by J. T. Edson
Colin had benefited from seeing how Peet’s gelding responded to the land beyond the rim. Slowing Mogollon, he brought it to a halt instead of trying to follow the hunter over. Taking one look at the slope, Colin reached the conclusion Peet had expected. Mogollon was far too valuable to be endangered by descending into the valley. However, the hunter had been way out with his second opinion.
Dismounting and allowing the reins to dangle, ground-hitching Mogollon, Colin plunged over the ridge. Before him lay the sort of terrain over which he had roamed and played most of his life. Down went the Scot, keeping his footing with the ease of a bighorn ram on a mountain. Bounding from rock to bare ground, skimming over cracks and avoiding treacherous places, Colin made far greater speed than the man he pursued. In fact Peet had as little chance of leaving Colin behind as the gelding had had of out-running Mogollon.
Turning as he reached the floor of the valley, his attention attracted by falling stone which he had not dislodged, Peet received the shock of his life. That fancy-dressed dude was coming down the incline as if on level ground.
‘God blast you!’ Peet screeched, grabbing at his holster and finding it empty. From there, his hand flashed to and started to snatch the tomahawk from its slings. ‘I’ll—’
That moment of forgetfulness ended the hunter’s chances of escape.
‘Càrn na cuimhne!’ Colin bellowed and the valley’s sides flung back the slogan in ringing echoes.
Thrusting himself from the rock on which he had landed, Colin hurled down at Peet. Before the tomahawk came clear of its retainer, they crashed together and went down. Prepared for the impact, Colin came out of it best. As they struck the ground, he had the upper position. Straddling the winded hunter’s torso with his knees, Colin plucked out and tossed aside the tomahawk. With his other hand, the Scot slipped the sgian dubh from its sheath in the top of his stocking.
‘Give up, or you’re dead!’ Colin threatened, pricking the point of the little knife under Peet’s chin.
‘Do—don’t do it!’ croaked the hunter. ‘I know when I’m licked.’
‘Get up!’ Colin ordered, leaping to his feet and clear of the man. ‘You’ve got some explaining to do to Dusty Fog—or the Ysabel Kid.’
Chapter Fifteen
‘Well, Mr. Lebel,’ Major Aarhorte said coldly. ‘What’s this all about?’
‘I came to make an arrest, sir—’ the Lieutenant answered.
‘And, from what I saw when we rode up, your behavior had almost provoked a gun-battle.’
‘After the Vicomtesse de Brioude told us what had happened—’
‘You and your men came rushing over here, without checking on her allegations, determined to take Mr. Counter back dead or alive,’ Aarhorte interrupted, before Lebel could explain that he and his escort had been filled with righteous indignation by her story. ‘You didn’t even wait to hear his side of the affair before Heaps started waving those leg-irons.’
‘Well, sir—!’ Lebel spluttered, trying to find an adequate explanation for what he now saw to have been a badly bungled piece of work.
The arrival of Breda, Aarhorte and the civilian had ended any immediate danger of gun-play. To show her good faith, Libby had called in her mesteneros and told them to go to join Jeanie. Dusty had dispatched the Kid to see if Colin needed help to capture the hunter. Sending Lebel’s patrol to their horses, Aarhorte had requested an explanation. Recognizing the major from his stay in Fort Sawyer, Dusty had not hesitated to lay the full facts before him. There being sufficient food available, Libby had offered to feed the soldiers. While the enlisted men ate a good meal, Lebel had found himself called to his Troop’s commanding officer and faced with a demand for an explanation.
‘No harm’s been done here, major,’ Breda said, after Lebel had listened to Mark’s version of the incident. ‘And it’s sure not a thing you’d think of a for-real lady doing.’
‘I can hardly believe she’d do such a thing!’ Lebel croaked.
‘Nothing Beatrice Argile did would surprise me, m’sieur,’ commented the civilian, entering the conversation for the first time.
‘Beatrice Argile?’ Lebel repeated. ‘Who’s she?’
‘You know her as the Vicomtesse de Brioude,’ the man explained.
‘This is Inspector Maurice Fontaine of the—the—’ Breda began.
‘Surete Nationale,’ supplied the man. ‘The French police, m’sieur.’
‘The inspector’s come over from Paris, France, to arrest the de Brioudes,’ Breda continued.
