Listening in the silence which followed the cook’s warning, the girl and men about the trail camp’s fire detected faint sounds to the east. Then they awaited Goodnight’s orders, being all too aware that none of the crew, or other friends that they knew of, should be moving about in that direction. There might be a simple, or harmless explanation for the sound, but the bearded rancher did not aim to risk it being so.
‘Grab your rifles!’ Goodnight barked. ‘Drag and right side men stay by the wagons. Wranglers head for the remuda. Rest of you, out to the herd if anything busts. Move it!’
Swiftly the party scattered. So that all might gain experience in every aspect of trail driving, the crew had been alternating their positions from point to swing, flank or drag. Yet there was no confusion, each member snatching up a firearm and heading to the appropriate group. Holding her shotgun, Dawn slid under the bed-wagon and rested its twin-tubes on a spoke of the rear wheel. A moment later Billy Jack, carrying a Henry ‘liberated’ on the battlefield during the days when he had ridden as Dusty’s sergeant major, dropped to her left side. Showing excitement and a touch of eager anticipation, Vern joined them. Red Blaze, armed with a Spencer obtained from the same source which had supplied Billy Jack’s Henry, stood by the tailgate. The remainder of the wagons’ defenders had also selected places from which they could fight in reasonable safety.
‘Likely we’ll all be killed ’n’ scalped comes morning,’ Billy Jack muttered to the girl.
‘How’d I get you for a partner?’ Dawn whispered back.
‘Just fortunate, I reckon,’ the lanky one answered. ‘Being with me, you’re sure to get killed early.’
By which time the suspicious noises in the night had come closer and were identifiable. Listening to the rumble of wheels mingled with the beating of hooves, Vern let forth a snort of disappointment.
‘A wagon and hosses!’ the youngster announced. ‘I never heard tell of Injuns riding the war trail in a wagon.’
‘There’s always a first time for everything,’ Red told him.
‘Hello the fire!’ called a voice from the darkness. ‘Can we come in?’
‘It’s white folks!’ Vern sniffed and began to wriggle forward.
‘Stay put until Colonel Charlie tells you different!’ ordered Billy Jack in a low, grim tone far removed from his normal plaintive whine. In that moment he let Dawn and Vern see him as he really was, a bone-tough, competent fighting man. Such a change did it make that Vern froze as if turned to stone.
‘Come ahead,’ offered Goodnight. ‘But do it slow, easy and with your hands showing.’
Time dragged by, with the trail crew remaining at their posts. While the second group had joined their night horses, Mark had not led them out to the herd. He was waiting to make sure that doing so would be necessary. From what he had just heard, the need ought not to arise; but he kept the men by their mounts until certain of it.
Drawn by a pair of powerful horses, a small covered wagon came into the light of the fire and stopped. It was driven by a medium-sized, dapper, handsome man, with an exceptionally beautiful, black-haired young woman seated at his side. From all appearances, neither of them belonged to the range country. The man wore a well-cut town suit which set off his slender frame to its best advantage, derby hat, spats and walking boots—as opposed to the high-heeled cowhand variety. A wide brimmed, flower-decorated hat graced the woman’s head. Draped across her shoulders, a black cloak hung open at the front. Under it she wore a stylish black dress with a décolleté which seemed more suited to a fancy dude ball than for riding in a wagon on the West Texas plains. Jewelry sparkled at her ears, neck, wrists and fingers, while the dress displayed a truly magnificent figure.
A second man rode alongside the wagon. No dude this, but a product of the West. Tall, well made, clad in range clothes and with a low-hanging Army Colt at his right thigh, his surly features and general attitude told a story to eyes that could read the signs. A cattle-town loafer, a hired hardcase, but no cowhand. Not the kind of man one would expect to find with such elegant traveling companions.
For all his surprise at the sight, Goodnight retained his poise and remembered the social conventions.
‘Get down and rest your horses, ma’am, gents,’ he said. ‘Food’s on the fire and you’re welcome to spend the night here.’
