by J. T. Edson
When the footsteps became audible, Stagge gripped the upper end of the handle in both hands. One blow from that stout piece of timber would be enough to render the ‘Vicomte’ unconscious, if not dead, and the fire would do the rest. People would assume that a falling beam or something had struck him down when they found his body. By that time, Stagge would be on his way to the border and, as long as she behaved herself, accompanied by the ‘Vicomtesse’.
Nearer came the footsteps. Stagge tensed, crouching and holding the handle like a batsman awaiting the pitcher’s delivery of the ball. In the light of the solitary lantern left burning to illuminate the interior, the killer could see well enough for his purposes. Two, three at most, more steps would bring ‘de Brioude’ through the door.
Then the ‘Vicomte’ entered. Looking neither right nor left, he increased his pace slightly. Silently Stagge stepped into position. He swung the handle with all his strength, aiming it at the back of ‘de Brioude’s’ skull—and missed.
Almost as if expecting the attack, ‘de Brioude’ suddenly bent his knees and ducked beneath the whistling arc of the missile. Displaying an equal agility, he bounded forward. On landing, he pivoted on one foot and lashed a kick in Stagge’s direction with the other. Luck saved the killer from taking the impact on his groin. His uninterrupted impetus caused him to spin around. Instead of ‘de Brioude’s’ foot reaching his testicles, it caught him on the hip.
Yelping in pain, Stagge stumbled and dropped the pick-handle. Twisting his head, he saw for the first time that ‘de Brioude’s’ left hand gripped a heavy double-barreled pistol. Fury blasted through Stagge as the implications of the discovery hit him. For ‘de Brioude’ to have arrived armed, taking care to conceal the weapon, Beatrice must have warned him of the trap. In which case, Stagge was to have been the male body found in the burned-out barn and not her husband.
Darting towards Stagge, ‘de Brioude’ swung around the pistol. The killer threw up his left arm to protect his head. Steel met bone with a vicious thud and Stagge’s arm dropped limply to his side. Crying out in pain, he reeled hurriedly away from his assailant. At any moment, he expected the Frenchman’s pistol to line and roar out its load at him. Instead, ‘de Brioude’ advanced with his hand drawing back to hit again.
In a flash of inspiration, the killer realized why ‘de Brioude’ did not shoot. To do so would bring the other men from the cook-shack and ruin the scheme to make the French couple’s enemies believe they had perished in the fire. Stagge need have no such concern. With ‘de Brioude’ dead, Buck-Eye—Stagge still did not know of the lanky man’s desertion—and the rest would willingly share his property. That could include the ‘Vicomtesse’ for all the killer cared.
Across flashed Stagge’s right hand, going under his jacket. Recognizing his peril, ‘de Brioude’ staked all on a desperate leap. With the old pistol swinging wickedly towards his head, Stagge completed his draw and planted a .31 ball between the Frenchman’s eyes. The blow collapsed in mid-delivery and ‘de Brioude’ spun around. Even as he fell, there was a crash and the rear door flew open.
From delivering a karate kick that served as well as any key, Dusty plunged into the barn. He saw ‘de Brioude’ going down in the rag doll-limp manner of a man shot in the head.
Cocking the small revolver, Stagge turned it in Dusty’s direction. Drawing his right side Colt as he finished his entrance in a rolling dive, Dusty aimed and fired as he landed. His aim proved just as accurate, and fatal, as Stagge’s at the Frenchman. Hit in the head by Dusty’s bullet, Stagge joined ‘de Brioude’ on the floor of the barn.
At the cook-shack, the Kid had just reached the front door when he heard the shooting at the barn. Forgetting about giving the signal, he ducked his shoulder and charged at the door. Crashing in, he lined his Winchester at waist level towards the men around the table. Windows shattered and other doors opened forcibly as the rest of the Kid’s party displayed an equally shrewd judgment of the changed situation. With weapons lining from all sides, the occupants of the shack could do nothing but surrender. To have tried otherwise would have asked for certain death and they were just sober enough to know it.
