A Horse Called Mogollon (Floating Outfit Book 3) (28 page)

‘
Who’s
in it?’ Breda asked.

‘
That
French
hombre,
a Mexican
pelado,
feller’s might be their cook ’n’ three
hard-cases.’

‘
Just
them, Lon?’

‘
Nary a
sign of anybody else, Dusty,’ stated the Kid, then slapped a hand
against his thigh. ‘Hey though! I thought I heard a hoss moving off
as I first come up. Maybe their guard up and lit a shuck out of
it.’

‘
It
could be,’ Breda admitted. ‘Only that’d mean they know
what’s happened.’

‘
Or
only some of them do, Tam,’ Dusty corrected. ‘What if they had a
feller watching, besides Peet? Then he came back, told what he’d
seen and was sent out to stand guard. Only he allowed it’d be safer
to take a Mexican stand-off.’

‘
They’d
not be drinking and poker playing if they knew what did come off at
our camp’, Mark protested. ‘Which could mean somebody’s playing all
smart ’n’ sneaky.’

‘
One of
’em’d be that foreign gal for certain sure!’ Libby put in. Wearing
Levi’s pants, a shirtwaist and moccasins, she had stood listening
to the men.

‘
And
the other’s Stagge,’ Dusty guessed.

‘
I’ll
swear he’s not in the bunk-house,’ the Kid declared. ‘You boys told
me what him ’n’ the Count looked like, so I’d know one from
t’other.’

‘
Well!’
Breda said. ‘Standing here whittle-whanging won’t give us the
answers. The folks who know ’em’re waiting for us.’

‘
How do
we play it, Tam?’ Mark inquired.

‘
We go
’round the back of the cook-shack and surround it,’ Breda replied.
‘I’d sooner chance disturbing the horses than going into sight of
the main house.’ The others muttered agreement and he continued,
‘Lon, you’re the one to take the front. Whistle when you’re there
and all bust in at once. Libby, you’d best wait—’

‘
Stagge
and the gal might get away unless they’re taken at the same time as
the others, Tam,’ Dusty warned. ‘Somebody should round them
up.’

‘
You’re
right,’ Breda admitted. ‘You and me’ll do it, Libby.’

‘
Your
place is with the boys,’ Libby objected. ‘So why not leave Stagge
and the foreign gal to Dusty ’n’ me?’

‘
All
right,’ Breda answered after a moment. ‘You’re faster with a gun
than me, Dusty, anyways. But don’t take chances with Stagge. He’s a
killer all the way.’

‘
I’ll
mind it,’ Dusty promised.

‘
We’ll
move out,’ Breda ordered. Letting the men set off, he caught Libby
by an arm and swung her to face him. ‘You watch what you’re doing,
lassie.’

‘
Count
on it,’ the blonde replied and kissed him. ‘I’ve got too much
waiting for me to take fool chances.’

Knowing the lie of the land, Libby had
suggested a route that would bring them to the ranch at the rear of
the barn. In that way, they could reach the house or cook-shack
while keeping the other building between them and the horses in the
corrals for as long as possible. They had around half a mile to
cover, the Kid having decided that it would be unsafe to ride
closer. Once again the dark youngster glided ahead, fading into the
blackness as silently as a shadow. Before they had covered half of
the distance, the Kid materialized before them.

‘
Damned
if a half-smart li’l
part
-Pehnane
boy like me knows what to make of it,’ the Kid announced.
‘The gambler and the French gal’ve just come back from the corrals.
Only she sure’s not dressed for going riding any place ’cept
bed.’

‘
How do
you mean?’ Dusty asked.

‘
There’s a couple of saddled hosses down where they come
from,’ explained the Kid. ‘And, to put the lid on the whole
boiling, he’s gone to the barn and she’s headed for the
cook-shack.’

‘
What
do you make of it, Dusty?’ Breda inquired.

‘
I’m
damned if I know,’ the small Texan replied. ‘Let’s go and find
out.’

