‘Well,’ said Emma Nene, turning slowly on her toes in front of Dusty Fog and Waco. ‘How do I look?’
‘Like I’m seeing a ghost,’ the blond youngster declared. ‘Miss Emma, you handed me one hell of a scare when I first walked in.’
‘You didn’t even look at Giselle, so I must have,’ Emma smiled.
There was justification for Waco’s comment. The blonde wore a man’s evening clothes, top hat and opera cape. Not only that, but with her hair hidden beneath the hat, she had contrived to look almost exactly like the late mayor of Hell.
Coming on such a startling resemblance to the man he killed had been a real surprise to the youngster, but not enough to make him ignore the brunette. Giselle wore a brief, almost minute, white doeskin version of an Indian girl’s dress. With a décolleté more daring than would have been permitted even in the most wide open of trail end towns, the midriff bare and the skirt extending just below her buttocks, it showed off her figure to its best advantage. The clothes and moccasins were the garments she wore when performing her ‘medicine dance’ and being sawn in half to entertain the Kweharehnuhs.
‘I can understand the clothes,’ Dusty remarked. ‘But the face has me beat.’
‘It’s a rubber mask,’ Emma explained. ‘I doubt if a dozen people, other than professional magicians, know where to lay hands on them.’
‘Let’s hope it stays that way,’ Waco drawled. ‘It surely fooled me.’
‘What’s happening in town?’ the blonde inquired, taking both Texans’ attention from the uses to which such rubber masks might be put.
‘All the owlhoots have pulled out,’ Dusty replied. ‘Your scouts, the Chinese and the Mexicans you folks had from the Kweharehnuh’ve all gone. There’s only the folks from the original wagon train left.’
‘At least, you made sure that the owlhoots left without robbing us,’ Emma reminded him. ‘If you hadn’t been here, they’d’ve taken everything they could tote off.’
Backed by the menace of the lined guns, Dusty had been allowed to say his piece downstairs in the barroom the previous night. He had begun by pointing out that Hell’s days as an outlaws’ refuge were numbered. The town was no longer a carefully kept secret, for the Texas Rangers, the United States’ Army and the authorities in Austin had learned of its existence. By that time, they would also be aware of its location, Dusty had warned. The soldiers who had helped fight off the kidnap attempt on Giselle would have delivered their report. Probably an expedition was already on its way. When it came, Dusty had gone on, it would be in sufficient strength to fight its way through the whole of the Kweharehnuh band.
That was, of course, Waco had reminded the audience, unless the Antelope Comanches had not decided to take matters into their own hands. Then Dusty had predicted that the latter contingency might become a fact. He had elaborated upon the significance of the attempt to capture Giselle, then on the unrestricted passage which had been granted to his party when it had become obvious that they were returning to Hell.
Everybody had accepted that the Indians must have had a good reason for wanting the brunette back in time for the allocation of the ammunition. They had also agreed that it might be to do with an attempt to break Lampart’s ‘medicine’ hold over the band. In that case, the braves would come prepared to deal with the white interlopers on their domain.
Such had been the power of Dusty’s eloquence that he had persuaded his audience that he and the others had returned with the best of motives. The citizens had not been able to forget that the small Texan and his party had brought about much of their present predicament. However, with the fear of exposure hanging over him, Doctor Connolly had done much to keep the other inhabitants from making their annoyance more active. Once again, the outlaws had no reason to back up the town’s people. In fact, some of the visitors had seemed to find the situation amusing. With the lawbreakers disinclined to take up the issue, the citizens had lacked the courage to do so.
O’Day had improved Dusty’s chances of avoiding a clash, by stating that he was not going to stay on and be massacred. That had brought similar comments from various outlaws. The general consensus of opinion amongst them had been that it would be safer to take one’s chances against the forces of white law and order than to lock horns with the rampaging Kweharehnuh.
Satisfied that the danger of trouble was shelved, if not entirely finished, Dusty had suggested that they should resume their investigations into the killings of the evening. An examination of Crouch’s safe, opened with the keys found in his pocket, proved that robbery had been the motive for the couple’s murders. Although there had been no evidence, Dusty had assumed that the same cause had resulted in Duprez’s and Rosie Wilson’s deaths.
