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Authors: J. T. Edson

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BOOK: The Bloody Border
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Once again Belle heard the deep-throated sound break the Kid’s lips. Still she could not guess whether it be words or a grunt caused by a strenuous effort. Few white people could have given her the answer, for those who heard that particular sound rarely lived to discuss it. It was the Comanche coup cry, ‘I claim it!’ given when a brave achieved ambition of killing an enemy by personal contact.

‘Close the gates!” Shafto roared through the window.

Ignoring the stricken man, the Kid rose like a sprinter starting a footrace and went after the second man. Already the other had disappeared around the rear of the building. Mingled with Shafto’s warning yell came a startled shout from the back entrance’s sentry. Then a revolver barked, followed by the crack of a rifle. The Kid heard a bullet strike the wall of the house and scream off in a ricochet, so guessed that the sentry had been hit and was firing wild.

Belle’s hand flew to the top of her skirt as Shafto plunged out of the window. Then she realised that the garment did no possess means of speedy removal; which, in view of the skimpy nature of her sole piece of underclothing, was probably just as well. However a peon girl’s attire did not impede rapid movement, so she found little difficulty in leaping out after the man. Then she raced across the garden, following the departing Kid.

Bursting from the bushes, the young Texan looked across the truck garden to the rear entrance. The sentry lay on the ground, his smoking rifle at his side, but the Kid paid little attention to him. More important right then was the sight of the gate closing. Uncaring for the danger he might do, the Kid charged across the truck garden. He reached the gate and grabbed its handle, tugged and let out a low curse. In passing on his arrival, he had seen a key in the gate’s lock. It was no longer there. That lean cuss in the buckskins had been a man of some nerve, taking the time to extract the key and using it to increase his chances of escape.

Transferring the blood-smeared blade of the bowie knife to between his teeth, the Kid drew back a couple of paces from the gate. Then he sprang forward and leapt, his hands catching the top. Even as he began to haul himself up, Belle and Shafto appeared at the one end of the building, while the sentry from the front gate came around the other corner.

“Look out, Lon!” Belle screamed. “Drop back!”

Brought from his post by Shafto’s shout, the sentry came ready for trouble. When he saw the Kid climbing the gate, he drew an erroneous—if understandable—conclusion. Whipping the Enfield rifle to his shoulder, he took aim and prepared to bring down the absconding ‘Mexican’. He heard the girl’s yell, but realised he might be making a mistake just too late to halt the final rearward movement of the trigger.

At Belle’s warning, the Kid released his hold and dropped back to the ground. Nor did he move a moment too soon. The Enfield’s bullet kicked splinters from the top of the gate a scant couple of inches above his head. Spitting the bowie knife back into his hand as he landed, the Kid turned towards the girl.

“He’s locked the gate on the outside,” he explained.

“I’ll go over and open it,” Shafto answered. “See to Tidd, will you, Belle?”

“Of course,” she replied, dropping to her knees at the soldier’s side. “Did you see who the man was, Lon?”

“Not for sure,” the Kid admitted. “A tall, lean cuss in buckskins. But I know the
pelado
who was with him. It was one of Charlie Kraus’ boys—Damn it! The feller who got away was Joe Giss most likely.”

“Get some of the servants out here, sentry,” Belle told the soldier who came up. “He’s got a crease across his scalp, but nothing worse.”

“Joe Giss allus was a lousy shot with a hand-gun,” the Kid commented. “Reckons to be something real special with a rifle, though.” Then he looked around him. “Reckon somebody’d best start finding out how they got in.”

Chapter 5

Now They Know You’re Here, Belle

Following on the Ysabel Kid’s heels, Belle Boyd watched a masterly display in the art of reading tracks. As he moved across the garden, the Kid pointed out small marks on the ground which she could barely see, much less attribute any significance to. He showed her where the two men had lain hidden among a thick clump of bushes before advancing cautiously towards the window and inadvertently attracting his attention. Then he retraced the route they had taken to reach their vantage point. Close to the wall, he ducked under another bush and pulled out a strange-looking object. It appeared to be a saddle’s seat without the horn, cantle, tree or other fittings. A number of scratches and cuts in the leather of the inner side gave a clue to its purpose.

