Fire on the Plains (Western Fire) (30 page)

When
Ben reached the second floor landing, he espied the other man standing in front of a closed door. As the blue-clad soldier balanced the supper tray in one hand, he tried, unsuccessfully, to unlock the door with the other.

Plastering an amiable grin onto his face, Ben
ambled up to the guard. “Hey there. How ya doin’?” he greeted the man in his best southern drawl.

“
Muy bien
,” the Mexican answered as he jiggled a skeleton key in the lock.

Ben pointed to the supper tray. “Are them vittles for Mrs. Strong?”

“
Sí
.” The soldier again fumbled with the key.

“I hope you don’t mind if I
help myself to that supper tray,” Ben said just before he whipped out his Colt revolver and clouted the man on the back of head with his pistol butt. With his free hand, he grabbed the covered tray just before the Mexican slumped to the floor in an unconscious heap.

Quickly holstering
his sidearm, Ben unlocked the door. A few seconds later, as he stepped across the threshold, he was staggered by the sight that greeted him: standing in the middle of a lavishly appointed bedroom, Lydia was industriously engaged in tying two large bed sheets together.

Caught unawares,
she gasped loudly.

“
Looks like I got here just in time,” Ben muttered as he set the supper tray on a marble-topped bureau. “Unless I’m greatly mistaken, you’re about two bed sheets too short.”

Lydia tossed the
bedding aside and rushed toward him. “What in heaven’s name are you doing here?”

“I thought you might be hungry.”

“This is no time for jokes, Ben. You must immediately leave the mansion!”

Now t
hat’s one helluva welcome. Christ, I just got here.

Annoyed by the chilly reception
, Ben strode over to the open doorway. Grabbing the unconscious Mexican soldier by his boot heels, he dragged the man into the bedroom, unceremoniously dumping him near the four-poster bed. That done, he closed the door.

“Did Beaumont harm you in any way?” he
brusquely inquired, determined to keep his anger in check. Now wasn’t the time to rake Lydia over the coals.

“In that one regard, Colonel Beaumont has been a perfect gentleman,”
Lydia assured him.

“For once, I’m glad to hear it.”

Absolutely shocked that Ben had come to her rescue, Lydia’s stomach muscles painfully tightened.
Didn’t he know that he isn’t supposed to be here?

“
You must pay heed to me, Ben. Colonel Beaumont
will
kill you if he discovers you on the premises,” she said in an urgent tone, certain that her husband’s brash heroics would have dire consequences.

“Who says
that I’m gonna get caught?” Ben punctuated the retort with an unconcerned shrug.

Terrified
that his insouciance would prove his undoing, Lydia grabbed her husband by the arm, her fingers digging into the woolen fabric of his tunic. “Clearly, you’re unable to grasp the severity of the situation. The Colonel swore to me that he would shoot you on sight if you attempted to foil his plans.”

“Is that why you agreed to come to Mexico
with him?” Ben demanded to know, his mouth sternly set beneath his swooping mustache.

Not seeing the point in lying, Lydia
dejectedly nodded her head. Because of her foolish attempt to adjudicate what she had perceived as a miscarriage of justice, her husband’s life was now in grave danger. Ben had been right all along about Colonel Beaumont. But she had refused to believe him. Moreover, she had gone behind his back, betraying the trust that he had placed in her.

For the last four days, the shame of what she’d done had been nearly unbea
rable.

Determined to save her husband
from certain death, Lydia framed Ben’s stubbled face between her hands. “I’m
begging
you to leave before Colonel Beaumont discovers you on the premises. Please, Ben. Go.
Now!
”

“I’m not leaving without you, Lydia. If I have to, I’ll knock you unconscious and carry you over my shoulder. So, what’s it going to be? Are you with me or are you against me?”

Lydia’s hands fell away from her husband’s face. She could see it in his eyes; there was nothing that she could do to steer Ben from the course he’d set. A course that she feared would end in his execution at the hands of a powerful adversary.

And all because of my foolis
h actions.

“I’m waiting for an answer, Lydia
.”

Stalemated, she resignedly nodded her head. “I am with you.
” If they were apprehended, she would do everything within her power – beg, plead, barter – to convince Colonel Beaumont to spare Ben’s life. She had, after all, managed that very feat once before.

