Riding With the Devil's Mistress (Lou Prophet Western #3) (26 page)

‘
Blast
it, Foley!’ the first man said, turning sharply to his friend. ‘My
birthday’s comin’ up, an’ no one bought me a ranch in ole
Montany!’

The men slapped their thighs
and cackled like geese. Frowning, her heart throbbing in her
temples, Louisa reined the Morgan back into the street, walking the
horse toward the depot as she studied the train grandly shining in
the sunlight. Several workers spoke loudly as they
swung the spout
from the stilted water tank over the locomotive, and dropped a
lever.

The ladies and gentlemen from the train were
disembarking as though from a gala, and the red-suited porters in
billed caps were helping them down the steps, bowing to each in
turn with nervous grins. As Louisa reined her horse before one of
the several hitching racks before the red brick station, she
watched the man in the Texas-style hat.

The Duke of Dunston-Abbey was a large man
with flowing auburn locks and a mustache whose ends swung around to
meet his brushy muttonchops. He was pale with freckles, a double
chin, and small, steel-rimmed spectacles perched on his nose. The
cream Stetson matched the fringed deer-hide coat hanging past his
hips. From the perfect tailoring, Louisa could tell the coat had
been sewn and purchased in an Eastern shop, for nothing so
impeccable would be found west of St. Louis.

The man rose up on the balls of his feet and
crossed his arms on his broad chest as he spoke loudly and with
supreme arrogance to the men gathered around him—men who laughed
loudly and nodded vigorously at everything the duke said.
Apparently, the men and the ladies twittering under the parasols in
the shade of the depot overhang were just stretching their legs
while the water tank filled, and would be off again in a few
minutes.

Studying both groups from the
Morgan
’s
saddle, Louisa wondered how much money was on that train. Why, in
the pockets of the men and in the purses of the ladies milling on
the platform there had to be more than Louisa would ever see in her
life! And when you took into account what was probably stowed away
in the luggage and added it to the worth of the horses ...
damn!

Certain she had discovered what
had attracted the Red River Gang to Fargo, Louisa whipped her head
around, searching for signs of a possible attack. The gang
could
be
anywhere, waiting for just the right moment.

Or would they wait until the train had
steamed out of town a ways, beyond the immediate help of the
law?

Deciding the latter was
probably the most likely course of the gang
’s action, Louisa looked around
again, this time for Prophet. She saw no sign of him—only several
townsfolk, children and dogs included, gathering for a look at the
Duke and Duchess of Dunston-Abbey. By now, Prophet was probably
waiting for her at the Chinaman’s place.

Deciding something had to be done and done
soon, Louisa climbed down from the Morgan, tied him to the hitch
rack, and made her way toward the Duke still holding court on the
brick platform with his entourage.

When she was about thirty feet
from the group, a brute in a black suit and bowler suddenly stepped
in front of her, blocking her way. Holding up his huge hands, palms
out, he said,
‘Hold on, there, Miss. Where do you think you’re going?’ It
was the first British accent Louisa had heard close up, and the
novelty of it shocked her.

‘
Huh?
What?’

‘
Where
on earth do you think you’re going?’

‘
I
have to speak to the duke.’

‘
You
have to speak to the duke?’ The brute chuckled. ‘Yes, well... I
don’t think so.’

‘
Please, I have to—’

‘
Run
along now, Miss. That’s a good girl.’

‘
Listen,’ Louisa said, trying to peer around the brute’s
wide frame to catch the duke’s eye, ‘this train is going to be
attacked by the Red River Gang!’

‘
Huh?
What? Attack? The duke’s
trine?’

‘
Yes,
the train,’ Louisa said, trying futilely to push past the brute
whom, she noticed, wore a Colt Lightning in a shoulder rig under
his open frock. ‘Please let me speak to the duke.’

The brute was about to say
something when a man
spoke behind him. ‘McDormand, do keep these people
back, won’t you?’

The brute half turned, glancing around at
several scruffy-looking townsmen crowding onto the platform for a
closer look at the duke and his fancy train.

‘
Yes
sir, right away, sir,’ the brute said with a tense
smile.

He turned to Louisa and sighed
peevishly. Putting his hands on her arms and shoving her back
toward the station house, he said,
‘All right, Miss, I’m not joking around
now. Get back and stay back or I’ll throw you in leg
irons.’

He gave her one last, resolute shove, then
turned and jogged out ahead of the crowd of curious townsfolk,
flinging his arms out from his sides to usher them back. Another
brute made his way over from the other end of the station house to
help, and soon they had the crowd shuffling backward toward the
street.

Looking up and down the
platform, Louisa saw two more bodyguards stationed along the train,
facing the street. Both were big men with bulges under their
jackets, and while they looked capable enough, unless there were at
least ten more of them on the train, there weren
’t enough of them to foil the
Red River Gang’s imminent raid.

Louisa shifted her eyes between
the duke and his entourage and the group of women chattering to her
left, under the station house
’s overhanging roof. The engine sputtered and
sighed, sending jets of steam skittering over the
cobbles.

Louisa was obviously not going
to be able to talk to the duke, and even if she did, she
wouldn
’t be
taken seriously. No one took a lone girl in farm clothes seriously.
So what she had to do, she decided, was somehow get aboard the
train.

Why she needed to be aboard the
train, she wasn
’t sure.

It was just an irresistible
impulse and, before she knew what she was doing, she was wandering
northward along the track, strolling along the platform toward the
engine, whistling and gazing about her with mindless fascination—
just a country girl admiring the duke
’s fancy train.

As she approached the first
bodyguard down this way, she gave him a big smile and strolled on
past. She gave the second bodyguard the same nonthreatening smile,
pretending to be merely amazed by the big train. Since she
wasn
’t doing
anything to rile the duke or duchess, the bodyguard just nodded at
her amiably and let her go.

