by J. T. Edson
‘We may not blame you,’ Beatrice continued. ‘But I would like to know when, if ever, you mean to get Mogollon for me.’
‘As soon as Weasel comes back with enough men to give us a better than fair chance of doing it,’ Stagge promised.
Although she gave a cold sniff, Beatrice let the matter drop. Determined to have revenge upon Libby Schell and Mark Counter, it had been the Vicomtesse who insisted that Kerr County would make the best starting point for their hunting expedition. Nothing had happened since her arrival to make her change her mind. During the journey, she had decided that Stagge was the man best suited to help her settle her score with Libby and Mark. Lebel had too many notions of honor to take part in her schemes. While Peet possessed no such scruples, he lacked the intelligence to be of more than a minor use. So that left Stagge. Possibly the fact that the killer had Laura along increased Beatrice’s desire to make use of him. Being much alike in their attitudes towards members of the opposite sex, there had been some friction between the two women. Beatrice had contrived to have Laura left at the camp so as to be free to develop her relationship with Stagge. So far the opportunity had not arisen.
‘What are the hunting chances around here, Abe?’ Beatrice inquired after a short period of silence.
‘Not too bad,’ Peet answered, relieved to notice that her temper appeared to have changed for the better.
‘Then why don’t you and Arnaud go and shoot some—camp meat, isn’t it?’ the Vicomtesse suggested. ‘Hubie and I can find the way to the camp easily enough.’
‘Why not, Abe?’ de Brioude agreed. ‘Come along. If the new men have arrived, we will need the meat. We’ll join you at the camp, my love.’
Earlier in his association with the de Brioudes, Peet had been surprised by the Vicomte’s behavior. Although he must have known of his wife’s indiscretions, he had made no attempt to curb them, nor showed anger over them. Peet did not care for the idea of leaving Stagge with Beatrice, but consoled himself with the thought that they would soon be at the Renfrew place where Laura was waiting.
‘Do you think that we are foolish to try to take Mogollon, Hubie?’ Beatrice asked as she and Stagge continued to follow the trail and the other two swung off at an angle.
‘I’d say that depends on what you’re figuring on doing with him after you’ve got him,’ replied the killer.
‘Arnaud plans to make money by racing him.’
‘He’ll have to go up North to do it. There’s not enough money in Texas, or the rest of the South, to make racing him worth what it’ll cost you to get him.’
‘So you believe we are wasting time and money doing—’
‘Not if you play your cards right,’ Stagge told her.
‘How do you mean?’ Beatrice wanted to know.
‘Get that hoss, by all means,’ Stagge explained. ‘Only don’t bother about roaming around racing it for nickels and dimes. Stay on here, take over that ranch and make it your home.’
‘Why should we do that?’
‘Because I’ve got a hunch you can’t go back to France and that you’re a gal who wants as much out of life as she can lay her hands on.’
‘Go on,’ Beatrice offered, neither confirming nor denying his summation.
‘You’ve already got most folks in Kerrville eating out of your hand,’ Stagge continued. ‘That spread’s not too big, but you’ve got all you need to make it grow. Land’s cheap enough down here. You’d soon own more than you ever did in France—and I’ll be on hand to take care of whoever’s following you if he comes.’
Eyeing her companion in a speculative manner, Beatrice let almost half a mile drop behind them before she spoke. All the time, her eyes darted around and took in the rolling, grass-covered scenery.
‘You think we can do as you say, Hubie?’ she finally asked.
‘I know we can,’ Stagge assured her. ‘You—and Arnaud—have got the money. I can hire men and know how to make sure you get all the land you need.’
‘And what will you get out of it?’
‘The job as segundo—at first.’
‘And later?’
‘Way Arnaud treats you,’ Stagge replied, ‘I don’t reckon you’d be grieving or mourning happen he wasn’t around.’
‘That’s something to think about,’ Beatrice purred, easing her horse closer so that she rubbed legs with the killer. ‘I’ll think; once I’ve seen if this plan works out better than your last.’
