The Big Gun (Dusty Fog's Civil War Book 3) (2 page)

‘
Then
why did you go to the workshop instead of coming straight to the
house?’ Lyle snapped.

‘
I saw
lights in it and went to see if Eli was working late,’ Blucher
replied, deftly avoiding another trap. ‘He usually keeps a jug of
corn there.’

‘
You
went inside?’ Lyle asked.

‘
I
didn’t need to,’ Blucher answered evasively. ‘Beckett came out.
Your men attacked me before we could do more than greet each
other.’

‘
Well?’ Lyle growled, glancing at the soldiers.

‘
They
was talking outside when we catched him, major,’ Grilpan confirmed
reluctantly. ‘But we don’t know how long he’d been
there.’

Watching the civilian during
the conversation, Lyle had grown more angry at his failure to
establish that the other was lying, or possessed knowledge of what
was being done on
the island. Yet Blucher may have seen the device in the
workshop. In which case, he probably had sufficient imagination to
assess its full potential. Possibly, too, the Negro foreman had
given Blucher information on other matters which Lyle would have
preferred to remain a secret.

There was far too much at stake
for Lyle to want word of his activities to reach the Confederate
States
’
Army. Although he had not taken an active part in the campaign, he
had drawn conclusions from what he had heard when talking to other
officers. The Rebels’ retreat had been more of a carefully planned
and executed withdrawal than a rout, followed by a panic-stricken
flight. So they might still be—in fact, probably were—a force to be
reckoned with. He had too much respect for the raiding abilities of
the Southrons’ Cavalry to want them to learn what he was
doing.

Nor, if it came to that, Lyle any wish for
his superiors to make a premature discovery of his intentions. An
ambitious, unscrupulous man, he meant to lay the foundations of a
great and prosperous future upon the work he had in hand. So he
felt disinclined to take chances. Especially when the prevention
offered so few difficulties.

All Lyle had to do was dispose
of the intruder. He could have Blucher shot as a spy and doubted
that
‘Cussing’ Culver would delve too deeply on receiving a
report of the incident. The commanding general of the Army of
Arkansas most probably would have too many other worries to be
concerned about the death of an obscure Southron newspaper
owner.

The only thing left to decide
was how to arrange the killing. An idea came to
Lyle
’s mind;
one which would offer him some enjoyment and pleasure, as well as
guarding against possible repercussions at a later date. He had no
faith in the loyalty, or honesty, of his enlisted men. So, with an
eye on his future, he did not intend to leave himself open to
attempts at blackmail, or other pressures to remain silent
regarding the incident. He must remove Blucher in a way that could
not be turned against him in a few years’ time, when the hatreds of
the War Between the States had died down, and which would also
serve as a warning to the two
privates that he was not a safe man to cross.
Fortunately, he had everything available to do this. All that
remained to do was for him to set the scene.

‘
Do
you know what I think you are?’ Lyle inquired, in a voice that was
dripping with icy politeness.

‘
What?’ Blucher said warily.

‘
A
liar,’ Lyle declared, spitting out each word deliberately.
‘A
liar
and a lousy, cowardly, sneaking Secessionist
spy.’

‘
Under
the circumstances,’ Blucher gritted, angry despite himself,
indicating the two soldiers, ‘it doesn’t take much courage to make
such a statement.’

‘
You
mean to suggest that I wouldn’t have dared to say it if my men
weren’t here to protect me?’ Lyle suggested, satisfied that his
plan was working and the civilian had snapped at his
bait.

Suddenly, with a flash of
intuition, Blucher had an inkling of what was happening. He had
once seen a professional
duelist provoking a challenge and the conversation
had followed similar lines. There was, he realized, only one thing
to do. Play along with the Yankee and hope for a chance to fight
back.

‘
I
mean that I’m in no position to give you the only answer a
gentleman knows for such an accusation,’ Blucher replied, forcing
himself to remain calm. ‘If I wasn’t your prisoner, I wouldn’t be
compelled to swallow your insults.’

‘
You
mean that you’d call me out under your famous Southron Code
Duello?’ Lyle asked, the mocking expression growing more
pronounced.

‘
That’s just what I’d do,’ Blucher confirmed. ‘But I wonder
if you’d have the guts to accept, Yankee?’

‘
That
is soon settled,’ Lyle declared and he could not hide the
triumph that came with the words. ‘As the challenged party, I
believe I have the choice of weapons?’

‘
You
do,’ the civilian conceded.

‘
Then
these are my terms,’ Lyle said. ‘We’ll face each other along the
table, each with a revolver lying before us. At the count of three,
we each pick it up and fire. Is that acceptable to you?’

‘
It
is,’ Blucher answered, doubting if he would be given any other
choice even if he disagreed and, as far as he could see, the terms
were fair enough. ‘I don’t have a revolver, but I expect you have
the answer to that.’

‘
I
have,’ Lyle replied. ‘Block, go and fetch the pistol box from the
dressing-table in my quarters.’

‘
Yo!’
growled the bearded soldier and slouched out of the
room.

Silence dropped after Block had taken his
departure. Lyle stood aloof, watching the civilian and hoping to
detect some trace of fear or anxiety. In this he was disappointed,
for Blucher was a man of considerable courage. Private Grilpan was
a morose, bitter man who rarely spoke and, anyway, knew that his
superior did not encourage idle conversation with the enlisted
men.

For his part, Blucher spent the
period of Block
’s absence wondering what fate had in store for him. He
knew that there was little hope of leaving the island alive. Having
reconciled himself to that fact, he was grateful for the
opportunity—no matter how slight—of being able to make a fight for
his life before he was killed. While there was life, there was also
hope. Perhaps he might survive and be able to carry a warning to
the Confederate States’ Army of Arkansas and North Texas. He had no
idea how they were faring, but believed that they might cease to
retreat once they had crossed the Ouachita River. If so, they would
be faced by the peril created from Eli Cable’s
inventions.

