Riding With the Devil's Mistress (Lou Prophet Western #3) (16 page)

Prophet chuckled at the thought, but not for
long. There was work to be done.

He sighed deeply and cleared
his throat, scowling away the memory of Cordelia
’s opulent breasts in his
hands, and scooting higher against the headboard. It was time to
give some thought to his next course of action against the Red
River Gang.

Pondering the situation, he remembered
Louisa telling him to meet her in Fargo tomorrow. He remembered
from his study of a map on a stage station wall some time ago that
Fargo lay about fifty miles north of Wahpeton, also on the Red
River of the north. Larger than Wahpeton, it had become a major
river port for Dakota Territory as well as northwestern Minnesota.
The Northern Pacific Railway had laid track through there as well,
and the town had become a major stopping-off place for immigrants
heading west.

Had Louisa learned the gang was
headed that way? She must have. How she had, Prophet
didn
’t
bother to guess. The honey-haired Miss Bonaventure was pure-dee
hell with the fires out, and if she told him to head to Fargo, you
can damn well bet it wasn’t for a barn dance.

Thinking of her, he smiled
ruefully and shook his head. No seasoned lawmen had yet been able
to sink their teeth into that gang, but here she was, knocking them
off one by one. How she
’d gotten by with it so far was a mystery. Prophet
guessed that being such a sweet-talking, innocent-looking girl had
helped. And so had her patience, not to mention her methodical,
relentless tracking abilities.

Also on her side was the keen
yet subtle madness Prophet had seen in her eyes. The girl may have
been only sixteen years old in body, but what
she
’d seen
happen to her family had made her soul as old as the moon and
stars. He’d seen people age like that during the War Between the
States—hell, it had happened to him—and he knew that once that
innocence was lost, there was no getting it back.

So Fargo it was, he thought,
tossing his covers back and dropping his feet to the floor. In
Fargo, he
’d
meet Louisa and they’d take it from there ...

He dressed in a clean pair of
denims and buckskin shirt, and stomped into his undershot boots as
soft as
moccasins, then wrapped his gunbelt around his waist and
donned his hat. He descended the stairs and nearly ran into
Cordelia coming out of the kitchen with a bowl of scrambled
eggs.

They smiled at each other
lustily. Cordelia saw one of the regular boarders starting down the
stairs and cleared her throat. She arranged an impartial expression
and said,
‘Good morning, Mr. Prophet. Sleep well?’

‘
I
sure did, Mrs. Ryan,’ Prophet said, following her into the dining
room and removing his hat. ‘Very well, indeed.’ He wanted to
inquire about the condition of the girl, but knew it would have to
wait until after breakfast. One did not inquire in public about
such a delicate matter as rape.

Prophet stepped up to the table and frowned
when he saw three strange men seated amidst the regulars before the
long, oval table covered with a white cloth, glistening china, and
steaming coffee cups. The men examined him critically as Prophet
reached for a chair, and the bounty hunter measured them in
turn.

They were all so young and
well-dressed and carefully groomed, with such confident eyes and
smiles, that they reminded Prophet of the young, green, well-bred
cavalry officers he
’d known back during the Little Misunderstanding. The
resemblance was so keen, in fact, he nearly shuddered. The
negligent leadership of such men—or boys, rather—had been
responsible for the needless slaughter of so many of Prophet’s
friends and family.

‘
Mr.
Prophet,’ Cordelia said, when she’d put down the
egg
bowl, ‘as you can
see, we have three newcomers. They appeared last night, and
Annabelle let them in. Gentlemen, would you introduce yourselves to
Mr. Prophet and the other boarders while I fetch the rest of the
meal?’

‘
We
certainly will, Mrs. Ryan,’ said the darkest of the three young
men. His glittering eyes followed Cordelia’s backside from the room
before sliding back to Prophet, the trace of a an appreciative leer
lingering on his lips.

Immediately, Prophet
didn
’t like
him. He was tall, pale, and thin, with a full head of black hair
and a carefully combed mustache the blue-black of
anthracite.