Continuing their advance, Libby
and Dusty separated from the remainder of the posse. Having a
shorter distance than their companions to cover, they took up their
position and studied their surroundings. Lights glowed in all three
buildings which did not surprise them. Suddenly Libby gripped
Dusty
’s left
arm and pointed to where a man and a woman had appeared from the
side door of the house.

‘
It’s
the “de Brioudes”!’ Libby breathed. ‘She’s sending him to the
barn.’

Crouching motionless, the blonde
and Dusty watched the French couple. After her husband had walked
off in the direction of the barn
’s front entrance, Beatrice turned and
entered the house through the side door.

‘
Hell’s
fire!’ Dusty spat out. ‘This changes everything. Go and get Tam,
Libby,
pronto!’

‘
Why?’
the blonde asked.

‘
Stagge’s waiting in the barn, fixing to kill that feller
and burn him and Laura!’ Dusty snapped and darted away before Libby
could say another word.

Once again the small Texan had made an
accurate guess at what his enemies planned to do. He based his
findings on what the Kid had seen and the incident he had just
witnessed. With the horses saddled and waiting, there could hardly
be any other reason for Beatrice to send her husband into the barn.
Only two mounts waited ready for use, while Stagge and the injured
Laura were in the barn.

Shocked by the sheer callous nature of
the scheme, Dusty held himself in control and refused to be
panicked into acting recklessly. To take the shortest route to the
front of the barn meant going alongside the house. Dusty faced the
same danger as his companions if he passed by the end of the main
living quarters. If he did so, Beatrice might see or hear him. In
which case, she would raise the alarm before the cook-shack was
surrounded. Let that happen and the hard-cases would burst out. All
too well Dusty knew the perils of a number of men fighting in the
darkness. As a result of the confusion, a friend could easily be
shot instead of an enemy. Determined to avoid that if he could,
Dusty ran along the rear of the barn. He hoped to be able to effect
an entrance from there.

Watching her companion go, Libby
let out an indignant sniff. While she did not doubt that Dusty had
excellent reasons for leaving her, she felt disinclined to accept
the part assigned to her. If she
carried out her instructions, the
Frenchwoman might still escape. Anyways, as Libby saw it, she was
the one best fitted to deal with Beatrice whatever-her-
real-name-might-be.

Setting her lips into grimly
determined lines, Libby went to the side door. She had visited the
house when the Renfrews owned it and knew that the door led into
the main room. Carefully operating the handle, she eased open the
door. Its hinges creaked a little, but there was no immediate
challenge to her entry. A lamp glowed from the
center of the ceiling and the
robe Beatrice had been wearing lay on the floor.

‘
Who is
that?’ demanded the Frenchwoman from the nearer bedroom.

Moving fast, but silently, Libby
went to and flattened
herself against the wall at the right of the door.
She only just reached her position in time.

‘
Arnaud!’ Beatrice called, in French. ‘Have you done it
already?’

While speaking, the
‘Vicomtesse’
walked out of the
bedroom. She was buttoning a blouse, but still had not donned a
skirt or sturdier footwear than her slippers. In passing, Beatrice
caught a glimpse of Libby from a corner of her eye. However, the
realization of what the sight meant came a moment too late.
Stepping behind Beatrice, Libby hooked her left arm about the
woman’s throat. While doing so the blonde also tried to catch hold
of the
‘Vicomtesse’s
right wrist with her other hand. Although she
failed to do so, Libby was not unduly concerned—at
first.

Born in the Paris slums,
Beatrice had learned early how to defend herself. On feeling
Libby
’s arm
about her throat, she reacted like a flash. While her two hands
flew up to take a hold of the blonde’s hair, she dropped her left
knee to the floor. Sinking down and bending forward, she dragged
her attacker off balance. Libby’s feet left the floor. Passing over
Beatrice’s shoulders, she landed rump-first on the hard wooden
planks.

The force of her efforts threw
Beatrice forward along Libby
’s body. Almost by instinct, the blonde raised and
wrapped her thighs about the
‘Vicomtesse’s’
head. Any relief Beatrice might have
experienced at escaping from the first attack ended as Libby’s
ankles crossed and she began to apply the pressure with a vice like
power. Desperately Beatrice thrashed her legs and body around,
while her fingernails raked ineffectually at Libby’s
Levi’s-protected thighs.