‘Why?’ Lebel yelped.
‘Because they are not the de Brioudes,’ Fontaine explained. ‘They are Beatrice and Arnaud Argile and I’ve been on their trail for some time.’
‘How come?’ Mark inquired. He stood with Libby, Dusty, Breda, Aarhorte and Lebel, listening to the French police officer, some distance from where Fernan fed the soldiers.
‘They travel around Europe, taking employment as valet and maid,’ Fontaine replied. ‘From all accounts, they give satisfaction—until they rob their employers. In two cases we suspect that they went further than just robbing. And I am certain they did in another. It seems that they had to leave France hurriedly. Argile is an inveterate gambler and owed much money to a gambling syndicate, while his wife’s indiscretions in love-making had caused the death of a prominent criminal’s son. Fortune smiled on them, however. They were employed by the Vicomte de Brioude, who was bringing his wife for a hunting holiday in America.’
‘So they killed the count and countess and took their places?’ Breda guessed. ‘How’d you get on to them?’
‘A word here, my friend, a rumor there. It led me to the de Brioude’s mansion in the South of France. But when I arrived, I find that M’sieur le Vicomte and his wife had gone. Left one night, without a word to anybody, taking their maid and valet with them as arranged.’
‘Only they hadn’t gone very far,’ Dusty guessed.
‘We found their bodies in an old, disused well,’ Fontaine answered. ‘Further investigations showed that the Vicomte had drawn all his money and jewelry from his bank; it was collected by his valet, the afternoon before their boat sailed. Argile is an excellent forger. I discovered that the Vicomte and Vicomtesse alone took the boat, their papers being in order. So I was sent to arrest and bring them back. The man and woman who boarded the boat had been the Argiles. With their criminal associations, they had arranged for false documents.’
‘They also had some genuine letters of introduction from important folks in France,’ Aarhorte remarked. ‘Which’s how come they arrived in Texas with orders from Washington that they was to have a military escort for as long as they needed it. Hell, it’s happened often enough for us to take them as what they pretended to be.’
‘I’d say they didn’t think a military escort was enough protection,’ Dusty commented. ‘That’s why they had Stagge along. They figured either the law or some of their enemies’d find out where they’d gone and come after them.’
‘And that’s what the fuss was about in the Grand Hotel,’ Breda growled. ‘When the Creole feller showed up there, Stagge’s bunch took him for a Frenchman hunting the “de Brioudes” and tried to gun him down.’
‘Would this Argile hombre know how to find a feller like Stagge in a strange country?’ Mark wanted to know.
‘Probably he would,’ claimed Fontaine. ‘Most important criminals have contacts in other lands. Clearly the Argiles had, for they found and hired this man.’
‘Those fellers in Kerrville were Stagge and his bunch, then,’ Dusty said.
‘Everything points that way,’ Breda agreed. ‘Looks like Stagge took my advice, Mark.’
‘How’s that?’ the blond giant asked.
‘He’s changed his way of working. Didn’t have Laura nor the Weasel along,’ Breda replied.
‘The man we call Nerton’s wife’s name is Laura,’ Lebel supplied.
‘It’s Stagge for sure,’ Dusty said. ‘What brought you out this way, Tam?�
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‘I’m going to arrest the “de Brioudes”, so’s the inspector can deport them.’
‘And you’ve come to have us ride in your posse?’ Mark guessed.
‘Sure,’ Breda admitted.
‘Can’t your soldiers take them for Tam, major?’ Libby asked.
‘Well, ma’am,’ Aarhorte answered, looking embarrassed. ‘I’ve orders to leave the arrest to the civil authorities.’
‘Why?’ Libby bristled.
‘Could be the Yankee Army don’t want it known they can’t tell a genuine count and countess from a couple of owlhoots,’ Mark suggested with a grin.
‘There may be something in that,’ Aarhorte snorted, then gave a shrug. ‘It’s none of my doing. They’re orders passed down from Washington, through the Commanding General. But if you can’t manage, Tam—’
‘I’ll get by, John,’ Breda replied, guessing that the major intended to defy orders and offer the soldiers’ services if necessary. ‘Can I count on your help, Cap’n Fog?’
‘All the way,’ Dusty assured him.
‘I’d’ve come here even if the Army could’ve helped, Libby,’ Breda remarked.