“They used it to climb the wall,” Belle said. “Threw it on top to cover the glass and climbed over on it.”

“Yep,” agreed the Kid. “Come over afore day-break and hid out.”

“How did they plan to get out?”

“Same way, I guess, unless something went wrong.”

“You mean they’d stay here all day until after dark?”

“Why sure,” the Kid answered. “Ole Joe Giss’s long on patience and so was the ‘breed. Happen nobody disturbed ‘em, they’d lie up under the bushes and could watch everything that happened in this side of the house. They’ve done it afore. Not every day, but regular enough.”

“That’s going to please Winston Garfield!” Belle commented.

“As long as he don’t lay too much blame on Rule Shafto,” the Kid replied. “Rule’s got more’n plenty on his hands one way and another. And he’s from Virginia, they don’t get trained right down there. Joe Giss learned watching and not being seen from Injuns.”

“It’s not for me to lay blame,” Belle smiled, recognising a hint of rebuke in her companion’s voice.

Certainly Shafto did have plenty of work on his hands, controlling and operating in the Confederate spy ring based on Matamoros and organising the blockade runners. So he might be excused for not having located the two men. Such a contingency would evade most people, although it was easy to be wise and raise points after the event.

“Why’d they risk coming up to the window?” the Kid said, half to himself. “It’s not like Joe Giss to take chances.”

“Probably they wanted to see who we were,” Belle guessed. “Or to try to hear what was said. How long had they been there?”

“I dunno. Not long, but maybe long enough to hear Mr. Garfield say your name. He talks kinda loud and they’d be able to hear him.”

“Yes,” Belle agreed, realising the implications of what the Kid told her. “Even if the man wasn’t Giss, he must be working for the Yankees. No matter what Garfield told the French patrol, the two of them didn’t come just to commit robbery.”

Almost as soon as Shafto had climbed over the gate and unlocked it, a French lieutenant and half-a-dozen soldiers arrived to investigate the shooting. They belonged to a small force assigned to the task of policing the town and were clearly under orders to prevent open trouble between members of the Confederate and United States consular staffs. Stalling the French long enough for Belle and the Kid to hide in the house, Shafto then allowed them to enter the grounds and offered an explanation for the shooting which Garfield backed up. As the French authorities did not wish to antagonise either of the warring sides north of the border, the lieutenant made only a brief examination of the grounds and left apparently satisfied.

“Reckon he believed the story?” asked the Kid.

“He accepted it,” Belle replied. “Can they trace the half-breed to Giss?”

“He’s one of their regular bunch. Happen they try at it, they could tie him in with Giss ‘n’ Kraus.”

“I doubt if they’ll bother. But, if that man did hear my name, we’re in for trouble, Lon.”

A view to which Shafto subscribed when he heard the Kid’s findings. They gathered in Shafto’s private quarters at the rear of the building and he listened to the other two before adding his quota.

Already there had been a noticeable increase in the Yankees’ surveillance of the building. By the time he climbed the gate, Shafto could see no sign of the man who had escaped; which led him to believe that the other had entered the Yankee-owned house across the street. On hearing the man’s report, the Yankees worked fast. Usually they maintained a watch from only one upstairs room of their houses at front and rear of the consul’s property. When Shafto last checked, there had been four observers training telescopes from positions where they could cover almost all of the grounds and building. The increased scrutiny gave mute testimony that the man had heard Belle’s name and that the Yankees regarded the Rebel Spy’s arrival in Matamoros as being the prelude to trouble.

“They’ll cling like leeches now they know you’re here, Belle,” Shafto warned.

“I know,” she replied. “I think we could get by them and on our way in the dark, but they’d soon come looking. If only we could throw them off our trail—.” She paused, then went on, “Suppose we make them believe that I’ve achieved the purpose of my visit?”

