He could hear excited chattering coming from the parlor. When he stepped into the room, everyone suddenly stopped speaking. Four troopers were sitting around the room with women on their laps. Several young women were clustered around the redhead called Marguerite. Marguerite stared at him for a long moment, then lifted a hand and pointed.
"It's him!" she said in a shaky voice. "Him that's going to be the death of us all!"
A chill traveled up White Eagle's spine. "What's happened here?" he demanded.
The corporal replied, "The sarge had a little too much to drink and let the news about Bear Knife slip, Dandaneau. These gals are gettin' all worked up about it." He slapped the bare thigh of the prostitute perched on his lap. "'Course, worked up is the way we want 'em, ain't it, boys?"
White Eagle uttered a heartfelt curse. Hull had done the very thing that Marshal Flint and Captain Winters had wanted to avoid. Now that these women knew about Bear Knife, the entire town would be up in arms before the next sunset.
"Where is Hull?" White Eagle asked grimly.
"He's upstairs with your private whore!" Marguerite spat at him.
Suddenly the chill in White Eagle spread, until it gripped his very soul. "Emily?" he asked in a tight voice.
"That's right," Marguerite shot back. "They went up a few minutes ago."
White Eagle spun around to find Addie standing behind him. He glared at her, but she met his gaze levelly and stood fixed in his path.
"Wait a minute, White Eagle," the madam said firmly. "This is a business."
"Get out of my way," he said.
"I'll call Julius," Addie warned.
Her words of caution meant nothing to him. White Eagle pushed past Addie, who gasped in surprise but didn’t call for Julius. Instead, White Eagle vaguely heard her saying angrily, "I thought you were going upstairs to rest, Marguerite. Well, you'll have plenty of time for that now. You're through!"
White Eagle found Julius waiting beside the stairs. That was why Addie had not called him. "You'd best not go up there, Mr. Dandaneau," the black man said.
"I don't want to fight you, Julius," White Eagle said as the black man moved smoothly to block the stairs, "but I will if I have to."
Julius started to speak when a frightened scream came from upstairs. White Eagle's head jerked up, and he cried, "Emily!"
Julius turned to gaze in surprise up the stairs, and White Eagle bounded past him before the black man could stop him. White Eagle took the stairs two at a time. He heard Julius pounding after him, but he didn’t turn around or slow down.
When he reached the second-floor hallway, he raced down the corridor toward the last door. As he approached it, he heard muffled grunts and curses, punctuated by the sound of a slap. White Eagle threw himself against the door.
It gave slightly, and he pulled back and slammed into it again. This time the latch tore out of the jamb and the door flew open. As his eyes took in the scene, White Eagle staggered into the room, trying to catch his balance.
Emily was sprawled on the bed, her gown in tatters around her. Looming above her was the bulky figure of Sergeant Harrison Hull. Hull was trying to pull off his shirt with one hand while he used the other to hold down the struggling Emily. He was looking over his shoulder with an angry snarl.
"Hull!" White Eagle cried. Enraged, he sprang at the sergeant, grabbed his shoulder, and jerked him away from Emily. Blind rage gave him the strength to fling his larger opponent toward the wall. Swinging viciously, White Eagle lunged after Hull.
Hull hit the wall and rebounded into White Eagle's fist. Before the sergeant could recover, White Eagle lowered his shoulder, tackled Hull, and forced the heavy man toward the door. He heard Emily crying his name from somewhere far away.
Hull clasped his hands together and brought the clubbed fists down on White Eagle's back. The blow loosened White Eagle's grip, and Hull twisted away. Panting, he swung a punch at White Eagle's head.
Slipping to the side to avoid the blow, White Eagle saw Julius behind Hull. The black man stood with his fists balled, ready to leap into the fight. The scout darted backward, away from another of Hull's sweeping punches, and shook his head.
"The bastard's mine!" he gasped to the black man.
Julius stepped away with a grin tugging at his mouth.