Explaining that he had exposed the small Texan merely as a means to avoid being lynched for a crime of which he was innocent, O’Day had insisted that his property be searched. On the way to do it, he had told Dusty how he had formed the correct conclusions on remembering what he had heard about the descriptions of the small Texan and of Mark Counter, and aided by the story he had read in the Texas State Gazette. It had been a piece of quick thinking on the Easterner’s part, Dusty had admitted.
The examination of the man’s belongings had apparently established his innocence. While his packs had held a number of clothes, they did not include a top hat or an opera cloak. Nor did he have the quantity of jewelry that had been taken from the Crouch family’s safe. O’Day had no support for his story that he had not left the hotel room until going to the Honest Man, but his word had been accepted.
Later, Dusty had searched Giselle’s room and questioned her without coming any closer to the solution. The saloon had closed early, but there had been considerable activity around town. Throughout the night, men and some women had been taking their departure. With the time approaching noon—the hour at which the allocation was due to take place—Dusty and Waco had just returned from making their rounds. Everything was ready for the meeting with the Kwaharehnuh, but Hell had lost more than half of its population.
‘The Rangers have got Sheriff Butterfield and your man Hatchet,’ Dusty remarked, referring to a crooked lawman they had met and the town’s main contact with the outside world. ‘One of Butterfield’s pigeons had come in with a message about it.’
‘Butterfield sent a warning?’ Emma asked. ‘I’d’ve thought all he’d think about was saving his own neck.’
‘The message was for me,’ Dusty explained. ‘It said, “Uncle Jules is here, has met sheriff and seen goods delivered by Mr. Hatchet.”’
‘Who’s “Uncle Jules”?’ Giselle asked as she draped a cloak about her shoulders.
‘Captain Jules Murat of the Texas Rangers,’ Waco grinned. ‘The gent who first learned about Hell and got us sent here.’
‘So it’s all over, E— Dusty?’ Emma said quietly.
‘Near enough,’ Dusty admitted. ‘Depending on today, that is. I’ve got a feeling something just might be about to go wrong.’
‘How?’ Giselle demanded worriedly.
‘I don’t know, ma’am,’ Dusty answered.
‘If there’s any danger, I’m not getting into that box!’ the brunette stated.
‘Could be that’d be the biggest danger of all, ma’am,’ Waco warned. ‘Happen you don’t, they’ll say our medicine’s gone back on us. Only this time, they’ll not be caring about keeping you alive.’
‘Oh lord!’ Giselle wailed. ‘Why did I let you talk me into coming back, Emma Nene?’
‘Because you’re a money-hungry little bitch with no more morals than an alley-cat,’ the blonde told her bluntly. ‘You came back to pick the locks and open the safe so that we could steal all the jewelry Crouch had gathered in his place. Only somebody beat us to it.’
‘And to Jean le Blanc’s?’ Dusty commented.
‘It’s possible that Jean had already got rid of it,’ Emma pointed out. ‘It wasn’t anywhere in his place when we searched last night. He used to play a lot of poker and wasn’t especially good at it.’
When questioned privately by the blonde, Giselle had sworn that she was innocent of Duprez’s murder. An even more thorough search than Dusty had been able to give her had also failed to produce the barber’s loot. So, although still suspicious and determined to keep a close eye on her half-sister, Emma had been compelled to accept the other’s story that she had done no more than go to the barber’s shop, take a hot bath and return to her room.
‘Time we was headed out to see Ten Bears,’ Waco remarked.
‘The Kid hasn’t come back?’ Emma asked.
‘Likely he’s getting all them fancy Comanche foods he’s always telling us about,’ Waco answered. ‘Raw, fresh killed liver dipped in gall and such. Or they give their makings away easier not knowing him.’
‘I hope he’s all right,’ the blonde breathed, noting the undertones of anxiety in the youngster’s voice.
‘Trust Lon to be that,’ Dusty answered. ‘If anything had been bad wrong, he’d’ve been out of there faster than a greased weasel. What now, Emma?’
