by J. T. Edson
‘What’re we going to do?’ the butler insisted.
‘Nothing rash, that’s for sure,’ Mama Lukie answered. ‘Do you reckon you can go back there and act natural?’
‘I—’ Oscar said hesitantly, then stiffened his body. ‘I reckon I can.’
‘Then do it,’ the woman ordered. ‘It’s lucky that it’s my night off, they won’t miss me. Don’t you let on you know what’s happened.’
‘I won’t.’
‘Comes morning, we’ll think some more on what to do.’
‘How about Titus?’ Oscar asked bitterly.
‘Don’t you go fretting none about him,’ Mama Lukie advised, nodding towards the big, locked chest in the corner of the room. ‘I allus figured I’d one day have to give him his come-uppance, for scoffing at me being a conjure woman. Now he’s come to where I’ve got to do it. You stay away for a while.’
‘I’ll do that sure enough,’ Oscar promised and left.
Having locked the door and made certain that all the drapes were closed at the windows, Mama Lukie opened the box. From it, she took a small bag of some kind of skin. Going to the table, she sat down and unfastened the bag’s drawstring to take something out. It proved to be a clay figure shaped like a tall, lanky man and with human hair, black and crinkly, attached to the head.
‘Titus,’ Mama Lukie said in an awful tone, turning the figure around in her fingers. ‘You’re going to pay for getting my boy killed.’
~*~
Having positioned themselves for such an eventuality, suspecting that their officer might try to provoke a duel, Block and Grilpan grabbed Staunce by the shoulders and forced him to remain seated. While the Englishman’s cheeks were flushed red with anger, he did not struggle for long. A realization of what was happening flooded over him. Like Conrad Blucher, he was being manipulated into a position from which he could be killed.
Instantly, although no sign of it showed on the outside, the Englishman became calm. Ceasing his attempts to throw off the detaining hands of his captors, he glared at Lyle.
‘This’s about what I’d expect of a bunch of lousy, cowardly deserters who’re hiding here while good men are killed in the fighting,’ Staunce stated, in tones of deepest contempt.
An ugly red flush crept across Lyle’s face at the scathing words, for he knew that was how many soldiers would regard his actions. Instead of him provoking the quarrel, the tables had been turned. He stood for a moment, quivering with rage. Then, making an obvious effort, he held his temper in check.
‘That’s a remark I don’t intend to overlook, captain!’ Lyle declared, spitting out each word as if it was burning his mouth. ‘In fact, I’m going to demand that you give me satisfaction for it.’
‘Dueling’s illegal, major,’ Staunce pointed out.
‘Are you trying to avoid facing me?’ Lyle challenged.
‘No,’ Staunce assured him. ‘I’ll give you your satisfaction. But I’ll need a weapon—unless you plan to be the only one of us who is armed.’
‘I don’t!’ Lyle growled. ‘Fetch my gun box, Block.’
‘Yo!’ the sergeant grunted.
‘I’ll have your Colt before you go,’ Lyle continued. ‘Just in case the captain tries to avoid his obligations.’
‘Sure,’ Block replied and complied with the order.
‘You can go to bed, Monica,’ the major commanded—and there was no other way of describing the manner with which he addressed the woman—accepting the non-com’s Army Colt.
For once, Monica did not argue. She remembered that she had never found Lyle so passionate as on the night after he had killed Blucher. Deciding that a similar incident would bring identical, or perhaps even better, results, she advanced to kiss the major lightly on the cheek. Then she followed Block from the room. At no time had she shown the slightest pity, or interest, for the captive.
‘So we’re using your weapons, huh?’ Staunce said.
‘The choice is mine, as the affronted party,’ Lyle pointed out. ‘They’re a matched pair of revolvers and you’ll have first pick at them.’
‘And if I refuse?’ Staunce challenged.
‘I’ll have you shot as a spy,’ Lyle informed him. ‘Tonight. Don’t think your uniform will save you. My men are well-paid, loyal and obedient.’
‘And what happens if I win?’
‘With me dead, I doubt if my men would stop you leaving.’
