by J. T. Edson
“How are we going to stop it happening?” Stone inquired.
“Any way we can,” Belle replied, and her manner became redolent of resolve that was chilling in its intensity when coming from one so beautiful and feminine in every aspect, except for her attire once again being that of a Union soldier in which she had traveled to Glissade. “And I don’t rule out killing Burke so he can’t have any more of them made.”
Chapter Three – You’ve Saved Me from Having to Kill Him!
Christopher Burke was in a far from amiable mood as he sat in the dining room of the small house just beyond the fringes of Glissade that he had selected as being suitable for his needs. The house was within a reasonable distance of the contacts he had established in Washington, yet far enough away to avoid too close supervision of his efforts and sufficiently secluded to let him carry out his work in privacy. He had felt the latter point to be a necessity when he embarked upon the project that he felt would bring the acclaim he desired and offer the means to take revenge upon a certain section of the population against whom he had what a later generation would describe as being a close to paranoiac hatred. No more than five feet four in height, with mouse-brown hair allowed to grow long in the hope of hiding the way it was thinning on top of his dome-shaped skull from being noticeable, Burke had pale and acne-scarred features that were not improved by an overlarge hooked nose and a receding chin above a mouthful of too-prominent teeth. To make him even more unprepossessing, he was thin with rounded shoulders and bowed legs, even though he had never ridden a horse to create the effect. Nevertheless, despite showing evidence of voluntary neglect, the clothes he was wearing—he had not changed since returning at the conclusion of the display of his weapon—were costly and cut from materials of an excellent quality. His wealth was considerable, having been inherited from a father who combined a brilliant inventive brain with a shrewd head for business. Unlike his son, he had produced several devices of such use that royalty payments of a considerable sum were still regularly forthcoming.
The inability to duplicate his father’s abilities in either direction had soured Burke. The disgruntlement over repeated failures to create anything worthwhile had been made worse by the far-from-favorable response that greeted the machine he had felt sure would pick cotton far more efficiently and cheaply than was possible by hand. Being treated with derision by some of those he approached when the problems to which the machine in which he had such faith was prone were made obvious to the potential customers had left him with a deep and lasting hatred for all Southrons, not just those who had done so.
Taking note of the growing hostility between the “slave” and “free” states with not a little satisfaction, although he had no feeling on any of the issues bringing it about, Burke had turned his attention to how he might have his revenge upon the supporters of Secession and, by doing so, also turn a sizable profit his way. Taking note of the rush to acquire weapons of all kinds in the North, especially those that offered the potential to allow the killing of numerous enemies in short periods, he had considered this was the field that could offer him the most scope and started searching for the means to become involved.
About nine months earlier, coming into contact with the metal-cased rounds that were appearing as replacements for paper cartridges—or loading with an individual percussion cap, loose powder, and ball—the less-than-successful inventor had made what he regarded as a most significant breakthrough in the field of firearms manufacture. This had come about from buying the secret of a process and the necessary machinery that allowed brass-cased bullets of a heavier caliber than those currently available for the revolvers already on the market, Smith & Wesson being the most prominent maker and distributor. It had been his intention to patent the process in his own name, having arranged for the designer to be killed in what was accepted as being an accident, then offer to supply the bullets to the major manufacturers of firearms who would have the finance and means to turn out weapons capable of handling them.
Pure chance had led Burke to discover how a firearm could be made to carry out the feeding of a bullet into its chamber, cause it to be discharged, utilize the kick of the recoil to extract the spent case and cock the action, and have all ready for its replacement. Delighted to have arrived at a solution to how he could cause the death of vast numbers of the hated Southrons by producing a device that would prove even more financially successful than anything conceived by his father, he had had no qualms over investing the large sum of money required for putting the project into effect.
Burke had also been aware of how others involved in the firearms-manufacturing business would be all too willing to copy his product without reimbursing him if they could avoid it. Therefore, he had decided not to take out patents upon his innovations. Instead, spreading the orders so that no single manufacturer could guess the purpose to which the various components would be put, he had acquired them and built three of the weapons he envisaged. Although they had all worked, the mechanism operated for only a short time before the combination of heat and friction from the moving parts had caused it to malfunction.
Possessing a devious mind and knowledge of how government departments functioned, despite having been unable to arrive at a solution to the malfunctioning because he did not wish to damage either of the remaining pair of guns while conducting experiments, Burke had not considered that the problem would prove insurmountable. Instead, he had felt sure that once military interest was established, he could arrange a most lucrative deal with the firearms-manufacturing companies such as Colt, Remington, Sharps, or even the National Armory at Springfield, Illinois, to take up a license for carrying out the large-scale production. When the problems came to light, to avoid the official bungling in discovering it existed earlier becoming known, those responsible for it would insist upon whoever the makers might be to have their technical staff find the answer to preventing the jamming.
