by J. T. Edson
Going to the Wells Fargo office without using a disguise, knowing she would get better results by applying her charms to the men employed there, the reddish-brunette had learned enough about the way her victim would be traveling to feel satisfied that she could reach the vicinity of Bent’s Ford in time to locate whatever assistance she might require. From what she had been told about the arrangement to safeguard the passengers, she concluded she would not be able to achieve her purpose unaided. Instead, she would have to make the attempt somewhere along the way. However, she did not believe that traveling on the same stagecoach would supply the answer when dealing with someone as smart as she heard claimed Belle Boyd could be expected to prove. Instead, she had to get ahead of it and select somewhere suitable for attaining her purpose. Nor did she consider that these purposes would be beyond her abilities to achieve.
Among other talents Libby had acquired in her life spent around circuses was an expertise as a horsewoman, and she had considerable experience at sitting astride. Obtaining two good mounts with which to ride relay in the way she had heard described by men of the West whom she had met in the East, she had impressed the owner of the livery barn from which she purchased them with her knowledge of exactly what she required. As a result of this, she had acquired animals that would cover a good distance at a faster speed than a stagecoach would be moving while still retaining a reasonable trade in value when they became tired along the way. She also acquired male clothing, in which she could travel and attract less attention than would be the case if she went openly as one of her sex.
One snag that Libby had failed to take into account when agreeing to go after the currency-printing plates was how to get the assistance she would acquire. While the largest in the matter of loot acquired, the two robberies she had planned and put into effect were not the first crimes in which she had engaged. In fact, making use of the traveling she did with various circuses, she had augmented her earnings by this means ever since she was old enough to plan and carry out crimes. In addition to having been able to call upon the services of Jinks, Stanislaus Padoubny, and later, the Martinelli twins, she had formed connections with criminals throughout the eastern side of the United States, which allowed her to locate and obtain any other help she had required. She had belatedly become aware that the same did not apply west of the Mississippi River. If she had not been compelled by circumstances to rush into the task she had accepted, she could have been able to obtain information to help her locate others of her kind. However, from all she had learned about the condition of lawlessness that prevailed through much of the Indian Nation, she had felt sure she could overcome the difficulty.
By riding relay, dressed in suitable male attire and with her skill at applying makeup to help her pass muster on the few occasions when she had to come into contact with other human beings, Libby carried all her belongings except the Smith & Wesson revolver and knife—which were on the Western-style gunbelt she had obtained with the clothing—in a tarpaulin-wrapped warbag on one of her saddles. Putting into use all the skill she possessed, she covered ground at a good speed and estimated that she was sufficiently far ahead of the stagecoach carrying her victim to have time to seek out the assistance she felt sure she was going to need.
One thing the reddish-brunette had soon discovered as a result of her dealings with the owners of livery barns when the time came to change horses was that they and their hostlers were exceptionally useful sources of information and, provided they were handled correctly, were willing to disburse it. Taking advantage of Oklahoma City’s having a sufficiently large population for strangers to be less likely to arouse comment than in a smaller town, having decided the time had come to try to find out where outlaws might be contacted, she set about doing so.
Changing into her feminine attire and putting on an appearance of concern, Libby had told the owner of the livery barn that she was negotiating for her younger brother, who was going on an important business trip and that she wanted to ensure he did not go places where he might fall in with bad company. Hearing the “brother” was traveling toward Bent’s Ford, the man had said Big Win’s Place just outside the small town of Cherokee was one definitely to be avoided, as many unsavory characters were frequently to be found there. Learning the reason for its name and where it could be located, saying she would deliver a warning that it must be avoided, she had taken her departure. Making a purchase in a store that apparently did much business with the kind of person she felt she would obtain the result she wanted by pretending to be, she had continued the journey after resuming her masculine garb.
