The governor slid his gaze to the captain standing to Sartain’s left. “You’ve met Captain Nelson, I take it.”
“He had the bad manners not to introduce himself.” Sartain puffed on his own cheroot and said through the smoke billowing around his head, “Now that we’ve all gotten friendly, maybe you mucky-mucks could kindly tell me what in hell I’m doing here.”
He glanced around. “Peculiar place for a court trial. Even more peculiar for a firing squad or a hangin’. I’d think you’d want the eastern scribblers here for that. Get your name in black and white, maybe with a baby in your arms and a foot propped on my cold, dead behind.”
He took another puff and blew it at the governor. “Isn’t that how you politicians work it?”
The girl made a slight choking sound and turned away, rubbing two fingers across her bee-stung mouth. Sartain looked at her. Her cheeks had reddened even more. Her expression was bland as she stared at an oil painting of the governor in full military regalia astride a fine cream stallion, gold-crowned dress helmet resting on his thigh.
It dawned on The Revenger that the girl had been stifling a chuckle. The governor seemed aware of it too. He looked at her indignantly, as though he were injured by the stillborn outburst. He’d obviously been trying to impress the vixen, maybe lure her into his bedroom.
Manufacturing an over-bright smile, he turned back to The Revenger. “I trust, Mr. Sartain, that you enjoyed last night’s...uh, shall we say, accommodations?”
“If you mean Sonja,” Sartain said, “what man wouldn’t? Especially after a long pull in the back of an Army ambulance trussed up like a tiger headed for a zoo.”
He glanced at the woman again. She was back to studying him critically, wistfully, her rich lips parted so that they framed a small O in the middle.
“Yeah, she was fun. So was the brandy. Now, would you kindly tell me what the game is here?” The Cajun shuttled his gaze to Miss Gallant once more. “You said she’s responsible for us all being here. Was Sonja her idea too?”
“Whoever Sonja is, no, she was not my idea, Mr. Sartain. Rest assured,” said Jasmine Gallant with a bored, tolerant air.
The lieutenant governor, Briggs, chuckled at that, spitting bits of egg and tortilla onto the table beyond his plate. That was the first indication the Cajun had had since entering the room that the man was paying attention to anything but his food.
“Please have a seat, Mr. Sartain,” the governor said, gesturing at a chair nearly directly across the table from Jasmine Gallant. “You will dine with us, and by the end of the meal, the reason you were hauled here ‘trussed up like a tiger headed for a zoo,’ as you so colorfully phrased it, will be crystal-clear to you. You may not like it”—the governor chuckled wryly and glanced at his fat underling, who spat more egg on the table— “but you will have a complete understanding.”
Chapter 7
No mention was made why the portly lieutenant governor hadn’t waited to eat with the others. The fat man merely sat sipping his coffee while two Mexican cooks rolled in a cloth-draped cart filled with steaming plates, coffee mugs, and glasses of chilled milk, and set them before each of the guests—the governor, Sartain, Jasmine Gallant, Captain Nelson, and the sergeant, who was introduced as Jamieson Fridley.
The two privates remained by the doors, rifles held at port arms. While Sartain dug into his heaping plate of huevos rancheros, he thought he could hear the stomachs of Davey and the other soldier growling.
Inwardly, he smiled.
The food was delicious, and although The Revenger ate hungrily, the grub did nothing to assuage his indignation. He supposed he should be grateful that he wasn’t dead or hadn’t been thrown into some federal hoosegow. Instead, he’d been entertained by a saucy whore and now fed a wondrous meal.
But he’d been toyed with, and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like the expression of smugness on the governor’s overfed features, either. He knew he had only himself to blame for allowing himself to be captured, having grown overconfident and careless in his abilities to stay ahead of the law.
Still, if he could in some way have gotten his hands on his LeMat, he’d likely have blown the self-satisfied look off the governor’s face with one blast of the twelve-gauge wad beneath the pistol’s main barrel. Of course, the soldiers who were likely surrounding the place would riddle him with lead before he could get away, but at least he’d take that satisfaction to his grave...or whatever draw they tossed him in.