‘My thanks, sir,’ the driver replied, swinging deftly to the ground and walking forward. ‘My name is Edmond de Martin and the lady is my sister, Barbe.’
‘My pleasure, ma’am,’ Goodnight said, formally removing his hat and bowing to the girl. He was conscious that the men had come from their places of concealment, or returned from the picket line, and stood staring with undisguised interest at the wagon; or rather at its occupant.
‘Good evening,’ Barbe greeted. Like her brother, she spoke with a slight foreign accent. ‘Would somebody please help me down?’
Watching with a mixture of amusement and disapproval, Dawn could not remember when Vern had moved with such alacrity. Nor were the majority of the men any slower in offering their services. Soon most of the crew milled around the wagon like cattle attracted by the blood call, pushing, shoving and trampling on each other’s feet in their eagerness. Letting out a sniff, Dawn stalked over to the crush.
‘Back off afore you turn the son-of-a-bitching wagon over!’ she snapped. ‘Come on. You can’t all lay hold and lift her down.’
Barbe flashed a surprised glance at the speaker and lost her smile for a moment. Hostility mingled with the surprise on the newcomer’s face before it regained its original expression.
‘The young—er—lady is right, gentlemen,’ Barbe said, causing a hurried withdrawal of the closest men. ‘If one of you will help me—?’
‘Thin out there, some of you!’ Goodnight ordered. ‘See to Miss de Martin, Dawn, Swede. Mark, take out pickets for the night.’
‘Yo!’ Mark replied. ‘Come on, move it some of you.’
‘Are you expecting trouble, Colonel Goodnight?’ asked de Martin, watching the men scatter. His sister descended from the wagon with the minimum of aid from Dawn. ‘I assume that you are Colonel Charles Goodnight?’
‘I am, sir. My apologies for not introducing myself sooner.’
‘I judge by how you acted as we approached that you are expecting trouble.’
‘There may be Comanches about,’ Goodnight admitted. ‘Don’t alarm your sister. I doubt if we’re in any immediate danger, but I’d sooner not take chances.’
‘That’s wise,’ de Martin agreed. ‘And if there are Indians about, I am doubly fortunate in finding you tonight. With Mr. Heenan for our guide, my sister and I have been following you for the past ten days or so.’
‘May I ask why?’
‘To accompany you to Fort Sumner.’
‘To accomp—!’ the rancher spat out.
‘Yes,’ agreed de Martin. ‘If you will join us, I can explain over supper.’
‘I invited you first,’ Goodnight pointed out. ‘It won’t be anything fancy—’
‘We’ll be delighted to accept,’ de Martin said. ‘My sister is not the world’s best cook—if you know what I mean.’
‘I’ll be gallant and say “no”,’ Goodnight smiled. ‘Rowdy’s food is plain, but well-cooked.’
‘Then perhaps we can add a little comfort of our own?’ the newcomer answered, also smiling. ‘We have a table, chairs, a few tolerable wines. Why be uncomfortable when a few luxuries weigh so little extra?’
Knowing that to deviate might cause resentment, Goodnight always lived and ate at the same standard as his men when on the trail. However he could see no harm in accepting de Martin’s offer as it would only happen once. During the meal, he intended to show the newcomers the impossibility of their accompanying the drive.
‘My thanks for your offer,’ the rancher said. ‘And I gratefully accept.’
‘We have a table and a few other things in the wagon, gentlemen,’ Barbe called, looking around the camp. ‘If I could have—’
‘I’ll see to it,’ Dawn put in, before another rush could commence.
‘Lend her a hand, Turkey, Boiler,’ Mark confirmed, selecting fast. The cook’s louse was an unprepossessing young man and the grizzled old timer’s interest in women had been tempered by years of experience. ‘The rest of you stay put.’