‘Giselle goes down there and starts doing her dance,’ the blonde explained. ‘Simmy follows. You’d best go with her, Ma—Waco.’
‘I’ll do that,’ the youngster promised. ‘Let’s go, ma’am.’
‘How about those pictures of Ten Bears and the medicine woman?’ Dusty asked and the blonde produced them from a drawer in her dressing-table. Taking them, Dusty tucked them into the front of his shirt. ‘They might come in useful.’
‘What happens to us after this, Ed?’ Emma inquired, as the door closed behind Waco and Giselle.
‘You go your way, like before,’ Dusty replied. ‘With your fifty thousand dollars, you’ve a better than fair start someplace.’
‘Do you know something,’ the blonde smiled. ‘I think I’d’ve come back, even without wanting Crouch’s jewelry, just to see how things turned out. You’re a real nice man, Ed Cax ... Dusty Fog.’
‘And you’re a real smart, nice gal, Emma Nene,’ Dusty countered.
‘You’ll be wanting to kiss me next,’ the blonde smiled.
‘I’ve never kissed a man,’ Dusty grinned.
‘At least, this man hasn’t any stubble on his face,’ Emma remarked, running her left forefinger over the mask. ‘I never liked your bristly old beard.’
‘Hell’s fire, that’s it!’ Dusty snapped. ‘Now I know what’s been eating at me. Emma, who did you and Giselle think O’Day was?’
‘She said he reminded her of Mephisto,’ the blonde replied. Then her hand once more felt at the mask. ‘Oh god! No. It couldn’t be!’
‘Who was he?’
‘Simmy’s partner. On the stage and in crimes. It was Mephisto who taught Giselle all she knows about picking locks and opening safes. Simmy and Mephisto organized and financed the wagon train that brought us here.’
‘Only Mephisto didn’t make it,’ Dusty guessed.
‘That stupid little bitch!’ Emma snapped bitterly. ‘She had to get them both in love with her. There was an argument a few days before we left, in a hotel room. I wasn’t there and don’t know just what did happen. But either Simmy or Giselle threw vitriol into Mephisto’s face. He ran out of the place, screaming in torment, and flung himself off a bridge into a river. His body was never recovered. There was a fast current running and everybody assumed he was dead.’ A shudder ran through her, but she mastered it with an effort. ‘Where’s O’Day now?’
‘Gone with the others, it looks like. All his gear’s been taken from the hotel and his horses aren’t in the livery barn. Would he know how to get hold of those masks, this Mephisto hombre, I mean?’
‘Yes. Part of their act used to be a transformation trick. They’d go into boxes at opposite sides of the stage, change their clothes around and put on the masks and make it look like they’d switched boxes. Do you think O’Day is Mephisto, Dusty?’
‘I don’t know,’ the small Texan admitted. ‘ Any ways, it looks like he’s gone. And we’d best get going to make our play for the Kweharehnuh.’
‘I’ll have to come out of Simmy’s back door,’ Emma remarked as they went downstairs. ‘He always did it that way. I’m scared, Dusty!’
‘Lady,’ Dusty drawled and kissed her. ‘So am I.’
There was, Dusty admitted to himself, plenty to be scared about. Leaving Emma to go to Lampart’s house, so that she could make the expected kind of appearance, he walked by the crater formed when the ammunition shack had exploded and through the town. On the open ground beyond the last of the jacales, the other participants of what might develop into a bloody massacre had assembled.
All the remaining citizens of Hell formed a nervous, worried group on the side nearest to the town. In front of them, the garishly painted wooden box had been set up ready to be used in the illusion. A gleaming, obviously sharp saw was laid on its top. In front of the box, Giselle gyrated and twisted her magnificent little body in a musicless, abandoned and sensual dance that held the eyes of every white man present despite their anxieties. Yet, voluptuous as she looked, the mass of Kweharehnuh warriors behind the semicircle of chiefs and the medicine woman showed no sign of being interested.
Studying the Comanches’ ranks, Dusty noticed that only a small proportion of the braves were wearing war paint. There was no sign of the Kid. That most likely meant he was—
Dusty fought down the thought. If he and the people of Hell were to survive, he must keep a very clear head.