While Sartain and the others ate, the lieutenant governor muffled belches with his hand and sipped his coffee. The Mexican servers kept the guests’ coffee mugs filled. The privates’ bellies continued to growl.
Finally, the meal was over. At least it was for Sartain, who sat back in his chair and ran his napkin across his mouth. He saw that while Jasmine Gallant had finished only half of her plate, she appeared to be done with her breakfast. She had one elbow on the edge of the table, and she was resting her chin on the heel of her hand, regarding Sartain with a furtive, speculative air, tucking her bottom lip fetchingly under her upper teeth.
When the Cajun caught her staring at him, she arched her brow and slid her plate slightly toward him with two fingers. “Would you like to finish mine as well, Mr. Sartain?”
Sartain smiled wolfishly. “I thank you for the offer, Miss Gallant. While I was indeed hungry, not having had a proper meal on the way here, I reckon I’d best let this wriggle down a bit. Soon, I’ll no doubt be feelin’ like a swelled-up tick fit to burst!” He chuckled, then frowned. “Gallant...is that a French name?”
“Yes, it is.”
“What a coincidence. So is Sartain.”
“Yes, I suppose it would be,” she said tolerantly with a frigid smile, her pearl eyes boring into his.
Why was it the chillier and more beautiful they came, the more he tended to imagine what they would look like sprawled naked on a bear rug before the flickering, homey light of a cold winter night’s fire?
As though she were reading his thoughts, her fine cheeks colored again and she turned away.
The governor finished his own plate and wiped his mouth and mustache. “Now, then, Mr. Sartain, shall we get down to business?”
Sartain was still staring at the fetching creature across from him. “I can’t imagine anything better.”
She whipped her cold eyes back to him and they flashed angrily beneath beetled brows.
As one of the servants removed his plate, the governor tapped his coffee mug with a spoon. “I’m...uh...over here, Mr. Sartain.”
The Cajun leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his well-filled belly. “Let’s hear it.” He could feel the captain’s reproving eyes on him and added dryly out the side of his mouth, “Mr. Governor, sir.”
He’d lost all respect for authority after the Union soldiers had murdered his girl. The way he saw things now, the governor and everyone else who faulted him for his actions were in league with the killers.
The governor began. “I have brought you here, Mr. Sartain, to offer you a deal.”
“A deal?”
“Yes. Your freedom in return for a job.”
“A job.”
“Yes, a job.”
“A job doing what?”
The governor lifted his recently refilled mug and looked across the table at the captain.
“Ah...oh, yes. Of course.” Captain Nelson glanced behind him at the two privates, and said, “Wilson, Ellison, you’re temporarily dismissed. Please go out and close the doors. Wait in the sitting room for orders.”
He looked at the sergeant and canted his head toward the door.
The sergeant wiped his mouth once more with his napkin, gained his feet heavily, saluted the captain, and stepped through the open doorway.
Both privates saluted the captain as well. They glanced hungrily at the captain’s nearly empty plate, which a servant was carrying away, and then went out and closed the doors behind them.
The governor sipped his c
offee and returned his gaze to Sartain. “I want you to hunt down a Mexican border bandit and kill him.”
Sartain stared at the man. He wasn’t sure he’d heard what he thought he’d heard. But as the governor stared back at him blandly, Sartain turned to the young woman, who regarded him seriously, as well. So was the lieutenant governor, as well as Captain Nelson. The portly Briggs hung his head low, as though it weighed too much to hold upright, and his spectacles appeared about to slide down off the end of his nose.
Sartain slammed both his fists on the table and laughed loudly. “You’re not joking!”
They all flushed somewhat sheepishly. The lady Pinkerton even gave a slight, involuntary wince and then used her right index finger to flip her spoon in the air. She caught it before it could clatter back down on the table and gave the governor a diffident smile.
Sartain laughed again, harder this time. He threw his head back and guffawed at the ceiling. His laughter echoed loudly around the room.