Although Mark had an eye for a beautiful woman and was anything but averse to female company under the right conditions, xviii he saw the danger of allowing the men to compete for the favors—small though they might be—of the newly arrived girl. So he held down his own impulse to go and help, giving the chore to the men he felt most suitable to handle it. Before the drive it had been decided that Mark would take over as segundo in Dusty’s absence, so nobody questioned his right to give the orders.
Clearly the de Martin family believed in travelling comfortably. Looking at the interior of the wagon, Dusty smiled a little. There was a wide, well-padded bed fastened to the front end and the rest of the space held a variety of boxes and trunks. Barbe pointed out a small collapsible table and three folding chairs, fussing over her male helpers until they had removed and set them up. Then she opened boxes to produce a fancy candelabra, plates, cutlery and wine glasses.
While setting out the table, Barbe more or less ignored Dawn. Nor did the western girl show a greater inclination to offering friendship. Turning, Barbe started to walk by the end of the wagon towards the darkness beyond it. As if struck by a thought, she stopped and looked back.
“Er—Miss—I—I want t—’ Barbe spluttered, dropping her eyes with becoming modesty to avoid the men’s gaze.
‘Come on then,’ Dawn replied. ‘I want to go myself.’
‘I suppose you have lost all your clothes and have had to borrow those—garments?’ Barbe remarked as they walked away from the camp.
‘Nope,’ Dawn answered. ‘I’m working on the drive, and they’re better’n fancy do-dads for handling cattle. Say. Did the dress-maker run out of cloth, or have you grown some since you bought that frock?’
Barbe swung her head sharply in Dawn’s direction, fluttering a hand to the exposed upper section of her bust, but read only bland innocence on the other’s face. Giving a low sniff, she flounced ahead and Dawn followed, grinning slightly. In Dawn’s opinion, their first clash could be called a draw.
When the girls returned, they found Goodnight and de Martin waiting by the table. Refusing an invitation to join them, Dawn continued to walk towards the fire. She arrived in time to hear Heenan describing what ‘that fancy French gal’ wore beneath her gown. One of the listeners remarked, as Dawn came up, that Heenan appeared to be remarkably well informed. A sly grin came to the hardcase’s face and he explained that there was a small slit in the wagon’s canopy which offered a view of the interior.
‘When she’s getting undressed—’ Heenan began, rolling his eyes ecstatically and chopped off his words as he became aware of the girl’s presence.
‘I’ll put rock-salt into anybody I see sneaking around that wagon after she’s got into it,’ Dawn announced grimly.
‘And I’ll load the gun for her,’ Mark went on. ‘Only it won’t be needed. As soon as I tell her brother, he’ll have that slit covered over.’
Taking in the great spread of the blond giant’s shoulders and the way the ivory-handled Colts flared so perfectly in their holsters, Heenan held back the comment which had started to rise. Not until Mark walked away accompanied by the hands he selected for the first spell of picket duty did the man make his views known.
‘I never figured Cap’n Fog’d be a spoil-sport.’
‘That’s Mark Counter, not Cap’n Fog,’ Vern told Heenan.
‘Only, was I you,’ Billy Jack went on. ‘I’d mind what he said.’
Goodnight enjoyed the meal, finding Barbe’s presence pleasant and decorative while her brother was a sparkling conversationalist. For all that, the rancher was not sorry when the girl said that she would retire for the night and rose. He wanted to talk with de Martin about returning to wherever they came from.
Seeing the other girl going to the wagon, Dawn made a decision. Mark had not spoken with the rancher about Heenan’s comments, so Dawn went over to the table.
‘Well I’ll be—!’ Goodnight growled as the girl delivered her news.
‘So will I,’ de Martin went on, a flicker of annoyance crossing his handsome face. ‘Leave it to me, I will attend to the matter straight away.’
‘I hope I done the right thing, Colonel,’ Dawn said worriedly. ‘I don’t go much on running to the boss and telling tales.’
‘You did right,’ Goodnight confirmed. ‘If those fools’d’ve tried to sneak a look at Miss de Winter, there could have been trouble.’
