Count von Schroeder galloped his stallion up, brandishing his Winchester. He pulled up beside Will and Lone Eagle and leveled the gun at Lone Eagle. “What did you do that for? I could have shot that beast easily once I had a loaded weapon.”
Eichhorn galloped up on his slower mount and shook his fist at Will and Lone Eagle. “Ja! Count von Schroeder is an excellent shot. He would not have missed, if I had not been late loading the rifle.”
Lone Eagle stared at the count. He raised a finger and pointed to the ridge behind them.
The count looked in the direction indicated and slowly lowered the Winchester. He looked back at Lone Eagle. “Who are they?”
“Shoshone warriors. This is their hunting ground. A white buffalo is sacred to all Indians, but this one is particularly sacred to the Shoshones. If you had killed the white buffalo, you would now be dead . . . we would all be dead.”
“Why didn’t they stop us from shooting the other buffalo, if they consider this to be their private hunting ground?” the count asked.
Lone Eagle shrugged. “They are probably respectful of the firepower you have with your new rifles. I see only two guns among the eight braves . . . and they are single-shot, muzzle-loaders. The others have bows and arrows.”
“So? If they are afraid, I could have shot the white buffalo and had a magnificent, rare specimen for my museum.”
“If you had shot the white one,” Lone Eagle said, “they would have attacked us no matter the odds. The shame of not avenging the death of the white buffalo would not be tolerated by the tribe. All eight warriors would be willing to die, if necessary.”
Lone Eagle unslung his bow from his shoulder, raised it above his head, and waved it back and forth. One of the Shoshones returned the gesture. The eight Indians swung their ponies in unison and trotted away, along the crest of the ridge.
The count handed the rifle back to his gunsmith. “Come along, Herr Eichhorn. Let us return to camp. I feel the need for a glass of champagne. We will drink a toast to a successful hunt, even though I did not shoot the white one.”
Will sat beside Lone Eagle and watched the count and the gamekeeper trot back toward the camp, the white tents of which were visible along the North Platte River. Were it not for the carcasses scattered in the grass around them, Will thought the scene would be idyllic.
“I have some butchering to do, Lone Eagle.” Will tugged on Buck’s reins and walked the Morgan toward the two big buffalo the count had designated earlier.
“I will assist you,” Lone Eagle said. “We will take the tongues and humps from those two back to Homer for preparing our supper. That will provide enough meat for our group for several days. The Shoshones will return after dark and take the meat and hides from the others.”
“At least the count’s slaughter won’t go to waste,” Will said.
CHAPTER 45
Paddy stood beside his horse and peered through the branches of the cottonwood trees. He patted her neck. “Aye, ye’re a good girl,” he whispered. “Sure, and ye are.”
The mare had been a good selection. She went where he guided her without hesitation and seldom whinnied or snorted. She possessed a steady gait that chewed up the ground at a rapid pace, even when dragging the travois. He wished she weren’t so tall. He had a hard time climbing into the saddle when he couldn’t lead her next to a rock to stand on.
The sun hung low in the sky on this warm day in early August. He’d sneaked up on the count’s camp from the downwind side. He felt confident the hunting party’s horses could not pick up either his or his horse’s scent from where he now hid.
Paddy studied the campsite spread out before him. A large wall tent evidently provided the sleeping quarters for the count. A smaller tent to the right probably housed Elspeth. To the left of the big tent, Homer Garcon and another man cleaned dishes under a kitchen fly. Farther to the left, the party’s string of horses, a spotted pony, and Homer’s mule stood hitched to a picket line strung between some cottonwoods. Between the big tent and the smaller one, he saw Lone Eagle sitting under a tree alongside Will Braddock, who was occupied cleaning a rifle.
“Wolfgang, I’m going down to the river to wash up.” Paddy recognized Elspeth’s southern drawl.
He saw her step around the side of the small tent carrying a towel. What good fortune. She was headed in his direction. He wouldn’t have to find a way to sneak in close to the camp to get her attention.
“Miss Elspeth, are you sure you should go alone?”