‘Disarm them, Felix, Mark,’ Tam Breda ordered. ‘Bernardo, go find out what the shooting’s abou—’
The scream of a woman in mortal pain chopped off the peace officer’s words.
Chapter Seventeen
Never had Beatrice Argile been in such a complete, savage, uncontrollable rage as while she rushed, knife in hand, towards Libby Schell.
After outwitting the police in Europe’s two most civilized countries—the Argiles had operated half of their time in England—and evading the efforts to trap them made by two powerful criminal organizations, they had been foiled and defeated at the hands of a bunch of half-primitive country bumpkins.
What was more, Beatrice could blame it all on that fat old woman who cowered in terror before her. If Libby Schell had not interfered in the affair of le beau Counter at Fort Sawyer, none of this would have happened. Beatrice and her husband would have continued with the hunting expedition until sure that they were not followed by their enemies, or until whoever came had been killed by Stagge, then settle down somewhere in the United States and live as the Vicomte and Vicomtesse de Brioude. Instead, goaded by hatred, Beatrice had insisted on following the blonde and Counter to Kerr County where she had seen and set her heart on owing the horse called Mogollon.
Although she did not realize it, assuming the identity of the Vicomtesse de Brioude had been Beatrice’s worst mistake. The treatment she had been accorded since the transformation differed greatly from when she had posed as a maid. On the long boat journey and since arriving in the United States, people had done everything she asked and almost fallen over backwards in their eagerness to please her. So Beatrice had grown accustomed to being allowed her own way and enjoyed it. Colin Farquharson’s refusal to sell Mogollon had infuriated her, continuing the train of events which had led her to disaster and ruin.
The sound of shooting from the barn reached Beatrice’s ears without lessening her determination to kill Libby Schell. For all his habit of gambling at every opportunity, she had considered Arnaud a better prospect than Stagge. By pretending to agree to it, she had learned the killer’s scheme for escaping. Then she had secretly modified it. Collecting her husband from the cook-shack, she had brought him to the house. When he had heard what Stagge planned, Arnaud collected one of his—or the Vicomte de Brioude’s—pistols and went to reverse the arrangements by making the killer the victim. The pistol had been unloaded and meant to be used as a club. Which implied that the firing had been done by Stagge—and another person.
Most likely the second shooter belonged to the Schell woman’s party, for the blonde would never have come unescorted. Somehow they had arrived undetected by Buck-Eye, or he had deserted and fled on hearing them coming. Prison awaited Beatrice, of that she felt certain, and with it, reports in newspapers circulated in France. When she was released, her enemies would know where to find her. She might find them waiting for her on her release—but Libby Schell would not live to see it happen.
Swinging the knife high above her head, Beatrice started to deliver a downwards, killing blow.
Libby Schell came from a sturdy, hardy fighting stock which did not give up without a struggle, no matter how great the odds. Filled with nausea, winded and a little dazed, she had watched Beatrice charging at her. Retaining her appearance of beaten incomprehension, she mustered up all her reserves of strength. Although she had to exert every grain of her will-power, she forced herself to remain inactive until the correct moment.
Placing her left hand on the right so that their thumbs formed a V, she flung them up. She trapped Beatrice’s wrist from underneath and with the knife’s blade pointing between her arms. Instead of trying to halt the thrust, Libby jerked downwards. By drawing back her torso, she avoided the attack. Almost scraping the front of Libby’s bosom in passing, the knife’s spear-point contin
ued to descend until it spiked into the upper inside part of the ‘Vicomtesse’s’ right thigh. The combined impetus of Beatrice’s blow and Libby’s pull caused the blade to sink hilt-deep into her flesh, cutting the femoral artery in passing.
A hideous scream burst from the Frenchwoman. So horrible did it sound that Libby released her hold and staggered away. Trying to withdraw the knife, while blood spurted from the wound. Beatrice reeled. Then she dropped to her knees and sank forward, fainting through loss of blood and pain.