On arriving at Cherokee, having located her destination in a small grove of trees a short distance away, the reddish-brunette was so convincing in her male role by now that she had no difficulty in hiring the only horse and buggy available at the livery barn on the grounds that her relay needed a rest while she attended to some business in the vicinity. On leaving town, she had changed into the garments and cheap jewelry bought for her intention to appear as a saloon girl in search of employment. The place at which she arrived proved to be a large wooden building with half a dozen shacks and a corral around it. On being admitted to what proved to be a large and not expensively furnished barroom, she was not impressed by what she saw until noticing that there were some better grades of whiskey in bottles on the shelves behind the counter. The discovery made her realize that the place must attract a more lucrative kind of customer than seemed to be the case at first sight.
Living up to her name, Big Win proved to be a massive woman in her late fifties and showing signs of what had been a considerable beauty in her younger days. She had also proved to be very perceptive by stating that Libby was not what she appeared to be on the surface. When ordered to tell the truth that she was not what she pretended to be, giving an assurance that she had done nothing to cause the Three Guardsmen or other peace officers to come hunting for her and giving her name as “Katy Smith,” the reddish-brunette claimed she had been told to come and wait for a boyfriend to join her. Much to her relief, she found that Big Win knew something of the crooked gambler called Last Card Johnny Bryan, whose acquaintance she had made while he was working in the East. Saying she could remain and help out around the bar, but not to expect to be paid, the woman had left her there to make a visit to Cherokee.
There had been no customers for some time. The only bartender who remained had taken to heart the reddish-brunette’s warning that Last Card Johnny would be very angry should she complain about having been bothered in any way and left her to her own devices. Although she had hoped for a better prospect, none had shown when six young men arrived. If she had known more about conditions in the West, although each wore a gunbelt of the kind she wore for use in her masculine persona, she would have seen that their clothing was an admixture of town and country garments. Of various heights and builds, the men were in their early twenties.
Studying the new arrivals, Libby had concluded they were much like eastern criminals of the same kind she had known. Therefore, if she had not known there was little enough time to make arrangements for dealing with Belle Boyd, she would not have been inclined to consider them as potential assistants. However, acting as if already drunk, she had discovered they did not require anything other than a beer apiece. Collecting a bottle of cheap whiskey from the bartender and giving him a five-dollar bill with the instruction to mind his own business, she went to sit at the table next to the group. Giving a pretense of falling into a drunken sleep, she found their conversation most interesting.
“We didn’t do all that well on the last three stickups we pulled, Jesse,” protested the shortest of the group. Tony Blair was a stocky and unprepossessing-featured youngster in unclean cowhand clothing who Libby guessed was cultivating a stubbly growth of mouse-brown whiskers in the hope of making him look older and tougher than was the case. “By the time we cut the take between us, there wasn’t more’n we could’ve made working cattle.”
“They was only mu
d wagons,” Wilbran replied. Taller than any of his companions by a couple of inches and better built, he had reddish hair and a handsome face with dissipation in its lines. He was the best dressed, with the attire of a cow-country dandy limited only by his means and carrying a pair of white-handled Colt Civilian Model Peacemakers on a gunbelt that looked as if it was intended to allow a fast draw. “The Wells Fargo stage down to Bent’s’ll be carrying folks with a whole heap more cash on ’em than the nesters and such’s we took from.”
“And it’ll have a feller riding shotgun with a twin-barreled ten-gauge,” sullen-featured, unshaven, and burly Jack Cunningham pointed out. Second to Wilbran in height and heft, his garments suggested he could be classed as a nester rather than a ranch hand. “All them Wells Fargo stages do.”
“We pull it the way I’ve fixed for us to and he won’t get him a chance to use it,” Wilbran claimed coldly, knowing the other was a rival for leadership of the gang he and his younger brother Sim had formed. “And anyways, them shotguns’re told not to raise any fuss if doing it’ll put the passengers in danger.”
“We don’t know’s how there’s going to be any passengers on it,” Frank Dobson reminded, ever a pessimist.