From the German accent, that had to be Count von Schroeder who’d spoken, even though Paddy couldn’t see him, nor had he ever heard the man speak before. The final member of the hunting party had to be with the count.
“A lady needs some privacy in these matters, Wolfgang. I’ll be fine.”
“Lone Eagle?” Paddy heard the count’s voice again. “What about those Indians we saw earlier? Do you think they are near?”
“They are near,” Lone Eagle answered. “They are more interested in butchering those buffalo you shot than spying on a white woman.”
“All right, Elspeth,” the count said. “Don’t be gone long.”
“Just a few minutes, Wolfgang.” Elspeth swung the towel beside her and hummed as she strolled toward the riverbank.
Paddy stepped back into the trees and rubbed his hand over the mare’s muzzle to keep her quiet. He patted the horse’s forehead and tied the reins around a branch.
He watched Elspeth kneel at the river’s edge, loosen her hair, and shake the long, blonde curls out over her shoulders. She leaned forward and splashed water onto her face with her hands, then patted her cheeks dry with the towel.
Paddy slipped up behind her. A twig snapped under his boots.
Elspeth’s head jerked around. “Paddy!”
“Ah, me darlin’. ’Tis nice ye’ve found a way to meet with me in private, so it is.”
She stood and faced him. “What are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here? Well, sure and I thought we were in this together. Mort told me ye were going to help me with robbing the count.”
“I’ve changed my mind!” Elspeth’s voice spat the words out.
Paddy grasped her throat, ripped his Bowie knife from its boot sheath, and stuck the point of the blade against her neck.
“Ah!” Elspeth groaned.
“Keep yer voice down! Do not cry out, me pretty, or I’ll silence ye right now.”
“Miss Elspeth, are you all right?” The count’s voice called from beyond the tent.
“Answer him,” Paddy said. He pressed the blade harder against Elspeth’s throat.
“Fine, Wolfgang. I just stubbed my toe on a rock.”
“Good job, darlin’,” Paddy said. “Now, about this not wanting to help. Ye’re supposed to make a scene when I release the snakes. Ye’re job’s to create panic in the camp.”
“I’m not going to do it,” she whispered. “The count likes me. He treats me well. I’m planning on going with him to Sacramento. This is my chance to get away from Mort.”
“Sure, and that makes no never mind to me, darlin’. I’ll do the job meself.” Paddy pressed the knife blade into her throat, knowing he’d drawn blood. He wanted her full attention. “Where is it the count keeps his money belt?”
“In a leather traveling trunk, under the bed in the back half of the large tent. A drape separates the sleeping chamber from a lounge area in the front.”
“I see Braddock and Lone Eagle under that tree. Homer and somebody are under that kitchen fly. Where be the count and that other fellow . . . and what be they doing?”
“Wolfgang and Conrad are sitting at the dining table in front of the main tent, sipping cognac and smoking their pipes.”
“Elspeth, me darlin’,” Paddy said. “It’s sorry I am that ye’ll not be helping me steal the count’s money. I don’t think Mort’s going to like it when I tell him ye backed out on yer arrangement with him.”
“It wasn’t an arrangement. I ne
ver told Mort I’d help. I only listened to what he told me.”
“So ye’ve planned this all along. Well, sure, and I don’t care what happens to ye in the long run, but I’ll not have ye interfering with what I have to do. Ye’ll have to settle up with Mort yer own self . . . later.”
Paddy spun Elspeth around and pushed her deeper into the trees, holding the knife against her back.
“Don’t kill me, Paddy. I’ve never done anything to hurt you.”
“Aye, and ye’ve never done anything to show ye cared for me, even though I be the one what got Mort interested in ye in the first place.”
When he got her back beside the mare, he shoved her against a tree.
“Stand there! I’m going to tie ye to the tree. If ye cry out, I’ll kill ye for sure. Understand?”
She nodded.
“Give me yer towel,” Paddy said. “And don’t ye move.”
Paddy retrieved a length of rope from the travois and wrapped three turns around Elspeth and the tree, knotting the line behind the trunk. He twisted the towel into a tight roll and tied it around her head, forcing a portion of it between her lips to form a gag.
