Belle Slaughter- The Complete Series

by Tony Masero

  ‘I told you we should have dumped her, Captain,’ said Dane.

  ‘Sweet Dean didn’t want it that way. He was afraid her death might come back to haunt him.’

  ‘What do we do about Sweet Dean anyway?’ asked Little Wait.

  Wayland shrugged, ‘What about him? He’s got nothing to do with this.’

  ‘Aye,’ agreed Devlin. ‘He has his fancy house and every trimming, courtesy of our hard work. What would the loss of our brother here be to him?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Wayland, studying them each individually. ‘Did you really think we were here just to be at his beck and call? He was our front man, gentlemen, although he never knew it. The right time comes for us, then Sweet Dean will be bidding us a short ‘Bye-Bye-Pye’ and that’s when we move in and take it all for ourselves.’

  They all chortled conspiratorially at that. ‘You sure got it right, Captain. You is the man,’ chortled Dane. ‘Ain’t no doubt about it.’

  ‘There is one more thing,’ Wayland said, his cold tone cutting them off. ‘These nigras here. They must have helped Bell. Hidden him and aided and abetted in his capture of Corinth.’

  ‘We going to make them pay, Captain?’ asked Dane.

  ‘Oh yes, we’ll stretch necks and burn out every stick and stinking hovel the festering beggars own. Later though, when we return. Right now we need all haste to get to my cousin Paramount Bliss, before Bell can make a move on him.’

  The wedding, although a simple affair was sufficient for both Kirby and Lizbette.

  Lomas gave her a posy. Not much of a thing, just some wild flowers he found in the graveyard out back of the church but Lizbette appreciated the effort. She smiled at him in thanks as he led her down the aisle but from then on her attention was fixed on Kirby and his on her.

  The two of them barely heard the words the preacher uttered and only took their vows at his prompting. Their promises had already been made in private and it was only society that was being satisfied in the church ceremony.

  Kirby took Lomas’s hand when it was done.

  ‘Thanks, partner,’ he said.

  ‘My pleasure,’ Lomas answered. ‘I hope it all goes well for the two of you and that baby there gets to be a fine and righteous child.’

  ‘He will be,’ Kirby promised.

  ‘Or maybe she will be,’ Lizbette interjected.

  ‘Don’t matter either way to me, honey. I’ll be glad whichever way it turns out,’ Kirby promised with a smile.

  ‘Well, I’ll bid you farewell now,’ said Lomas. ‘I must be about my business.’

  ‘Not so fast, pard,’ Kirby frowned. ‘You never did explain what you intend to do about your sister.’

  ‘I aim to get her back. That’s what I aim to do.’

  ‘That Bliss fellow’s got a whole crew of malcontents alongside of him. You saw them in the saloon. You won’t make it on your own.’

  ‘I got to try, Kirby. You know that.’

  ‘Then you’d best let me help.’

  ‘I can’t ask that,’ said Lomas, glancing across at Lizbette’s worried face. ‘You’d best tend to your lady. You got a wife now, Kirby.’

  ‘You understand, don’t you, honey?’ Kirby turned questioningly to Lizbette. ‘It’s the least I can do.’

  Lizbette compressed her lips, ‘It’s your decision, Kirby, not mine.’

  ‘There, you see,’ said Kirby, turning back to Lomas. ‘Listen, I know where the polecat lives. We’ll take Lizbette home and come on back later, why, we’ll have your sister out of that house before the bastard even knows we’ve been there.’

  Lomas hung his head, not saying a word. He recognized the old Kirby even if the man did not know that his former self had been resurrected. Reckless and bold, it was a mark of the man. One that Lomas had always admired and yet now he felt guilty bringing his problems to the couple’s door on such a happy day.

  ‘I can’t ask this of you,’ he mumbled. ‘Not on this day, Kirby.’

  ‘Hell, it’s done, Lomas. There’s no more thinking to be made,’ with a roguish smile he turned to Lizbette. ‘Well, Mrs. Lizbette Langstrom, you ready to get carried over the threshold of your married home?’

  She laughed and patted her round stomach, ‘Not in the state I’m in.’

  ‘Feels good to be legal, don’t it?’ he grinned.

