by Matt Braun
“Let me understand,” he said. “Do you have reason to believe Sally will help us? Did she say anything to that effect?”
“Nothing definite,” Lillian admitted. “But I really do believe she will, Papa. She loves Stroud very much.”
“Talk about a revolting thought,” Chester said. “She certainly has poor taste in men.”
Fontaine crossed to the door. He stood staring out at the bleak landscape, trying to puzzle through all of the ramifications. A movement caught his eye and he saw a rider approaching from the northwest. The man rode into the compound, dismounted, and left his horse hitched at the corral. He walked toward the big cabin.
Lost in his own thoughts, Fontaine dismissed the man from mind. Some while later, as the sun dropped steadily westward, he suggested they leave for the main cabin. The women would be preparing supper, he noted, and their appearance would be expected at the dinner table. He cautioned Lillian and Chester to act as normal as possible, particularly around Sally Keogh. The slightest misstep might alert Stroud.
On the way across the compound, they saw Sally stagger around the corner of the cabin. Her lip was split, blood leaking out of her mouth, and her left eye was almost swollen shut. She lurched, all but losing her balance, and managed to recover herself. Lillian rushed forward.
“Sally, my God, what happened?”
“Watch yourself, kiddo,” Sally mumbled. “I tried, but it got nasty. Rufe’s on a tear.”
“He hit you?”
“Slugged me a couple of times. Knocked me flat on my ass.”
“That’s terrible!” Lillian said angrily. “Why would he hit you?”
“Ed Farley’s here,” Sally said. “He’s always had a thing for me and I thought I could trust him. Turns out I was wrong.”
“Wait, you aren’t making sense. Who’s Ed Farley?”
“Ed’s a livestock dealer. He buys all the horses Rufe trails to Colorado.”
“And you told him about us?”
Sally, dabbing at her split lip, briefly explained. She’d gotten Farley aside and told him what great entertainers the Fontaines were. She suggested that he buy them from Stroud and make them sign a contract appointing him their manager. She convinced him there was money to be made on the variety circuit.
“Wasn’t a bad idea,” she concluded. “I figured you could escape lots easier in Colorado than here. Trouble is, Rufe popped his cork and Ed lost his nerve. He told Rufe it was my idea.”
Lillian gently touched her arm. “I’m so sorry I got you into this.”
“Worry about yourself,” Sally warned her. “Rufe’s never gonna let you go. He’s like a madman.”
“Yes, but what about you? Will you be all right?”
“Honey, that’s anybody’s guess. Rufe knows I’ll kill him if he touches you or any other woman. Maybe he’ll be cooled down by the time he comes to bed.”
Sally tottered off toward her cabin. Fontaine appeared unsettled by what he’d heard. He finally squared his shoulders. “We’ll have to have our wits about us tonight. Under the circumstances, we cannot afforded to provoke Stroud.”
There was a moment of turgid silence when they entered the cabin. The women busied themselves in the kitchen, their eyes fixed on their tasks. Stroud was seated at the table with Ed Farley and the other gang members. His features were set in a sphinxlike mask.
“Well, here’s the actors,” he said curtly. “Look’em over real good, Ed. Make me an offer.”
Farley was a heavyset man with a full beard. He shook his head. “Rufe, I think I’ll stick to horses.”
Stroud studied Lillian as if trying to read her mind. His gaze abruptly shifted to Fontaine. “Don’t matter which one of you put Sally up to that nonsense. It was a dumb move.”
“Yes, it was,” Fontaine agreed. “Very foolish indeed.”
“I warned you twice about tryin’ to escape. There’s not gonna be a third time. You follow me?”
“Implicitly, Mr. Stroud.”
“You and your fancy words,” Stroud said with a tight smile. “Tell you what, actor; let’s see you act. Show Ed some of your Shakespeare.”
“I would be honored to do so.”
Fontaine felt like an organ grinder’s monkey. Yet he knew there was no choice but to perform on command. He struck a dramatic pose.