‘
I’m
Abel Montgomery,’ he said, and, turning to his compatriots seated
on his right, added, ‘this is Ezekial Mcllroy and Edward Fontana.
We’re deputy U.S. marshals out of Yankton, Dakota Territory. We
were in the area when we heard about the Red River Gang tearing
through your town the other day. We’re here to bring them to
justice.’

Smiling, very pleased with
himself, he glanced around the table, as if waiting for applause.
The old people watched him dully. One of the checker players
wrinkled his nose and shook his head, shakily lifting his coffee to
his lips. Two withered ladies whispered in each
other
’s
ears.

Prophet stared at the three
young men in their boiled shirts and brushed vests and blemished
faces, barely able to keep from laughing. So these were the lawmen
they
’d sent
after the Red River Gang? Inwardly, Prophet shook his head. Hell
would freeze over and the devil would have icicles in his beard
before these three even got close to taking down that
bunch.

‘
You
boys done anted up for a whole pack of trouble when you signed up
to take down the Red River Gang,’ Prophet warned.

Flushing, the three took
exception with being called
‘boys.’ Their eyes fell to Prophet and set up like
pudding.

‘
We
know exactly who and what we’re up against, Mr. Prophet,’ the
red-haired deputy Mcllroy announced self-righteously. ‘We’ve
studied all the paper we could find on this gang.’

‘
Have
you ever met up with any of ‘em?’

‘
No,
but we didn’t have to, to know who and what they are,’ said Edward
Fontana, a short, sandy-haired lad. ‘They’re lead by Handsome Dave
Duvall and his number-one henchman, Dayton Flowers. Both spent time
in Arizona’s Yuma Prison, where they met, and together they’ve
robbed stage coaches and banks across the West for the past six
years. They kill flagrantly and with apparent glee, and often
torture their victims. They’re also kidnappers and
rape—’

‘
That’ll be enough business talk now, gentlemen,’ Cordelia
announced as she strode into the room with a platter of bacon and a
bowl of fried potatoes. When she’d set the food on the table, she
folded her hands before her and turned to one of the checker
players. ‘Floyd, would you mind saying grace this morning,
please?’

No more was said on the topic, but over
breakfast, the three deputies eyed Prophet derisively, taking his
measure again and again and never appearing to like the tally.
Keeping the peace, Prophet merely grinned and forked potatoes into
his mouth.

When he
’d finished eating, he took his
coffee cup out to the porch. As he knew they would, the deputies
followed him. They lined up before him, glaring down icily under
the broad brims of their hats, their black boots polished to high
shines. The sandy-haired Fontana was smoking a slim cheroot.
Prophet glimpsed Montgomery’s badge peeking out from behind his
vest.

When they
didn
’t
speak, Prophet looked around and said affably, ‘Looks like it’s
gonna make a nice one today. This far north, you never know what
kind o’ weather the good Lord’s gonna bless us with.’

Montgomery
’s eyes remained frigid. ‘Last
night we learned from Mrs. Ryan’s helper, a Miss Annabelle, that
you rescued a girl back from the gang over in Wahpeton.’ His voice
was friendly enough, but Prophet could tell it was a strain for
him. ‘We appreciate that, Mr. Prophet. From now on, however, we
respectfully request that you stay out of this affair. It’s our job
now to bring the Red River Gang to justice.’

Prophet poked his hat back from
his forehead and gazed
up at the deputies troubledly. ‘You boys know
where they are and where they’re headed?’

‘
We
have reason to believe they’re headed for Fargo, and then Grand
Forks,’ Mcllroy said, his red hair catching the morning sun beneath
his snuff-colored hat. ‘They’ll rob a bank in Fargo, one in Grand
Forks, then head to Canada. That’s been their pattern, once every
year for the past three years.’

Montgomery added,
‘Then no one will
see them again for another six months, when they’ll show up farther
west, heading south and starting their vicious, rampaging arc all
over again, starting with the gold camps in Wyoming.’