  Lizbette could also see the other side of Kirby coming to the fore, something that had lain there hidden all the time she had known him. The wild nature was back on top and she realized that this was more the complete man than the wounded creature she had fallen in love with. She wondered for a moment if their relationship would work as well now that he had recovered his full memory and his old more reckless ways were re-initiated again.

  ‘I hired us a buckboard,’ said Lomas. ‘We’ll take Lizbette home and talk on it some more.’

  ‘You hear that, honey,’ said Kirby. ‘We’re travelling home in style.’ He looked across at Lomas, his eyes hooding and the smile dropping from his face. ‘There’ll be no more talk, Lomas. This will be done; we need to get your sister back. It sounds like she’s had a raw enough deal already. Least I can do is help you in this.’

  ‘I believe Kirby’s right,’ Lizbette said suddenly and with firmness. ‘If I was in your sister’s situation and had suffered such awful treatment, I would certainly wish that there would be someone to come save me. You must not think on it any more, if Kirby is willing to go then I will only support him in this.’

  Lomas drew a deep breath, ‘Well, ma’am. I am most obliged for those words, I surely am. Seems like I am out of argument.’

  ‘That you are, Lomas,’ Kirby said brightly. ‘Now lead us to this carriage of yours.’

  As he helped Lomas harness up the horse to the buckboard, he ducked under the beast’s head and hid himself from Lizbette seated in the wagon bed.

  It was late afternoon now and the sun was sinking low on the horizon. Kirby could see that Lizbette was tired out and she dozed in the warmth of the last rays of the setting sun that reached through the open doors of the livery stables.

  ‘I’ll need me a pistol,’ he whispered to Lomas as they laced up the bridle and shook out the reins.

  ‘Don’t worry I got me a spare in my saddlebags,’ Lomas went over to the livery stall and pulled out his pony. He slung on the blanket and saddle and lashed up his saddlebags, opening the flap on one to show Kirby where the pistol was.

  Kirby nodded understanding and climbed up onto the buckboard.

  ‘You ready, wife?’ he asked.

  She mumbled dreamily and Kirby could see she was full of thoughts of the baby and he smiled contentedly as he backed the buckboard out of the stables.

  They crested the rise above Brevet Landing as the sun began its final scarlet journey over the hills to the west. Kirby was feeling relaxed as he geed up the buckboard’s pony and Lomas settled in to ride alongside him. He was looking forward to their evening meal and catching up with his old friend and hearing all the news that had passed by him in the years of his memory loss and recovery. He was thinking of a jug he had put aside and been saving to wet the baby’s head when it arrived. Now would be a good time to celebrate he thought as he looked over his shoulder at Lizbette in the wagon bed behind him. Exhausted, Lizbette was asleep, untroubled by the rocking of the wagon as they bumped over the uneven trail.

  ‘What do you know about this Paramount Bliss?’ Kirby asked Lomas.

  Lomas shrugged, ‘Next to nothing, he’s just a name to me. I only seen the back of his head that time back there at the saloon.’

  ‘He’s mighty full of himself,’ observed Kirby. ‘I had a run-in with him earlier and its like he owns the world. Had word from a farmer on the way in that he was a blockade runner turned smuggler now.’

  Lomas was not listening though; he was squinting into the distance.

  ‘Rider’s coming,’ he said.

  Kirby looked off and saw the band of riders coming fast through the angled sunlight, t
heir ponies flashing in the red bands of color and alternate shadow cast by the low lying sun.

  ‘They’s coming at a pace,’ said Kirby, slowing the buckboard.

  ‘I got four of them,’ Lomas noted, drawing up his pony.

  Both men tensed, it was an instinctive response. They could not yet identify the black silhouettes but some inherent instinct warned them to be cautious. What kind of riders came at such a lick in the approaching evening? Nothing about their pace boded well.

  ‘I don’t like it,’ mused Lomas.

  ‘You leave behind some trouble when you came here?’ Kirby asked.

  ‘Mm, a mite,’ Lomas allowed.

  ‘Look like Union cavalry,’ Kirby said, peering at the fast moving quartet.

  They heard the shout when the riders were a few hundred yards away in front of them.

  ‘It’s him!’

  The cry was followed by a series of yelps and calls of excitement and Kirby could see that the men were drawing their weapons as they approached.

  ‘Lord help us, it’s Wayland!’ said Lomas.