‘How come?’ the blonde wanted to know.
‘One of the things a peace officer’s wife has to do is handle female prisoners,’ the Scottish-Texan explained ‘So I was hoping you’d come along and ’tend to that French gal for me.’
‘There’s nothing I’d like better,’ Libby stated grimly, then a smile creased her face. ‘That’s the damnedest way of proposing to a gal I’ve ever heard of, Tam Breda. But you did it afore witnesses and my answer’s “yes”.’
Although the other men, including Breda, laughed, Inspector Fontaine looked grave and concerned.
‘I beg you not to treat this matter lightly, madame,’ the Frenchman said. ‘Beatrice Argile is a vicious, desperate and dangerous woman.’
‘I’ll mind it,’ Libby promised. ‘You can have as many of my mesteneros as you need, Tam.’
‘How many men we need depends on how many they’ve got,’ Dusty commented. ‘And on whether Colin caught that Peet hombre.’
‘I hadn’t noticed he’d left us!’ Lebel put in sullenly, having identified the hunter in the course of his explanation.
‘You wouldn’t’ve wanted a civilian along anyways, mister,’ Dusty consoled him. ‘Thing being, if Peet escapes and lets the de Brioudes know what’s happened, they’ll run for the border.’
‘Or stop and make a fight of it,’ Breda continued. ‘Depending on how many men they’ve got.’
‘Not counting my men,’ Lebel said as the others looked his way, ‘they had Nerton, his wife, Peet, a skinner, wrangler and cook. Mr. Counter killed the skinner last night.’
‘And another feller,’ Dusty reminded. ‘Who-all was he?’
‘Some drifter who’d stopped by for the night,’ Lebel answered. ‘Or so Arn—the Vi—he told me.’
‘That’d maybe be one of the pair who caught me,’ Mark said. ‘Did he wear buckskins, mister?’
‘Yes. He was a stocky, mean-looking man—’ confirmed the lieutenant.
‘Wasn’t there a tall, lanky son-of-a-bitch wearing buckskins around?’ Mark asked.
‘Not that I saw,’ Lebel admitted.
‘Hey!’ Breda injected. ‘The Weasel’s not at the ranch and wasn’t staying in town ’cording to Ned Franklin. I’ll bet he’s been sent up to Gray Fork to hire some guns. Likely he met them two jaspers on the way and sent them to Stagge.’
‘Thing being,’ Dusty said, ‘just how many men did he meet up with and send?’
Although Lebel could not supply the answer, Peet presented the required information when the Kid and Colin brought him to the camp. Having spent what seemed like several hours listening to the Kid describe his fate if he refused to give his full co-operation, the hunter was only too willing to do so.
In addition to telling his audience the number of men at de Brioude’s disposal, Peet cleared up other matters. He confirmed Dusty’s theory about the incident in the Logan Hotel. Then he explained that Weasel, Royce and Coxin had been left in Fort Sawyer for a few days to see if anybody came looking for the Vicomte. On their arrival in Kerr County, the trio had kept clear of the ranch house and camped at an old line cabin so that Lebel would not learn of their connection with the ‘de Brioudes’. With Tam Breda away hunting the bandidos, the two hard-cases—near to mutiny through being deprived of company—had been allowed to go to town. Lastly, he said that the new men and their horses had hidden on the range while Lebel was at the ranch.
‘You say this Laura’s been beaten badly,’ Dusty remarked when Peet had finished ‘co-operating’.
‘Kicked ’n’ stomped’d be closer to it, Cap’n,’ the hunter corrected.
‘Is she still alive?’
‘Was when I left. They’ve kept her locked in the storeroom at the back of the barn. She’s drugged with Buck-Eye’s sleeping-potion most of the time.’
‘Could be she’ll give us some more answers to get even with them,’ Dusty told Breda, for there had been details upon which Peet could not supply information. ‘How many men’ll you need?’
‘You OD Connected boys, Dusty,’ Breda decided after a moment’s thought. ‘The inspector’ll be with us. I’ll take Felix and Bernardo if I can, Libby.’
‘They’re yours,’ Libby affirmed. ‘Will that be enough?’
‘I reckon so,’ Breda replied.
‘You didn’t include me,’ Colin pointed out.
