by J. T. Edson
Just as Arnaud Cavallier was on the point of signaling for Irène Beauville to leave, startled exclamations burst from the chiefs and they started to raise their weapons. Looking around, he spat out a furious curse as he recognized the two young women and the three men who were emerging from the bushes on the opposite side but almost level with the point from which the girl had burst into view.
For all his awareness of the official status enjoyed by Jerry Potts and Sandy Mackintosh, le Loup-Garou found the fact that they were accompanied by “Lavinia Saltyre”, Calamity Jane and the Remittance Kid just as disconcerting as discovering they were in the vicinity.
Everything about the trio from the wagons implied Vera Gorr-Kauphin and “Matthew Devlin” had been justified in mistrusting them. Also that the precautions taken to render them innocuous had failed.
Cavallier could see the pistol-like hilt of the badik protruding from beneath the left flap of Captain Patrick Reeder’s waist-length leather jacket and did not doubt the Webley Royal Irish Constabulary revolver was in its holster behind his back instead of being watched over by Jebediah Lincoln. Studying Irène in a speculative manner, Calamity Jane was still wearing her gunbelt and whip as she had been when le Loup-Garou had last seen her and he did not care for the implications he was drawing from that.
The most significant change, Cavallier told himself, was in the blonde’s appearance. It went beyond her brown two piece traveling costume having been replaced by a masculine open-necked black shirt, with matching breeches and Hessian boots. Nor was it entirely attributable to the gunbelt of the same color, carrying an ivory handled revolver in its low cavalry twist holster, strapped so it hung correctly for a fast draw about her slender waist. There was an expression of confidence, command and determination on her beautiful face. Tapping her leg with the handle of the parasol in her left hand, its head having been removed for some reason which was not apparent, she walked in a purposeful manner yet still retained her feminine grace. Everything about her carriage, bearing and deportment was far removed from that of the jailbird-turned-gambler’s woman she was purported to be.
Contemplating the metamorphosis, Cavallier’s memory stirred and he felt as if a cold hand was touching his spine. According to the information received from “Devlin’s” anarchist colleague, such attire was frequently worn by Belle Boyd. Despite her nickname, the Rebel Spy was now a member of the United States’ Secret Service. So, if that should be “Lavinia’s” true identity, her organization must be trying to prevent an uprising in Canada being launched from their country.
What was more, even if the slender “blonde” was not Belle Boyd, the fact that she and the Englishman were armed proved they had not been brought from the wagons as the two scouts’ prisoners. As Calamity Jane was also still in possession of her weapons, she had clearly been working in cahoots with them from the beginning.
Although none of the newcomers were Indians, the chiefs did not start shooting at them in spite of knowing Potts and Mackintosh were scouts for the Canadian Northwest Mounted Police. Between them, the party were displaying prominently six belts made from black, white and dark purple beads interwoven with a variety of different medicine symbols. Each chief identified the sacred emblem of his nation emblazoned on one of the belts and recognized the insignia of the others who were present. They also knew what the sight portended.
Known as wampum, the belts signified that the bearers were the emissaries of the senior chiefs and medicine men of the tribe whose symbols formed the decoration. Backed by such authority, the intruders must be allowed to attend the powwow and could neither be harmed nor ordered to go away until they had had their say.
In spite of realizing that his plans were being put at risk by the arrival of the quintet, Cavallier halted the movement of his right hand towards his holstered Colt Civilian Model Peacemaker. Not only did he share the chiefs’ understanding of the status conferred upon the bearers by the wampum, he considered that an attempt to complete the draw would be a serious error in tactics. In fact, it was almost certain to prove fatal. Each of the scouts was carrying a Winchester more accessibly than his revolver and would not hesitate to use it.
A quick glance informed le Loup-Garou that Roland Boniface had duplicated his estimation of the situation and was standing passively. Another quick look let him know that Irène was watching and waiting for some sign of how he wanted her to act. Then he returned his gaze to the newcomers.
‘What do you want here, Mackintosh, Potts?’ Cavallier demanded, forcing himself to try to regain control of the situation. He spoke in the lingua franca so the Indians would be able to follow the conversation. ‘This is United States’ territory and the red coats have no authority outside Canada.’