Riding on in the same intimate manner, Stagge continued to elaborate on his scheme. He claimed that the fiasco in Kerrville could be turned to their advantage by establishing that one of the Schells’ friends had already gunned down two of the de Brioudes’ hired hands. It would be a point remembered by the townspeople once trouble started. Nor, according to Stagge, would anybody be willing to face up to an outfit which had defeated Libby Schell’s mesteneros and Dusty Fog’s OD Connected contingent. So buying more land would become easier.
Despite the glowing picture Stagge painted, there was one aspect that he did not mention. Although it had turned out that there was no reason for him to try to kill the man in Fort Sawyer, Stagge could neither forget nor forgive Breda’s intervention. Stagge’s shoulder had been sore for hours and he hated to think of the humiliation stemming from Breda having him held in the town’s jail. So, like Beatrice, he had come to Kerr County in search of vengeance.
The plot Stagge had made that afternoon should have set him on the way to achieving his ends. Even as he had reassured de Brioude that there could be no legal comeback, he had known that, no matter what the citizens’ hearing found on the two killings, Breda would insist on conducting an independent investigation. Once that had happened Stagge had believed that he could arrange Breda’s death in such a way that the peace officer appeared to be the aggressor.
The scheme had come to nothing due to Dusty Fog, but Stagge had no intention of giving up his revenge. Backed by the de Brioudes’ money, he felt sure that he could not only take it but also pave his way to a fortune.
Any hope of furthering his ideas regarding Beatrice ended as they came into sight of the ranch’s buildings. Sturdy, well constructed and erected with defense in mind, the house, barn and combined bunk- and cook-shack formed an ‘n’ shape. Two pole corrals faced the open end of the ‘n’. Although showing signs of neglect, the spread’s headquarters could easily be brought into a most satisfactory condition. So far the de Brioudes’ party had carried out only such repairs as were necessary for a brief period of occupation.
Thinking about the repairs and alterations he would make if his employers accepted his plan, Stagge saw men emerge from the cook-shack. Three he identified immediately as their cook, wrangler and Peet’s skinner. If their general appearance meant anything, the other five had been sent by Weasel. In fact, on going closer, Stagge discovered that he knew the quintet. Slouching forward with hands thumb-hooked into revolver-and knife-laden belts, the newcomers devoted most of their attention to gazing hungrily at Beatrice.
‘Howdy, Hubie,’ greeted the lank, be-whiskered, buckskin clad man in the lead, dragging his eyes reluctantly from the Vicomtesse.
‘Howdy, Buck-Eye,’ Stagge responded. ‘Hi there, Roarke, Glum, Walde, Orell. It’s good to see you all again.’
In the order named, the last four men were respectively: medium-sized and stocky; big and heavily built; tall, lean and bearded; and scrawny, middle-sized, with a face even a mother would have trouble loving. The first two wore buckskins. Walde sported cowhand clothes and Orell had on a filthy Confederate States infantry uniform which had lost its military buttons and insignia. While Beatrice normally enjoyed being the center of male attention, she found the newcomers’ scrutiny a little disconcerting. She had seen similar lascivious expressions when other men had heard of her easy-going nature in sexual matters.
‘We met up with the Weasel,’ Clum remarked, devouring Beatrice with a lust-filled stare. ‘He told us to come on over’s you’re hiring men, Hubie.’
‘Where’s he now?’ Stagge demanded.
‘Gone on up to the Fork to see who-all’s in town,’ Glum answered.
‘What’s it all about anyways, Hubie?’ asked Orell. ‘Laura’s been hitting the Taos Lightning ’n’ couldn’t tell us nothing.’
‘Least-wise, nothing’s we could go repeating afore a for-real lady,’ Walde went on, looking pointedly at Beatrice. ‘She’s sleeping it off up to the house right now.’
A low hiss of anger broke from Beatrice as she listened to the men’s comments. Up to that point, she had been blaming Weasel for describing her character in an uncomplimentary—if fairly true—manner. From what she had just heard, the source of their information was much closer at hand.
‘We’ll tell you about it when the boss comes back,’ Stagge promised, and dismounted. ‘Ramon! Come and tend to the horses.’