For once in her life, Libby came close to hysterics. Staggering to the side door by which she had entered, she heard the front entrance smashed open. Tam Breda rushed in, caught Libby in his arms and hustled her out of the room.
Half an hour later, having regained her composure, Libby sat in the cook-shack and listened to her companions’ stories. All the ‘de Brioudes’ hired men had been questioned, without adding much to what was already known, and released under orders to leave Kerr County by the shortest, quickest route. Sent for by Dusty—using a sullen but obedient Sergeant Heaps as the messenger—the Kerrville doctor had arrived and was at that moment ministering to Laura.
‘And it’s all over,’ Major Aarhorte commented. ‘There’ll be a few important folk relieved about how it came out.’
True to his promise, the major had brought up his men when the shooting started. Their services had not been needed, except to help with the cleaning up and removal of the bodies.
‘Sure,’ Dusty agreed. ‘The “de Brioudes” couldn’t’ve been deported without the newspapers getting hold of the story. It would’ve embarrassed everybody who’d been taken in by them.’
‘Are you all right, Mrs. Schell?’ Inspector Fontaine inquired, studying her bruised, still somewhat pallid face.
‘I’ll do,’ Libby assured him and gently touched her swollen, discolored left eye. ‘If a peace officer’s wife has to go through things like this, I’m not sure I want to be one.’
‘There’s your chance, Tam!’ whooped the Ysabel Kid. ‘Get to running for the hills afore she changes her mind.’
‘If he tries, I’ll break both his legs,’ Libby threatened. ‘And yours, you blasted Pehnane, for suggesting it.’
Two weeks later, on the eve of what would be a double wedding, Tam Breda stood with his arm around Libby’s waist and watched Jeanie mount Mogollon. Gathered along the corral’s fence, Colin, the floating outfit and the mesteneros waited to see what happened. With a deft swing, the girl lowered herself astride the saddle. At first Mogollon snorted and fiddle-footed, but Jeanie had been around so much with Colin that it accepted her.
‘Damned if it’s right,’ growled the Kid, nudging Colin in the ribs.
‘What?’ asked the Scot.
‘Seeing a she-male riding a man’s war-hoss,’ the dark youngster explained. ‘Which ole Mogollon sure don’t look too happy about it, neither. That’s the worst of being catched and all tamed down, man or beast—’
‘He’s smart enough to know when he’s well off,’ Colin declared, interrupting the Kid’s views on how being ‘catched and all tamed down’ affected man or beast. ‘No more roaming the range, being chased and harassed. He’ll have a good home, female company and somebody to take care of him when he’s old and worn out.’
‘Is that Mogollon you’re talking about, amigo,’ Dusty inquired, ‘or you?’
‘Both, I reckon,’ Colin admitted and watched with pride as his wife-to-be rode around the corral on the horse called Mogollon.
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More on J.T. EDSON
i Told in Under the Stars and Bars and Kill Dusty Fog!
ii Told in The Devil Gun
iii
Told in The Colt and the Saber and The Rebel Spy
iv Told in the ‘The Paint’ episode of The Fastest Gun in Texas
v Told in The Ysabel Kid
vi
How Colin earned the name and what it implies is told in .44 Caliber Man
vii Paddling: turning the hooves outward as they are raised to take a forward step.
viii Told in Comanche
ix Told in The Bloody Border and Back to the Bloody Border
x How is told in Goodnight’s Dream and From Hide to Horn
xi This is proven in Troubled Range and The Wildcats
xii Bayo-cebrunos: a dun merging into a smoky-gray colour.
xiii While the horse he rode very often belonged to his employer, the saddle was always the cowhand’s personal property. It was such a vitally important item of his equipment that its loss must be prevented if possible.
xiv How Calamity Jane proved this to the Kid is told in White Stallion, Red Mare
xv The hooley-ann throw is described fully in Trail Boss
xvi Luff: a derogatory name for a 1st lieutenant.
xvii Older Texans tended to use the term ‘constable’ rather than ‘marshal’.