The governor merely looked down at his coffee. Miss Gallant did the same. The lieutenant governor kept his cow-eyed gaze on Sartain, a faint smile quirking the corners of his mouth. The captain glared angrily, nostrils flared.
As the Cajun’s amusement at the irony of the governor’s request—or was it an order?—began to lose some of its volume, Sartain said, “Why in the hell should I?”
“Because the governor is telling you to,” said the captain through large gritted yellow teeth.
“Oh, well, in that case,” the Cajun said, suddenly serious, “the governor can go straight to—”
“No, no, no!” McDougal said, shaking his head and glowering at Nelson. “That isn’t how it is at all. Captain Nelson, would you mind kindly keeping your mouth shut and allowing me to lay out the details of this...of this opportunity for Mr. Sartain?”
“Of course, Governor,” the captain said, wrenching his angry gaze from The Revenger, his ruddy cheeks turning sunset red. “I beg your pardon, sir.”
“Thank you, Captain.” The governor turned to Sartain. “I am asking, no, urging your help in this matter of the bandidos, Mr. Sartain. You do not, of course, have to accept my request.”
“And if I don’t?”
As though it were a silly question, McDougal shrugged one shoulder and said, “You will be court-martialed, likely found guilty of mass murder, and shot by firing squad.”
“And if I do?”
“You will be paid twenty-five thousand dollars, and, of course, given back your freedom.”
“You’ll pay me and turn me loose.” Sartain studied the governor, innately not trusting the man. The ludicrousness of such a request made him distrust him even more. “And what about the federal soldiers I killed?”
McDougal shrugged again. “I, of course, am in no position to forgive such crimes. I couldn’t possibly offer you amnesty, but only a good chunk of dinero, your freedom, and, I hope, the opportunity to start over.”
“Preferably in another country,” the captain said again, adding out the side of his mouth, “Mexico, say...”
“Captain!” The governor scowled, almost showing his teeth at the underling like a dog showing ownership of a bone. “What did I just tell you, sir?”
“Again, Governor,” the captain said with what appeared genuine chagrin, “forgive me.” Lowering his voice as though Sartain couldn’t hear him, he leaned over the table, canted his head toward the Cajun, and said, “But, good Lord, Governor, this man is a cold-blooded killer! He’s killed soldiers!”
“He killed the soldiers who murdered his young lady,” the governor replied.
“That is a matter of dispute, Governor,” the captain said indignantly, turning red again. “And one that requires further investigation!”
“Captain?” It was the first time the lieutenant governor, Briggs, had spoken at the table. When the captain turned to face the man in surprise—as did the others, including Sartain—Briggs said quietly but firmly, “Shut up.”
That appeared to cow Nelson even more than McDougal’s admonishments had.
All eyes then returned to Sartain, who said, “So after I’ve been paid and given my freedom, I’ll still be hunted.”
“Of course,” the governor said again as though the answer were obvious. “But you will be twenty-five thousand dollars richer, and”—he smiled shrewdly—“probably a whole lot more cautious. At least, cautious enough to make sure this lovely Pinkerton agent, Miss Gallant, is not shadowing your every move.”
It was Sartain’s turn to flush as he slid his gaze to the lady in question. “Just how long were you doggin’ me anyway, and how come I never saw you back there?”
Miss Gallant smiled with one side of her mouth, flipped her spoon in the air again, and again caught it.
Sartain muttered a curse under his breath as he turned back to the governor.
“How come you can’t just send some federal boys after those bandidos? Or a posse of deputy U.S. marshals? Hell, if Miss Gallant is so damn good, why don’t you just send her?”
The governor chuckled, pleased by The Revenger’s displeasure at having been run down by a female. Leaning forward and planting an arm to each side of his steaming coffee mug, the governor’s face acquired a deeply serious, even troubled expression.
“This is a special quarry. A tricky situation. In fact...it’s a deeply personal situation for me, Mr. Sartain. One that no one outside this room must ever know the full details of.” He cleared his throat, adjusted his black foulard tie at his throat, and said, “You see, this young Mexican cutthroat has kidnapped my young daughter Priscilla.”
