Dusty Fog's Civil War 12 by J.T. Edson

Author:J.T. Edson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: american civil war, belle boyd, piccadilly publishing, jt edson, dusty fog, rio hondo gun wizard
Publisher: Piccadilly

Chapter Ten – I Wish to Save Your Lives

Although the Kid and his father had noticed Sylvie come from the room into which she had taken Belle, they felt no concern. The blonde had crossed to the table and whispered in her husband’s ear, then spoken with the orderlies. Nothing suspicious had happened and she retired from the hall. Plates loaded with thick steaks, potatoes and beans were placed before the Texans. Around the room, talk continued while knives, forks or fingers transferred food to mouths. Neither of the Texans paid any great attention to the orderlies hovering in the background, but waited for Belle to return.

Not until the main doors opened and Sylvie walked in did Ysabel and the Kid begin to wonder why Belle had not rejoined them. Advancing to the center of the open space before the tables, Sylvie halted and raised her hands. What that did to her garments brought silence to the supper-guests quicker than the gesture’s meaning alone would have. Watching the blonde, the Ysabels failed to observe the orderlies drawing Lefauchex revolvers and moving cautiously towards them.

‘Señores,’ Sylvie called and pointed towards the doors. Tor your entertainment ‘

Anything more she might have planned to say was drowned by the rumble of excited comment that arose as the cantinières hustled Belle and Eve into the room. Immediately, before the Kid and his father could do more than start to push back their chairs, the orderlies obeyed orders. The Kid felt the hard muzzle of a revolver ram into his back, but still tensed to continue rising.

‘Sit still, gentlemen!’ Caillard ordered, leaning forward to look at the Texans.

‘Do it, Lon!’ Ysabel growled, guessing that his son also had a gun boring against his spine.

For all his anger, the Kid could still think. He knew that to resist would not only be futile, but fatal. With an effort, he controlled his impulse to rise. Sinking back on to his chair, he sat without movement. At that moment, he looked every inch a Comanche. Not just an ordinary member of the Nemenuh, but a Pehnahterkʉh Dog Soldier ready to go on the rampage. Looking sideways, Ysabel knew his son was sitting at hair-trigger readiness. The big Texan hoped that the Kid would not do anything foolish or rash.

‘I wish to save your lives, gentlemen,’ Caillard announced still facing the Ysabels. ‘If you tried to interfere, my other guests would kill you.’

‘These two women both claim to be the Rebel Spy,’ Sylvie announced. ‘So they will fight to see who tells the truth. The loser is for you.’

Savage curses in the slow-tongued Pehnahterkʉh dialect blasted from the Kid’s lips, to be swamped under by the raucous, ebullient comments bouncing among the other guests. With the exception of the Ysabels—and possibly Caillard and von Bulow—every man in the room studied Belle and Eve from two separate angles. First, as contestants in a fight on which money could be bet. Second, in the light of what could be done to the loser.

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