Although Captain Douglas St. John Staunce had recovered from the blow on the head while being transported to the main house, he had managed to prevent his captors from realizing that he was conscious. At first, the motion of being half dragged and half carried had hidden his involuntary reactions to recovering. Then he had had sufficient presence of mind to understand that resistance would avail him nothing. He was unarmed and in no physical shape to try to fight off two heavier men. So, instead of struggling futilely, he continued to dangle limply in their hands and allowed his strength to ebb back slowly.
On reaching the mansion’s front door, Block kicked at it until Oscar came and admitted them. Shoving by the butler, the sergeant and Grilpan hauled their burden across the hall and into the dining room. Still maintaining his pose of being unconscious, Staunce peered about him through slitted eyes. Coming to their feet at the big table, Major Lyle and Monica Cable—who was dressed elegantly and displayed no alarm at the intrusion—gazed at the newcomers.
‘We got him, major,’ Block announced unnecessarily. ‘Grilpan had to club him down, but he’s still alive.’
‘Put him on a chair and search him,’ Lyle ordered. ‘Was he alone?’
‘Nobody’s with him,’ Block answered evasively.
Realizing the futility of opposition at that moment, Staunce allowed the enlisted men to carry out their superior’s wishes. Once his fake identification documents had been removed, he began to groan his way convincingly towards ‘consciousness’.
Lyle studied the documents, then flung them onto the table. Filling a glass with water, he strolled forward and flung its contents into the Englishman’s face. Staunce reacted naturally, for his eyes had been closed and he was not expecting to be doused. Jerking and almost falling off the chair, he shook his head, opened his eyes and glared around.
‘What—Where—How—?’ Staunce gasped, using the Teutonic accent but slurring the words as if he had just recovered. ‘What’s the meaning of this? Why was I attacked?’
‘Why were you sneaking about the island?’ Lyle countered and indicated the documents on the table. ‘If you’re Captain Rudolph Schmidt—’
‘I’m not. My name is Ludwig Schmidt,’ Staunce corrected, knowing that the major was trying to trap him.
‘If you are Captain Ludwig Schmidt, of the Adjutant General’s Department, you could have come across the bridge openly and with full military honors.’
‘Not if what Miss Cable told us—’
‘The little bitch did go to Culver’s headquarters, Kade!’ Monica yelped.
‘Keep your yapper closed!’ Lyle commanded, scowling at the woman. Then he swung his cold gaze back to the Englishman. ‘What did Miss Cable tell you, captain?’
‘That, going by the way your men treated the colored folks here, she believed you must be Rebels in disguise,’ Staunce answered.
‘She was a Reb herself,’ Monica put in.
‘And I told you to keep out of this!’ Lyle roared, swinging around with a fury that made its recipient cringe back. Once more he turned his attention to Staunce. ‘And you came here alone to find out if her story was true?’
‘Who says I’m alone?’
‘There was only him and that black kid who run off with the gal in the boat,’ Block interjected, neither knowing nor caring that Oscar was listening in the hall.
‘Where’s he now?’ Lyle wanted to know. ‘The black kid, I mean.’
‘At the bottom of the lake,’ Block replied. ‘I had to kill him and Titus took him out to get rid of him.’
Only by exercising all his will power did Oscar prevent himself from letting the occupants of the dining room know that he had overheard the words. Turning, he walked swiftly and silently to the rear door and passed through it.
‘You should have killed Titus while you were at it,’ Lyle sniffed. ‘If he talks, we could have trouble with the rest of them.’
‘We can soon enough settle anything they start,’ Block grinned.
‘That sounds like the talk I’d expect from Rebels,’ Staunce commented. ‘Not from an officer and sergeant of the Union Army.’
‘Come on now, Schmidt,’ Lyle scoffed. ‘You’re too intelligent to pretend to believe we’re fighting this War to let a few black bastards have freedom.’
‘Titus doesn’t know who was with me,’ Staunce warned, not taking that aspect of the conversation any further. ‘All he saw was myself and Eric.’
‘And you’ve got a large escort close by?’ asked Lyle.
‘Is it likely I’d come here unescorted?’ Staunce replied, exuding calm confidence.
Lyle did not answer immediately. From Titus’s arrival with news of the ‘Yankee’ officer wanting to visit the island secretly, the major had sensed an even greater threat to his secret ambitions than had been posed when Conrad Blucher had arrived.
Ever since Lyle had first heard of Cable’s machines, he had realized their full potential. Monica—an old friend—had contrived to keep him informed of her husband’s activities, even after war had been declared. Having seen an opportunity to lay his hands on something of great value, Lyle had set about obtaining the means to do so. When deciding to expend his fortune on the organization of a small Army unit, he had given considerable thought to what form it would take. Having no wish to be killed in action, he had considered that the Artillery offered him a solution; but only a partial one. When the time came to put his scheme into operation, he wanted a fighting force to back up his play.
