings.
‘I thought you Southern scum were supposed to be chivalrous gentlemen,’ Spargo said. ‘Tear her shirt off, strip her to the waist, we’ll see how the sight of her blood works.’
That was the kind of order Baker felt competent to handle. He moved around the girl, ready, willing and eager to obey his boss.
All through the whipping Mark had remained immobile. Now he slowly stood erect and studied the manner in which he was fastened. The rope was too short for him to reach one hand over to the knot on the other wrist. Nor could he move forward in an attempt to free Dusty. Not only would the lawmen see him, but a support came down from the roof to the beam between where he and the small Texan stood. Wondering if he could work his hands free, he moved them down a little and gripped the top of the beam. Like Dusty, Mark was seething with fury at the treatment Belle had received and the latest threat acted like a spur to a nervous horse.
Exerting all his giant strength, Mark gave a sudden wrenching tug at the beam. Never had he thrown so much concerted effort into one move and the effect proved mighty spectacular. With a sharp crack, the beam split apart like a busted matchstick. Before the others realized what had happened, the rope securing Mark’s wrists had slipped over the broken end of the beam. Though still bound, he could move with considerable freedom. Just how much freedom Spurgis rapidly discovered.
Under orders to keep watch for more of the hooded riders, Spurgis had neglected his duty. In his eagerness to watch Belle’s whipping, he had left the window and moved forward. Nor did his brain take in the fact that Mark was free quickly enough to be of use. The thought that any man could snap the stout beam had never entered his mind and even when seeing it done he could barely believe his eyes.
Falling back a pace or two, Spargo screamed a warning and reached for the Smith and Wesson in his waistband. At the sound, Spurgis’ reactions triggered him into motion. Down dropped his right hand to the Colt on his hip and it lifted from leather.
Mark linked his fingers and swung his arms, driving the hands with all his might under Spurgis’ jaw. Lifted from his feet by the force of the blow, the deputy hurled headlong across the room to smash into the wall. His revolver fell from open fingers and on the collision he dropped rag-doll limp to the floor.
After striking Spurgis, Mark flung himself in a rolling dive for the Colt. Scooping it up in his two hands as he landed, the blond giant rolled over and brought it up. Flame lashed from Spargo’s Smith and Wesson and the light-caliber bullet sliced through the knot of Mark’s bandanna without touching his flesh. Then he shot back, driving lead into the sheriff’s head, aimed for an instant kill.
Seeing Mark break free, Baker started to spring past Belle with the intention of cutting the blond giant down. The girl braced herself on the left toes and kicked the deputy in his stomach. Giving a croak of pain, Baker doubled over and stumbled on past Belle. Dusty thrust himself upwards, caught hold of the beam and swung from the floor. With superb timing he drove out both feet. All his strength went behind the move, smashing the heels of his boots into the side of Baker’s head. Shooting off at a tangent, the deputy hit the wall and collapsed. ‘Did he get you, Mark?’ Dusty asked.
‘I don’t reckon so,’ the blond giant answered, rising. ‘Let me make sure they’re out of the game before I set you free.’
The check established that there was no need for further precautions. Spargo lay dead with a bullet in his head. Examination of Spurgis showed his neck and jaw to be broken, the top of his skull crushed in like a heel-stomped rotten apple. Nor did Baker, although still alive, show any greater sign of making trouble. Knowing the penalty for failure, Dusty had not attempted to pull his kick and one boot’s heel impacted on the deputy’s temple with considerable force. Baker never recovered consciousness and died while Mark was cutting the other two free.
‘How bad did they hurt you, Belle?’ Mark asked, steadying the girl as the rope parted. ‘Let me—’
‘There’s no time for that,’ she gritted, fighting to prevent showing the pain which tore at her. ‘We’ve got to move fast.’
‘Reckon there’re more of them about?’ Dusty inquired as he buckled on his gunbelt.
‘No. This afternoon a courier came to the Fort with word that Generals Grant, Sherman, Sheridan and Handiman are coming down this way on a hunting trip. They’ve only a small escort and’re headed for Fort Andrew.’
‘So?’
‘So Smethurst and some of his supporters intend to attack them—dressed like cowhands and wearing hoods.’
‘The hell you say!’ Dusty breathed.
All too well he could realize the effect of the killings. The first three officers, and to a lesser extent Handiman, stood high in public esteem. During his term as President of the United States, Grant had increased the popularity he gai
ned during the Civil War. Maybe the liberals and radicals hated him, but moderate and clear-thinking supporters of the Union went along with the majority in their high regard for his ability as soldier and politician. Nor did Sherman and Sheridan rank much lower in popularity.
News that they had been murdered, apparently by hooded Southerners, would stir up a wave of hatred north of the Mason-Dixon line. The public would scream for reprisals. Even if an actual resumption of hostilities did not materialize, the bonds of reconstruction were certain to be intensified and continue. Wiping out four of the leading moderates would also give the radicals and liberal-intellectuals a better chance of gaining control of the Government. If that happened, everything Ole Devil and the other Southern leaders were working for was doomed to failure.
‘We have to stop them!’ Mark stated, showing that he also understood the situation. ‘But how to do it’s the thing.’
‘You said it. What do you know about this, Belle?’
‘Enough, Dusty. The man who helped me through this affair said the generals are camping the night on the Pebble Fork of the Red, down where it joins the main river. They’ve heard about this work of yours and are waiting for an escort from Fort Andrew. Only Smethurst hasn’t sent the escort out. Instead he plans to jump them at breakfast tomorrow.’
‘Let’s get moving, Mark, we might be able to make it,’ Dusty said. ‘You go back to the hotel, Belle.’
‘Like hell!’ she replied. ‘I’ve been in this thing from its start and I intend to see it through to the end.’
‘But your back—!’ Mark began, looking at the marks on her shirt and imagining the state of the flesh underneath.
‘It hurts, I’ll grant you,’ she replied. ‘But lying in bed at the hotel won’t make it feel any better. And my place is with you. There’re things I can do and you can’t.’
Grins of admiration flickered across the Texans’ faces as they looked at the girl.
