Riding With the Devil's Mistress (Lou Prophet Western #3)

by Peter Brandvold

  Duvall returned his gaze to Louisa, who stared at him bleach-faced, her chest rising and falling as she breathed, terror-gripped.

  ‘Yeah, I guess that’s what I figured,’ Duvall said mildly.

  Anger shouldering past her fear, Louisa licked her lips and said, ‘You bastards murdered my family. You raped my momma and sisters. You killed my pa and my brother James.’ Her eyes pinched and her face flushed as she added, ‘I vowed to kill you all—to murder you all and send you all to hell where you belong with the devil! And I got a good many of you, too. More than I can count on one hand, at least, and that’s something. Lou Prophet will get the rest of you. He’ll gun you down or watch you hang. Either way, you’re wolf bait—every single one of you greasy sons of bitches!’

  Her heart was hammering now, and she wanted to charge them, to go out screaming, with blood on her lips and fingernails. But her legs simply wouldn’t work.

  Duvall watched her dully. ‘Who’s Lou Prophet?’

  ‘You’ll know soon enough,’ Louisa spat. ‘You mangy dog!’

  She heaved a deep sigh and rolled her eyes around, taking in all the faces staring at her, the men suddenly realizing they’d not only been duped, but duped by a girl. Embarrassment mixed with exasperation smoldered far back in their coal-dark eyes, the lines in their foreheads smoothed out with half-formed plans for retribution.

  The silence was broken by laughter. Louisa swung her gaze back to Duvall, who was bent over and laughing so hard he appeared as though he were about to drop to the floor. He lifted his knee and slapped it, then danced a little jig, twirling around and lifting his laughing mouth to the rafters, guffawing as though at the most hilarious story he’d heard in a month of Sundays.

  He fell silent as quickly as he’d become hysterical, then twirled toward Louisa. He jerked her up by her neck, backhanded her once hard, then slapped her with his open palm. Her head whipped from side to side, her hair flying, but Duvall kept her from falling by clutching her poncho and shoving her back against the center post.

  He hit her thrice more, and as she slipped into semi consciousness, her head pounding and sparks flying behind her closed eyelids, he flung her through the crowd of men and onto the eating table on the other side of the cook stove.

  ‘Here you go, girl,’ Duvall said, unbuttoning his pants. ‘Have you a little taste o’ what your momma and sisters had, courtesy of Dave Duvall’s Red River Gang!’

  Suddenly there was a loud, splintering bang, as though someone had kicked in the door. It was followed by a barrage of gunfire so loud it shut out all the rest of the world and set Louisa’s ears to tolling like bells. There were two cannon-like booms, as though from a double-barrel shotgun; on the heels of the booms, a rifle cut loose, the shooter jacking and firing, jacking and firing, his ejected cartridges making a steely clatter beneath the near-continuous roar of his gun.

  Louisa’s eyes were squeezed shut, but she was aware of someone jerking her off the table by her arm, of being thrown over a broad shoulder, of hanging down a tall man’s back as he hustled her out the door, where the shooting from within the cabin was quieter, the air cooler and minus the suffocating smell of gunpowder.

  She was lifted onto a saddle and held there while a man mounted behind her. He was breathing heavily, and Louisa could feel the heat from his body and sense his excitement.

  ‘Come on, Deputy!’ Lou Prophet yelled above Louisa’s head, as his horse fiddle-footed and kicked, ready to gallop. ‘Let’s ride like hell, boy!’

  They were off at a lunge, riding hard, and Louisa’s eyes fluttered open. She could see the hilly, moonlit landscape sliding past, interrupted here and there with trees and boulders. The horse’s pounding hooves made her head and body ache, but when all the pieces of the last few minutes arranged themselves in her brain, she felt lighter somehow, and welcomed back to the living.

  ‘L-Lou?’ she said, turning her head to his wide, sweating chest behind her.

  ‘Just hold tight, girl. We have some hotfootin’ to do!’

  She clamped her hands on the saddle horn and lowered her head over the horse’s bouncing mane, hearing the big horse puffing and snorting as it galloped, feeling the chill night breeze in her hair.

  She was alive....

  The Red River Gang hadn’t killed her

  Prophet had come for her, like she’d known he would. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed before the horse slowed suddenly, nudging her up over its head.

  ‘Hoah! Hooooo,’ Prophet yelled.