Eventually Lyle had reached the compromise. Using his contacts in New York, he had gathered sufficient men for two fifty-strong companies. In addition, he had enlisted the aid of Stabruck—an Artillery officer with social and political ambitions—and a balloonist. The latter would be a means of drawing much needed attention to the next item of Lyle’s equipment. Although calling his outfit Artillery, he had only purchased one cannon; the massive Parrot 30-pounder. For the rest, his men drilled as Cavalry and were armed with Spencer repeaters. They were, he had insisted, to become a specialized Artillery group.
By making representations in the appropriate places, Lyle had arranged for his outfit to be sent to Arkansas. They were such an unconventional unit that, even though short of men, General Culver had never found a use for them. In the excitement of pursuing the Rebels towards the Ouachita River, Lyle’s command had been left behind and almost forgotten. As far as he knew, nobody in the Army of Arkansas was aware of his presence at Cable Grange.
A shrewd businessman, Lyle had always realized that Cable’s revolutionary machines would not sell in large quantities unless the public could be conditioned to accept them. To gain this acceptance, they would have to prove their worth in a spectacular manner. So he had worked out the means to raise them into prominence. Once they had helped to bring about a Northern victory in Arkansas, he would find no difficulty in raising sufficient capital to make more of them. When the War ended, especially if his machines had helped to bring it about, he would be in a position to turn out peacetime versions and have civilians willing to buy them.
That could all be spoiled, however, if any hint of the machines’ capabilities were made public before the completion of the scheme. So, even if ‘Schmidt’ was genuine—and Lyle did not doubt that he was—he could not be permitted to leave the island. He must be killed, in an acceptable manner, before his escort—assuming that he had one—missed him. Then, when they came to investigate, Lyle would have had time to think up a suitable excuse for his outfit’s continued presence on the island.
‘Do you know what I think you are?’ Lyle inquired, having reached that final conclusion.
‘No,’ Staunce answered, although a memory stirred and started to give him a warning of what might be coming.
‘I think you’re a Rebel spy and a liar,’ Lyle said.
‘Then I’ll call up my men,’ Staunce replied, starting to rise. “That—’
‘I said you’re a stinking traitor and a liar,’ Lyle repeated.
With that, the major lashed the back of his left hand against Staunce’s right cheek. Slammed down on the chair’s seat, the Englishman responded in a natural manner.
‘You bastard!’ Staunce shouted furiously and made as if to leap at his assailant.
~*~
‘What’s ailing you, Oscar?’ Mama Lukie demanded worriedly, as her husband entered their small, comfortably furnished and spotlessly clean home close behind the main house.
‘It’s Eric,’ the butler croaked, sinking into a chair.
‘Eric?’ the big woman repeated. ‘I’ve had this feeling all night that something was wrong with that boy. What’s happened?’
‘He—He was killed by the Yankees!’ Oscar answered, tears trickling down his cheeks.
‘Where?’ Mama Lukie asked. ‘How?’
‘On the island. Titus brought him and a Yankee officer here. That Sergeant Block said he’d killed Eric and Titus was fixing to drop his body into the lake.’
‘Lordy lord!’ the woman ejaculated.
Although visibly shaken by the news, Mama Lukie retained her self control. She too was crying as she poured out a cup of coffee and placed it before her husband. Then she asked him for more details. Having taken a drink, Oscar braced his shoulders and complied. There was not much more that he could tell her, but at the second mention of Titus’s part in the affair, she nodded her head.
‘He allus was a mean, untrusting feller,’ the woman said quietly.
‘What’re we going to do now, Mama Lukie?’ Oscar wanted to know. ‘With Massa Cable and Miss Harry both gone, there’s nothing to hold none of us here.’
‘Nothing ’cept all them fellers, their rifles and that there big cannon that’s guarding the boats. The fellers who does guard on the back’ve been told to use it if we tries to leave. And they wouldn’t think twice about doing it, even though there’d be women ’n’ children in the boats.’
Oscar nodded his agreement. Shortly after their arrival, the Yankees had brought in added means of protecting the island. The ‘cannon’ was one of three Vandenburg volley guns which had been left behind when the Army of Arkansas went after the retreating Rebels. xx While two of the guns were placed to sweep the bridge, the third had been situated so that it could cover the landing beach. It was not kept manned, but the sentries in that area all knew how to fire it and its ninety-eight barrels would spew out their loads like a gigantic shotgun.
‘What’re we going to do?’ the butler insisted.
‘Nothing rash, that’s for sure,’ Mama Lukie answered. ‘Do you reckon you can go back there and act natural?’
‘I—’ Oscar said hesitantly, then stiffened his body. ‘I reckon I can.’
‘Then do it,’ the woman ordered. ‘It’s lucky that it’s my night off, they won’t miss me. Don’t you let on you know what’s happened.’