There was something in the major’s answer, Staunce concluded. In the event of him killing Lyle, the enlisted men might decide on discretion being the better part of velour. Having seen Staunce accepted by the major as an officer in the Union Army, they could decide that it would be unsafe to continue with the affair.
In the final analysis, Staunce knew that he must take his chance. He preferred to fight for his life and hoped that he might win.
Sergeant Block entered, carrying the gun box.
~*~
In Mama Lukie’s house, the lamp had been turned down low. Holding the little clay figure between her fingers, she sat rigid in her chair. Her face was wet with perspiration and a toneless chant came from her lips. Oblivious of everything, even the sound of the shot which came from the main house, she took the head of the figure between the thumb and forefinger of her left hand, holding the body enfolded in her right. Tensing as if preparing to make a great effort, she let out an eerie, frightening grunt and twisted at the tiny head. Then she sat rigid, staring blindly ahead.
~*~
Having heard Titus’ story—the truth, for the man was too terrified to lie—Kiowa sheathed the bowie knife.
‘What you going to do with me, mister?’ Titus inquired worriedly.
‘Take you back to Cap’n Fog,’ the Texan answered. ‘Get on Eric’s horse and don’t try anything.’
Approaching the horse, Titus prepared to mount. He had gripped the horn and was placing his left foot into the stirrup iron when the horse, for no apparent reason, reared. Taken by surprise, Titus was pitched away from the animal. Kiowa swept his revolver from its holster, swinging around to try to discover what had startled the horse. Failing to find out, he approached the motionless figure that was sprawled on the ground.
‘Get up!’ Kiowa ordered.
When Titus did not obey, the Texan knelt by him. Taking out and lighting a match, Kiowa looked down. Holstering his gun, he used his fingers to check on the evidence of his eyes.
‘Well I’m damned!’ Kiowa breathed, standing up. ‘I’ve seen many a man pitched by a hoss and even a couple’s’d bust their necks. But I never saw one who bust his neck so bad without even landing on it.’
~*~
In general, the setting up of the duel went as it had with Conrad Blucher. Staunce was allowed to examine the weapons, without touching them, and satisfied himself that they were both fully loaded. He then selected the Tranter Army revolver that he wished to use and Block set it down on the table.
When starting the count, Block noticed that Lyle’s hand was held at the same height as ‘Schmidt’s’, about eight inches over the weapon’s butt, instead of being higher. Clearly the major regarded this latest interloper as being far more dangerous than the previous one.
For his part, Lyle was fully aware of the danger. This was no civilian, but a tough, efficient, trained soldier. However, the major felt confident in the advantages given to him by his imported weapons. Watching ‘Schmidt’, in the hope of discovering traces of alarm, Lyle became uneasy. Unless he missed his guess, the captain was not over impressed by his air of mocking self-satisfaction. Certainly it was having far less observable effect than it had had against the Southron newspaper owner.
Alert for treachery, yet not willing to make a move before the count reached its assigned number, Staunce studied his enemy. That Lyle felt confident of success was certain, despite everything seeming to be fair and above board. The Englishman could not shake off a nagging feeling that there must be a joker somewhere in the deck.
‘Four!’ Block said.
Without waiting for the count to go further, Lyle’s hand started to drop.
‘Five!’ the Yankee sergeant said quickly.
Having already seen the danger, Staunce dipped his right palm on to the handle of the waiting Tranter. Swiftly as he moved, he was just that vital shade too slow. Lyle was already starting to lift his weapon.
From the first moment that the Englishman’s fingers began to hook under and close around the Tranter’s butt, he started to realize where his enemy’s ace-in-the-hole lay. Staunce had fired a Tranter a couple of times, but that had been before he came to fight for the Confederate States. Since then, he had used an 1860 Army Colt, which was a very different proposition.
The Tranter’s handle did not offer the smooth, hand-fitting curve of the Colt and could not be grasped so readily. For all that, Staunce managed to commence raising his weapon.
But not as swiftly as Lyle’s Tranter was lifting into alignment!