  He turned Mean and Ugly around. Louisa opened her eyes and saw they’d been trailing her Morgan. A rider appear out of the darkness, the moon behind him, lighting his shoulders. She recoiled and gave a shudder.

  ‘It’s okay, it’s okay,’ Prophet told her, placing a placating hand on her arm. ‘This is Deputy Mcllroy. He was the one doin’ the shootin’ while I got you out of the cabin.’ Prophet turned to the slender man, a few inches shorter than himself. ‘You hit?’

  The man was so breathless, he only wagged his head. It was several seconds before he said, ‘No ... I ain’t hit. .. but they were startin’ to open up on us. Barely made it out. That was pure-dee craziness, Prophet. There was pret’ near a dozen men in that cabin.’

  ‘How many you think we hit?’

  ‘Well, you hit at least two with that scattergun of yours—turned ‘em to blood an’ mush before any of them even knew they had company.’ The deputy couldn’t help an anxiety-relieving laugh. ‘Jesus Christ! Then I laid out five or six with my Winchester.’ He wagged his head. ‘Must’ve got at least that many before they started shootin’ back.’

  The deputy removed his hat, slapped it against his thigh, and shook his head like a runaway horse. ‘Jesus Christ, Prophet—that was pure-dee crazy!’

  ‘Well, we got Miss Bonny-venture out of there, anyway,’ Prophet said. ‘How you doin’, girl?’

  ‘Much better, Lou,’ Louisa managed. It was true. In spite of her scrapes and scratches and the bruises welling on her face, she’d never felt so good in her life. ‘I knew you’d get them, Lou! I knew you’d lay them out like the mangy dogs they were!’

  ‘Well, they ain’t all dead,’ Prophet said with a sigh. ‘And the two Brits are still back there. I s’pect the gang’s feelin’ right surly ‘bout now, too. They’re probably headin’ our way—what’s left of ‘em.’

  ‘What are we gonna do?’ Mcllroy said. ‘These horses are exhausted.’

  ‘I reckon we’ll take care of the rest of the gang,’ Prophet said wistfully, gigging his horse over to a low hill on the east side of the two-track trail they’d been following. ‘Then we’ll go back for the two English women. You stay over there, Deputy,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘Get behind that tree there, and get your rifle loaded and ready for argument.’

  ‘Listen, Prophet,’ Mcllroy called. ‘I’m totin’ a badge, remember. I have to give those men a chance to give themselves up.’

  Prophet turned, scowling. ‘You didn’t feel the need back at the cabin!’

  ‘That’s because, after assessing the situation, I felt the girl was in imminent danger. But now, I’m—’

  Prophet was angry—exasperated, in fact. ‘You call to those men before you start shootin’, they’ll have the upper hand. . . and you’ll be the first son of a bitch I shoot next!’

  The deputy sat his horse in the middle of the trail and shook his head, giving an exasperated pshaw. ‘Prophet, you’re just plumb crazy, you know that?’

  ‘That’s why I’ve lived as long as I have, old son.’ Prophet dismounted behind Louisa, then helped her out of the saddle.

  ‘Yeah,’ Mcllroy admitted. ‘Yeah ... I reckon it is.’

  Leading his horse, Prophet started guiding Louisa, shaky on her feet, back behind the hill. Over his shoulder he said to the deputy, ‘I figure it took ‘em at least five minutes to get saddled. They should be along in a minute or two.’

  Behind the hill, Prophet tethered Mean and Ugly and the Morgan to some shr
ubs, then walked over to where Louisa had sat along the base of the hill. He was carrying his shotgun in one hand, his rifle in the other. Kneeling beside her, he set his shotgun against his knee and brushed her hair from her face with his right hand.

  ‘The deputy thinks I’m crazy,’ he said. ‘What you did would get you locked up tight in a funny farm—jumpin’ that train you knew was headed straight for the Red River Gang!’

  She lifted her head and looked at him, but he couldn’t see her eyes. ‘I reckon I didn’t think it all the way through,’ she said, with a slight shrug of her shoulders.

  Something about the shrug told Prophet she was all right. Relieved, he clutched her to his chest and kissed her head. He’d never known a girl such as her. Nope, never in his whole life. Few men had her kind of pluck. He was just glad that he and Mcllroy had made it to the cabin in time to save her.