‘We’re not here on behalf of the red coats,’ the taller scout answered, making a gesture with the Assiniboine wampum draped over his rifle’s barrel. ‘When the councils of the six nations heard you were calling a powwow of chiefs, but had not been invited and could not come in person, they gave Jerry Potts and me their wampum so we could speak for them.’
‘And what of these others?’ Cavallier challenged, being aware that such delegation of authority was permissible, indicating Belle, Calamity and the Kid.
‘We were told that we could invite anybody who we thought should be allowed to attend,’ Mackintosh explained, such authority also being proscribed by convention. ‘Captain Reeder here’s speaking on the behalf of the Brit—’
‘Captain Reeder?’ Cavallier repeated, before he could stop himself and reverting to English as he glared at the Kid. Controlling his rising fury with a visible effort, knowing he would almost certainly be the first to die if he provoked hostilities, he went on bitterly, ‘So you are a lousy British spy?’
‘On the contrary, old thing,’ the Englishman corrected and waved his left hand, the right holding the Cree wampum, in an almost languid fashion at the slender “blonde.” ‘Almost as good, even if I say it who should, as Colonel Boyd of the jolly old United States’ Secret Service.’
‘Almost, Captain Reeder, toujours la politesse I suppose,’ the Rebel Spy acknowledged with a smile. The rank was correct and had been granted to give her authority when dealing with members of the Army or Navy in the line of duty. Her amiability disappeared as she swung her gaze to le Loup-Garou, but she did not address him. ‘Apologize to the chiefs for my inability to speak their language, please, Mr. Mackintosh. And be so good as to act as my interpreter.’
‘I will, ma’am,’ the Scot promised and did so.
‘Unlike Captain Reeder, Mr. Mackintosh and Mr. Potts, M’sieur Cavallier,’ Belle announced, her words being relayed to the chiefs by the taller scout. ‘I do have authority here.’
‘And in what way do you intend to assert this authority, Mademoiselle la Colonel?’ le Loup-Garou inquired, more to buy time than from a desire for confirmation of what he already knew. He also wished that circumstances had not compelled him to restrict his Metis’ contingent to just three men – one of whom he suspected was already dead, or had been taken prisoner and the second guarding their wagon – and Irène Beauville.
‘I’m here to prevent you from provoking an uprising against the Government of Canada from what you have admitted is United States’ territory,’ Belle replied, speaking with quiet authority. ‘To which effect, I have sent back the arms and ammunition which had been purchased to bring this about and, if you wish to have the money reimbursed, you will have to contact whoever sold them to you.’
‘The wagons can’t travel as fast as ridden horses, Mademoiselle la Colonel,’ Cavallier pointed out, scowling as he noticed the way in which the Indians were responding to Mackintosh’s translation. They were looking disturbed and far from pleased to learn the weapons which they had been promised might not be available. ‘My friends, the chiefs, can easily overtake them before morning and make the contact for me.’
‘The chiefs can follow the wagons if they wish, but I wouldn’t advise it,’ Belle replied, after Ma
ckintosh had translated le Loup-Garou’s comment for her benefit. ‘Jebediah Lincoln took the precaution of removing the toggle-links from each weapon and hid them. Captain Reeder was watching him and, after he came back to the wagons, retrieved and scattered them so that you would have to search for a very long time before you recovered more than a handful of them.’
‘And while you’re searching for the bally things, old chap,’ the Kid supplemented, ‘the soldiers Colonel Boyd has arranged to follow us will have arrived. Which could prove more than embarrassing for all of you.’
‘I see!’ Cavallier purred, but the tone was indicative of the rage seething inside him. Then he gave what he hoped would be taken for a shrug of submission. ‘It seems that, having no wish for harm to come to my friends, the best thing we can do is go back across the border without delay.’
‘I’m pleased to hear the chiefs will be leaving,’ Belle replied. ‘But neither Miss Beauville nor you will be going with them.’