‘Figured there might be,’ Dawn admitted. ‘They’d likely’ve started fighting for who got the best place to look from. Men!’
‘I’ve attended to it, Charles,’ de Martin announced, dropping from the wagon after Dawn had returned to the fire. ‘That damned Heenan—still, he got me to you. And you’re probably wondering what a dude like me can possibly want that I should follow you all the way from Young County, and ask to accompany you to Fort Sumner.’
‘The notion had crossed my mind,’ Goodnight admitted, accepting the cigar de Martin offered.
‘It’s simple. I’m a photographic artist, a good one if I say so myself, and have been commissioned by General Vindfallet to go to Fort Sumner to produce illustrations for a book he is writing about life on the western frontier.’
‘That figures, knowing Vindfallet; him writing a book, I mean.’
‘The General isn’t entirely unaware of its value socially,’ de Martin smiled. ‘And, as I have a certain reputation in my line, he contacted me. I must admit that I was dubious at first. But he suggested that I should join and accompany you. He also promised to write and inform you of our coming.’
‘I never had any letter from him!’ Goodnight stated.
‘Probably it was lost in the mails,’ de Martin suggested. ‘He seemed so confident it would be all right that I made no other arrangements. Then, when I reached your ranch, after an unavoidable delay, I found that you had already left. Heenan had escorted us that far and said that we could easily catch up with you, so we came along.’
‘I’m sorry—’ Goodnight began.
‘I realize that it is something of an imposition, Charles. More so in view of Vindfallet’s letter not arriving. But my professional reputation depends on my completing this commission. So I am determined to do so at all costs. Even if it means completing the journey alone and with Heenan as my guide.’
‘You don’t know what you’re saying. If you’ve any sense, you’ll turn around and take your sister back East.’
‘That isn’t possible. Barbe won’t agree. You see, I must go to Fort Sumner and we have no kinfolk. There is a certain man forcing his attentions on her and if she was left alone, unprotected—you understand?’
‘Yes. But—’
‘I don’t see why she can’t come along. You have that young lady with you.’
‘Dawn Sutherland was born out here and knows what she’s facing.’
‘My mind is made up, Charles!’ de Martin declared. ‘My sister and I go on, with or without you. I say now that I understand your objections and hold you no ill will if you refuse to take us, for you must have the best of reasons not to. But if we try it alone and are killed, there will be those who say you are responsible for our deaths.’
Annoyance flickered across the rancher’s face as he thought of the position General Vindfallet had placed him in. If the rancher refused to take the de Martins, his men would certainly protest. Some of them might even consider the only right response would be to escort the brother and sister. Even if Goodnight persuaded the cowhands to change their minds, he would have a worried, discontented crew.
Yet he could hardly take a delicate, well-bred and beautiful city woman over the hell of the Staked Plains. Nor, equally certain, could he turn Barbe and her brother loose to fend for themselves. In addition to all the other hazards on the way to Fort Sumner, Heenan would be a mighty bad choice for a guide. Already he had spied on Barbe and apparently could not wait to start boasting of it. At the first hint of danger, he would probably desert the couple. Or, when certain it could be done safely, kill the brother and do far worse to the sister.
‘All right,’ Goodnight said grimly. ‘I’ll take you along—but on my terms.’
‘They are?’ de Martin asked.
‘First that you sign the same Articles of Agreement as the rest of the crew. Second, that you and your sister obey without question all orders given by me or my segundo.’
‘Accepted, and I’m sure Heenan will agree also.’
‘Heenan?’
‘He’s going to Fort Sumner to enlist in the Army for reasons I have not questioned, but seem pressing. As he came with me instead of going north and joining an Army supply convoy, I feel a certain responsibility for him.’
‘He can stay,’ Goodnight grunted.
‘I will keep him in my employment, he helps attend to the wagon and does other such work for me.’