“There’ll be at least one,” Libby stated, rising and crossing to the next table. Startled exclamations burst from all the young men, and they began to shove back their chairs. Glancing at the counter and seeing that the bartender was watching without giving any indication of leaving his place, she went on, “Settle down. We’re all in the same game and I can tell you how you can make a whole lot more money than by just taking whatever cash the passengers have with them.”
“How?” asked Simcock Wilbran, a slightly younger and not quite so well dressed version of his brother.
“There’s a woman called Elizabeth Hardin coming down on it,” the reddish-brunette explained as the men sank back on their seats. “She’s from one of the richest families in Texas, so all you have to do is take her along with you to some place and hold her for ransom. They’ll pay real high to get her back.”
“Who the hell are you?” Cunningham snarled.
“That’s no way to talk to a lady!” Jesse snapped, knowing the other to be a threat to his leadership. Then he swung his gaze to Libby and went on in a more polite tone. “But he does have him a point, ma’am.”
“I’m Belle Starr,” the reddish-brunette said in a quietly impressive tone, using a name—which had featured so prominently in highly spiced stories that were circulated back east—she felt certain would produce the effect she required.
“Belle—!” Sim began, looking respectful.
None of them had become curious about the accent of the “blonde” giving no sign of such origins. Even Cunningham showed that he, too, was impressed by meeting somebody who claimed to be the famous lady outlaw who made Oklahoma her home.
“But you can call me Katy Smith,” the reddish-brunette stated rather than suggested. “It’s a game I’ve been thinking on, and I was looking for a smart bunch like you to help me pull it off. That’s why I came to Big Win’s.” Her gaze went to Jesse and her tone changed until it sounded respectful as she went on. “How do you figure on taking the stage, Jesse?”
Puffing out his chest more than a little at the way in which the “famous lady outlaw” had clearly chosen him as the undisputed leader of the gang, saying they had worked before and his examination of the route had located a place where the required conditions were available, the would-be dandy explained the means to be employed. Without realizing that the way selected had been learned from a blood-and-thunder booklet called “Jesse James, Gentleman Bandit,” Libby was most impressed by what she heard and decided the gang might serve her purpose after all. At the conclusion of the explanation, she told how the kidnapping was to be carried out and was informed that a hideout was available where the victim could be held until the ransom money was forthcoming.
Calling for a round of drinks, the reddish-brunette felt highly delighted by what she believed she had achieved. Once her instructions were carried out, she could search the baggage in which she felt sure Belle Boyd was carrying the printing plates. With them in her possession, she would leave her dupes to wait for the ransom that would never come. While the authorities and the Pinkerton National Detective Agency—to which organization she had been told the Rebel Spy belonged and so would be determined to bring to justice whoever was responsible for her fate, likely to be death after rape once it was discovered she was not Elizabeth Hardin and no money would be paid for her return—were hunting for them return to Washington, D.C. Once there, Libby was confident she could locate the “liberal” backers of the scheme and cut Lachlan out of the deal altogether. What was more, she thought—with her four associates from the circus dead—she would be able to keep the whole of the money she acquired for herself.
Thirteen – You’re Coming With Us, Miss Hardin
Facing forward in the left-side corner seat of the Wells Fargo stagecoach made by Abbot & Downing in New England that would be arriving at Bent’s Ford shortly before sundown, Elizabeth “Betty” Hardin decided—while it might offer the swiftest way of traveling by transport available to the public from Ellsworth there was currently available—it was far from the most comfortable way in which she had ever made a journey. xx The best she could say about it was that the good condition in which the company ensured the trail was kept allowed them to cover around twenty-five miles a day. There were other things that caused her to feel a better means of completing the trip home would be vastly preferable.
For one thing, although the situation was now alleviated, Betty had not been enamored of the crowded conditions that had to be endured due to there being a full complement of fifteen passengers—five each facing forward and to the rear, with the remainder occupying a removal bench across the central aisle—aboard in the earlier stages. Never a snob, she had accepted having to sit “dovetailed” with her legs between those of the woman facing her in the center. Nor had she demanded or even expected preferential treatment either while traveling or staying overnight at the way stations along the route on account of her social standing in Texas.