Hull lunged at White Eagle, his face contorted in anger. White Eagle dodged desperately. He had been able to tackle Hull in the early stages of the fight because the sergeant had been taken by surprise and was off-balance. But all that had changed, and the big man was now fighting with everything that he had. White Eagle knew that he must not let Hull get his arms around him: the big man's superior weight and strength would destroy him. Now, White Eagle had to rely on his speed and cunning.
He snapped a couple of quick, stinging punches at Hull's midsection. Hull howled and flung a pair of punches that would have ended the fight had they connected. White Eagle avoided them easily, dancing around Hull and drawing the berserk sergeant away toward the stairs.
White Eagle caught a glimpse of Emily as she appeared in the doorway, a sheet wrapped around her nakedness. Anxious lines were etched on her lovely face as she watched the two men battle. He didn’t want her to be hurt accidentally, so the farther away he could draw Hull, the better.
He kept peppering Hull with punches, taking a few in return but managing to make Hull miss with most of them. The blows that did connect staggered White Eagle, and he knew that he couldn’t take too much of that kind of punishment.
He was aware that the staircase was close behind him now. Shouts of encouragement came from the crowd of people at the bottom of the stairs. The troopers were calling for Hull to defeat him, but Julius and most of the prostitutes were on his side.
White Eagle jabbed at Hull's face and felt the crunch of cartilage as the fist slammed the sergeant's nose. Blood splattered over White Eagle's knuckles. Hull bellowed in pain and charged blindly.
White Eagle had been waiting for that. He threw himself to the side and let Hull thunder past him. The sergeant had not noticed that White Eagle had reached the very top of the stairs. Hull's feet went out from under him, and he toppled like a tree.
Luck turned against White Eagle. One of Hull's flailing hands caught the collar of White Eagle's buckskin shirt, and the scout found himself falling right behind Hull.
The two men tumbled head over heels down the stairs. White Eagle was jarred, but he managed to avoid hitting his head as he fell. Halfway down, his ribs smashed painfully into a runner, and a moment later he was sprawling atop Harrison Hull's moaning figure.
"He's killed the sarge!" one of the privates shouted. "Get the red-skinned son of a bitch!"
The troopers surged forward, grabbed White Eagle, and jerked the dazed scout to his feet. Several of the prostitutes pleaded with them to stop, but the soldiers ignored them.
Julius leaped in and swung a fist at one of the cavalrymen. The man staggered backward from the blow, but three men still hung on to White Eagle. One of the troopers released the scout, stepped in front of him, and smashed a blow into his midsection. White Eagle gasped and started to buckle over, but the men holding him yanked him upright.
Shaking his head, Hull pushed himself to his feet. He saw his men holding White Eagle and pushed aside the man who was about to deliver another brutal blow. With a savage snarl, Hull swung his own fist, driving it into White Eagle's unprotected belly. The man Hull had displaced turned to help his companion with Julius.
It was a full-fledged brawl, the second one in this house in less than a week. In the first one, White Eagle and Julius had been assisted by Pierre Dandaneau's timely intervention. Unless something similar happened now, White Eagle thought fuzzily as more blows thudded against his body, this fight was going to end differently. Unless somebody stopped him, Harrison Hull was going to beat him to death.
The front door suddenly flew open, and a strong, commanding voice boomed, "Hold it!"
Ignoring the order to stop, Hull c
ontinued to hammer White Eagle's body with his fists. White Eagle saw the tall, imposing figure of Lucas Flint appear behind the sergeant's shoulder. Flint whipped the gun in his hand around and slammed the barrel into the back of Hull's head. Hull sagged against White Eagle and slid to the floor.
Leveling his Colt at the other troopers, the marshal cocked the gun. "You men back off," he said coldly.
The men holding White Eagle did as they were told, and the scout clutched at the wall to keep from falling. Behind Flint he saw Cully Markham, holding a gun on the two men who had been fighting with Julius.
"What the devil's going on here?" Flint demanded. "We were taking a turn around town and could hear this ruckus two blocks away!"
Addie Plunket stepped from the group of cowering prostitutes. "I'm afraid it's my fault, Marshal," she said. She looked meaningfully at White Eagle. "I made a mistake in judgment. I never should have allowed these soldiers into the place."