‘Like I said,’ Goodnight answered. ‘He can go along, as long as he signs and sticks to my conditions.’
‘I’m sure he will.’
‘One more thing, Edmond. Would you ask your sister to wear something less—revealing. Those men of mine have enough on their minds without … You understand?’
‘I do. And I’ll mention it to her in the morning.’
‘If you want, I’ll ask Dawn to sleep in the wagon with your sister,’ Goodnight offered.
‘Doesn’t she have duties with the herd?’
‘She rides her spell on night herd, but I can leave her off it.’
‘That won’t be necessary. We’ll be in your camp area and I’m sure I can rely on the behavior of your men.’
‘You can!’ the rancher said stiffly. ‘Now, much as I hate breaking up this pleasant evening, I’ve things to do.’
On Mark’s return from setting out the pickets, Goodnight told him that the de Martins would be accompanying the drive.
‘Across—!’ the blond giant began, then closed his mouth before making any reference to the Staked Plains.
‘All the way,’ agreed Goodnight. ‘De Martin’s set on getting there and stubborn enough to try it with Heenan for a guide—’
The sound of approaching hooves chopped off further conversation. From the direction they came, the riders might be the first part of the night guard returning. Yet they were pushing their horses at speed, and that could mean trouble. Mark and Goodnight tensed slightly, hands straying gunwards. Then they relaxed. Instead of coming straight into camp, as would be the case if they brought bad news, the riders halted at the remuda. Soon after, the first of them appeared. Carrying his saddle and striding out fast, Burle Willock darted expectant glances around as he made for his bedroll.
‘Where’s she at?’ the cowhand demanded. ‘We heard tell that there’s a right pretty li’l city gal around here.’
‘There for sure is,’ Jacko Lefors informed him. ‘Ain’t she something to see, boys? Got apples on her the size of melons and ain’t scared of showing them around.’
Mark scowled, realizing what had happened. Hearing about the de Martins from their reliefs, the younger members of the first watch had made a fast ride in to see Barbe. They had, at least, shown sufficient good sense to leave their horses at the remuda instead of galloping straight up to the fire. Then Mark saw the red flush on Dawn’s cheeks and moved towards her.
‘Some of you should wash your mouths out with soapy water!’ the girl snorted.
‘What’s up, Dawn gal?’ Willock sneered, grinning wolfishly. ‘Getting jealous ’cause we don’t say things like that about you?’
‘Anybody who did’d right soon answer to me for it!’ Vern snapped.
‘And I’ll be stood at his side on it,’ Narth went on.
‘Josh, go help Heenan there with de Martin’s horses!’ Goodnight growled before more could be said. ‘Vern, help Rowdy check up on the ammunition. And all of you hear me good. Those folks’re coming with us to Fort Sumner. They’re my guests. I’m saying no more than that.’
It was enough apparently, for the subject of Barbe’s attractions was dropped. Although Dawn almost mirrored Mark’s reactions to the news, she said nothing.
‘Mark,’ Goodnight said, leading the way from the fire and beyond the crew’s hearing. ‘We’ll have to do something about that girl. Those fool young hands’ll be swarming around her like bees to honey—Unless they figure that she’s spoke for by you.’
‘Spoke for?’
‘Damn it! I shouldn’t have to explain that to one of Big Ranse Counter’s sons. I want for you to make it look like Miss Barbe and you’re real close friends. And I don’t reckon any of them, even Austin, Vern or Willock’d be loco enough to lock horns with you over her.’
A slow grin crept on to Mark’s face as he considered Goodnight’s words and their implications. Since the drive had commenced, the hands had seen sufficient examples of the blond giant’s exceptional strength to be fully aware of his potential. So he was ideally suited to carry out the rancher’s orders.
‘I’ll give it a whirl, sir,’ Mark promised. ‘Now don’t that go to prove what a loyal hand I am, making a sacrifice like that?’
‘Remind yourself not to ask for a bonus for doing it,’ Goodnight answered dryly.