“All right then
. Listen up. As near as I can tell, all of the guards inside
the house are Mexican. That means we should be able to stroll down the stairs and exit through the front door without anyone giving us a second glance.”

“But the Imperial soldiers know
that I’m being held against my will,” Lydia informed Ben, worried that his plan was doomed to failure. “Surely, they’ll try to stop us.”

“Since the Mexicans think
that I’m one of Beaumont’s men, that’s unlikely to happen.” One side of Ben’s mouth twisted in a cocky smirk. “In case you haven’t notice, Mrs. Strong, I’m garbed head to foot in Confederate gray. So if a Mexican soldier does stop us on the way to the front door, I’ll tell him that Beaumont wants to see you.”

“And once we get outside the house
, what happens then?”

“That’
s where it gets a little tricky.” As he spoke, Ben walked over to the nearest window. Pulling back the drapery, he perused the grounds of the mansion. “My horse is out front. But because Beaumont and his men are also out front, we’re gonna sneak around back to where the stables are located.” He let the drapery fall back into place as he turned away from the window. “Then, all we have to do is find a hitched wagon and ride out of here.”

“
While you may be able to pull the wool over the Imperial guards’ eyes with your gray uniform, I have no such disguise,” Lydia remarked, pointing out the glitch in his daring plan. “And do you
really
think that Maximilian’s soldiers will simply let us drive through the front gate, no questions asked?”

“
There’s only one way to find out.” Leaning over the unconscious soldier, Ben plucked the revolver from his holster. To Lydia’s surprise, he then handed it to her.

“What’s this for?” she asked, warily eyeing the firearm.

“For safekeeping.” Putting a hand on the small of her back, Ben urged her toward the door. “Come on. We’ve tarried long enough. In a short while, all hell is gonna break loose. We need to escape before that happens.”

Resigned to her fate, uncertain as it was, Lydia slipped the revolver into her skirt pocket. As
she did, she caught Ben staring intently at her silver wedding band.

In that emotionally charged
moment, it suddenly dawned on her that she’d not said any of the things that she so desperately wanted to say to him.

“I know
that you’ll find this hard to believe, Ben, but I am truly sorry for what—”

“I don’t have time to listen to your yammering,”
Ben interjected as he swung open the bedroom door. “From here on out, I do all the talking.
Comprende?
”

Lydia
despondently nodded. Although hurt by his brusque dismissal of her apology, she could hardly blame Ben for his refusal to listen to her explanation. He’d risked his life sneaking into the compound to find her. And now he was about to risk his life, yet again, to garner her freedom. He had every right to be furious with her.

As they descended the
winding staircase, Lydia’s heart began to erratically pound against breastbone.

“I have no desire to die,” she whispered
a few moments later when they reached the front door, terrified of what they would find on the other side of the entryway.

“And if you think I do, think again,” Ben muttered as he reached for the door knob.

Acting on an impulse, Lydia wrapped a hand around Ben’s wrist. “No matter what fate awaits us, I want you to know that I love you and . . . and these last weeks of marriage have meant more to me than . . . than. . . .” Lydia’s voice faltered, the heartfelt sentiments silenced by her husband’s intimidating glower.

“This isn’t the time or the pla
ce to talk about our marriage,” Ben admonished just before he yanked the door open.

S
truck by a blinding burst of bright sunshine, Lydia raised a protective hand to her eyes, shielding them from the glare.

“Put your hand down,” Ben hissed out of the side of his mouth. “I don’t want you drawing any attention to yourself.
Although with that red hair of yours, I figure I’m asking for a miracle.”

Obediently, Lydia lowered her hand. “I can’t help the color of my hair. Just as you can’t help your obnoxious temperament.”

“Sounds like you’re back in fighting form, Mrs. Strong. I’d forgotten how shrill that harpy’s tongue can be.”

About to take exception to
the derogatory remark, Lydia instead clamped her mouth shut as she caught sight of three blue-clad Imperial soldiers headed in their direction.

Unperturbed
, Ben politely tipped his hat and said, “How are you boys doing?”

To
Lydia’s astonishment, the soldiers nodded and continued on their way, showing no interest in them whatsoever. Relieved, she released a pent-up breath, actually experiencing a faint stirring of hope.

