Few men are the makers of their own destiny. What happens to each one of us is usually dependent upon the actions of innumerable others. And so it was with Blade and General Dimsdale. Their fate depended upon the actions and inclinations of three people – George McMasters, Charity Clayton and the young Mexican vaquero who took Blade’s message from Crewsville to his uncle Sebastian. The young man’s name was Juan Pacheco.
First, Juan Pacheco—
He was in the yard by the corral when Blade rode in with the beautiful gringo girl. It was he who fetched a fresh horse for Blade when he rode off into the night at a reckless pace for the city of Tucson. Juan turned to his uncle, who was Don Sebastian’s corporal, Luis Donoso, and said: ‘It is not fitting that an Espada should ride alone in great danger, tío.’
The older man shrugged and said: ‘Are such things for you and I to decide, hijo?’
‘If a man is a man, he decides,’ said Juan confidently.
Luis smiled. He had been young once and had not forgotten what it was like.
‘Which means,’ he said, ‘that you have decided. I suggest you take my bay with the blaze.’
His nephew embraced him with gratitude. Five minutes later, those near the corral heard the hoof-beats of his horse following Blade’s in the direction of Tucson.
Don Sebastian said: ‘Do my ears deceive me or do I hear a second rider going towards Tucson?’
Luis replied ‘Your ears do not deceive you, patrón. It is Juan Pacheco. He rides for me on urgent family business.’
‘Bah!’ exclaimed the don and strode towards the house, holding the arm of the gringo girl.
Juan Pacheco knew every inch of the road to Tucson. He also knew the cut-offs. He followed his quarry without great difficulty right into the old city itself. He was like a shadow to Blade all the way to the alleyway behind the governor’s palace. He even watched him climb the patio wall and disappear into the shadows.
To say that Juan was alarmed when he saw Blade disappear into the patio of the governor’s residence would be an understatement. His lively imagination saw Blade doing a number of illegal things, one of which was the assassination of the governor himself. But Blade was an Espada and Juan owed allegiance to the family. Beside that, he had a genuine liking and respect for Blade. Finally, he could taste risk and adventure, which seemed like a good thing right then.
He stood in the alleyway and listened for a while. He could hear the murmur of voices and, though he could recognize one of them as Blade’s, he could not make out what was being said. When the voices stopped abruptly, he heard the sound of footsteps going in the direction of the house. There was then a silence so long that he reached for the top of the patio wall and raised himself so that he could see into the patio. There was a lighted open doorway towards which a man was walking softly. Though the light was poor, he was pretty sure that the man was Blade.
Juan almost cried out in alarm as he saw a second man break from the shadows at the side of the house. The vaquero was helpless to stop what followed, hanging on to the top of the wall with both hands as he was. The man he thought was Blade fell forward through the open doorway under the blow dealt him by the shadowy figure. Juan heaved himself up and threw one leg over the wall. He drew the heavy revolver he carried on his hip. Even as he did so, the glass doors shut and curtains were drawn over them.
He had to admit to himself that he felt slightly ridiculous sitting astride that adobe wall with a gun in his hand. Just then he heard the cry of the sentry at the front of the building and, a moment later, there came the steady tramp of feet. He guessed that a guard was marching around the palace. He at once jumped from the wall and ran in the opposite direction to the soldier. He exited at one end of the alley while the soldier entered from the other. Thus it came about that he was at the front of the palace when Draper and his men marched Blade and the governor from the palace to Draper’s house.
Luckily there was enough light on the street for him to at once recognize Blade. Playing the part of an idling stroller, Juan followed them up the street and saw them enter Draper’s house.
Juan was now in a great dilemma. What to do next?
The second character to play a part in the fate of Joseph Santiago Blade was Charity Clayton.
Back in Crewsville, to all intents and purposes, she was still unconscious. At the time at which we find her, in fact, she was genuinely asleep. She had during the last day allowed herself brief moments of consciousness so that Hope Clayton, her sister-in-law, could bring her some food. Charity had decided that, while she would go to the ends of the earth for Joe Blade, she did not intend to starve for him.