Gritting her teeth and flailing
punches at Beatrice
’s body, Libby thought she sensed her leg-hold slipping.
The
‘Vi
comtesse’
felt a slight lessening of the constriction as the blonde
sought to improve her grip. Taking her chance, Beatrice twisted her
head and sank her teeth hard into Libby’s inner thigh. Although the
fingernails had had no effect against the Levi’s material, Libby
shrieked when the pain of the bite struck home. Again Beatrice
clamped down her teeth, bringing a second cry from the blonde and
the scissor-grip sprang open.

Croaking in relief, the
Frenchwoman rolled across the
floor. She wanted to be clear of any repetition of
the agonizing hold. Hands flashing to her throbbing left thigh,
Libby forced herself into a sitting position. They made their feet
almost at the same moment.

‘
All
right!’ Libby gritted, still rubbing at her thigh. ‘I’m taking
you—’

‘
Daughter of a whore!’ Beatrice screeched back, but in
French.

All the
‘Vicomtesse’s’
pent-up hatred for Libby boiled
over. While speaking, she flung herself forward with hands reaching
to claw or clutch flesh. That proved the wrong kind of tactics
against Libby. Always something of a tomboy, the blonde had lived a
life in which she had to be self-reliant. So her husband had
improved upon her childhood lessons in self-defense. Trader had
always told her that using clenched fists was a more effective
protection than hair-yanking. Backing his words with instructions,
he had left her well prepared for such an eventuality.

Bouncing forward, Libby swerved
her head and torso clear of Beatrice
’s hands. Avoiding them, she hooked her
right fist into the
‘Vicomtesse’s’
belly. The blow halted Beatrice’s charge. Driven
back a pace, the Frenchwoman caught her balance and hurled a wild
right. Wild or not, it took Libby in the left breast an instant
before her right drove into Beatrice’s mouth.

Fists flew and the women came
together, each trying to get inside the other
’s punishing blows. Suddenly
Beatrice changed her tactics. Throwing her right arm across Libby’s
left shoulder, she jerked the blonde forward. Up swung Beatrice’s
right knee, colliding with Libby’s belly. Clutching at the stricken
area, the blonde let out a croaking cry and nausea threatened to
overcome her.

Allowing her assailant to
stumble away, gagging and crouching almost double, Beatrice turned
and dived into the bedroom. Sobbing for breath, Libby staggered and
almost fell. Sheer guts alone kept her on her feet. Battling down
an inclination to collapse in an effort to lessen the torment, she
stared at the door through which her enemy had disappeared. Nor did
Libby have long to wait before she learned why Beatrice had not
followed up her advantage. Face distorted with rage, blood
dribbling from her nostrils to splash on to the bosom bared by her
ripped-open blous
e, the
‘
Vicomtesse’
appeared again. Blade extending below it, her right hand
gripped a knife. Mouthing French obscenities, Beatrice rushed
across the room. Up swung the knife, ready to drive its spear-point
down into the near-helpless Libby.

~*~

Having adorned
Laura
’s
drugged, unresisting body with Beatrice’s jewelry, Stagge dragged
her into a straw-filled stall. Leaving her as if she was no more
than a piece of dead meat, the killer gave thought to his other
preparations. From the look of the barn, it would blaze as if made
of the so-called ‘Greek fire’ incendiary compound use by both sides
during the War. Once set alight, little would remain of the
building.

An old pick handle lay by one
wall. Picking it up, Stagge hefted it and decided that he had found
the ideal weapon for dealing with
‘de Brioude’. Better by far than trying to
pistol-whip the man with his Colt Wells Fargo revolver. While the
short-barreled gun served his purposes better than would a heavier
weapon most of the time, it made a poor club. Pick-handle in his
right hand, he went to the front entrance. On coming in, he had
opened only the left side of the twin doors. Concealing himself
behind the right door, he strained his ears to catch the sound of
‘de Brioude’s’ approach.