By the
time they reached the stables, that faint stirring had become much stronger. In large measure because none of the Mexican soldiers that they’d passed had paid them any attention. Unbelievably, Ben’s outlandish plan was actually working.

Perhaps
we really can escape the compound undetected.

Cuffing
a hand around her elbow, Ben pulled Lydia behind a large covered wagon that was hitched to a team of horses. “I’m just going to make sure that the horses are properly hitched,” he said before releasing his hold on her elbow. “While I’m doing that, I want you to stand at the back of the wagon and keep a look-out.”

As
Ben approached the team of horses, he bit back a pleased smile. So far, his plan had gone like clockwork.
Christ, all of that worry for nothing.

A few moments later, after a quick check of the
riggings, he strode to the rear of the wagon, a jaunty hitch in his step. “No need to worry. We’re about to make good our escape,” he said in a confident tone of voice, hoping to allay Lydia’s fears.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad new
s, but you’re not out of the woods just yet.”

At hearing that lazy southern draw
l, Ben instinctively spun on his heel as he drew his Colt out of the holster.

Unfortunately,
he was too late.

Standing six feet away
from him, Percy Beaumont had one hand clamped over Lydia’s mouth. In the other hand, he held a loaded gun to his wife’s head.

“
Sir, it would appear that you’ve been promoted from a Yankee captain to a Confederate sergeant.”

“Just how the hell did you know
that I was here?” Ben rasped, his gut painfully tightening at the sight of Lydia’s terror-stricken expression.

The question met with a
gloating smile, Percy Beaumont well aware that he had the upper hand. “Several minutes ago, Sergeant Washburn staggered through the front gates scantily clad and complaining that someone had knocked him unconscious. It was simple enough to deduce who that ‘someone’ might be.”

“That’s what I get for
turning soft on you damn Rebs,” Ben muttered. “I should have killed the big bastard instead of clunking him over the head.”

“
On behalf of Sergeant Washburn, I commend you for practicing such laudable restraint.” Beaumont jutted his chin at the patch of dirt in front of Ben’s boot tips “Now, if you would kindly place your revolver on the ground. The time has long since passed for well-intended, but misguided heroics.”

Cursing under his breath, Ben did as ordered.
He didn’t want to give Beaumont an excuse to use the powerful LeMat revolver that he still held pressed to Lydia’s right temple. A favorite with the Confederate cavalry, a LeMat could blow a man, or a woman, clean in half.

When, a few seconds later,
Beaumont lowered the pistol, Ben heaved a grateful sigh of relief.

With an almost nonchalant air, t
he Southerner stepped away from Lydia and sauntered over to the surrendered weapon. “You do know, Mrs. Strong, that all along your husband rightly saw he and I for what we truly are, adversaries of war,” he remarked conversationally as he kicked the Colt revolver to the other side of the stable yard.

“
While that was certainly true at one time, since General Lee’s surrender, all of that has changed,” Lydia argued with a surprising amount of gumption.

“General Lee may have surrendered, but I can assure you, dear lady, that I have not. Nor will I
ever
surrender,” Beaumont emphatically stated as he motioned for Lydia to stand beside Ben.

“
So now what happens?” Ben rasped, not in the mood to hear any tripe about the South rising from the ashes.

“
Having won the bout, I intend to claim, not only the field, but the lovely Mrs. Strong, as well.”

Enraged, Ben’s hands curled into fists as he
impulsively lunged forward. The instant he did, Beaumont pistol-whipped him in the jaw with the butt of his LeMat, effectively ending Ben’s attack before it ever started.

“How dare you hit an unarmed man!” Lydia berated
as she rushed to Ben’s side. Using her dress sleeve, she gently wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth.

“Hell, I suspect he’s hit
plenty of men while they were down and out,” Ben muttered, the pain in his jaw radiating to the base of his spine.

Beaumont clucked his tongue. “
Tut, tut
, Captain Strong. You should be ashamed to use such coarse language in front of a lady.”

“She’s heard worse.”

“Given that you are a belligerent and backward farmer, no doubt she has. Indeed, I’ve often wondered why your charming wife ever accepted your hand in marriage.”