“How do you mean?” Shafto inquired; while the Kid sat and listened, ready to give any help he could.

“What’s the most significant recent Yankee development, either here or in Brownsville?”

“There was a ship arrived yesterday across the river, with six of those thirty-foot steam launches as its deck cargo. And the Waterbury, a steam sloop, came in this morning.”

In a trip down the Mississippi River aboard a submersible warship during her second mission with Dusty Fog, Belle had seen one of the U.S. Navy’s thirty-foot steam launches. She also knew of them in connection with Lieutenant William B. Cushing’s successful attack on the Confederate ironclad war-ram
Albermarle
. Small, fast, carrying up to ten men, armed with a spar torpedo and 12-pounder boat howitzer, the steam launches proved effective craft in shallow waters.

“Those launches could mean the Yankees are planning stronger offensive action against the blockade runners,” Belle remarked. “Catch them close in, when they’re not expecting trouble. Two fully manned launches could deal with any blockade runner, even without using their torpedoes.”

“Or they might be planning to raid up the Rio Grande,” Shafto went on. “I’ve been expecting the Mississippi Squadron to try something like that down here ever since the Yankees took Brownsville.”

“Either’s possible,” Belle admitted. “Launches would be ideal for running up the Rio Grande, raiding and hunting for your supply trains, Lon.”

“Yes, ma’am,” agreed the Kid.

“Then they’re what we need,” the girl stated. “Let’s see if we can make the Yankees believe I came down here to warn you about the launches and help in their destruction. That may throw them off the real trail.”

“It might at that,” Shafto answered. “And it’s important enough for our folk to send you.”

Belle accepted the compliment without comment: although she could not help but compare it with the open, or thinly hidden hostility that had often greeted her in the early days of the War.

“Can we bring it off?” she asked. “I mean, have we the means of doing it?”

“Sure we have,” Shafto insisted. “I’ve been gathering equipment for a strike at the Yankee shipping in Brownsville harbour when the time was right.”

“What kind of equipment?” Belle inquired, although she could guess.

“Torpedoes. I’ve a couple of keg floaters and one of the new drifting kind hid out down by the river. One of our raiders landed them at the bay where you came in, Belle, and Lon helped bring them here.”

“How can you be sure the Yankees’ll know you’re in the game, Miss Belle?” the Kid put in. “It could be Cap’n Rule here, or ole Rip Ford from across the river doing it.”

“They’ll know I’m involved,” Belle said quietly. “You see, they’re going to capture me.”

“You’d best tie that a lil tighter for a half-smart ill Texas boy like me to follow,” the Kid drawled. “How’s you getting captured by the Yankees going to help us?”

“It won’t,” Belle smiled. “Unless I can escape once they’ve seen and recognised me. I’ve an idea that might work.”

Listening to the girl’s scheme, Shafto and the Kid decided that it might just work, given careful organisation plus a little luck. It would be risky in the extreme, but the girl felt that the ends justified the means.

“How do we get a boat in close enough to do it?” asked the Kid. “I reckon the Yankees’ll keep some sort of guard out.”

“They have a guard boat working the mouth of the bay,” Shafto supplied. “And the
Waterbury’s
moored well out. Both her and the other ship will have some of the crew rowing guard. It won’t be easy to get in close. I planned to send the torpedoes down with the current, let it carry them into the bay and hope for the best.”

“We must have something a bit more certain than that,” Belle stated.

For a minute almost none of them spoke, each turning over the problem in silence. Then the Kid broke it.

“Didn’t I see a big ole tarpon in the kitchen when I come through?”

“It could be,” Shafto answered. “The staff either buy them, or go out and catch them for the table.”

“Best time to catch ‘em’s at night,” the Kid said, almost to himself; then he looked at Shafto. “How well can you trust those folk of your’n?”

“They’ve had my life in their hands before now,” the man replied. “And you and your father’s too when they’ve carried messages from me to you.”

