Chapter Eleven
“I’ve changed my mind, Mr. Cooley. We execute him in Austin or in New Orleans,” Captain Rupert Bentley-Foulkes said. “After he has a court-martial with me as judge, Lieutenant Wood as trial counsel, and Lieutenant Allerton acting for the defense.”
“Very much under protest,” Allerton said. “How do I defend a coward who brought such disgrace to the British army?”
“Justice must be seen to be done, Mr. Allerton,” Bentley-Foulkes said. “I’m sure you’ll think of something, insanity perhaps.”
“Damn it, my way is better,” Brack Cooley said. “I ride up to the stage, smiling like I’m kinfolk, and shoot Red Ryan out of the guard’s seat and the driver too if he makes a play. Then I shake Latimer’s hand and put a bullet between his eyes.” Cooley smiled, his hand sweeping in the direction of the grassland ahead of him, scarred by the passage of the Patterson stage. “Just like that, the job is done, and I ride away.”
Bentley-Foulkes’s horse tossed its head, irritated by an errant fly, and its bit chimed. “What about the outrider, Mr. Cooley? You saw the outrider.”
“Yeah, I know, a Texas Ranger by the name of Tim Adams. He’s a nobody. I can take care of him.”
“And there’s yet another complication,” Bentley-Foulkes said.
“Damn, mister, you ain’t making this easy,” Cooley said. “You keep coming up with your complications.”
“A woman, I hesitate to call her a lady, by the name of Hannah Huckabee is on the stage. I am sure she harbors some idea of helping Latimer escape.”
“So? Hell, I can gun her too,” Cooley said.
“No, I don’t wish her harmed, at least just yet,” Bentley-Foulkes said. “I want no accusing fingers pointed in my direction. Miss Huckabee is known as an adventuress, and she has made some powerful friends, and I mean the likes of Queen Victoria, Czar Alexander of Russia, and your own President Arthur. It was only when I saw her at the post that I remembered she was once engaged to be married to John Latimer. Thankfully, she didn’t recognize me or Lieutenants Wood or Allerton. That might have been awkward, to say the least.”
Cooley said, “Ben . . . Bent . . .”
“Bentley-Foulkes.”
“The hell with it, I’ll call you Ben,” Cooley said.
“Captain will do nicely when we’re alone.”
The young day was already hot, the prairie breeze still, and in the distance the grasslands shimmered.
“Well, Cap’n, when I’m paid to do a job, I do it right. What do you want done with the woman?”
“You’ll make her disappear without trace and without witnesses,” Bentley-Foulkes said. “As I said, she styles herself an adventuress—”
“Damned impertinence,” Granville Wood said, a not-too-bright young man with pale blue protruding eyes and the vague features that three hundred years of inbreeding produces. “A woman’s place is in the home.”
Cooley said, “I’ll make sure she stays home, all right. At least until I tire of her, and then”—the gunman drew his forefinger across his throat—“farewell, my lovely.”
“Please, Mr. Cooley, I don’t want to know the details,” Bentley-Foulkes said. “When the time comes, just get rid of Miss Huckabee quietly and without fuss. I don’t know how many there are in the world, but I rather fancy that adventuresses die without a trace all the time. No mercy now, Mr. Cooley. Any woman who would knowingly drink from the matrimonial cup with a coward like John Latimer must be dealt with harshly.”
Wood grinned. “Perhaps we should teach dear Hannah a lesson or two with a horsewhip before we hand her over to Mr. Cooley.”
“No, Mr. Wood, throughout all this unpleasant business we must remain officers and gentlemen. I admit that Miss Huckabee is a coward’s intended, but remember, she’s a white Englishwoman, not some native belly-warmer one amuses oneself with in an African hut. Let’s not forget that, shall we?”
Cooley laughed. “In other words, Lieutenant, leave the rough stuff to me. I’m not a gentleman.”
“No, Mr. Cooley, you’re not,” Bentley-Foulkes said. “And that’s precisely why I hired you.”