‘Si, senor.’ answered the wrangler, advancing.
‘Hold it back there, boys!’ Stagge ordered as the five men made as if to move in Beatrice’s direction. ‘The Vicomtesse rides good enough to get off without needing help.’
Saying the words, Stagge opened his jacket and placed himself between Beatrice and the newcomers. With his right hand pointing towards the butt of the concealed revolver, there was a challenge and a threat in his attitude. Stagge knew the kind of men he was dealing with and that he must assert his domination over them from the start. So he seized on their behavior towards the Vicomtesse as the excuse for a showdown.
Slowly Stagge’s eyes turned from face to face, remaining on each until its owner looked away. Beatrice could sense the tension, but ignored it. At that moment she was too furious at Laura to worry about what the men were doing. If she had possessed more knowledge of the situation, she would have had a greater awareness of the danger.
However, the newcomers had no collective reason to go up against Stagge. Nor had any single individual the necessary guts to take on the cold-eyed killer. All realized that they had not seen Royce or Coxin since their arrival and suspected that the two men could be close by, ready to back their boss’s play should it be necessary. So the men put aside their individual desires to see if Laura had been telling the truth about the foreign woman.
‘Have you boys fed yet?’ Stagge inquired in a more friendly manner, satisfied that he had made his point for the time being.
‘Was just set to when we heard you coming,’ Buck-Eye replied.
‘Go to it then,’ offered Stagge. ‘You’ll find you’ve not had the ride for nothing when the Vicomte comes home.’
Leaving the wrangler to attend to their horses, Beatrice and Stagge went into the house. Buck-Eye and his companions watched the door close, then returned to the cook-shack, discussing the Vicomtesse’s possible relationship with the killer. One thing on which the newcomers agreed, Stagge had given them a ‘hands off’ warning which it would be wise to take.
On leaving the ranch, the Renfrew family had taken most of their furniture. So the de Brioudes had been forced to make do with their own camp equipment and items salvaged by their escort. Expecting to move on after a week or so, they had taken little trouble in refitting the buildings. The main house’s front room had only a rickety table, six folding camp-chairs and blankets hung at the windows to preserve the occupants’ privacy. Three doors in the rear wall led to the bedrooms and kitchen which were just as scantily furnished.
‘That woman you brought must go!’ Beatrice shrilled at Stagge as they stood in the front room. ‘She’s been talking to those men about me!’
Hinges creaked and a disheveled, bleary-eyed Laura came from the bedroom allocated to her and Stagge. Barefooted and wearing only a loosely-fastened, flimsy robe, she swayed forward to confront Beatrice and the killer.
‘So what if I did?’ Laura challenged, teetering to a halt on wide spread feet. ‘I only said you was a gal who’d sleep with anything in pants—’
Leaping by Stagge as he moved towards Laura, Beatrice hurled up her left leg with a speed that took the other two by surprise. Powerful muscles propelled the toe of the riding boot between Laura’s thighs. White-hot torment burst through the brunette. Clutching at the stricken area, she folded over and collapsed on to her side. Laura’s whole being wanted to scream aloud, but the unexpected agony had robbed her lungs of air and she could make no sound.
Almost as soon as Laura struck the floor, Beatrice had lowered her left leg and kicked with the right. Teeth splintered and blood gushed from the brunette’s mouth as the boot struck her face. The impact rolled Laura on to her back, the robe trailing open. Spitting out a string of French gutter-oaths, the Vicomtesse stamped first one foot then the other into Laura’s naked body and features.
Amazed by the animal speed and fury of Beatrice’s attack, Stagge allowed six stamping kicks to descend on Laura before he made a move. By that time, the brunette’s face was a mass of gore and blood was dribbling from the nipple of her left breast. Striding forward, Stagge caught Beatrice’s right arm and jerked her away from the supine, motionless woman. Around whipped his free arm to slap the Vicomtesse’s face. For a moment he thought that the blow would bring her rage on to him. Then sanity returned and Beatrice relaxed.
‘Get her away from me, Hubie!’ Beatrice ordered, reverting to English and studying her victim without displaying compassion. ‘Throw her out and tell her not to come back.’