She was awoken from her sleep by the sound of voices. Voices which at first, she could not place. Both were male. Then she realized that one belonged to the man, Lionel Binns, who called himself Manfred K. Shafer. The second, she gathered, was a doctor.
Shafer was saying, ‘She was in this room with Blade when the shot was fired. The shot that was meant for Blade. Men don’t like shooting women, even scum like Billy Cross. If she’s like to die or if she’s in a coma like the other doctor said, then Cross don’t work for us any more. Draper is worried, even though he now has Blade under lock and key. Is there any way of being certain if she is conscious or not?’
A hand took hold of Charity’s wrist and she knew her pulse and respiration were being taken,
A moment or two later, the second man said: ‘Pulse is racing a mite, but there’s nothing serious in that. Let’s have a look at her eyes.’
Charity rolled back her eyes and felt a thumb pull back at an eyelid.
When the thumb released her eyelid, the doctor said: ‘There’s something strange here. I can’t say I understand it. But head injuries can do funny things. Yes, this girl could be unconscious. I’m not sure I like the business too much. It’s getting a little rough for my liking when young girls get themselves shot down. Still, now Blade’s taken, maybe things will settle down.’
Charity listened to them as they walked to the door, down the hall and so down the stairs.
She sat up in bed and said: Charity, it’s time you moved on, honey.
As luck would have it, the next person to come visiting with her was George McMasters. He sat on the edge of the bed and said softly: ‘Charity, I see the enemy have been a-visiting.’
She opened her eyes and said: ‘George, I’m getting kind of scared.’ She told him all she had heard.
McMasters looked pretty worried when he heard.
‘We’ve got to get you to a safe place,’ he said. ‘And I have to report to the governor.’
She said: ‘That sounds impossible, George. This crowd must be all over the territory. Where you going to find a safe place?’
‘God knows,’ he said. His face brightened. ‘Don Sebastian. Maybe he did cry off helping Joe, but he would never refuse a lady in trouble. What we want is fast horses and a prayer. How’s the head feel? Can you get dressed and ride?’
‘You bet I can,’ she told him.
‘I’ll have horses at the rear of this place in twenty minutes,’ he told her.
She said: ‘And Joe? Can you help Joe, George?’
That stopped him in his tracks.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘But I can try.’
When Charity came downstairs fully dressed and wearing pants like a man into the bargain, her brother and sister-in-law were a pretty astonished pair.
Charlie said ‘But I thought—’
Hope said: ‘Where’re you going, Charity?’
‘I’m going for a ride,’ said Charity.
‘A ride?’
Charlie said: ‘What I can’t figure is: what was you doing in Joe’s room, Charity?’
‘Making love,’ said Charity and opened the door to see George McMasters there with two horses.
‘Makin’ love?’ declared Charlie. ‘With Joe? Why—’
‘Hussy,’ said Hope.
Charity was out and on to the back of a horse before you could say ‘knife’. As the horses skittered around, ready to run, Hope screamed: ‘George McMasters, you bring that girl back here this minute.’
Charlie was saying: ‘Fancy that Joe Blade—’
He watched his sister disappearing in a cloud of dust.
‘You should of stopped her,’ Hope told him. ‘Can’t you do nothin’?’
Charlie said: ‘Next time I see Joe—.’
Hope said: ‘You won’t see that Joe Blade no more. He’s as good as dead.’
‘How’d you know that?’
‘That nice Mr Shafer told me.’
Rose Mary Dimsdale as a young Virginian lady of good family had been toasted in her girlhood as a noted beauty. She was still a great beauty. She was also an impoverished Southerner who had married a wealthy Northerner. Her family had been ‘army’ from way back in the eighteenth century. So it was not surprising that she had been courted by two dashing West Point men, the cousins Bogart Dimsdale and Manning Steefen. The latter had been far and away the most attractive of the two, but he had been knocked out of the running when he had been dismissed from the army for embezzlement of funds. Had he stayed on the straight and narrow, he would undoubtedly have ended up as Rose Mary’s husband. However, it was the more pedestrian Dimsdale who had won her hand.