‘I won’t.’
‘Comes morning, we’ll think some more on what to do.’
‘How about Titus?’ Oscar asked bitterly.
‘Don’t you go fretting none about him,’ Mama Lukie advised, nodding towards the big, locked chest in the corner of the room. ‘I allus figured I’d one day have to give him his come-uppance, for scoffing at me being a conjure woman. Now he’s come to where I’ve got to do it. You stay away for a while.’
‘I’ll do that sure enough,’ Oscar promised and left.
Having locked the door and made certain that all the drapes were closed at the windows, Mama Lukie opened the box. From it, she took a small bag of some kind of skin. Going to the table, she sat down and unfastened the bag’s drawstring to take something out. It proved to be a clay figure shaped like a tall, lanky man and with human hair, black and crinkly, attached to the head.
‘Titus,’ Mama Lukie said in an awful tone, turning the figure around in her fingers. ‘You’re going to pay for getting my boy killed.’
~*~
Having positioned themselves for such an eventuality, suspecting that their officer might try to provoke a duel, Block and Grilpan grabbed Staunce by the shoulders and forced him to remain seated. While the Englishman’s cheeks were flushed red with anger, he did not struggle for long. A realization of what was happening flooded over him. Like Conrad Blucher, he was being manipulated into a position from which he could be killed.
Instantly, although no sign of it showed on the outside, the Englishman became calm. Ceasing his attempts to throw off the detaining hands of his captors, he glared at Lyle.
‘This’s about what I’d expect of a bunch of lousy, cowardly deserters who’re hiding here while good men are killed in the fighting,’ Staunce stated, in tones of deepest contempt.
An ugly red flush crept across Lyle’s face at the scathing words, for he knew that was how many soldiers would regard his actions. Instead of him provoking the quarrel, the tables had been turned. He stood for a moment, quivering with rage. Then, making an obvious effort, he held his temper in check.
‘That’s a remark I don’t intend to overlook, captain!’ Lyle declared, spitting out each word as if it was burning his mouth. ‘In fact, I’m going to demand that you give me satisfaction for it.’
‘Dueling’s illegal, major,’ Staunce pointed out.
‘Are you trying to avoid facing me?’ Lyle challenged.
‘No,’ Staunce assured him. ‘I’ll give you your satisfaction. But I’ll need a weapon—unless you plan to be the only one of us who is armed.’
‘I don’t!’ Lyle growled. ‘Fetch my gun box, Block.’
‘Yo!’ the sergeant grunted.
‘I’ll have your Colt before you go,’ Lyle continued. ‘Just in case the captain tries to avoid his obligations.’
‘Sure,’ Block replied and complied with the order.
‘You can go to bed, Monica,’ the major commanded—and there was no other way of describing the manner with which he addressed the woman—accepting the non-com’s Army Colt.
For once, Monica did not argue. She remembered that she had never found Lyle so passionate as on the night after he had killed Blucher. Deciding that a similar incident would bring identical, or perhaps even better, results, she advanced to kiss the major lightly on the cheek. Then she followed Block from the room. At no time had she shown the slightest pity, or interest, for the captive.
‘So we’re using your weapons, huh?’ Staunce said.
‘The choice is mine, as the affronted party,’ Lyle pointed out. ‘They’re a matched pair of revolvers and you’ll have first pick at them.’
‘And if I refuse?’ Staunce challenged.
‘I’ll have you shot as a spy,’ Lyle informed him. ‘Tonight. Don’t think your uniform will save you. My men are well-paid, loyal and obedient.’
‘And what happens if I win?’
‘With me dead, I doubt if my men would stop you leaving.’
There was something in the major’s answer, Staunce concluded. In the event of him killing Lyle, the enlisted men might decide on discretion being the better part of velour. Having seen Staunce accepted by the major as an officer in the Union Army, they could decide that it would be unsafe to continue with the affair.
In the final analysis, Staunce knew that he must take his chance. He preferred to fight for his life and hoped that he might win.
Sergeant Block entered, carrying the gun box.
~*~
In Mama Lukie’s house, the lamp had been turned down low. Holding the little clay figure between her fingers, she sat rigid in her chair. Her face was wet with perspiration and a toneless chant came from her lips. Oblivious of everything, even the sound of the shot which came from the main house, she took the head of the figure between the thumb and forefinger of her left hand, holding the body enfolded in her right. Tensing as if preparing to make a great effort, she let out an eerie, frightening grunt and twisted at the tiny head. Then she sat rigid, staring blindly ahead.
~*~
Having heard Titus’ story—the truth, for the man was too terrified to lie—Kiowa sheathed the bowie knife.
‘What you going to do with me, mister?’ Titus inquired worriedly.
‘Take you back to Cap’n Fog,’ the Texan answered. ‘Get on Eric’s horse and don’t try anything.’