There was another, even more radical difference between the Army Colt and the Tranter. One which was to cost Staunce dearly.
While the Englishman was aware that the Tranter operated by a double-action mechanism, that fact failed to register in his mind under the stress of the situation. Instead, his thumb automatically—and without the need for conscious thought—tried to draw the hammer to full cock, as would have been necessary if he was using a single-action Colt. When the thumb did not locate the hammer’s spur that he was seeking, he became confused and flustered.
And that a time when every split second was of vital importance.
Smoothly adopting his double-handled hold, Lyle took rapid and careful aim. While raising the Tranter, he had also started to squeeze the trigger. He had no need to make himself recollect that the weapon’s hammer did not carry a spur by which it could be thumb-cocked. The mechanism had caused the hammer to have almost reached its rearmost position by the time the barrel was pointing in the Englishman’s direction. Continuing to manipulate the trigger, the major allowed the hammer to be propelled forward once more.
With his borrowed revolver still a long way from a position in which he could use it to protect himself, Staunce knew that he was beaten.
Flame gushed from the muzzle of Lyle’s Tranter and its bullet flew true. He had aimed for an instant kill and achieved his desire. Struck in the head, Staunce discarded the second Tranter. He was twisted away from the table and measured his length upon the floor.
As against Blucher and Lyle’s previous pair of victims, training and experience had proved to be the deciding factor.
‘You’d better make sure that the back of the island’s guarded extra carefully tonight, Block,’ Lyle ordered, lowering his smoking revolver. ‘And I want a couple of men out there every night from now on. You’ll personally make sure that they keep a damned sight better watch than they have been doing. He’s the second bastard to have landed.’
‘Sure,’ Block answered sullenly, not caring for the extra work carrying out the order would entail. ‘What about when his escort come looking for him?’
‘We’ll just say that he never arrived,’ Lyle answered. ‘And I’ll count on you to help me see that nobody says different.’
While Staunce had died, he had also prevented his captors and killer from suspecting his true identity and purpose on the island.
Chapter Fifteen – I’ve Never Had a Colored Girl
‘Captain Dustine Edward Marsden Fog!’ Harriet Cable said, her quietly spoken words redolent of deepest suspicion, as she continued to manipulate the pair of oars with some ability. ‘Are you sure that you don’t know how to row a boat?’
‘Like I told you, we don’t need boats down home to Rio Hondo County,’ the small Texan replied evasively, but in no louder tones than the girl had used. ‘And seeing’s how you-all’ve showed that you can do it so quietly and well, I’m happy to sit back here and let you go on doing it.’
‘Why thank you, ’most to death,’ the girl sniffed, using an expression which she had heard her companion employ on occasion. ‘You’re a Southron gentleman for sure.’
‘I’m not supposed to be a Southron gentleman right now,’ Dusty pointed out and looked down at his blackened hands. ‘Anyway, it’s all your own fault that you’re doing the rowing.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘It was you who pointed out that the Yankees might be keeping a better guard on the back of the island, seeing that Mr. Blucher and Doug had managed to land. And how those Yankees would likely expect to see a colored girl doing the rowing when she and her beau came to call.’
‘There’s times when I talk so much that it hurts,’ Harry declared ruefully, although she knew that her presence at the oars might go a long way towards convincing any watchers that she and the small Texan were a couple of young Negroes casually visiting the island. ‘I don’t suppose we could go back and fetch those two Yankee prisoners to do the rowing?’
‘That’d be against the conventions of war,’ Dusty pointed out.
‘Somebody should make conventions for protecting poor innocent girls like me from men like you,’ Harry groaned, then became serious. ‘What do you think has happened to Doug, Dusty?’
‘I don’t know,’ the small Texan answered and all the levity—which, to be fair to her, Harry had used as a means of reducing her understandable nervous tension—came to an end. He knew that he could rely upon her not to panic if the situation should turn the wrong way. ‘But I hope I can find out before we come away.’