‘Where’s Lon?’ Waco gritted irritably as Dusty joined him.
‘Around, likely,’ Dusty replied. ‘I’m going to talk to Ten Bears.’
‘I’ll do more’n talk if Lon’s been—!’ the youngster blazed.
‘You’ll stay put and keep your mouth shut, boy!’ Dusty commanded grimly. Walking forward, he raised his right hand in a peace salute to Ten Bears. In Spanish, which he hoped would be understood by the chief, he said, ‘Greetings, Paruwa Semenho.’
‘You I know,’ the pariaivo replied in the same language. ‘It was you who broke the medicine of the Devil Gun and who stood by Cuchilo when he spoke to the chiefs of the Nemenuh at Fort Sorrel. You are the one called Magic Hands by my people.’
‘I am the one,’ Dusty confirmed, knowing that to lie would be futile.
‘Why are you here?’ Ten Bears inquired.
‘To keep the peace between the Kweharehnuh and my people.’
‘Those are your people?’
‘They are white,’ Dusty pointed out, amused by the note of contempt in Ten Bear’s comment as he had indicated the citizens of Hell. ‘The pariaivo of my people thinks they are such poor trophies that it would disgrace his Kweharehnuh brothers to count coup on them. So he has sent me, Cuchilo and the young, brave one there to fetch them out of the Palo Duro.’
‘Where is Cuchilo?’ asked the old man chief who had loaned the Kid his shield, looking around.
Dusty did not know whether he should be pleased and relieved or even more concerned by the question. From all appearances, the Kid had left the Kweharehnuh’s village and was expected to be present at the allocation.
‘Make your medicine, white man!’ Pohawe screeched, having no desire to let the chiefs learn of the Kid’s absence.
‘I make no medicine,’ Dusty replied, wondering if the woman knew why his amigo had not returned. ‘I am a warrior. The one who makes it comes.’
‘I do not see him,’ the medicine woman declared, looking towards the town. ‘It is in my thoughts that he is dead.’
‘Then you have wrong thoughts,’ Dusty told her. ‘He will come.’ To himself, he growled silently. ‘Come on, Emma-gal. Show yourself.’
Almost as if receiving Dusty’s thought-message, the cloaked, top hatted figure made its appearance. Despite the warning of what to expect given by Waco, the citizens let out a concerted gasp at the sight. It might have been Lampart himself stalking majestically towards the box. Emma was no longer moving with her customary hip-swaying glide, but stepped out like a man.
On reaching the box, the substitute illusionist removed the saw and raised the lid. At a signal from the gloved, extended hand, Giselle moved forward. She hesitated for a moment, glancing around at the watching Kweharehnuhs. A slight shudder ran through her, but she allowed her ‘husband’ to help her into the box. Resting her neck, wrists and ankles in the holes carved to receive them, she made no protest as the lid was lowered into position.
As Lampart had been unable to speak Comanche or Spanish, his man, Orville Hatchet had acted as interpreter. Dusty assumed Hatchet’s role, addressing the Kweharehnuhs in the latter language. Reminding the visitors of how effective the white man’s ‘medicine’ had proved to be, he said that the demonstration of ‘Lampart’s’ powers would commence. Those of the braves who could not understand Spanish had his words translated for them by their more fortunate companions.
‘And while the white witch is in the box, she can feel no pain?’ asked Pohawe in a carrying voice. ‘Even while she is being cut in half?’
‘The saw cannot harm her,’ Dusty replied. ‘She is protected by the medicine which protects all the white people of this town.’
‘Then make this great medicine,’ the woman ordered. ‘If it is as good as you claim, no harm will come to her or the people of your town.’
Watching Pohawe, Dusty felt a growing sense of perturbation. He felt certain that the woman had something tricky up her sleeve. For her part, the medicine woman was conscious of Dusty’s scrutiny and guessed that he was alert for possible trouble.
Small good that would do the big Tejano ride-plenty, she mused as the illusionist picked up the saw. Soon the palefaces’ medicine would be broken and the way opened for her to carry out the great scheme.