“
My husband is a brave, noble and good-hearted man. And
that
is the reason why
I
asked Benjamin Strong to marry
me
,” Lydia asserted in a strident tone of voice. “
You
, on the other hand, are a maniacal, self-serving popinjay! Now that we’ve clarified that matter, I demand to know what you intend to do with us.”

“
Your husband has been a thorn in my side since the day I rescued him from the Comanche Indians,” Beaumont snarled, finally dropping his veneer of civility. “And had it not been for you and your charming daughter, I would have left him to the savages. As to what I intend to do with Captain Strong, I would have thought that rather obvious: he shall be executed by a military firing squad.”

While the announcement came as no surprise to Ben,
his wife was clearly stunned.

“
How . . . how could you commit such . . . such a barbaric act?” Lydia sputtered, placing a splayed hand over her heart.

“Such is the nature of war, as your husband will surely attest.
” Stepping over to the wagon, Beaumont shoved the LeMat into his gun holster before opening the tailgate. “Now, sir, if you will kindly step into the back of the wagon, I will escort you from the compound. Such unpleasantness is best conducted away from prying eyes.”

“
Precisely the reason why I want
you
to get into the back of the wagon, Colonel Beaumont.”

The
quietly spoken order caused Percy Beaumont to abruptly turn towards Lydia. Catching sight of the loaded revolver clutched between her two hands – a revolver that was aimed directly at his heart – he looked like a man who’d just had the proverbial carpet pulled out from under him.

Ben offered up a quick prayer
of thanks, having wondered when Lydia would finally remember the pistol that he’d given to her for safekeeping. At one point, when she’d been wiping the blood from his face, he’d been half-way tempted to finesse a hand into her pocket and make a grab for the revolver himself.

“And you would be well-advised,
Colonel Beaumont,
not
to reach for your holstered weapon.”

Cocking his head to one side
, Percy Beaumont took Lydia’s measure. Then, smirking slightly, he said, “For all of your bravado, Mrs. Strong, I don’t believe for one moment that you possess the wherewithal to shoot me.”

“
Then you’re a bigger damn fool than I originally thought,” Ben informed his adversary. “Trust me, she shot and killed more fearsome men than you during that Comanche raid.”

“It is true,” Lydia
confirmed with a solemn nod of the head. “Moreover, I will do whatever I must to safeguard my husband.”

Hearing that, the smirk vanished from Beaumont’s face.
“Such devotion is truly admirably, dear lady.”

“Yeah,
it is, isn’t it?” Ben chimed in, grateful, and proud, to be the recipient of Lydia’s devotion. As his wife continued to keep her weapon trained on Beaumont, he stepped over and snatched the LeMat pistol out of the Southerner’s holster. Then, taking aim at Beaumont’s forehead, he smiled mirthlessly and said, “Just so we’re clear: I not only possess the wherewithal, I have a burning desire to pull the trigger. And, trust me, it wouldn’t take much provocation.”

Beaumont
mockingly bowed at the waist. “It would appear then that the field is yours, Sir Benjamin.”

“You’re damned right it is
. And I intend to—”

Just
then, the ground beneath them rumbled as a mortar shell slammed into the stone wall that surrounded the compound.

“What was that?” Lydia shrieked
, her face marred with fear.

“
That
was the sound of all hell breaking loose,” Ben informed her, the Juaristas having launched their attack right on time.

In the next instant
, another artillery shell slammed into the compound, shattering several windows on the mansion. Lydia screamed as she frantically swung her head to-and-fro, searching for the unseen enemy. She wasn’t the only one. Having been caught off guard by the surprise attack, panic-stricken Imperial soldiers ran pell-mell across the stable yard.

“Quick! Climb aboard the wagon
! It’s time to clear out of here,” Ben shouted over the rumbling din. “And don’t worry about the fireworks. It’s just Colonel Montoya and the Juaristas come to the rescue.”

“Juaristas!”
Lydia exclaimed as she scrambled onto the wagon seat.

Another shell
struck the walled enclave, causing the ground to shake beneath their feet. Neither Ben nor Percy Beaumont so much as twitched a muscle. Having endured four years of warfare, they were both accustomed to the deafening sounds of battle.