  ‘Well,’ he said finally. ‘We ain’t out of the woods yet. Anything funny happens here in the next minute or two, you get on that Morgan and ride like hell, you understand?’

  ‘Give me a gun, and I’ll help,’ she said, holding out her hand.

  Prophet laughed and shook his head. ‘You rest right where you are, Miss Bonny-venture.’

  With that he picked up the shotgun, stood, and climbed the hill. When he was almost to the brow, he removed his hat, got down, and crawled to the crest, until he could see the trail snaking around below. On the other side of the hill was the cottonwood beside which Mcllroy was waiting.

  Prophet waved to the deputy, letting him know he was in position. Mcllroy lifted an arm, waving back. Then Prophet turned his gaze northward, the direction in which the gang would appear—if it appeared, that was. Prophet figured they would. Even if there were only one or two men left, Prophet figured they’d want revenge for the trick he and the deputy had pulled on them back in the cabin.

  The thought hadn’t left his mind before he heard the thunder of galloping hooves.

  ‘They’re comin’!’ he yelled to Mcllroy, just loud enough for the deputy to hear.

  Mcllroy waved and slipped behind the tree. Prophet hunkered down, bringing up his Richards’s sawed-off. Hearing a rustling to his right, he turned sharply with a startled grunt.

  ‘It’s just me,’ Louisa said, crawling up beside him.

  ‘What are you doin’ here? I told you to stay where you were.’

  ‘Since when are you givin’ the orders?’

  ‘Where did you get that?’ Prophet nodded, indicating the revolver in her right hand.

  ‘Your saddlebags.’

  ‘That’s my extra pistol.’

  ‘Thanks for letting me borrow it.’

  Hearing the horses more clearly now, and the squeak of saddle leather, he pushed her head down. ‘Be quiet! Here they come!’

  Peering down the hill, Prophet saw six riders come into view around a bend in the trail, growing out of the darkness and moonlight, their spurs, bridle bits, and silver hat trimmings flashing. He brought the barn blaster to his shoulder and waited until the riders were within range.

  Tripping both triggers on the ten-gauge, he watched the two lead men fly off the backs of their startled mounts. Beside him, Louisa opened up with the Smith & Wesson. Below him, Mcllroy went to work with his freshly loaded Winchester. Prophet tossed his shotgun aside, picked up his own rifle, and started firing down the hill at what was left of the Red River Gang being tossed this way and that by flying bullets and rearing, bucking horses.

  Prophet, Mcllroy, and Louisa had taken the group by such surprise that only two men had had time to squeeze off rounds before they were shot yelling and cursing from their saddles. In less than two minutes, all the riders were down and out of commission, their horses scattering and screaming off in the night.

  Gunsmoke wafted and webbed in the quiet air, eerily illuminated by the still-climbing moon. Far off, wolves howled.

  Prophet walked down the hill. Louisa followed, her strength returning to her legs though her swelling face was beginning to ache in earnest.

  Prophet walked among the men twisted in all possible positions along the trail, making sure they were all dead. When he’d checked the last man, he turned to Mcllroy.

  ‘Well, it looks like we got ‘em.’ To Louisa, he said happily, ‘The last of the Red River Gang, girl.’

  Louisa was walking among the bodies, her empty revolver held down at her side. She was studying each face in turn. ‘What about Handsome Dave?’

  ‘We probably got him back at the cabin,’ Mcllroy said.

  ‘I hope so,’ Louisa responded, turning and heading around the hill toward her horse.

  ‘Wait,’ Prophet yelled to her. ‘You shouldn’t go back there alone, girl!’

  As if she hadn’t heard him, she disappeared around the hill. Prophet turned to Mcllroy, frowning. ‘Let’s get these bodies dragged off the trail.’

  They were dragging the cadavers into the brush when Louisa spurred the Morgan past them, heading back toward the cabin.

  ‘Goddamnit!’ Prophet yelled after her. ‘Wait for us, Louisa!’

  Without turning around, she rode off in the moonlight.

  Prophet turned to Mcllroy. ‘That girl’s gonna give me a heart stroke yet. Just you wait and see if she don’t!’

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  ONCE AGAIN CURSING the day he ever laid eyes on Louisa Bonaventure, Prophet rode hard toward the cabin. Mean was as durable a mount as you’d find in the West, but even the hammer-headed line-back was starting to blow and shake his head with exhaustion. Mcllroy’s horse was giving out, too, and had slowed to a floppy-footed canter a good hundred yards behind. It had been a long day for both horses.