‘Somebody has to stay here and tend to things, laddie,’ Breda answered. ‘And with Libby ’n’ me along, the Clan Farquharson’ll be well-enough represented.’
‘With you and old Mogollon catching this pelado, they’ll not know we’re coming,’ the Kid went on. ‘Happen they don’t have any more men come in since he left, we’ll be more than enough.’
‘To hell with orders!’ Aarhorte suddenly growled, then directed a cold scowl at his subordinate. ‘You didn’t hear me say that, did you, mister?’
‘No, sir,’ Lebel answered. ‘Shall I tell the men to saddle up?’
‘Yes,’ the major confirmed. ‘We’ll be about half a mile behind you, Tam, And if we hear shooting, we’ll join you fast.’
~*~
A gentle tapping at the side door of the Renfrew house brought an indignant Beatrice Argile—alias the Vicomtesse de Brioude—from her bedroom. Closing and fastening a robe over the black tights which were her only garment, she stalked to the door.
‘Who is it?’
‘Buck-Eye. Open up. I’ve got something to tell Hubie.’
‘What makes you think he’s—?’ Beatrice began.
‘Don’t you fuss me none!’ Buck-Eye’s voice growled back. ‘He ain’t at the card game, to the barn nor backhouse. Where the hell else would he be?’
‘Who’s there, Bea?’ demanded Stagge from inside the room she had left.
‘That Buck-Eye creat—’ Beatrice spat back. Since assuming the Vicomtesse’s identity, she had been accorded a respect which she had found vastly satisfying and come to expect. So she took exception to being addressed in such a manner by one of the hired help.
‘Let him in!’ Stagge snapped.
‘Thanks,’ grunted the lean man when Beatrice opened the door. Slouching into the room, he sat down. ‘Could use a drink, gal. Walking allus gets me thirsted-up.’
‘A dri—?’ Beatrice spluttered. ‘How dare you come—’
‘Get him one!’ ordered Stagge, coming from the bedroom still tucking his shirt’s flap into his trousers and bare-footed. ‘What happened, Buck-Eye?’
‘My hoss put his foot in a gopher hole ’bout five miles back,’ the man answered and looked pointedly at Beatrice. ‘I’m too thirsted to talk.’
‘Bring him that drink, damn it!’ Stagge snarled. ‘Don’t argue. This could be all our necks.’
Startled by the vehemence and urgency in the killer’s voice, Beatrice scuttled into the bedroom. She returned with a half-full
bottle of brandy and a glass. Pouring a quantity of the amber liquid into the glass, she handed it to Buck-Eye and watched him swallow it at a gulp.
‘Not bad,’ Buck-Eye commented. ‘Least-wise, it’ll do ’stead of a real drink.’ Then, seeing Stagge’s frown, he went on, ‘First off, Hubie, them soldiers ain’t arrested nor shot Mark Counter.’
‘They haven’t?’ the killer growled.
‘Nope. When I saw ’em, they was all sitting around Libby Schell’s camp as sociable as borrowing neighbors at a wedding feeding. Tam Breda’s there along of some dude and a blue-belly officer. Way the luff of your’n was bowing ’n’ bobbing to him, he’s a captain at least. Which ain’t all. Abe Peet’s there with ’em.’
‘That dirty, double-dealing—!’ Stagge snarled.
‘You’re doing him a wrongful, Hubie,’ interrupted the lanky man. ‘Way things looked, I’d say he’d been took prisoner. Soon’s I saw how things was going, I pulled out and headed back here.’
‘Is that all?’ Beatrice snapped. ‘Why didn’t you creep nearer and learn more?’
‘’Cause they’ve got a young feller knowed as the Ysabel Kid with ’em,’ Buck-Eye explained with insolent patience as if addressing a foolish child. ‘Mrs. Count, you don’t creep closer ’n’ learn things when he’s around—’cepting maybe how it feels to get killed quick and painful.’
‘Are they coming here?’ Stagge asked.
‘Warn’t when I left,’ Buck-Eye replied and looked at the bottle. ‘I was knocked silly for a spell when my hoss fell, Mrs. Count, ’n’ need something to help clear my head.’
‘Give him another drink, Bea,’ Stagge instructed. ‘And when you’ve had it, Buck-Eye, get Roarke’s horse and ride out about a mile. Stay there until you hear them coming, then come back and warn us.’