Mississippi Raider

by J. T. Edson

  “I’m afraid that early to bed, early to rise has never been one of my many good points,” the gambler declared, then he became sober. “Please forgive me for being so remiss. My condolences upon the death of your parents.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Belle said formally, knowing the sentiment was sincere.

  “Your father was far too wise to honor me by his presence at my tables,” de-Farge stated without rancor. “But I respected him as a damned fine gentleman.”

  “Again, sir, my thanks,” Belle said, and was sincere. “He felt the same way about you. In fact, he always used to tell our young guests—and some who were not so young—that if they had to gamble, to come and do it with you.”

  “He had such trust in me?”

  “A friend of ours, Joe Brambile, with whom I am sure you are acquainted, always used to say that, like himself, you knew the percentages were so favorable in your behalf that you had no reason to cheat and, when he explained what he meant to me, I agreed there was none.” vii

  “I know Joe and I’m honored that I have your respect,” the gambler declared. “Damn it, ma’am, if I’d only known what those two Yankee no-bullfighter bas—what they planned, I would have made sure they never had a chance to even think of looking for the help they got for doing it.”

  “They came here!” Belle asked, eager to know anything that might help her to trace Tollinger and Barmain. “No disrespect to your establishment, sir, but what little I saw and have learned about them wouldn’t have led me to think they were the kind to come gambling in such a highly priced place.”

  “They certainly wouldn’t have gone to dear Glenda’s for their pleasure,” de-Farge claimed dryly. “Regardless of what Roxanne told you regarding the way you’re dressed, she doesn’t cater for anything except straight man and worn—!”

  “I know who she is and what you mean,” Belle asserted with a smile. “Momma and Auntie Mattie thought I should know even the more seamy facts of life. Anyway, you say Tollinger and Barmain have been here.”

  “Only a couple of times,” de-Farge confirmed. “And not to preach the kind of ‘liberal’ garbage they were giving out along the river, going by all I heard. Each time, what they lost hardly covered the broke money they asked for and the meals they had on the house. That kind of business—and customers—I can do without. Anyway, how may I be of service to you?”

  “Do you have any idea where they could have gone after they ran away from our home?” Belle wanted to know.

  “I’m afraid not, except that I would say it would have to be back up north,” the gambler answered. “Only, I don’t think you came here to ask about them, interested as I know you must be in trying to have them located.”

  “It isn’t,” Belle admitted. “I would like you to teach me fencing.”

  “Going by all I’ve heard, Miss Boyd,” de-Farge remarked, his face returning to being an imperturbable mask, “your father taught you how to use a sword and you’ve got to be pretty good at it.”

  “Poppa taught me all he knew,” Belle admitted. “But I would like you to teach me all you know. With what I have to do, should I need to use a sword, it won’t be for formal dueling, and I’ve already learned just how much difference there is between fencing practice and using a sword for what it is really meant. What I can learn from you could make the difference between life and death for me.”

  “So you want to know how to fight by foul methods,” de-Farge declared rather than asked, his face remaining an expressionless mask. “And your father didn’t know enough about them to teach you, but you feel sure I can.”

  “I’m not so foolishly naive that I believe all those hotheads who live for the code duello are noble sportsmen who stick to the rules at all times,” Belle pointed out, realizing how the reason for her request could be interpreted and seeking to make amends for any offense she may have inadvertently caused. “And I’m aware that a man who has gained a reputation as a duelist is sometimes challenged by men seeking to gain a reputation by defeating him to such an extent that they don’t care what means they use to bring it about. It’s the same as Joe Brambile says about cheating at gambling: he doesn’t do it—or you either—but you have to know how it can be done to stop others doing it to you.”

  “Joe has a good point, I’ll admit.”

  “I’ve always felt so, and Poppa always used to tell me that if you want to learn something, go to somebody who knows what it is all about. Well, I may need to know how to fight any way I have to if I want to stay alive and do what I mean to do.”

  “You’re going after Tollinger and Barmain?” the gambler said, once again making the words more statement than question.