Prophet nodded, admiring their knowledge of
the gang. It was one thing to gather information, however, and
another to bring down a small army of badmen.

‘
Maybe
I should throw in with you b—’ He stopped himself, cracked a smile.
‘Marshals.’

In unison, all three shook
their heads.
‘You have bounty hunter written all over you, Prophet,’
Montgomery growled.

‘
And
we don’t cotton to bounty hunters,’ Fontana added, wrinkling his
slender nose as though detecting dog droppings.

‘
So
stay out of it, Mr. Prophet,’ Mcllroy warned. ‘If we see you or
hear of you out there, within twenty square miles of us, we’ll
arrest you for interfering with the duties of federal law
enforcers.’

Prophet studied them with an
incredulous frown.
‘You boys sure take yourselves serious,’ he said, raking
his eyes across their fancy six-shooters prominently displayed and
secured to their thighs with leather thongs. Then he raised his
hands and dropped them to his knees. ‘But have it your
way.’

‘
That’ll be all, Mr. Prophet,’ Montgomery said, as though
dismissing him. But it was they who turned and headed back into the
boarding house.

They reappeared five minutes
later, carrying rifles, war bags, and bedrolls. They
didn
’t so
much as glance at Prophet as they crossed the porch, descended the
steps, and filed off toward the livery barn for their
horses.

Cordelia stepped outside and
gazed after them for several seconds before turning to Prophet,
who
’d
finished his coffee and was smoking a cigarette, his right boot
hiked on his left knee, hat tipped back on his head.

‘
Do
they have any chance at all, Lou?’

‘
Yeah,’ Prophet said with a sigh. ‘But a very slim one.
How’s the girl?’

‘
Still
sleeping. She’s pretty beat up. She’ll probably sleep the rest of
the day and maybe even tomorrow. I dread her waking up and having
to tell her that both her parents are dead.’

Prophet looked around to see if
anyone was watching, then reached out and took
Cordelia
’s
hand in his, caressed her tender skin with his thumb.

She dropped her eyes to him and
offered a fragile smile. Her words were not fragile at all,
however, when she said,
‘Make them pay for what they did here, Lou. I’m
normally a Christian kind of woman, but what they did here wasn’t
Christian, and they should be treated accordingly. I know those
boys with badges can’t do it, so you’ll have to do it. You’re the
only one.’

‘
I
know,’ Prophet said, nodding.

‘
Do
you think you can, Lou? Do you think you can get all of
them?’

‘
I
think so.’ With a certain little farm girl’s help, he thought with
a grim light in his eyes.

He stubbed out his cigarette, stood, and
hugged Cordelia tightly, then went inside for his gear. When he
came back carrying his shotgun and rifle, Cordelia was still
standing on the porch.

‘
Will
you be back?’

Prophet grinned.
‘I have to come
back. I left a pile of dirty clothes on the floor up in my
room.’

He looked around cautiously again, then
kissed her full on the lips, gave her a wink, and walked off the
porch and around back to the carriage shed.

When he
’d rigged out Mean and Ugly, he rode
the horse south to Main Street. He stopped on a corner by the
barbershop when he saw the three deputy marshals leading their
saddled mounts down the livery barn’s ramp. Looking serious and
businesslike, the three lads adjusted their stirrups,
double-checked their cinches, donned their cream dusters, and
tightened the chin straps so their hats wouldn’t fly off their
heads. Exchanging official nods, they mounted up and gigged their
horses eastward, primly ignoring the dogs that ran out to bark at
their horses.

Again remembering the dangerous
officers in charge of his ill-fated company during the War, Prophet
shook his head, glanced around, and gigged the line-back dun to the
gunsmith shop up the street to his left. When he
’d bought a good supply of
shells for his shotgun, rifle, and Peacemaker, he headed over to
the barbershop. Getting a shave and a haircut would kill enough
time for those three badge-toting younkers to get a safe distance
ahead of him. He didn’t want to see them any worse than they wanted
to see him. They were the very picture of meat headed for the
grinder, and they gave him the willies.