Approaching the horse, Titus prepared to mount. He had gripped the horn and was placing his left foot into the stirrup iron when the horse, for no apparent reason, reared. Taken by surprise, Titus was pitched away from the animal. Kiowa swept his revolver from its holster, swinging around to try to discover what had startled the horse. Failing to find out, he approached the motionless figure that was sprawled on the ground.
‘Get up!’ Kiowa ordered.
When Titus did not obey, the Texan knelt by him. Taking out and lighting a match, Kiowa looked down. Holstering his gun, he used his fingers to check on the evidence of his eyes.
‘Well I’m damned!’ Kiowa breathed, standing up. ‘I’ve seen many a man pitched by a hoss and even a couple’s’d bust their necks. But I never saw one who bust his neck so bad without even landing on it.’
~*~
In general, the setting up of the duel went as it had with Conrad Blucher. Staunce was allowed to examine the weapons, without touching them, and satisfied himself that they were both fully loaded. He then selected the Tranter Army revolver that he wished to use and Block set it down on the table.
When starting the count, Block noticed that Lyle’s hand was held at the same height as ‘Schmidt’s’, about eight inches over the weapon’s butt, instead of being higher. Clearly the major regarded this latest interloper as being far more dangerous than the previous one.
For his part, Lyle was fully aware of the danger. This was no civilian, but a tough, efficient, trained soldier. However, the major felt confident in the advantages given to him by his imported weapons. Watching ‘Schmidt’, in the hope of discovering traces of alarm, Lyle became uneasy. Unless he missed his guess, the captain was not over impressed by his air of mocking self-satisfaction. Certainly it was having far less observable effect than it had had against the Southron newspaper owner.
Alert for treachery, yet not willing to make a move before the count reached its assigned number, Staunce studied his enemy. That Lyle felt confident of success was certain, despite everything seeming to be fair and above board. The Englishman could not shake off a nagging feeling that there must be a joker somewhere in the deck.
‘Four!’ Block said.
Without waiting for the count to go further, Lyle’s hand started to drop.
‘Five!’ the Yankee sergeant said quickly.
Having already seen the danger, Staunce dipped his right palm on to the handle of the waiting Tranter. Swiftly as he moved, he was just that vital shade too slow. Lyle was already starting to lift his weapon.
From the first moment that the Englishman’s fingers began to hook under and close around the Tranter’s butt, he started to realize where his enemy’s ace-in-the-hole lay. Staunce had fired a Tranter a couple of times, but that had been before he came to fight for the Confederate States. Since then, he had used an 1860 Army Colt, which was a very different proposition.
The Tranter’s handle did not offer the smooth, hand-fitting curve of the Colt and could not be grasped so readily. For all that, Staunce managed to commence raising his weapon.
But not as swiftly as Lyle’s Tranter was lifting into alignment!
There was another, even more radical difference between the Army Colt and the Tranter. One which was to cost Staunce dearly.
While the Englishman was aware that the Tranter operated by a double-action mechanism, that fact failed to register in his mind under the stress of the situation. Instead, his thumb automatically—and without the need for conscious thought—tried to draw the hammer to full cock, as would have been necessary if he was using a single-action Colt. When the thumb did not locate the hammer’s spur that he was seeking, he became confused and flustered.
And that a time when every split second was of vital importance.
Smoothly adopting his double-handled hold, Lyle took rapid and careful aim. While raising the Tranter, he had also started to squeeze the trigger. He had no need to make himself recollect that the weapon’s hammer did not carry a spur by which it could be thumb-cocked. The mechanism had caused the hammer to have almost reached its rearmost position by the time the barrel was pointing in the Englishman’s direction. Continuing to manipulate the trigger, the major allowed the hammer to be propelled forward once more.
With his borrowed revolver still a long way from a position in which he could use it to protect himself, Staunce knew that he was beaten.
Flame gushed from the muzzle of Lyle’s Tranter and its bullet flew true. He had aimed for an instant kill and achieved his desire. Struck in the head, Staunce discarded the second Tranter. He was twisted away from the table and measured his length upon the floor.
As against Blucher and Lyle’s previous pair of victims, training and experience had proved to be the deciding factor.
‘You’d better make sure that the back of the island’s guarded extra carefully tonight, Block,’ Lyle ordered, lowering his smoking revolver. ‘And I want a couple of men out there every night from now on. You’ll personally make sure that they keep a damned sight better watch than they have been doing. He’s the second bastard to have landed.’
‘Sure,’ Block answered sullenly, not caring for the extra work carrying out the order would entail. ‘What about when his escort come looking for him?’
‘We’ll just say that he never arrived,’ Lyle answered. ‘And I’ll count on you to help me see that nobody says different.’
While Staunce had died, he had also prevented his captors and killer from suspecting his true identity and purpose on the island.