“O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I …”
CHAPTER 15
THE LAKE was molten with sunlight. Stroud stood in the door of the main cabin with a mug of coffee. His gaze was fixed on the corral.
Four men, one of them Ed Farley, were saddling their horses. Farley finished tightening the cinch on his chestnut gelding and spoke to the men. One of them racked back the bolt on the gate while the others swung into the saddle. He led his horse toward the cabin.
“We’re ready,” he said. “Didn’t forget to pay you, did I?”
“That’ll be the day,” Stroud said with a crooked grin. “You’re off to an early start.”
“Well, Rufe, I’m not a man of leisure. I’ve got a ways to go before those horses turn a profit.”
“Don’t give me no sob stories. You make out like a Mexican bandit.”
Farley shrugged. “Guess I’ve got no complaints.”
“Course you ain’t.” Stroud drained his coffee mug. “Make sure them boys head on back here when the job’s done. I don’t want’em lollygaggin’ around whorehouses and such.”
The men choused the stolen horses out of the corral. The herd now included Fontaine’s bloodbay gelding and the team that had once pulled the buckboard. One of the men turned the lead horse, while the others circled from behind, and they drove the herd west from the cabins. Farley stepped into the saddle.
“Always good doing business with you, Rufe. See you in about a month.”
“I’ll be here.”
Stroud moved back into the cabin. As the door closed, Farley and the three gang members pushed the herd up the western slope of the basin. Fontaine, watching from the door of his cabin, waited until the horses disappeared over the rim onto the plains. He shook his head with a frown.
“A pity,” he said, almost to himself. “They’ve taken my horse and the buckboard team. We are, quite literally, afoot.”
Chester laughed sourly. “Dad, that’s how Stroud intended it all along. He knows we’re not about to walk out of here.”
“Quite so,” Fontaine concurred. “Somehow, though, it makes me feel all the more a prisoner. I rather liked that horse.”
Lillian was seated on the bunk. “We musn’t despair, Papa. There has to be a way.”
“Yes, of course, my dear. Spirits bright, for we are nothing without hope. I’m sure we will find a way.”
Fontaine tried to sound optimistic. Still, given the circumstances, his spirits had never been lower. Last night, Stroud had made them perform until even the men grew bored. The lengthy show was punishment for their abortive escape attempt and a message as well. Their next attempt to flee would be their last.
For all that, Fontaine saw no alternative. Stroud, before too long, would try to force himself on Lillian. When that happened, Fontaine would resist, as would Chester, and they would both be killed. Even worse, Lillian would be doomed to a life of depravity and unremitting torment. Fontaine thought it preferable, if death was inevitable, to die trying to escape.
Lillian scooted off the bunk. “I think I’ll go talk to Sally. Maybe she’ll have another idea.”
“Be very careful,” Fontaine admonished. “We have no way of knowing what transpired overnight. She may report anything you say to Stroud.”
“Oh, I doubt that very much, Papa. Not after the way he abused her.”
“Exactly the point I’m trying to make. After last night, she may well fear for her own life.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be careful. I promise.”
Lillian stepped out the door. Sally had failed to appear at breakfast that morning, and she was concerned about her. She was no less concerned about a means of es
cape, for she knew the stalemate with Stroud would not last much longer. Time was running out.
Sally was huddled in the bunk of her cabin. When Lillian entered, a bright shaft of sunlight filled the dim interior. Sally winced, her left eye swollen shut, bruised in a rosette of black and purple, and her lip caked with dried blood. She looked worse than last night.
“Close the door,” she said. “I’m a sight not fit to see.”
Lillian sat on the edge of the bunk. “I was worried when you didn’t come to breakfast. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“No, thanks just the same. Time’s the only thing that’ll heal what I’ve got.”
“Sometimes I wish I were a man. I’d give him a lesson he wouldn’t forget.”
“Honey, a half-dozen men sat there last night and watched him beat me. None of them said a damn word.”
“Yes, but they’re afraid of him.”
“And you aren’t?”
“Actually, I’m terrified,” Lillian admitted. “I didn’t sleep a wink worrying he might come for me.”