It was close to eleven o’clock on the night following Captain Douglas St. John Staunce’s capture; which was all his companions knew for certain regarding his fate. The girl and Dusty were on their way to Cable’s island to make contact with the Negroes, as the Englishman apparently had been unable to do so. A secondary part of their mission was to try to find out what had happened to Staunce and, if he should still be alive and the chance presented itself, to try to rescue him.
Having given Titus’s body the same kind of treatment that Eric’s had received, Kiowa had hidden the boat. Then he had ridden the three horses in a relay to make the best possible speed and rejoin Company C without delay. On his arrival, he had found that his companions had picked up two enlisted men from Captain Stabruck’s scattered command. Being city dwellers, they and the others who had fled the scene of the ambush had soon found themselves in difficulties when separated from their experienced leaders. Only chance had brought the pair in the correct direction. Gathered in by Dusty’s flank riders, they had been only too pleased to surrender if doing so caused them to be fed. Hoping that he could make use of the pair later, Dusty had been only too willing to feed them and accept the slight extra work involved in guarding them.
Calling together Harry, her father, the two sergeant majors and sergeants, Dusty had had them listen to Kiowa’s report. The scout had told them all he had learned from Titus and mentioned the strange manner in which the traitor had died, but without attempting to offer any explanation for the circumstances. Possibly only Cable and Harry, due to their long association with Negroes, came close to guessing the truth. The engineer had mentioned his theory of how Titus’ neck had come to be broken, but that aspect had not received any debate. Far more important at that moment had been that if—impossible as it might have seemed—Mama Lukie was involved in her nephew’s death, she must have known that her son had been murdered by the Yankees and much more.
‘In which case,’ Cable had stated, ‘she’ll be all the more willing to help us get the rest of her people away from the island.’
Although Dusty had hoped that his English amigo might be held as a prisoner, he was secretly resigned to the thought that Staunce was probably dead. Maybe even killed in a similar duel to the one which had ended Conrad Blucher’s life.
Dusty had refused to let concern for Staunce’s welfare distract him from his duty. So he had stated his intentions. There had been strong protests from Sergeant Majors Billy Jack and Smalley when Dusty had said that he persona
lly would visit the island. Neither man’s arguments had come close to swaying the small Texan from his resolve.
As always, Dusty was not charging blindly or emotionally into a desperately perilous situation. He had known something of the risks involved and had set about finding a means of circumventing, or reducing, them. So he had asked for and listened to his companion’s suggestions. One thing had been obvious from the beginning. It was hardly a task that could be carried out by a single man. So they had started to decide who should go with Dusty. Having allowed the men to say their pieces, Harry had dropped her bombshell. Quietly, without fuss, she had declared her intention of accompanying the small Texan.
No amount of argument, nor grim warnings of the great danger involved, on Dusty’s or Gable’s part had served to dissuade Harry. In fact, despite all his misgivings, the young captain had been compelled to admit that the arguments she was putting up made good sense.
Harry knew the area, both Nimrod Lake and the island, like the back of her hand. Even more important, Mama Lukie knew and trusted her. It would never do for Cable to be recaptured by Lyle. Neither of his Negro assistants could be spared from their work in helping to keep Pulling Sue and the big gun moving, even if they had had the kind of reckless disregard for danger that was necessary for such a hazardous undertaking.
Having considered all the girl’s points, the men had been forced to concede that—apart from the very great element of danger involved—she was the best choice for Dusty’s companion.
Even Cable had grudgingly gone along with the majority. After which, they had set about considering how best Dusty and the girl could go about the visit. The Cables’ local knowledge proved invaluable in this matter. The engineer had told Dusty of a friend who lived in the vicinity and who could be trusted to render every assistance.
After formulating a line of action for the girl and himself, Dusty had given orders to his men. There was no cover for over a mile on the northern side of the lake; but Billy Jack was to take half of Company C as near as he could without being detected by the guards on the bridge. If they should hear shooting—not a single shot, Dusty had insisted, but sufficient firing to know that the Negroes were being attacked—they were to charge down and attempt to effect a rescue. If they were fortunate, the Yankees would be so occupied with the Negroes that the Texans could arrive before the Vandenburg Volley Guns were turned upon them.