‘Why not?’ Cavallier demanded, although he knew what the answer would be, darting a glance at the bogus Jan-Dark and knowing she spoke sufficient English to follow the conversation even without Mackintosh continuing to carry out the duty of interpreter.
‘She will have to stand trial for the premeditated murder of “Mr. Roxby”,’ Belle elaborated, being informed by the Metis girl’s restless movements she could hear all that was being said and pointing to the anarchist’s body. ‘And you are an accessory.’
‘You will have to arrest us first,’ le Loup-Garou warned, without waiting for Mackintosh to pass on the comment to the Indians. ‘And I doubt whether the chiefs will allow you to take the Jan-Dark from them now she has appeared.’
‘Probably not,’ Belle conceded, pausing until the scout had informed the Indians of what had just been said. While he was speaking, she dropped the parasol’s handle and the Blackfoot wampum she was carrying. ‘But we know she isn’t the Jan-Dark.’
‘The chiefs believe she is,’ Cavallier pointed out, watching the slender “blonde” unbuckling the gunbelt and sensing he was being led into a trap.
‘They’re going to learn different,’ the Rebel Spy declared, lowering the belt and its revolver to her feet.
Before setting off to attend the powwow with Mackintosh, Belle, Calamity and the Kid had removed all their belongings from the wagon. Telling Lincoln how the Englishman had disposed of the toggle-links, the Rebel Spy had ordered him to return to Stokeley and deliver Vera Gorr-Kauphin into the town marshal’s custody. While she had not been enamored of taking such an action, there had been no other way to deal with him which would ensure the arms were removed beyond the Indians’ reach. Hoping that he would be apprehended by the troops who should be following them, she had made no mention of the assistance she had requested – via Sergeant Magoon – from Fort Connel before setting off. 39
Having rid themselves of that problem, Mackintosh had led his unexpected allies to where Jerry Potts was waiting and they had held a brief council of war. Learning of the wampum before joining the younger scout, Belle had suggested she and the Kid should be invited to attend the powwow as representatives of their respective Governments. Pointing out that they might need an extra gun in case things went wrong, Calamity had suggested she should go along instead of, as had been suggested, remaining to look after their horses and belongings.
When Belle had explained how she meant to cope with the anticipated appearance of the bogus Jan-Dark, Mackintosh and Potts had agreed that it would produce the desired results; but warned her of the dangers entailed. There had not been time for a lengthy debate, nor could anybody come up with a better method for dealing with the situation. They had been approaching the clearing when Irène burst into view and the manner in which she had done so took them all by surprise. In spite of realizing that the task could be even more perilous than she had envisaged, the Rebel Spy still considered there was no other course open to her party.
Sharing the Kid’s confidence in the slender “blonde”, Calamity had been willing to go along with the scheme until she saw Irène kill “Devlin”. Then she had decided that she was better qualified than Belle to expose the false, Jan-Dark. Instead of taking part in the discussion, she had halted slightly to the side and rear of her companions. While everybody else was preoccupied with one another, she made preparations for carrying out her intentions. First she had laid her kepi at her feet, coiling the Bannock wampum and the bandana she removed in its brim. Then she had drawn off and discarded the shirt to leave her naked at the waist. Having unbuckled and laid aside her gunbelt, she waited unnoticed for the moment when she must implement her amendment to the Rebel Spy’s plan.
Startled comments rose from the men as Belle began to turn away. Even as she realized what was being said by the Kid and the scouts, a hand grasped the rear of her riding breeches waistband and she was jerked backwards with some force. Looking around, she received a wink and a cheerful grin from the person responsible.
‘Why should you have all the fun?’ Calamity inquired, striding by the “blonde”. Coming to a halt some fifty yards from where Irène sat the palomino gelding, she stood with feet apart, arms akimbo and hands on hips in a posture redolent of defiance. Raising her voice, she yelled, ‘All right, you god-damned, fat-butted, cock-sucking Metis klooch. If you’re the Jan-Dark, let’s see if you can kill me!’
Almost before the red head finished speaking, Irène responded to the challenge!