  Kirby heard Lizbette stir behind him, ‘What’s going on?’ she asked.

  ‘Stay down low, honey. We’ve got a spot of bother coming.’

  The first shot cracked out from the charging band followed by a pattering of accompanying firing. The shooting coming from the bounding ponies was inaccurate, the aim of the riders set off by their speed and the rough road. Their bullets flew high in the air above the buckboard and its occupants.

  ‘Here y’are, Kirby,’ called Lomas, drawing his Winchester from the saddle scabbard and tossing it across. Kirby deftly caught the rifle and cranked a shell into the chamber as he did so. The weight felt good in his hand and he noted the smell of gun oil with satisfaction as he drew the rifle to his shoulder. It was another old friend come to visit him.

  With a shout, Lomas dug in his heel and kicked his pony forward. His pistol was out and he leveled it at their attackers as he charged forward directly towards them in a brash attempt at dispersing them.

  Bullets were coming their way fast now, Wayland’s whooping men coming on as if they were racing down a cavalry assault back in the war. Kirby felt the humming shells zoom by, some of them splintering the buckboard seat next to him.

  He knelt forward in the seat and took his time aiming. When the Winchester cracked he saw one of the black oncoming shapes buck in the saddle, a dark cloud of dust and blood punched from his shirtfront. The wounded rider squirmed but stayed put in the saddle and as Lomas, riding head on, passed amongst them firing to left and right with his pistol, they split and ran around him like a river parting the ways and coursed on, overrunning the buckboard in their speed. Kirby saw the white faces grimacing at him as they passed by on either side.

  The pounding of hooves was loud in Kirby’s ears as he swung around looking for a target on either side. They were fast though, flashing past in brief seconds, too close to draw a successful aim.

  He turned to fire at the disappearing backs as they bounded away into the darkness. He loosed off a series of shots into their chewed dust trail but they were gone, disappearing into the enclosing darkness now the sun had finally gone from the sky.

  Lomas wheeled his pony around and trotted back to the buckboard.

  ‘That was a close call,’ said Kirby, staring off into the darkness after the riders. ‘I think you frightened the life out of them going straight in like that. You think they’ll be back?’

  ‘Too dark,’ said Lomas, drawing up alongside the buckboard. ‘They’ll come looking for us come daylight. Right now they’ll be getting along to see Paramount Bliss and give him word.’

  ‘Damn it! The beggar will be forewarned. It might not be so easy to get your sister free now.’

  ‘Yeah, it’ll be….’

  ‘You ain’t hit is you?’ Kirby asked, suddenly noticing Lomas’s stiff posture in the saddle.

  ‘Oh, dear God, no!’ cried Lomas with a sharp wail of pity. ‘Kirby….’

  Kirby followed his gaze and saw he was looking down into the bed of the buckboard.

  Lizbette lay as if asleep again, one hand resting on her swollen belly. As Kirby gaped, he saw the thin dark trickle that slid from one nostril and ran slowly across her pale cheek like a stain of spilt ink in the coming darkness.

  ‘No, no!’ he gasped, dropping the rifle and leaping over the back of the buckboard seat.

  Gently he reached down and swept Lizbette into his arms. Kirby called her name but she did not respond, her body was heavy and limp in his arms and in his shock he could not understand the lack of movement.

  ‘What is it, honey?’ Kirby begged, his staring eyes roving across to the sad face of Lomas. ‘What is it?’ he asked.

  The reality would not penetrate and Kirby looked from one to the other in confusion.

  ‘She was just here,’ he mumbled. ‘This ain’t right. Lizbette, come on, my darling. Talk to me.’

  Lomas bit his lower lip and drew a ragged sigh, ‘T’ain’t no use, partner,’ he said. ‘She’s gone from us now.’

  Kirby’s howl of anguish was like that of a lone wolf high in the mountain passes on a cold night. It echoed away into the black sky and rent the air with a deep and abiding sound, so awful and hollow was it that Lomas considered it must be the kind of profound moan a human heart will make as it is torn living from a sacrificial breast.

  Chapter Eleven

  Belle Slaughter and her girls arrived in Columbine with a flamboyant show that brought a shock of color and gaiety into the poor benighted place.