Sally sniffed. “Rufe won’t be comin’ for you till he kills me. Not that he wouldn’t, you understand.”
“What happened?”
“I waited for him last night. Minute he got in bed, I put a knife to his throat. Told him if he ever hit me again I’d slit his gullet.”
“You didn’t!”
“Yeah, I did, too,” Sally said hotly. “Told him it was him and me, or nothin’. I won’t be thrown over for another woman … meanin’ you, of course.”
“Good heavens,” Lillian breathed. “What did he say?”
“Oh, he tried to play lovey-dovey. Longer I held that knife to his throat, the more promises I got. But that don’t mean a lot for either you or me.”
“Why not?”
Sally went solemn. “Rufe’s a born liar, that’s why not. He might kill me to get at you.” Her voice dropped. “Or he might turn you over to the men … just to spite me.”
“The men?”
“Toss you to that pack of wolves in the big cabin. Way he thinks, that’d still give him the last laugh.”
Lillian paled. She had been too worried about Stroud to conjure an even worse fate. The thought had never occurred to her that she might be forced to submit to the horror of several men, night after night. As she considered it now, she felt queasy and the bitter taste of bile flooded her throat. She silently swore she would kill herself first.
“Do you …” She faltered, groping for words. “There has to be some way we can escape from here. Do you know of anything that might have a chance?”
Sally looked defeated. “Wish I did. Trouble is, if I try anything else, Rufe will kill me. And it’d all be for nothing. He’d still get you.”
“Oh, God, Sally, I feel so helpless.”
“Honey, I’ve felt that way most of my life.”
A distant gunshot brought their heads around. Then, in the space of a heartbeat, a rattling volley of gunfire echoed through the basin. Lillian rushed to the window, with Sally only a step behind. Across the way, they saw three columns of horsemen fanning out around Wild Horse Lake. One column was galloping directly toward Stroud’s compound.
The attack caught everyone by surprise. Monte Dunn and his men, as well as the gang of cattle rustlers, were lounging in the sunshine outside their cabins. The men tried to put up a fight, but they were overwhelmed by sheer numbers. There appeared to be ten or more horsemen in each column, their pistols popping as they came on at a gallop. The outlaws were cut down in a withering maelstrom of lead.
Stroud ran out of the big cabin as the attack started from the southern rim of the basin. Shorty Martin and the other men followed him outside, guns drawn, their women watching from the door. They opened fire on the column headed toward the cabin, and then, too late, realized they were outnumbered. As they turned back to the cabin, Martin took a slug between the shoulders and pitched to the ground. The other men, riddled, dropped on the doorstep.
A swarm of bullets sizzled all around Stroud. His hat went flying and a slug clipped his bootheel, but somehow, miraculously, he was otherwise unscathed. Some visceral instinct told him he would be killed if he tried to make it into the cabin, and he abruptly gave up the fight. He flung his pistol into the dirt and stopped, still as a statue, his hands high overhead. He waited for a shot in the back, then the gunfire suddenly ceased. The riders reined to a halt before the cabin.
“My God,” Lillian whispered. “Who are they?”
Sally swallowed hard. “I think you’ve just been saved.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean they’re wearin’ badges.”
Capt. Ben Tuttle held court in front of the cabin. He was a large man, with the jaw of a bulldog and eyes the color of dead coals. The star of a Texas Ranger was pinned to his shirt.
Tuttle had been a Ranger for almost twenty years. He’d fought Comanche marauders who raided south of the Brazos and Mexican banditos who struck north of the Rio Grande. In his time, he had seen some strange things and yet nothing as strange as what he’d found at Wild Horse Lake. He thought it beggared belief.
The dining table had been brought outside and positioned before the cabin. Tuttle was seated behind the table, having adopted the role of judge and jury in today’s hearings. The Rangers, throughout the organization’s history, were notorious for dispensing summary justice in the field. Wild Horse Lake was no exception.