“Too bad, Elspeth, Mort might have shared some of the count’s money with ye if ye’d cooperated.”
He had counted on Elspeth to help keep the count and the others away from the tent while he located the traveling trunk. This was going to be a little tougher now that he had to do it all himself, but Mort would have his hide if he didn’t try.
He untied the travois from the mare, dropping the sled to the ground behind the horse. He grasped the four sacks by their tied ends and lifted them off the travois. He crept closer to the camp, holding two sacks in each hand, away from his body.
The sun had dropped behind the mountains to the west and a full moon rose in the eastern sky. There would be enough daylight left for him to finish his task before darkness set in. He looked back to the clump of trees. Elspeth and the mare were hidden from sight. Now to create some panic with his four rattlesnakes.
CHAPTER 46
Will leaned back against the tree and ran his fingers along the golden frame of the Winchester. He’d offered to clean one of the count’s rifles because he wanted to get a better look at the new firearm.
Conrad Eichhorn sat on a camp chair beside the count at the folding dining table in front of the spacious tent, smoking his briar pipe and working on the other rifle. “What do you think of the ‘Yellow Boy’?” he asked.
“ ‘Yellow Boy’?” Will responded.
“That’s what hunters are calling it,” Eichhorn said, “because the bronze frame has such a yellow cast.”
Will weighed the firearm in his hand, lifting it up and down. “It has a nice balance.”
“You may load it, now that it is clean,” Eichhorn said. He tossed a box of cartridges to Will.
Will dropped the rifle into his lap to catch the box. He fed one .44-caliber cartridge after another into the gate on the side of the rifle’s frame. When he’d finished loading all fifteen rounds, he tossed the box of shells back to the gunsmith.
“I believe you and Lone Eagle are not happy with my shooting so many buffalo today,” Count von Schroeder said. He removed the meerschaum pipe from his teeth and raised a large snifter to his nose. He inhaled the aroma of the cognac, sipped from the glass, and smacked his lips. “Am I right?”
“Sir, it’s your hunt.” Will sighed. “I’m just the guide.”
“I do regret not getting that white buffalo,” the count said, “but I admit it is wiser to keep my scalp.” He chuckled.
“Not to mention our scalps,” Will said, under his breath.
Hee-haw! Ruby’s bray caused Will and the others to look beyond the kitchen fly to the picket line.
Neighing, snorting, and the pounding of hooves, added to repeated brays from Ruby.
Will jumped to his feet. “Something’s wrong at the picket line,” he said. He snapped the lever down and back up on the Winchester, feeding a shell into the chamber.
Lone Eagle rose, quickly strung his bow, and nocked an arrow.
The count set his brandy snifter on the table and stood. He took the second Winchester out of the hands of his gunsmith. “Come along,” he said.
Will, the count, Eichhorn, and Lone Eagle reached the picket line to find the horses crashing their way through the small thicket of cottonwoods and scattering out across the adjacent prairie. The picket line lay on the ground.
“What’s happening?” asked Homer. He and Rupert had joined the others.
Will held up an end of rope still tied to one of the tree trunks. “Someone cut the picket line.” He fingered the cleanly severed strands of the remaining piece.
“But why did all the horses bolt?” the count asked.
Zzzzz.
“Rattlesnake,” Lone Eagle said. He loosed an arrow at the feet of the count, pinning a three-foot snake to the ground beside the German aristocrat.
Will raised the Winchester and fired. Blood spewed from the severed head of a second snake that lay coiled next to Eichhorn.
“Where did they come from?” the count asked.
Eichhorn pointed to a pile of brown sacks. “There,” he said.
He’d barely spoken the words, when another snake crawled out of one of the bags. Will dispatched it quickly with another rifle shot.
The fourth sack wriggled. Lone Eagle stepped over, grasped the top of the sack, closing it, and tossed the bundle deep into the underbrush.
“Mein Gott!” the count exclaimed. “Four rattlesnakes. What is going on here? Und where is Elspeth?”