He looked at Sartain, his eyes grave. “He’s taken her deep into Chihuahua.”
Sartain nodded, absorbing the information. “Still, why not just send...”
“Because this young desperado is my stepson, Maximilian San Xavier de Tejada.” The governor lowered his gaze to the table in shame.
“He’s your stepson?”
“Yes. His mother died three years ago, God rest her soul.” McDougal crossed himself. “Young Maximilian loved her deeply. Her death drove him insane. Quite mad.”
“And he kidnapped your daughter? He’s holding her for ransom?”
“If there’s a ransom, he’s taking a long time to inform me. He and Priscilla have been missing for nearly three months.” He waved a hand over his shoulder. “Gone with the wind!
“I’m thinking he might have joined one of his relatives down there—an old bandido named Hector Tejada. He is Maximilian’s wayward uncle. I believe they’re in cahoots. What they’re up to exactly, aside from stealing away my precious Priscilla, I’m not sure. They might be trying to regain their old hacienda, which became mine when my wife died. Her first husband is dead as well, which is fitting since he was the one who ran the place into the ground. Fortunately, there was an extraordinary provision in the late Angelica’s father’s will that when he died, all of his holdings went to her and not to her husband or her only brother Hector.”
“How did that happen?” Sartain asked. “Such a thing is practically unheard of in Mexico. Even up here...”
“Angelica’s father was a good judge of men, though he didn’t command them very well. He wasn’t a good rancher, either. He lost much of my wife’s family’s land to poor management and a small revolution, but managed to retain over twenty thousand acres. It is mine now. My own men work the holdings. It’s my belief that Hector...and Maximilian...have decided they are going to build an army to regain their land in Chihuahua by waging war on my cowpunchers.”
He shook his head dismissively. “Common bandits is what they are. Cattle rustlers, stagecoach and train robbers. Desperadoes with delusions of grandeur.” His nose colored as he glared at Sartain. “And kidnappers, probably rapists!”
He swallowed, then drew a calming breath. “I want Maximilian killed, Mr. Sartain. I don’t care about old Hector, but if he’s running with Maximilian, then you’ll likely need to kill him too. For your own sake. Please make sure t
hat my Priscilla is unharmed. Return her to me. She’s a hazel-eyed blonde. Very pretty. Very sweet. She’s my only daughter, Mr. Sartain.”
“Why don’t you send some of your own men down there after ’em?”
“I have. They’ve come up with nothing. No trail sign, nothing. Maximilian is a sneaky devil, and a formidable outdoorsman.”
“I don’t understand why Maximilian kidnapped his stepsister in the first place,” Jasmine said. “Was he in love with her?”
“Probably.” The governor tapped his temple. “Maximilian is quite insane. Insanely romantic and devilish. I don’t bandy the word ‘insane’ about. Hector is also crazy. My dear wife, I’m afraid, suffered from the same disease, which eventually caused her to take her life. None of them has ever had both feet placed firmly in reality.”
He glanced at the others as though uncertain whether he wanted to continue. Apparently deciding to go ahead, he added demurely while absently stirring his coffee, “My dear Angelica hanged herself with one of my belts in our bedroom. Maximilian found her, and blamed me for her death. He tried to skewer me with a poker. Fortunately, one of my aides was there—a big man who was able to subdue the young man quite handily. He vowed he’d either kill me or ruin me. If I never see my daughter again, Mr. Sartain, he will most definitely have ruined me.”
He pounded the table, causing the china and silver to jump noisily. “I will not allow him to ruin me!”
The governor waited for his blood to cool.
“You see, Mr. Sartain, I need you to do this task for me because there is no one else I can order...or ask...to perform it. It proved too much for my own cowpunchers. It would be against the law for me to order anyone assassinated, and downright unseemly to order anyone in my wife’s family assassinated. Furthermore, it would be against the law for me to send anyone across the border without the written permission of the Mexican authorities. Because of my position as a public figure with political as well as professional ambitions beyond this office, I’m sure you can understand how it all needs to be handled quite secretively, and by someone outside my usual realm.
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