The Kid nodded and grinned. “No offence. It’s only that I’ve got a fool notion that just might work.”

After hearing the Kid’s suggestions, Belle and Shafto agreed that he had come up with a sound answer to the problem. Then Belle brought up the matter of the weapons they would be using in the attack.

As the adversary mainly concerned with defence, the Confederate States put ‘torpedoes’ as a major item in their naval armoury. The term covered what would later be known as mines, rather than missiles fired through the water. Showing great originality, the Confederate States Navy’s Torpedo Bureau—established early in the War— produced many lethal devices ranging from simple bombs disguised as lumps of coal—which, smuggled aboard enemy vessels, exploded when fed into the engineroom furnaces— to complicated mines detonated in a variety of ways.

To her relief, Belle learned that the torpedoes in Shafto’s store were of the uncomplicated variety. That would be of great help in the work ahead. So she went into further details, planning with care and trying to leave as little to chance as possible. Not until satisfied that all had been arranged and fully understood did she give the order for the other two to start. Neither questioned her right to command. In addition to risking her life by allowing the Yankees to capture her, she held the honorary—but no less official—rank of colonel in the C.S.A. Granted to her by the Confederate high command, the rank served when dealing with officious, or conservative members of the armed forces who still clung to the belief that a woman’s place was in the home.

The Kid left the house accompanied by Shafto, headed for the
posada
to inform his father of the latest developments. Once clear of the building, they separated—much to the annoyance of the Yankee who followed them—and Shafto went to make certain purchases from a store on the waterfront that catered mainly for the gringo trade.

There being no further point in trying to conceal her identity, Belle did not try. In fact the plan called for her to make sure the Yankees knew she was in the house. So she asked the servants to prepare a bath for her and went up to the room Garfield allocated to her. At her request, he placed her in a room at the front and with windows facing the house from which one bunch of Yankees was keeping watch. The next move in her plan did not come easily to a girl of Belle’s upbringing, but she went through with it just the same.

Entering the room, she crossed to the windows and stood where she might be seen yet give the impression that she was trying to avoid letting it happen. At that distance she could only make out a vague shape with the naked eye, but knew a telescope would reveal more. If the Yankees were doing their work properly, one of them ought to have spotted her by that time. So she turned and walked across to where her trunks stood at the end of the bed. Looking back, she could still see the windows of the other house and knew she would be just as visible through the telescopes of the Yankee observers.

“In which case, you’re going to see a lot of me,” she thought, opening one of the trunks to take out her shirt, riding breeches, boots, gunbelt and other clothing. “I hope your eye-balls bulge out so far they stick in the telescopes.”

After which sentiment, she stripped off the Mexican clothing, standing where the men across the street could see her through the window. With any amount of luck they were watching, maybe even passing word for their less fortunate colleagues to come and enjoy the view. When sure that she had given the watchers enough time, she slipped on a robe and sat down to wait until told her bath was ready. By all fair means, her presence at the consulate should be well established already. However she must make certain and continue to let herself be seen around the house.

The Confederate chemist’s claims about his skin-dye proved to be true, for it came off in the bath and left Belle looking her usual self. Returning to her room, she repeated the process of cautiously letting herself be seen at the window, then returned to the end of the bed and dressed in her male clothing. If the Yankees across the street had seen her the first time, she dare bet they were watching in the hope of another view. Which meant they would notice the change in her skin’s colour and be even more certain that the Rebel Spy was back.

After an absence of almost two hours, Shafto retutned with the required purchases. He delivered them to the girl and found that they met with her approval.

“Did you have any trouble?” she asked.

“Not much,” Shafto answered. “We picked up a Yankee outside the house and he followed me when we split up. But I lost him before I went near the store to buy the clothes. He was lucky, that Yankee.”

“Why?”

“If he’d gone after the Kid, I don’t think he’d’ve come back. Those Ysabels play the game for keeps.”

BOOK: The Bloody Border
5.78Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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