Although an associate in Washington who was under an obligation to the inventor was successful in causing a deputation from the Army to attend the demonstration of his machine gun, he had been far from impressed by the quality of the officers who attended it. Instead of the generals he had thought hearing about a weapon of its quality would bring, there was only a full colonel—and not even one with experience in warfare as an active participant, which would allow an appreciation of the firepower it was capable of producing— in charge of the party. The rest had been majors and captains also from the Quartermaster Corps or occupying similar non-combatant positions. In his opinion, because of their pacific and never-dangerous occupations, none of them was qualified to render an experienced judgment on the excellence of his most recent brainchild.
What was more, clearly being mere bureaucrats with a disinclination to arrive at decision of any kind than fighting soldiers, none of the party had expressed more than a casual interest in the gun. Rather, the colonel had said vaguely that it could have possibilities and he would report what he had seen to his superiors for them to make the decision regarding its future. Finally, when he had made it apparent that they could not expect any hospitality on his part, the excuse that they must return to Washington without delay was used for them to take their departure.
Having returned to the residence he had rented as offering him the privacy he required for his work, the inventor had had the gun cleaned and put with the remaining ammunition in the cellar until he would be allowed to show it before a more knowledgeable and appreciative audience. Telling his sole assistant to reload the expended cartridges until it was time to finish work for the day, never one to part with his money— although he was still wealthy regardless of his penchant for developing devices that failed to produce the required results when put to the test in actual working conditions—he had given instructions for the man and woman he employed to keep house for him that he would be staying at home and they could leave after she had made his evening meal.
With the food gone, Burke was left alone in the house.
However, he had no concern over that. It was, in fact, the way he preferred to be situated, since he was satisfied that there was help within call should the need arise. By arrangement with another of the associates who were financially obligated to him, he had ensured, that this would be the case. The man was commanding officer of a volunteer regiment based near the town while awaiting reaching a strength that would allow them to march off to war. By claiming he was on important official work the nature of which he was not at liberty to disclose, the inventor had had a guard of two men at a time appointed for sentry duty from sundown to sunrise each day.
Their presence had been organized more as a sop for his feelings of neglected self-importance than because he had ever felt protection would be needed. Being of an unsociable nature, he never invited the men assigned to the task to come inside the grounds. However, as he had reported and incurred stiff punishment on a couple who did not stay at their posts, he knew there would not be a repetition of the breach of duty.
Finishing the drink he had poured as a nightcap, the inventor was about to go upstairs and retire for the night when the door to the dining room was thrown open in a violent fashion. With a sensation of alarm, he realized that the four tall, lean, and surly-featured young men who entered were wearing the cadet-gray uniforms of the Confederate States Army, except all were bare-headed. What was more, the swords held by two of them had blood smeared along the blades. It did not need any deep thought for him to know where this had been acquired.
“Wh-wha-what do you w-want?” Burke gasped, staring with growing horror from one to another of the quartet who had burst in upon him.
“That gun of yours,” stated the tallest of the four, whose arms bore the triple bars of a sergeant.
“We’ve a far better use for it than those god-damned fools in the Army would have,” the shortest man claimed, waving his blood-smeared saber.
“A whole lot better,” the third of the intruders supported. “We’re going to make those bastards in Texas wish they’d stayed under Mexican rule instead of joining the Union and then selling us out to the Secessionist scum.”
“And that gun of yours is going to do it for us,” the fourth man asserted.
Listening to what was said despite his alarm, something began to impinge itself upon Burke’s mind. By the time the last remark was made, he realized what was wrong. Although the quartet wore uniforms similar to those he had seen on the few prisoners of war to pass through Glissade, in each case the accent was that of a Northerner with a reasonable education. Nor was his assumption incorrect. Not one of them was a Southern sympathizer, much less a serving member of its Army. In order of their comments, they were Terence Higgins—in no way related to the little Cockney housebreaker who had served Belle Boyd so well—Anthony Whitehead, Frederick Jervis, and Peter Lowe.
The quartet were members of the “liberal” faction who had used political influence to join the United States Secret Service as being safer than serving with the Army in the field, but their mission was not known to any of their superiors, nor—especially where Allan Pinkerton, being a man of honor and far more efficient in his duties than any of them could truthfully claim to be, was concerned—had they any wish for it to be. It was, in fact, a scheme they and a few others of like persuasion had concocted to strike a serious blow at the people of the Confederate States, for whom they had a hatred as pronounced as that of the inventor, albeit founded on even less understandable reasons. The means they were employing had been selected because they felt sure no official sanction for what they planned would be forthcoming; if it became known before its successful completion, it would present the federal government with a fait accompli. Filled with the blind hatred of all their kind for everybody who refused to blindly conform to their ideals and wishes, that the purpose to which the weapons were to be put would cost the lives of numerous innocent women and children did not worry any of them in the least.
“My gun!” the inventor croaked, realizing that the intruders were not aware that he had two of the weapons completed and on the premises. “I—I don’t know what you me—!”
“You lying, profiteering little bastard!” Jervis yelled, so filled with the exhilaration of having killed with it before entering the grounds that he strode forward and slammed the knuckle bow of his bloodstained sword against the side of Burke’s head. “We know all about it even if we weren’t invited to the show—!”