  Prophet was glad when the cabin appeared in the cove in the hills, its lanterns still lit and splashing their dim buttery light on the yard and over the back of the Morgan standing before the door.

  A gun barked from within, stunning the quiet night.

  Cursing, Prophet reined Mean to a sliding halt and slipped out of the saddle while drawing his six-shooter. Crouching, he dropped the reins and ran toward the cabin.

  When a figure appeared in the door, he stopped and raised the Colt. But then he saw the long hair falling to the slender shoulders. Exhaling a sigh of relief, Prophet lowered the gun to his belly.

  ‘Louisa, goddamnit! Why won’t you ever listen to me?’

  ‘He’s not here,’ was all she said, standing on the stoop and looking around.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You heard me.’

  ‘What were you shootin’ at?’

  ‘One of ‘em was still breathing.’

  Prophet stared at her, always surprised at the matter-of-factness with which such a harmless-looking young woman went about her killing. Shaking his head, he walked to the door and looked inside the cabin.

  ‘You sure?’ He raked his eyes around the blood-splattered room littered with bodies. ‘He’s got to be here. I woulda hit him with my sawed-off when I first came through the door.’

  ‘See for yourself,’ Louisa said levelly.

  Prophet walked around the room, stepping over bodies, broken chairs, cups, bottles, and the overturned table. Sure enough—the girl was right. Handsome Dave wasn’t here.

  Standing frozen in the middle of the room, glancing around disbelievingly, Prophet heard a muffled cry. He jerked around, saw the door to the other room, and remembered the English women. Moving to the door, he opened it and saw the two disheveled women lying in heaps along the back wall.

  ‘Sorry, ladies,’ he said, shucking his bowie knife. ‘Damn near forgot about you.’

  ‘Who are you?’ one of them asked.

  ‘Name’s Lou Prophet, and what I’m doin’ here’s a long story. Suffice it to know you’re safe. We’ll take you back to your party in the morning.’

  The woman sobbed as Prophet cut the ropes binding her wrists and ankles. ‘Who were those men? Who were those . .. godawful. .. men!’

  ‘That was the Red River Gang. And I mean ‘wa
s.’ They’re all dead, except one, that is.’ He frowned, perplexed, at the idea that Dave Duvall had somehow slipped away.

  Prophet heard boots thumping the floor behind him. Squatting beside the second woman, who was crying uncontrollably into the first woman’s low-cut neckline, Prophet turned his head. The deputy was moving toward him while sweeping his gaze around the carnage-filled cabin.

  ‘Is he here?’

  ‘Nope,’ Prophet said crisply, sheathing his knife and moving out the door. ‘I must not have shot him because he was too close to Louisa; the ten-bore would’ve taken them both. He must’ve found him a good hiding spot after I nabbed the girl, and waited till we were gone to hightail it.’

  Prophet cursed loudly, wincing and shaking his head. ‘Take care of the women, will you? I’m gonna go out and see if I can track him.’

  The young deputy glanced at the women, frowning. ‘Now, wait a minute, Prophet. I’m a deputy U.S.—’

  But Prophet was already outside, moving off the stoop and starting toward the corral off the lean-to, where the six remaining horses milled, pricking their ears, wide-eyed at all the commotion. Seeing a figure walking toward him from the south, Prophet stopped and turned that way. It was Louisa, walking fast if a little stiffly.

  ‘I found a single set of horse prints branching off the main trail,’ she said, turning toward the Morgan. ‘He must’ve made like he was riding with the others after us, then branched off at the last minute. Probably figured we were laying for him.’

  Approaching the Morgan, she turned out a stirrup and began to mount.

  ‘Where are you goin’?’ Prophet asked her.

  She reined the exhausted beast toward him, scowling. ‘After Duvall!’ she said, as though answering the dumbest question she’d ever heard.

  ‘Not on that horse, you’re not,’ Prophet said. ‘Look at him. He’s ridden with me and Mcllroy all the way from Fargo. He won’t last another mile.’

  Louisa jerked her head around, looking for a fresh mount. Prophet shook his head. ‘All these horses have had it. They need grass, water, and a good night’s rest.’