There were thirty Rangers in Tuttle’s company. In the course of the raid, they had killed nine outlaws without suffering a casualty. They were now guarding the survivors, who were ranked before Tuttle’s impromptu courtroom. Stroud waited with Sally and the other women off to one side. Monte Dunn, whose gang had been wiped out, was held with the two cattle rustlers. His left arm dripped blood from a bullet wound.
The Fontaines stood before the bench. Alistair Fontaine had just finished telling their saga of escaping wild Indians only to be taken captive by a band of outlaws. Lillian and Chester had said nothing, merely nodding affirmation as their father related one hair-raising exploit after another. Capt. Ben Tuttle, who knew a whopper when he heard one, considered them with a skeptical eye. He thought it was all a load of hogwash.
“Let me get this straight,” he said. “You’re being held here prisoner and forced to entertain this bunch, or they’d kill you. That about the gist of it?”
“Indeed so,” Fontaine acknowledged. “You and your men were our very salvation. You have delivered us from certain death.”
Tuttle scowled. “You never stole a horse, or rustled a cow, or robbed nobody. Have I got it right?”
“Never!” Fontaine intoned. “We are actors.”
“And you’re from New York City?”
“By way of Abilene and Dodge City.”
“And George Armstrong Custer advised you to take the overland route to Denver.”
“None other,” Fontaine said. “General Custer and his wife Libbie are our very good friends.”
Tuttle rolled his eyes. “That’s the damnedest story I ever heard.”
“Captain, I assure you every word of it is true.”
“Your word don’t count for much in this neck of the woods. I’ll need some proof.”
Fontaine assumed a classic profile. “ ‘O, I have passed a miserable night. So full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams. That, as I am a Christian faithful man, I would not spend another such a night.’ You may recognize a passage from King Richard the Third.”
“That ain’t exactly proof,” Tuttle said cynically. “Any dimdot might memorize himself some Shakespeare.”
“Lillian, step forward,” Fontaine prompted. “Sing something for the captain, my dear.”
“Without music, Papa?”
“A cappella will do quite nicely.”
Lillian composed herself. She knew all Texans were former Confederates, and she sang The Bonnie Blue Flag. Her clear alto voice finished on a stirring note.
Hurrah, hurra
h, for Southern rights, hurrah!
Hurrah for the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears the single star!
“You sing right good,” Tuttle complimented her. “Course, that don’t mean you’re a stage actress. I’ve heard near as good in a church choir.”
“Like hell!” Sally interrupted loudly. “Not unless you’re deaf as a post. She’s the real article.”
Tuttle squinted. “Who might you be?”
“Sally Keogh.”
“You a singer, too, are you?”
“I’m his woman,” she said, pointing at Stroud. “That’s Rufe Stroud, all-round horse thief and woman beater. He abducted these folks, just like they told you.”
Stroud blanched with rage. “You gawddamn lyin’ bitch! Shut your mouth!”
Tuttle nodded to one of his Rangers. “Teach that rowdy some manners.”
The Ranger whacked Stroud upside the jaw with a rifle butt. Stroud went down as though poleaxed, spitting blood and teeth. Tuttle looked pleased with the result.
“Mind your tongue,” he said. “I won’t have nobody takin’ the Lord’s name in vain in my courtroom.”
“This ain’t Texas!” Stroud said, levering himself to his knees. “This here’s No Man’s Land. You ain’t got no … no …”
“Jurisdiction?”
“Yeah, you ain’t got no jurisdiction here. You can’t do nothin’ to us.”
“Don’t bet on it,” Tuttle said. “Time or two, I’ve taken jurisdiction across the border into Old Mexico. I reckon No Man’s Land ain’t no different.”
“That’s a crock!” Stroud sputtered, his front teeth missing. “You’re breakin’ the law yourself!”
“Have me arrested.” Tuttle turned back to Fontaine. “Appears you folks was tellin’ the truth, and this court won’t hold you. You’re free to go.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
Fontaine motioned Lillian and Chester away from the table. Tuttle riveted the outlaws with a look. “Rufe Stroud,” he said, “we been huntin’ you a long time now. Like your woman says, you’re a top-notch horse thief.”