‘And have her go straight to town and tell the law what she knows?’ Stagge growled. ‘Like hell. And she could be too useful to kill, before you say it. Go to your room. Buck-Eye always totes a sleeping potion with him. I’ll use that to keep her quiet until we decide what to do with her.’
Chapter Thirteen
Seeing a thin column of smoke rising from a clump of post oaks, Mark Counter turned his horse in that direction. He was on his way back to the Schells’ camp after an abortive visit to Kerrville, but decided to see who had made the fire among the trees. Jeanie and Colin planned to make a corrida on four manadas which had been located to the north-west of the Caracol de Santa Barbara, so Mark intended to ask whoever he found to stay clear of that area until it was completed.
On Dusty and Colin returning from Kerrville the previous evening, they had told the others about their visit. In view of Libby’s annoyance over hearing that the de Brioudes apparently intended to purchase the Renfrew ranch, Dusty had kept quiet about his theory. Taking Mark and the Kid aside later, he had confided in them. Even with Dusty’s more detailed description to guide him, Mark had been unable to claim definitely that ‘Nerton’ and the two hard-cases were the same he had seen in Fort Sawyer. Agreeing with Dusty that they must act warily and be sure of their facts, Mark had suggested that he should visit Kerrville in the morning and examine the bodies. They had been buried by the time he arrived, so there was no chance of him identifying them. As Tam Breda was still away with the posse, Mark had learned the latest developments and was headed back to tell Dusty what had happened. Probably the small Texan would find other means of checking out his theory.
Passing through the post oaks, Mark approached a small clearing. Two wiry, smallish horses stood hobbled on the bank of a narrow stream which flowed across the open space. Going by the fact that they still had on their saddles and hackamores, Mark concluded that their owners did not intend to make an extended stay in the area. From the horses, he turned his eyes towards the fire. A coffee-pot steamed on the flames and two buckskin-clad men stood facing him. They held tin cups in their left hands, the right fingers close to their holstered revolvers. That did not surprise Mark, for they were merely taking an ordinary precaution. Mark had made no attempt to conceal his presence while riding up, but he had expected whoever he found to be wary.
‘Howdy, gents,’ Mark called, halting the blood bay and resting both hands on its saddle horn to display his pacific intentions. ‘Can I come ahead?’
‘Feel free,’ answered the taller of the pair. ‘Seth ’n’ me’ve got coffee to spare. Light ’n’ take a cup.’
‘T
hanks,’ Mark drawled, setting the horse moving. ‘I could sure use one.’
Watching the blond giant swing from his saddle and lead the big stallion towards the stream, Seth Roarke spoke quietly to his companion.
‘Reckon it’s that Counter jasper the Countess wants to see so bad, Buck-Eye?’
‘Ain’t likely there’s two that size around,’ the lanky man answered in no louder tones. ‘Anyways, his guns, hoss and gear’ll bring in a good price if he’s not. Fill your cup, pronto.’
Obeying swiftly, Roarke held the filled cup to his companion. Showing an equal speed, Buck-Eye had produced a small buckskin pouch from a pocket built inside his shirt. While Mark was attending to the stallion’s needs, his back to the fire, Buck-Eye tipped powder from the pouch into the cup. Agitating the contents, Roarke caused all traces of the addition to disappear from the liquid. With the stallion’s thirst quenched, Mark set it free to graze and joined the men by the fire.
‘You working hereabouts, friend?’ Roarke asked, holding out the cup.
‘I’m helping the Schells catch mustangs for my spread,’ Mark replied, for the question had not exceeded the bounds of frontier etiquette.
‘They wouldn’t be hiring, would they?’ Buck-Eye inquired, watching the big blond accept the cup. ‘Seth ’n’ me could use work real bad.’
Mark took a sip at the coffee before answering. While crossing the clearing, he had studied the pair. They looked little different from the usual run of drifters and might be hunters or mustangers. Maybe they possessed a tough, unprepossessing appearance, but he could hardly hold that against them. Certainly they seemed amiable enough and Libby could use some extra help with the next corrida.