  “I’ve no brothers to do it,” the girl replied quietly. “And, as I told Reverend Jacob, Poppa always raised me for the son he never had, so it’s up to me to avenge his and Momma’s murder.”

  “Then I’ll do as you wish,” de-Farge promised, and a faint smile came to his lips. “May I ask if you will do something for me in return?”

  “Of course I will.”

  “You may not approve when you hear what it is.”

  “You probably don’t really approve of teaching me how to fight by foul means—and not because you object to giving away what might be called trade secrets,” Belle countered. “So what can I do for you?”

  “I have a slender young Irish girl who looks like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth and even Roxanne is rather careful not to antagonize,” the gambler explained. “She likes nothing more than to fight with other women, and I have a rival with a lady for whom he has the greatest regards along the same lines. If Andrea had at least some of your skill at savate—!”

  “It would give her what I’ve heard you gambling men call a decided edge,” the girl guessed. “So you want me to teach her savate and will make money by betting on her to win a fight?”

  “I have something like that in mind,” de-Farge admitted with a grin.

  “There are some who would say doing it would smack of sharp practice,” Belle pointed out, but she too was smiling. “Would you stoop to such a thing?”

  “I never stoop, ma’am,” de-Farge asserted. “It’s just that, as you suspect, I prefer a reasonable edge, as I have never believed in gambling if doing so was avoidable at any point of my life. That is why I run this house instead of playing in one owned by somebody else.”

  ~*~

  “And now, gentlemen, for the main attraction of the evening. The settling of an affair of honor between Lady Roxanne Fortescue-Smethers and her unknown assailant, whose identity will only be exposed to you if she loses, Madame Mask!”

  Standing with her shoulders resting against the soft cloth sack filled with cotton hanging over the wooden post in one corner of the raised dais at the center of the main room of Captain Anatol de-Farge’s gambling house, Belle Boyd had never before appeared in public wearing such scanty and revealing attire. With her hair—which had been dyed blond— drawn back and held by a strip of black cloth in the way a later generation would call a pony tail, her face was covered, except for her eyes, nostrils, and mouth, by a silk mask of the same material. She was clad in a figure-hugging sleeveless and white cotton bodice with a more extreme décolleté than anything she had previously even seen, short-legged matching pantalets, and ballet slippers without padded points on her otherwise bare feet. Conscious of the lascivious scrutiny to which she was being subjected by the male occupants, she thought wryly that she had only herself to blame for being there clad in such a fashion.

  Accepting the offer of assistance for Andrea that the girl had given, the gambler had commenced her first lesson in fighting rather than merely fencing. By the time she left for the Thatcher mansion in the evening, she had already started to acquire some of the basics of less-than-sporting combat with an epee de combat. She had also found her pupil for lessons in savate to be equally enthusiastic over the possibility of using such methods in physical conflict against other female opponents and eager to learn all s
he could teach. The eagerness displayed by the slender and agile brown-haired Irish youngster toward the thought of fighting members of their sex had done much to remove the misgivings she had had when agreeing to supply the instruction. Therefore, de-Farge had found he had two willing pupils seeking to acquire knowledge— albeit in different subjects and for diverse purposes—working with assiduity under his roof.

  With the exception of Sundays, for the past four weeks Belle had spent from nine in the morning until five in the evening at the gambling house. Having been summoned on the first Sunday to meet Mattie Jonias at the house on the Baton Royale estate where she was recovering from the gunshot wound, the girl had discovered that she knew what was taking place. What was more important where Belle was concerned had been that the elderly Negress not only guessed why she was behaving in such a fashion, but—despite the disapproval often shown over her less-than-ladylike activities before the attack on her home—stated unqualified agreement with what she hoped to achieve. There had been an added benefit for the girl in addition to receiving the approbation from Auntie Mat-tie. Word had been spread among the other colored folks by her former “mammy” that whatever Miss Belle did was to be treated as a secret not to be disclosed under any circumstances. Therefore, she knew that she need not fear even accidental exposure by any of them and also was given cooperation by all the grooms at her temporary residence when she went to collect her horse each day.