She wandered on around the
engine, past the men in bib overalls filling the boiler, and down
the other side of the train, flicking coal cinders from her poncho.
When she was about halfway down the train
’s length, a voice rose from the
other side.

‘
All
aboard, please! All aboard, please, gentlemen and
ladies!’

Alone on this side of the platform, Louisa
quickened her pace and began searching for a spot to board one of
the cars. Since the passenger cars were fairly open, she knew
boarding one of them without being noticed by the embarking
passengers would be impossible.

Boarding the sleeper was out of the
question, too, for steel doors sealed this side of the
vestibule.

As she jogged, stumbling along the cinder
apron, the locomotive gave a high-pitched whistle. The couplings
clattered and the cars screeched as the steel drivers began
grinding, the wheels turning, and the cars began moving north down
the rails.

Louisa stopped, panting, and studied the
train as it moved past her, picking up speed. Coal smoke choked
her. Her hat whipped off her head and hung down her back by its
cord.

‘
Damn
oh damn oh damn!’

The stock cars pounded by, whipping her with
a breeze rife with ammonia and hay.

‘
Oh,
come on, damn you. Come on!’ she pleaded, looking for anything to
grab onto.

Here comes the red caboose. Her last
chance.

In desperation, she leapt for
the rail on the caboose
’s vestibule, and grabbed it with both hands. Half
running, half hanging from the rail, she got her feet up on the
dimpled iron platform, and climbed....

IT WAS PAST eight-thirty before
Prophet had the Chinaman
’s place in sight.

He
’d spent about a half hour visiting
with the Cass County sheriff, but to no avail. The portly lawman,
who seemed a bit too dull-witted for the job, could offer no clue
as to what the Red River Gang might be targeting in Fargo. He
figured it was either one of the banks or the express office
or—Prophet had had to suppress a snort at this—the ladies’
millinery on Third Street.

‘
Mrs.
Norman does a right smart business!’ the man had exclaimed after
seeing the doubt in Prophet’s eyes. ‘Why, ladies from as far away
as Grand Forks come here to buy her hats!’

‘
Maybe
you’d better post a deputy at each of the banks, anyway—just to be
on the safe side,’ Prophet had said as he’d opened the office door
to leave.

The sheriff stood, his jowls
coloring and shaking with anger.
‘I will do that, but I don’t like your
attitude, young man. And I don’t appreciate being told what to do
by a lowly bounty man!’

The sheriff had said more, but
Prophet hadn
’t heard it, because he’d already closed the door behind
him and was making his way up the street to check out the
banks.

Now, having checked them and
deciding two of the three were possibilities, if slim ones, he
pushed through the door of Hung Yick
’s, looking around for Louisa. The place
was busy with shop workers and railroad men, but Prophet didn’t see
Louisa.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, he
frowned. It was five minutes past eight-thirty. Had the black boy
at the hotel forgotten to tell her about breakfast?

Deciding to go ahead and
order—maybe she
’d show up late; she was a woman, after all—he headed for
one of the two empty tables at the back. He paused when he saw the
red-haired deputy Mcllroy, sitting at a table in the corner, a
half-empty plate and papers before him. He was writing on one of
the papers and didn’t look up.

Prophet strode that way.
‘Mind if I sit
down?’

Mcllroy looked up, and Prophet
winced. The man
’s face had swollen around the stitches a doctor had sewn,
and just looking at it made Prophet’s own face ache.

‘
Help
yourself,’ the deputy said, nodding at one of the three vacant
chairs at the oil cloth-covered table.

Prophet sat down and regarded
the deputy, who held his pen out before him in both hands as though
studying it. He was a broken man, Prophet saw. He felt sorry for
the lad. It wasn
’t easy being young in the West, even when you weren’t
wearing a badge.

‘
Writin’ up reports to bring back to your boss?’ Prophet
asked when a girl had brought him coffee and taken his
order.

‘
To
send back to him,’ Mcllroy corrected.

‘
I
see,’ Prophet said with a slow nod, sipping his coffee. ‘You’re
sendin’ the bodies back alone.’

‘
That’s right, Mr. Prophet. I came here to do a job, and I
aim to finish it.’

In spite of his doubt about the
young man
’s
ability to bring the Red River boys to justice, Prophet had to
admire Mcllroy’s spleen.

‘
I can
understand the notion,’ he said. ‘You have any help
coming?’

‘
I’ve
requested four more deputies. I doubt I’ll get any more than one,
two at the most. Most of the men are needed in the Black Hills and
in the northwestern part of the Territory, where the Sioux are on
the rampage.’

When Prophet
didn
’t say
anything, Mcllroy said, ‘Have you come up with the reason the gang
is headed to Fargo?’

‘
No,’
Prophet said with a sigh. ‘Not a thing.’ He was looking around for
Louisa. Not seeing her and growing concerned, he turned to Mcllroy.
‘What about you? You come up with any ideas?’

‘
Just
this,’ the young man said, slipping a newspaper out from under the
report he’d been writing. He dropped the paper before Prophet, who
frowned down at the first page, reading the twenty-point
headline:
royal train to stop in fargo.
Below it, in slightly smaller
letters: ‘Duke and Duchess of Dunston-Abbey Bound for the Duchess’s
Birthday Ranch in Montana.’ Between that and the article there was
one more subheading: ‘Many Prominent Britishers on Board Birthday
Train!’

‘
Holy
shit,’ Prophet mumbled, scanning the lengthy article. ‘When’s this
train gettin’ to town, any—?’ He stopped and stared at the
red-haired deputy. ‘This mornin’.’