The words came to a halt as the speaker saw what the inventor was doing.
Sent to the floor and hurt by the blow, the hatred he always felt toward men larger and better-favored than himself forced an involuntary response from Burke.
Spluttering a profanity, the inventor sent his right hand swiftly into the pocket of his jacket.
Burke had always believed that the work on the weapons was known only to himself and his assistant, over whom he exerted a control that made exposure extremely unlikely to have taken place. Therefore, although he had never considered that an attempt to steal them would take place, he was aware that the property would strike thieves as a potentially profitable source for robbery. With that contingency in mind, he always had a twin-barreled Derringer pistol suitably sized for concealment and ease of carriage, in the pocket of his jacket and had acquired skill in its use.
Like his companions, Jervis was under the influence of the narcotics they all needed to give them sufficient courage to put their scheme into practice. This and the surge of excited elation he had experienced when driving his sword into the body of one unsuspecting sentry while Whitehead killed the other caused him to respond swiftly to what he realized was a threat to his own existence. Screeching an equally profane exclamation, he went into the kind of lunge he had learned during lessons at fencing. By chance rather than deliberate intent, before the Derringer could be brought clear of the pocket, the point arrived between the inventor’s skinny ribs on the left side at a point that it could enter and pierce his heart. His body gave a convulsive jerk and then went limp.
“Thank you, you Yankee scum!” said a feminine voice with a Southern accent and redolent of loathing. “You’ve saved me from having to kill him!”
~*~
Despite the solution to the threat posed by the weapon she had seen in operation that Belle Boyd had made to Captain Stone Hart, she had had no liking for the thought of what carrying it out would entail. Nevertheless, being able to envisage how great would be the slaughter when examples were manufactured in numbers and employed against members of the Confederate States Army, she had steeled her resolve and had every intention of removing the threat by the means suggested. As a sop to her conscience and with the approval of both Texans when she told them what she hoped to achieve, she said they would burn down wherever the device and its ammunition were being kept along with its inventor, but would not try to find the plans that could be used for producing more of them in the South. Ever a realist, Sergeant Waggles Harrison had claimed it was most unlikely that their people possessed the specialized machinery that would be required to manufacture either the mechanisms or ammunition and he would hate like hell for foreigners to learn how to do so, even if they were willing to supply the finished products to the Confederacy. The girl had found an added solace from the comment.
Remaining in the area from which the undiscovered observation of the demonstration was carried out until the sun went down, Belle and her companions had made their way to a small cabin in another wooded area, where she had arranged for a rendezvous with Doctor Fritz Conried. When she had asked whether it was prudent for him to come, he had assured her that he could leave Glissade without arousing any suspicions. He had established a reputation for taking an occasional night away from his duties to indulge in his genuine hobby of fishing; he preferred to do so alone, on the grounds that it let him get away from people and the problems of their health, which they invariably insisted upon describing in the hope of obtaining free advice.
On being told what had been seen and was intended, Conried
had said Belle had arrived at the only possible solution. Sensing her feelings of misgivings about the means to be employed, the doctor had sought to lessen them by telling of what a thoroughly unpleasant and unlikable person Christopher Burke was and described his often virulently expressed bitter hatred for Southrons, which went far beyond feelings of patriotism and belief in the issues that caused the Union to embark in the War. Then he said he would remain where he was until he learned the outcome of the mission. Agreeing with this, the girl had suggested that she and Stone carry it out while Waggles remained with Conried. In that way, should they fail and be caught or killed, the sergeant could take news of this back to Rose Greenhow and allow further measures to prevent the weapons being brought into use to be put into effect. The leathery-faced noncom had been far from enamored of the part assigned to him, but had grudgingly accepted it as correct.
Taking only one horse apiece, as doing so would arouse less suspicion should they be seen than having two each, Belle and Stone had set off in accordance with the information supplied by Conried. Stating that he felt honor-bound to do so and that its cadet-gray color would not be discernible in the darkness, the Captain had changed into his Confederate uniform. Accepting the decision without hesitation or qualms, to allow the greatest possible ease of movement, the girl was wearing her man’s black shirt, riding breeches, and boots. Like Stone, she had on the military weapon belt and its personal armament. However, as the unusual design of the girl’s epee de combat was unlikely to be noticed in the poor light, it was determined that these would give credence to their being nothing more than a pair of Union soldiers going about lawful activity.
Having been told by the doctor what little to expect by way of defenses, Belle and Stone had settled upon how they could gain admittance on arrival at the small house. Although steeled in their resolve over how Burke must be dealt with, neither had wanted the death of the two sentries added to the toll regardless of their being nominal enemies. Therefore, they had elected to make use of the drugged whiskey that had served them so well against the three Yankee cavalrymen. They found the pair dead from what had clearly been unexpected thrusts by some kind of edged weapons, but circumstances had not permitted a sufficiently close examination to establish what these might be.