  Not only had de-Farge been as good as his word when agreeing to teach Belle the secrets of the professional duelist who sought to gain an unfair advantage when engaged in what was supposed to be an affair of honor—in the acquiring of all of which she had proved herself a most adept pupil whether with sword, pistol, or fighting knife—of his own free will and making no suggestion of requiring payment, but he provided several items that he claimed might be of use in her quest. That he had them in his possession implied he had at some time had the acquaintance of a woman who had a decided instinct for self-preservation coupled with an absence of moral scruples.

  There was a bracelet of copper treated to give the appearance of looking gold that had a section of the upper edge rendered razor-sharp, allowing it to be used as an effective slashing weapon when she had gained the knack of wielding it. Possibly having been made with the intention of seeing identifying marks on the backs of a deck of cards, the pendant of a costly gold locket had a glass front that could be opened to serve as a powerful magnifying glass. What appeared to be an ordinary ring had a large apparently diamond stone that, when moved aside, allowed enough of a powdered opiate—a supply of which the gambler provided—from a space below it to render a human being unconscious when dropped into a drink.

  Saying the effects produced upon unsuspecting members of his sex were sure to make doing so worthwhile, the gambler had also made a suggestion that Belle adopted and was to put to good use on numerous occasions for the remainder of her life. This was to have the waistband of her skirts modified so they could be liberated and would fall to allow her legs greater freedom of movement than was possible while the garment was in its usual place. He also suggested she should have underneath either the snugly fitting riding breeches and calf-high boots or—which he claimed he considered as creating an even more salutary result—the most daring nether garments she could obtain, along with black stockings supported by brightly colored suspender straps.

  Such was the eagerness with which Belle absorbed all her lessons, by the end of the fourth week de-Farge had stated that he could teach her nothing further. What was more, the instructions at employing savate and a few other bare-handed fighting tricks that were supplied to Andrea had reached the point where he considered her to be ready to carry out the purpose for which she was being trained. Therefore, accepting the assessment, he had arranged for the bout to take place on a Saturday evening when he knew it would attract a large number of spectators who would become players at the various games of chance he offered.

  Wanting to see the results of her efforts where Andrea was concerned, for the first time in her association with the owner Belle had remained at the gambling house in the evening. Then a snag had arisen. Claiming that his contender had sustained an accident while in training, the man upon whom de-Farge was hoping to gain an advantage in betting sent word that the bout would have to be delayed. Knowing of the interest aroused by word having been passed that such an event would be forthcoming, but wanting to keep the capabilities of the Irish girl undiscovered, the gambler had decided to employ substitutes.

  Learning that the redhead was to be one contender and remembering the way in which they had first met, despite having learned how skimpily whoever was involved would be attired, it had been with a sense of impish perversity that Belle offered to be the other participant. When de-Farge warned that there were sure to be men with whom she was acquainted among the spectators, she had suggested a means by which she could avoid being recognized. She had realized that the stipulation of the mask being removed in the event of her losing could circumvent the scheme to keep her identity a secret, but had stated that this gave her an added incentive to become the winner.

  The time had come for the commencement of the bout, and Belle was unable to prevent a slight apprehension as she considered the outcome should she lose.

  Chapter Eight – Let’s Give Them a Show

  Thrusting herself forward on the order to commence the bout being given by the small man who had been introduced as “Our Referee, Mr. Horatio Hislop,” Belle Boyd put the plan of campaign she had formulated into effect. She had already tested and found to her liking the surface of what she had been informed by Captain Anatol de-Farge was called a ring and what came into regular use elsewhere for carrying out bare-fisted pugilism or wrestling between men. Beneath the smooth cloth stretched tightly across all of it was a three-inch-deep layer of straw spread to an even thickness. This was only one of the precautions that had been taken to reduce the chance of either combatant being injured in the fighting.