  She had hired a lightweight mud wagon to bring them from the nearest railroad station, with a pack train of mules coming behind bearing all their baggage. And there was a whole mess of it too, Belle’s ladies would not travel without their essentials and the trunks were stuffed with such a quantity of dresses, hats and shoes that the muleteer wondered how the poor beasts had not gone sway-backed and bow-legged on the journey. The girls chattered happily as the carriage pulled into the town, they waved and smiled at the somber occupants who watched the arrival of all the dazzling females with bemused stares of incomprehension.

  Each one was dressed in their crinoline best and they all opened their parasols with a flutter as they swept down from the carriage in front of ‘The Columbine Comfort’.

  ‘Seems like this is the only hotel in town,’ observed Belle, casting a disapproving eye over the antique structure.

  ‘Sure is a sorry looking place,’ agreed Clara, twirling her lace fringed parasol and looking down the dusty street at the few occupants daring enough to stay out and watch.

  Drawn by the noise, Asa Lewellyn came out onto his porch, his wife nervously peeping from around the doorframe behind him, her sharp eyes glittering and peering disapprovingly from the wizened face.

  ‘Help you ladies?’ Asa asked.

  ‘Yes indeed,’ said Belle. ‘We’d like room and lodging, if you please.’

  ‘Well,’ stumbled Asa, staring at the bevy of beauties. ‘You’re welcome, of course, but I’m not sure that our poor place will be up to the liking of such fine company as yourselves. We don’t run to much here, just the basics and you take it or leave it.’

  ‘Oh, we’ll make do,’ smiled Belle. ‘Won’t we girls?’

  They all chirped their agreement and little Kate asked, ‘You do have water for bathing and all the facilities, don’t you, sir?’

  ‘We have a pump in the yard and the outhouse is right next to it,’ said Asa, with a slight reddening of his cheeks.

  ‘Not to worry,’ cut in Belle. ‘I’m sure all will be fine. Perhaps we could take a look at our rooms and if you will see to the baggage, we’d be obliged.’

  Asa cast a rueful eye at the baggage train and the prospect of lugging all the heavy looking bags inside made his back creak even at the thought.

  ‘I’ll see what we can do,’ he gulped.

  ‘Bunch of whores,’ hissed his wife in a critical whisper from behind.

&nbs
p; Belle turned her radiant blue eyes on the woman with a withering glance. ‘I never did like that turn of phrase too much,’ she said. ‘We are merely a vacationing band of ladies and have no intention of setting up shop, if that is your fear. Anyway, I doubt if there’s one sound dollar piece to be found in this sorry town as it is.’

  ‘That’s a given,’ snorted Molly, stepping around a pile of fly blown horse droppings lying in the street.

  ‘Well, come on in,’ said Asa. ‘Don’t pay no heed to my old gal, she’s a mite dour but means no harm.’

  His wife spat something inaudible and then vanished from view.

  ‘Lord Almighty,’ Molly grinned at him. ‘If that’s your lady wife, it looks like we’ve just arrived in time.’

  Asa could not help returning the smile, it was not in his nature to take ready offense and he accepted all visitors on face value without prior critical evaluation. ‘I tell you, little girl, if I was twenty years younger you might have something to fear but these days all I can do is look.’

  ‘Then feast your eyes, mister,’ said the normally quiet Maggie in a sudden cheerful burst.

  They flounced inside in a noisy train and studied the decrepit interior, tittering and gaping at the ancient quality of the place.

  ‘It ain’t much but its all we got. I’m the owner, Asa Lewellyn’s the name and I’d be obliged if you’d sign in on the register.’

  ‘Can we get a drink?’ asked Molly, noticing the bar.

  ‘Sure you can. We don’t usually allow ladies in there but I’m happy to make exception in your case,’ he slapped a large leather bound register on the bar top, and then spread his hands wide on the counter. ‘What’s your pleasure?’

  ‘Champagne,’ the girls chorused.

  ‘Champagne?’ Asa looked curious. ‘That the fizzy drink them Frenchies have a passion for?’

  ‘You don’t have any?’ Clara pouted in disappointment.

  ‘No, ma’am. No call for it here, not that anyone could afford it anyway. It’s only the fancy folk can run to such. Mister Sweet Dean Pye, up at the Rolfe House, now he’s the man if you want champagne. Gets it brought in by the crate full.’