White Eagle tried to catch his breath. At least Addie wasn’t blaming him for the fight. He glanced up and saw a worried-looking Emily standing at the top of the stairs. He tried to grin reassuringly, but a sudden pain shot through his chest, and he couldn’t help flinching. As he tried to breathe more shallowly, he wondered if some of his ribs were broken.
Flint looked sternly at Addie. "You know the law doesn't like to bother these houses as long as things are kept peaceful, Mrs. Plunket. But I've heard that this wasn't the first free-for-all you've had lately."
Moving carefully, White Eagle stepped forward. "I was involved in both of the fights, Marshal," he said, "and I can tell you that neither of them was Addie's fault. If anything, I was to blame."
Cully spoke. "Looks like the soldiers ganged up on you, White Eagle."
"He tried to kill the sarge!" one of the troopers protested.
Emily called down from the top of the stairs, "Only because the sergeant was hurting me! Marshal, White Eagle was just trying to help me."
Flint nodded thoughtfully. "All right," he said after a moment. "You boys have caused enough trouble for one night. I think a little time in jail will give you a chance to settle down."
"Jail! We can't go to jail, Marshal. We've got to be back in camp by ten!"
Cully grinned. "I'd be glad to ride out and let Captain Winters know why some of his men won't be reporting back on time, Marshal."
"Later. Let's get these men behind bars first," Flint said. He turned to the troopers and gestured with his gun. "Pick up your sergeant and carry him over to the jail. Get moving."
Grumbling, the troopers picked Hull up and hauled him onto the porch. Flint and Cully, still holding their guns, followed closely behind. White Eagle came out and took Flint to one side.
"There's something you'd better know, Marshal," the scout said in a low voice. "Hull shot his mouth off about Bear Knife raiding Abilene."
Flint's lean face tightened. "I was hoping that wouldn't happen."
"I know. I'm sorry."
Flint turned to Cully and said, "Take those troopers to the jail." Then he looked at White Eagle and gestured toward the house. "Did those women hear Hull?"
White Eagle nodded. "I suppose you could ask them to keep quiet about it, but I'm not sure how much good that would do."
"Probably not much," Flint said. "I knew there was a chance one of the soldiers would say something, but I didn't think it would happen this soon. At least I hoped it wouldn't." The marshal sighed heavily. "Maybe we're worrying about nothing. There haven't been any Indian raids reported so far. Who knows, maybe Bear Knife decided to head for Canada instead of coming after you."
"Maybe," White Eagle grunted, but he didn’t believe it for a second.
"Don't worry, we'll keep the town as calm as possible," Flint assured him. He clapped a hand on White Eagle's back.
The scout paled and gritted his teeth as the friendly gesture sent jolts of pain spurting through his body. Flint noticed the reaction and frowned.
"You got banged up in that fight more than you're letting on, didn't you?" he asked.
"Hull and I fell down the stairs," White Eagle admitted. "I hit my side pretty hard. May have cracked some ribs, I'm not sure."
Flint studied him for a moment, then said, "Come on. I'll take you to Rose Keller's. You're lucky you got hurt in Abilene. You won't find a better doctor in the state."
"I don't need a doctor," White Eagle protested.
Flint put a hand on his arm. "I figured you'd say that since you're used to taking care of yourself. But if you're really hurt, there's no reason not to get it taken care of. We want you in good shape."
"For Bear Knife...when he gets here."
Flint looked at him for a long moment, then finally nodded. "That's right," he said.
8
Although he continued to protest that he didn’t need medical attention, White Eagle walked to Dr. Rose Keller's office with the marshal. His injury prevented him from moving too quickly, and Flint slowed his usual brisk pace.
As they walked, Flint asked, "Why don't you tell me what that fight was really all about?"
"You heard," White Eagle replied. "Hull was hurting Emily."
"It's none of my business, but that woman isn't just another soiled dove as far as you're concerned."
"That's right," White Eagle said.
"And this wasn't the first time you and Hull have had trouble. Am I right?"
For a long moment, White Eagle was silent. Finally, he said, "A man like me runs into a lot of people who are bothered by the fact that my mother was an Indian. Hull's one of those folks. We've had run-ins before, but never anything like tonight. I think he would have killed me."