  Although she had had no experience in such matters, even at second hand through hearing anything of the kind discussed around the fire on a hunting expedition—where various unusual types of sport or entertainment were occasionally the subject of conversation—Belle could not find fault with the way in which the bout was to be conducted. In addition to both having their fingernails cut down and filed smooth, they were wearing white cotton gloves to further prevent scratches from being delivered in a way that could leave disfiguring scars. They had also been informed by the referee of the kind of tactics, including biting and eye-gouging, that were not permissible. For the rest, they were instructed to continue their struggles until one was unable to continue or stated she wished to surrender.

  Darting toward Roxanne Fortescue-Smethers, who was dressed in the same way as herself except for her garments being bright blue, Belle watched the way she was being approached. The good-looking and curvaceously close-to-buxom redhead clearly had had considerable experience in such affairs and was moving in a slightly crouching posture with hands held slightly ahead, ready to take whatever action she felt the situation required. What Roxanne did not anticipate was the way the slender and, as she had had her eighteenth birthday shortly after the murder of her parents, twelve-years-younger girl was intending.

  Just before the outstretched hands could reach her, Belle sprang into the air, putting to use the agility she had acquired in the course of her active life. Acting as if engaged in a game of leapfrog, placing her hands on top of the unsecured mass of red hair as an aid to what she was doing, she passed over her amazed opponent’s head. On descending, to the accompaniment of surprised yet delighted utterances from the spectators that turned to laughter, she pivoted and delivered a kick to Roxanne’s thinly covered, plumply well-rounded rump. Driven onward with little control over her movements, such was the surprise she had received, the redhead was brought to a halt by the post in the corner her opponent had left so speedily. Spluttering a profanity that was justifi
able under the circumstances, she turned around in a defensive posture as she was expecting to be attacked.

  Finding that the girl was standing with feet spread apart and arms akimbo in the center of the ring, contriving to exude an annoying suggestion of satisfaction in spite of the mask concealing her facial expression, Roxanne rushed forward. Once again, her attempt to come into contact failed. Moving aside before a hand could be laid upon her, Belle snapped a horizontal side kick that took the passing redhead in the pit of the stomach. Because the speed of the movement robbed the attack of much of its potency, its recipient gave a gasp more of frustration and anger than pain. Although not seriously hurt, the redhead was unable to prevent herself from starting to fold at the waist. On doing so, having inadvertently offered the target, she received another kick to the rump and was sent back to the corner she had been assigned. Once again, the padded sack saved her from going farther. Spluttering more angry exclamations, she twisted around and discovered that the girl had once again halted instead of following her to make the most of the advantage that had been gained.

  Instinctively starting to move forward with the same speed as before, the redhead watched Belle adopt what—although she did not know it—was the left fighting stance of savate. Body erect, with most of her weight equally distributed on the balls of her feet, she had the left toes pointing forward, the center of the right at about shoulder width apart, and the knees slightly bent. This caused her to be standing slightly sideways so as to offer less of her torso as a target for hostile action. Her head was up, eyes directed at her opponent’s chest. With her elbows pointing down, she kept them close to her sides, and her forearms—the hands clenched into fists—were vertical to the ground so the left was just below eye level and the right gave cover for her solar plexus.

  Despite never having come into contact with such a posture and knowing nothing of the lessons that had been given to the Irish girl, de-Farge wanting to avoid any chance of even an unintended disclosure of the way Andrea was being trained, Roxanne accepted that she was up against a very competent opponent in the slender and beautiful Southron. The supposition was given support by Belle, who, instead of waiting for the redhead to come to her, darted forward and sent her left foot in a chasse croise kick similar to the one used with the front entrance of the house as a target on the day of her first visit. Fortunately for Roxanne, once more the speed of delivery reduced the force and the bottom of her chin was caught with much less force than caused the door to respond so violently. In spite of this, she found herself being propelled backward until once again she was brought into contact—her shoulders making it this time—with the padded cover of the corner post.