“Listen, Beaumont, I don’t have time to stand around and jaw with
you. Just tell me straight out: Where’s the gold?”

The Southerner
chortled condescendingly. “Ah! You must be referring to the Confederate treasury. It’s a king’s ransom, to be certain. And just what do you intend to do with your ill-gotten gains? Garment yourself in ermine and velvet? Cover your wife in costly jewels?”

Lydia clutched the wagon reins in her hands, her disbelief plainly visible. “Ben, please tell me that you didn’t go to all this trouble just to
obtain the Confederate treasury?”

“
You know full well that I didn’t come here for the gold. The only reason that I came to Mexico was to rescue you. But now that I’m here, there’s nothing to stop me from retrieving the gold so that I can turn it over to the United States government.”

Unbowed, Beaumont said,
“Given that I would willingly sacrifice my life for the Southland, do you think that I would actually turn over the Confederate treasury to you, the enemy, simply because you asked me to? I would rather die a thousand deaths than to grease your palm with one gold coin.”

His patience at an end,
Ben stuffed the LeMat into his holster. Then, ignoring his wife, ignoring the swarm of Imperial soldiers, ignoring the deafening roar of Juarista artillery fire, he grabbed Percy Beaumont by his uniform lapels.

“You know, Beaumont, I’ve had all the flowery speechifying a man can take.”
It was the only warning Ben gave before he slammed his right fist into Percy Beaumont’s jaw, the force of that single blow sending the other man tumbling to the ground.

“For God
’s sake, Ben! What are you doing?”

“I would think that’s obvious.” Bending
at the waist, he hauled Beaumont back onto his booted feet. “That first punch was for what you did to Lydia.” With unabashed pleasure, Ben rammed his fist into the Southerner’s handsome face a second time. “And
that
was for all of the Union soldiers who died by your hand.”

Though he managed
this time to stay on his feet, Beaumont nonetheless floundered like a drunken soldier on payday.

Rearing back his arm, Ben threw everything he had into the next blow.
“And
that
was for making me wear those damn gray britches.”

As Beaumont slid down the side of the supply wagon
in an ungainly heap, Ben stood over top of sprawled Southerner. Clenching and unclenching his right fist, he gave silent notice that he was fully prepared to continue with the shellacking.

“
The g-gold is in the w-wagon . . . in the black trunk,” Beaumont rasped, barely able to get the words past his bloodied lips.

Ben turned to Lydia. “Quick
! Check the wagon bed and see if he’s telling the truth.”

Owl-eyed,
Lydia hurriedly wrapped the horses’ reins around the brake handle before scurrying into the back of the wagon. A moment later, she poked her head between the canvas flaps at the rear of the wagon. “The black trunk is here. As well as a very large, strange-looking weapon.”

The Gatling gun
!

Smiling broadly
, Ben slammed his fist into Beaumont’s face a final time.

“What was that for?” Lydia
screeched.

Ben bent over and hefted the
unconscious Confederate colonel over his shoulder. “That one was just for the hell of it,” he said as he unceremoniously tossed his gray-suited cargo into the back of the wagon. Satisfied that Beaumont wasn’t going anywhere any time soon, Ben headed to the front of the wagon on the double-quick, vaulting onto the wagon seat. “And before you throw a fuss,” he said to Lydia, “Percy Beaumont is too dangerous to be left behind. Not to mention, the Lord helps those who help themselves.”

“What does
that
mean?”

Ben slapped the reins down on the horses’ backsides. “It means that I intend to help myself to that five thousand dollar bounty.”

A few moments later, the wagon lurched to one side as Ben maneuvered around a pack of Imperial soldiers. Since he was dressed in Confederate gray, they paid him no mind.

However
the mounted Confederate cavalrymen galloping toward the wagon were another matter altogether.

“Damn that Starkweather,” Ben
snarled when he caught sight of the junior officer. Ready to give as good as he got, he thrust the wagon reins into Lydia’s hands. “Steer the wagon towards the front gate. And if anyone tries to stop you, run ‘em down.”

Unholstering the LeMat revolver, Ben surged to his feet, grabbing hold of a steel wagon bow to steady his aim. About to send Starkweather to meet his
Maker, at the last moment he fired his weapon over the Confederate’s head, hoping the other man would heed the warning.