A major source of annoyance for Betty had been the presence of a passenger who insisted upon trying to be the life and soul of the party regardless of the feelings of his fellow travelers. Big, burly, well dressed, with a florid face redolent of bonhomie, which was probably an asset in his business of salesman for a major general-goods store in the East, Harold Goodgold—he insisted upon referring to himself by the horrible pun “Good As”—who insisted without the least encouragement on her part as considering himself to be her protector against each and every discomfort. Such an attitude would have been found amusing by the crew of the OD Connected ranch if they had seen it. The general consensus of opinion among them would have been that their well-liked “boss lady” needed slightly less protection in any circumstances than a momma Texas flat-headed grizzly bear—accounted by them, as loyal sons of the Lone Star State, despite the lack of any scientific corroboration, as being the largest and most dangerous of the species Ursus horribilis—fresh out of hibernation and with young cubs along. Much to her disappointment, having claimed he was headed west from Bent’s Ford to let folks that way see what they were missing, he was still accompanying her.
Being fair-minded, although not approving of the motive, Betty had had to admit to herself that she was at least partly to blame for the interest Goodgold had taken in her. Even without her position and standing in Texas, which he had clearly known, she was by far the most attractive member of her sex making the journey. However, apart from both having the same-color hair and being beautiful, there was no way in which Belle Boyd could have been accepted as her by anybody who had made her acquaintance, and, fortunately for the deception, if any such person had been in Washington, D.C., their paths had not crossed.
Only five feet two in height, being less willowy than the Rebel Spy, Betty had an appearance that only a confi
rmed misogamist or a sexual deviate would not have found most pleasing to the eye. Tanned without having become harshened by the sun of her native Texas, her smooth-skinned features were as near perfect as any woman could expect. However, there was a suggestion of strength of will—without arrogance—and the saving grace of good humor about them. Her long-lashed eyes were coal black and met a man’s without distrust or promise. Rather, they were a further indication that she was a capable and self-controlled young woman who could be grimly determined when the need arose.
Having removed and hung her black J. B. Stetson Texas-style hat by its fancy barbiquejo chin strap on a hook provided for that purpose brought Betty’s hair, which was kept cut fairly short for ease of care in her active life, into view. Her figure was rich and full, eye-catching without being in any way flaunting or provocative. Tailored for the purpose, neither her black bolero jacket nor frilly-bosomed white silk blouse drew attention to the swell of the bosom they concealed. Nor did her black divided skirt, intended to permit riding astride rather than sidesaddle, give more than a suggestion of the trim hips and shapely legs underneath. Her ensemble was completed by high-heeled, sharp-toed, and fancy-stitched boots of the kind worn by cowhands and had Kelly spurs attached to them.
Although neither showed similar attention to Betty, she had soon concluded that the only two of the passengers on the final leg of the journey were not much of an improvement on the salesman as far as traveling companions went. One was Russel Prouty, a portly, soberly clad, stuffy, and prosperous-looking businessman who had boarded at the last town along the route. Obviously fully aware of his own importance, he had remained aloof and showed he had no liking for Goodgold’s attempts at finding everything that happened a source of humor. Nor was Gilbert Griffin any more sociable company. Poorly attired, he had the appearance of being the kind of nester who tried to wrest a living from soil ill-adapted for his kind of agriculture. Lean, gaunt, and mournful of demeanor, he bore himself like one who had all the cares of the world on his shoulders. Eating and drinking sparely along the way, he had reacted with a horrified refusal when offered a cigar and asked to partake of the whiskey from the salesman’s hip flask All in all, Betty had assumed he was clearly close to the blanket as far as money went. His only brief entry into conversation had been to comment on the poor state of farming in Kansas and how little he was able to scrape up for his place so he could try his luck in Oklahoma.