"That's what it looked like to me," Flint said. "I figured I'd better stop him any way I could."
White Eagle grinned. "You gave him a pretty good clout on the head."
"He'll have a headache when he wakes up, but there shouldn't be any permanent damage."
"Not with his hard skull," White Eagle agreed.
Now they had reached Texas Street. Light spilled onto the boardwalk through the batwings of Orion's Tavern, along with loud talk and laughter. The burly Scotsman was doing a good business this evening. As they passed in front of the door, Flint waved to Orion, who stood behind the bar.
Next door, at Dr. Keller's office, they noticed that a small light was burning inside. "Looks like Rose's still here," Flint commented. "That's good. Saves us the trouble of finding her."
They turned up the walk and stepped onto the porch. Flint knocked on the front door. A moment later, it swung open, and a smiling young woman greeted them. "Why, hello, Lucas. How are you?" she said.
Flint swept off his hat and nodded. "I'm fine, Rose, but my friend is a little bruised. Can you take a look at him?"
"Of course," Rose Keller said. "Come in, please."
White Eagle stepped into the house, and Flint followed right behind him. The lamp in the office lit the foyer as well, and White Eagle saw that the doctor was younger than he had first thought. Prettier, too. Rose Keller was perhaps thirty years old, and the brown hair that framed her high-cheekboned face was thick and lustrous.
Rose stepped into the office, where a medical journal lay open on her desk, picked up the lamp, and carried it to the foyer. "Follow me, please," she said, leading the way down the hall toward the rear of the house.
She ushered White Eagle and Flint into a long, narrow room. An examining table stood against one wall, and a tall, glass-fronted cabinet containing bandages, splints, bottles of antiseptic, and vials of medicine was opposite it.
"Lucas, help him onto the table, please," Rose said. She took a white jacket from the peg that hung on the back of the door and slipped it on over her simple cotton dress. "Now, what seems to be the problem?"
"I tumbled down some stairs, ma'am," White Eagle explained. "When I move wrong or breathe too deeply, my side hurts quite a bit."
Rose frowned. "That sounds serious. By the way, I'm Dr. Rose Keller."
; "This is White Eagle Dandaneau," Flint said.
Rose looked up, her eyes narrowed. "Any relation to Pierre and Katie Dandaneau?" she asked.
"Pierre is my father," White Eagle answered. "Why?"
Rose shook her head and said, "Nothing, just curious. Please try to take your shirt off, Mr. Dandaneau."
Slowly, White Eagle began peeling the buckskin shirt over his head. He grimaced several times as pain coursed through him. When he had the shirt off, he glanced at his torso and winced at the large, vivid bruise that covered his ribs.
Flint whistled softly. "You sure took a licking," he said. "But you're in good hands. I think I'd better go to the jail and make sure that Cully got there with those troopers. He probably did, since I haven't heard any shooting."
"There were four of them," White Eagle pointed out. "Five if you count Hull. They may have tried to jump him."
Flint laughed. "We'd have heard the uproar. Take good care of him, Rose."
"Of course," she said with a smile. "Can you lift your arm, Mr. Dandaneau?"
White Eagle tried to raise his arm as Flint nodded and slipped out of the room. The scout had to stop when his hand was level with his shoulder.
"That hurts?" Rose asked.
"A bit," he said, frowning.
Her eyes narrowed as she carefully assessed the bruise. Then, with practiced, searching fingers, she probed his side. He gasped sharply. She looked into his eyes, smiled sympathetically, and said. "I'm sorry if this hurts, but I must find out how badly your ribs have been damaged. This is the only way."
"Go right ahead," White Eagle told her as he smiled weakly.
When Flint reached the marshal's office and jail, he found that Cully had locked the five troopers in two of the cells. Through the open cellblock door, he could hear Harrison Hull raving. Cully was seated behind the desk and grinned at the marshal.
"Hull woke up," the deputy said.
"So, I hear." Flint returned Cully's wry grin. "You have any problems with them?"
Rattler's Law, Volume One Page 88