It had been a good marriage. Bogart had been an attentive and unselfish husband. Rose Mary had been a good army wife, had gone wherever her husband had gone, Washington appointments and God-forsaken frontier posts. They had always lived well, for Bogart had inherited a sizeable fortune from his father. He could well have retired and lived a life of leisure, but he was not that sort of man. The wealthy, he thought, owed a duty to their country. He was no politician, and possibly that was why the president had personally appointed him to the Arizona post.
Rose Mary Dimsdale did tonight what she always did when her husband stayed too late into the night over his papers. She tapped gently on his office door, opened it no more than a few inches and said: ‘It’s getting late, General.’
The man sitting in the general’s place was startled out of his reverie and without thought demanded: ‘Who’s this?’
The question was so out of place and out of character that Mrs Dimsdale opened the door wide and entered the room.
‘Why it’s I,’ said Rose Mary. ‘Who else would it be, my dear?’
Manning Steefen stared in amazement at the tall slender woman standing just within the circle of the lamplight.
He was so startled by the sight of her that he came involuntarily to his feet and said: ‘Rose Mary.’
At once he knew his mistake.
The woman went very still. Her face became pale and suddenly haggard. One slender hand went to her throat.
‘My God,’ she whispered. ‘It isn’t possible.’
He should have known, he told himself. Draper had been mistaken. Any woman would know a husband from his double.
Just the same, he started to play his part – ‘What’s wrong, my dear?’
‘Wrong?’ she said. ‘You’re not Bogart. You must be Manning.’
He strode around the desk to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. She shrank under his grip, but she didn’t move back from him.
‘Is it so terrible that I’m Manning?’ he said.
‘What does this mean?’
‘It means that I have taken his place. Nobody knows but you and I and the men who have taken over Arizona.’
The horror and disbelief in her eyes was so profound that, for a moment, he was scared. She would scream, raise the alarm, spoil the whole plot before it started.
‘What have you done with Bogart?’ she demanded.
‘He is being held prisoner.’
‘Where?’
‘I have no idea. No harm will come to him if you do exactly as you’re told.’
He felt her start to tremble under his hands. His old desire for her blossomed strongly within him.
‘What does this entail?’
‘Only that you continue to behave in all respects as you do now. From here on I am Bogart Dimsdale. You fail to do this and it could go badly for Bogart. Don’t ever forget that.’
‘You can’t mean it, Manning,’ she said. ‘You were always rotten, but surely you can’t mean to go through with this crazy scheme?’
‘You have Bogart to thank for this,’ he told her. ‘If he had listened to Alpert and declared martial law, this would never have happened.’
‘But a governor can’t declare martial law and Alpert must know it.’
‘Bogart has always been close to the President. If he recommended martial law, he would get it.’
‘So Alpert and Colonel Rally are in this scheme.’
‘Everybody that matters.’
She said bitterly: ‘You must hate Bogart very much.’
‘I didn’t hate him so much as envied him, Rose Mary,’ he said. ‘He had everything I wanted. And what I wanted most was you. Still do.’
She tried to pull away from him then, but he held her still in his strong hands.
‘If you think,’ she said, ‘that I’m going to allow you into my bedroom, you are making the mistake of your life.’
‘If you don’t,’ he told her in a hard voice, ‘it will be the mistake of Bogart’s life. You’re not dealing with gentlemen, my dear. These are men who are making a desperate bid for wealth and power. They’re taking over vast land grants, mines, trading rights and public offices. They’ll get Arizona made into a state and they will rule. Cross them and dear Bogart is dead.’
He kissed her full on the mouth. She started to pull away from him but he held her close and forced her lips open. She groaned once, stiffened and fought and then, suddenly, relaxed in his arms. His old lust for her exploded in him.
When she at last wrenched her mouth from his, she said in a soft whisper of defeat: ‘You filthy animal.’
When he put his mouth to hers again, her body clung to his.
As they went along to her bedroom a few minutes later, he told her ‘Nobody will ever know.’
‘Except Bogart,’ she said.
‘That’s what makes it all the more delicious,’ he said.