At that moment, Block returned
carrying an oblong mahogany box which he placed on the table.
Without speaking, Lyle walked over and raised the
box
’s lid.
Following him, Blucher saw that it held two very fine English
Tranter Army revolvers and their accessories. The weapons, .44 in
caliber, had five and seven-eighth’s-inch long octagonal barrels,
double-action mechanisms, no cocking spur on the hammers and
straighter, less hand-fitting butts than those of an Army or Navy
Colt. There were brass percussion caps on the nipples of the
cylinders and the chambers which showed above the recessed bottom
of the box had round lead balls, covered with a coating of grease
to prevent the danger of a multiple discharge, in them.

‘
Choose the one you want, they’re both equally lethal,’ Lyle
said, almost politely. ‘Then Block will put it on the table for
you. As you see, I don’t intend to take any unfair
advantage.’

‘
Neither will I,’ Blucher stated and indicated the upper
weapon. ‘I’ll take that one.’

‘
Let
him see that all the chambers are loaded and capped, Block,’ Lyle
ordered and, after that had been done, continued to Blucher. ‘Are
you satisfied?’

‘
I
am,’ answered the civilian, for every chamber appeared to be in a
firing condition.

‘
Then
we’ll make a start,’ Lyle declared, extracting the second Tranter.
‘I don’t want to be up all night.’

Following Block, the civilian
watched him lay the revolver on the table with its butt towards
him. As the soldier went to join his companion by the
sidepiece, Blucher
was tempted to snatch up the weapon and start shooting. Two things
stopped him from doing so. He was a Southron gentlemen, reared in
an exacting code of honorable behavior. And, at the other end of
the table, Lyle watched him with alert, somewhat mocking eyes and
still held the revolver. Stepping into position, Blucher raised his
right hand and let it hover about six inches over Tranter’s fancy
rosewood butt.

When satisfied that the other man did not
intend to snatch up the weapon prematurely, Lyle laid down his own
and lifted away his hand.

‘
Count
to five, Block,’ the major said. ‘And, when he reaches it, we both
pick up our weapons then start to fire.’

‘
One!’
the soldier obliged, watching the men at the table with the cruel
anticipation of a spectator awaiting the start of a dog-, or a
snake-fight.
ⁱⁱ

Gazing along the table, Lyle
felt a growing surge of savage, exultant excitement. It was a
sensation he had experienced on two previous occasions when he had
contrived
to
cause similar situations. Twice, before his enlistment, he had
fought illicit duels and had emerged victorious; due to the thought
and special training which he had put in to ensure that he had a
much better than even chance of winning.

‘
Two!’Block said.

Would Blucher allow the full count before
grabbing at the Tranter? Lyle asked himself. Groendaul, the second
victim, had only let it reach three. Not that his treachery had
saved him. Being a Southron, Blucher would most likely stick to the
rules; for all the good that would do him.

‘
Three!’

Watching Lyle and listening to
the count, Blucher was also thinking fast. Everything seemed fair
enough on the surface. As the Yankee officer had given him first
choice, the weapons must both be correctly loaded. Undoubtedly Lyle
must be a very good, capable shot, but so was Blucher. So, if he
could shoot the major, he might have a chance to
escape
.
Neither of the enlisted men had a firearm, having left their
Spencer repeating rifles by the front door when they had dragged
him in. With that much distance separating him from them, he ought
to be able to drop both and flee. Once clear of the house, he would
make a run for the boats. If he was lucky enough to get away, he
would head for the Ouachita River in the hope of contacting
Confederate troops and warn them of the dangers they would soon be
facing.

‘
F
our!’

Suddenly Blucher became aware
of how Lyle was looking at him. No shadow of concern or doubt
marred the major
’s handsome face. Rather it bore an expression of complete,
self-satisfied confidence and even a hint of sadistic, perverted
pleasure. That he, apparently, had no wish to take an unfair
advantage showed in his hand being raised a good foot above the
Tranter.

Why did Lyle look so confident? Blucher
wondered.

It almost seemed that the Yankee knew that
he must win!

What could be wrong?

Was there some trickery involved in the
loading of the revolvers?

‘
Five!’

On the word, two hands dipped towards the
table!

Although Blucher had the
shorter distance to reach, he
was disturbed by what he had seen and the train of
doubts that it had aroused. So he fumbled a little as his fingers
met the unfamiliar, awkward shape of the Tranter’s butt. Even as he
raised it, he knew that he was going to be too late.

Smoothly, moving with the speed
which implied long training, Lyle scooped up his revolver. His left
hand joined the right, closing over it and helping to support the
weight of the gun. Along the length of the table, he knew better
than to try to shoot by instinctive alignment. So he elevated his
weapon to shoulder level, sighting along the barrel and squeezing
the trigger. Flame spurted and the bullet was flung into the
center of Blucher’s
chest. Knocked staggering, he lost his hold on the Tranter. That
did not save him any more than the fact that he was already
mortally wounded.

Bearing his teeth in a wolfish
leer of sheer animal delight at inflicting pain, Lyle corrected his
aim and fired again. The second bullet passed into the
center of the
civilian’s forehead and burst its way out of the back of his skull.
Already off balance, he twirled on his heels and measured his
length face down on the floor.

‘
That
got the bastard!’ Block enthused.

‘
Go
and keep those damned blacks out of here!’ Lyle snarled, lowering
his Tranter and looking at the enlisted men.