The count ran back to the main tent. “Elspeth!” he called. “Where are you?”
Will and Lone Eagle joined the count as he ran between the two tents and headed for the river. Eichhorn, Homer, and Rupert followed.
“Elspeth!” The count shouted. “Answer me.”
Lone Eagle soon found where Elspeth had washed at the river’s edge, then been led back into the thicket. All of them halted as one when they discovered Elspeth tied to a tree.
The count pulled the gag from her mouth, while Lone Eagle sliced the binding rope.
Elspeth fell into the count’s arms, tears flowing down her cheeks. “Oh, Wolfgang. It was awful. Paddy O’Hannigan almost killed me.”
“Paddy O’Hannigan?” said Will. “Is he still here?”
“No,” Elspeth answered. She caught her breath, then spilled out her story in a continuous rush. “Paddy came to steal your money, Wolfgang. Mort Kavanagh sent him to do it. I was supposed to help him . . . but I refused. He had a horse, with a travois . . . to carry rattlesnakes. The travois is over there. He left it behind when he rode away.”
The count turned to his valet. “Rupert. Check the money belt.”
Rupert ran back to the tent.
“You said this man almost killed you,” the count said. “Why didn’t he?”
“He said he would leave me to face Mort’s wrath,” she answered. “Oh, Wolfgang, I’m so frightened.”
“There, there, Elspeth. Everything will be all right.” The count held her closer.
“Wolfgang, I have deceived you.” Elspeth sobbed. “It was Mort’s idea for you to bring me along so I could help Paddy steal your money. I never intended to help him, Wolfgang. You have to believe me.”
“Why did you come if not to aid in stealing my money?”
“I’ve been searching for a way to get away from Mort’s domineering. I saw this as a way to escape his clutches. I’m sorry, Wolfgang. You’ve been so kind to me. Please forgive me.”
The count wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumb. “I forgive you, Elspeth, because I enjoy your company. I’m glad this Paddy fellow didn’t hurt you. Come, a brandy will calm your nerves.”
Rupert came racing back. “It’s gone, your Excellency. The money belt is gone.”
Lone Eagle headed for the rear of the tent, and Will joined him. Lone Eagle pulled aside a slit in the rear tent wall where Paddy
had made his entrance. Lanterns hanging in the sleeping area revealed a large, traveling trunk with an open lid. Lone Eagle raised a severed leather strap for Will to see.
Will followed Lone Eagle away from the tent and back into the trees to where they’d untied Elspeth.
Lone Eagle pointed to the disturbed ground near the abandoned travois. Deep hoof prints in the soft soil revealed that a horse had dug in deeply when its rider urged it to race away. “He rode south,” Lone Eagle said.
“I’m going after him,” Will said.
“I’ll go with you.”
“No. You help the count round up the horses. And, we don’t know for sure what those Shoshones might do. Stay here and protect the others. Paddy’s trail will be easy to follow. He’ll most likely stay on the river trail.”
Will puckered his lips and whistled. “Tseeeee, Tse, Tse, Tse.”
He still held the Winchester, and as he returned to the dining table in front of the count’s tent, he whistled again. “Tseeeee, Tse, Tse, Tse.”
This time a whinny answered and Buck trotted into the clearing and up to the tent.
“Good boy,” Will said. He held out a hand and the Morgan came to him.
Will reloaded the weapon from the box of shells Eichhorn had left there, then he led Buck back to the picket line where he retrieved his saddle.
The full moon aided Will in following the trail by the river. He held Buck back, not wanting to blunder into an ambush. He had no doubt he could overtake the Irishman, but he wanted the contact to be of his choosing.
It was almost an hour later when he caught sight of Paddy, his silhouette appearing like a shadow before the moon when he rode over the crest of a ridge.
“Let’s go, Buck. We’ve got him now.” Will tapped his heels against the horse’s flanks and picked up the pace.
A few minutes later, Will topped the ridge where he’d spotted Paddy. Several yards ahead, the Irishman slapped his reins back and forth across his horse’s neck, trying to urge the animal to run faster.
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