Even without realizing she had no other choice, the way in which she was being addressed would have caused the Metis girl to attack. She had a temper as quick as Calamity’s, but without the saving grace of humor. What was more, she had noticed the red head disrobing and, although she could hardly believe it could be, had anticipated what was being contemplated. So she had been giving her well-trained mount heel signals and it was moving restlessly on the spot, but ready to advance on her command.
Letting out a shrieking war whoop and swinging the head of the lance forward, Irène set the palomino into motion. As she did so, she studied the red head and was puzzled. As far as she could see, the other was unarmed. One thing was certain, the challenger could not be hoping for help from her friends. Either Jerry Potts or Sandy Mackintosh would have warned her that such would not be permissible. Having made the challenge, she must stand or fall on her own merits.
With the horse picking up speed, Irène concluded that the other girl was meaning to spring aside at the last moment and try to grab the lance as it went by. If so, she was going to be disappointed. It was one tactic Irène had already learned to counter.
Such a possibility had never entered Calamity’s head!
Measuring the rapidly decreasing distance between herself and her assailant with a practiced gaze, the red head sent her right hand across to pull free the bull whip. A deft flick caused its lash to open out behind her. When her instincts told her the moment had come, she swung and sent it forward almost faster than the eye could follow. Showing how well she had learned to wield the whip, the length of rawhide ‘popper’ at the tip of the plaited lash gave an explosive crack and caught the palomino on the nose.
The sound and sudden pain caused the animal to squeal in agonized terror. Arching its back, it tried to both stop and turn away. In doing so, it lost its footing and began to go down. Aided by the skill gained through a lifetime of riding, Irène not only contrived to throw herself clear, but alighted without falling or losing her hold on the lance. Staggering a few steps until she regained her equilibrium, she prepared to continue the attack on foot.
Having withdrawn the whip’s lash after delivering the blow, Calamity sent it out again. She could have ripped the other girl’s flesh to the bone, but did not aim in such a manner. Instead, she ensnared Irène’s left ankle as it raised for a step and, giving a jerk, dumped the Metis over backwards.
In spite of being caught unawares, Irène’s riding skill once again saved her from injury. Breaking her fall caused her to let go of the lance and it
fell so the head stuck into the ground, but the handle tilted up at an angle. That she was not harmed showed in the way she almost immediately lurched into a sitting position and grabbed in an attempt to retrieve the weapon.
On the point of liberating the lash, Calamity changed her mind and pulled on the handle to drag Irène along the ground. Squealing in fury as she failed to regain possession of the lance, she jerked up her trapped leg and caught hold of the lash in both hands. Having done so, she freed her ankle and clung on to the plaited leather with all her strength. Using it to brace herself, she started to haul herself erect. Waiting until she was half way up, Calamity released the handle and dashed forward.
Feeling herself going down again and seeing her antagonist approaching, Irène once again broke her fall. As the red head bent with the intention of diving on her, she let go of the lash. Her hands dug into Calamity’s hair, hauling forward, while she brought up her feet until they could thrust against the other’s stomach. Sailing over in a half somersault, it was the red head’s turn to come down and demonstrate an ability to reduce the impact. Forcing herself to continue rolling, she writhed around and, looking back, saw there was an urgent need to regain her feet without delay.
Having brought off a neat stomach throw, Irène was already rising. As she did so, her right hand went to the hilt of her knife. Bringing the weapon from its sheath, she held it Indian fashion with the blade protruding from below the heel of the fist. While not as effective as when the blade extended ahead of the thumb and forefinger, permitting hardly more than two kinds of blows, such a grip was still dangerous.
Oblivious of the rapt attention with which the group about the fire were watching what went on, Irène dashed into the attack. Up swung her right arm, with the, intention of delivering a powerful downwards chop aimed at the back of the red head’s shoulder. Still rising, Calamity shot out her right hand. She did not attempt to catch the descending wrist. Instead, she interposed the forearm so the knife just passed over it and was halted. Bringing up her left hand with the intention of helping the right, she received a savage punch in the right side from Irène’s left fist. Gasping in pain, she only just managed to thrust the knife away as she was sent staggering.