The Company of Strangers

Jantallian

8

Unaware of the accolades she was receiving about her prowess with a rifle and the reliability of her observation – both of which were justified – Chantal had taken refuge in the hay barn. She figured it was a less likely place to search for her and Traveller than the horse barn, added to which it had two exits and a good look-out from the loft. Ok, she had promised Jess she would head for cover and even for Denver, but there was no way that was going to happen now. Chantal reasoned that, however angry breaking her word made him, he would prefer her to use her common sense and stay alive and uncaptured if she could. Fortunately, her search had been successful and she was now armed with a rifle as well as the knife.

She watched with astonishment as the buggy hurled past on the track to the house. Despite the perilous situation, she could not help grinning at her father's driving – Jehu himself would be hard put to keep up with it! She held her breath until the equipage disappeared through the gate into the courtyard. At least they were moderately safe – but so much for all the elaborate activity in order to free her father! Now they were back more or less where they had started, except that the enemy knew what was going on and the pursuing party was already laying down fire cover aimed at inching their way up to the summit.

There was answering fire from at least three rifles in the house. Jess, presumably, and her father, obviously, and Jim Dark, probably. They seemed to be holding off the advancing men. Then, unaccountably, the defenders began to retreat. Maybe they were running out of ammunition? Chantal caught her breath as the attackers stormed up the climb and swiftly disappeared through the gate. The sound of gunfire became muffled, as if it were coming from inside the building. That made sense, if the defenders were taking cover.

Suddenly, to her total surprise, the buggy shot out of the gate again. Behind it ran a man, dragging the huge iron gate closed behind him. No sooner had he done so than he leapt into the seat, seized the reins from the driver and sent the buggy thundering back down the path in a most hair-raising fashion. Chantal grinned. The manner of this descent was pretty typical of what she would expect from Jess, but the man had been too tall. Her father, again, then. He just hated being driven by anyone else!

The buggy skidded to a halt in the middle of the yard. Chantal waited to see what would happen next. Her fervent wish was to make sure her father, exasperating though he was at times, was safe and free – a desire which was entirely reciprocated! But the situation was so volatile that she was not sure of the best course of action and there was no point in acting rashly. This proved a sensible decision.

"My dear Mrs Dark, whatever are you doing, charging about the countryside like this?" It was Emory Turner. "And who is your gentleman friend? Not another gunslinger, I sincerely hope? As a widow in mourning, I would expect more decorum from you." He was standing just inside the door of the horse-barn; two men were behind him and Chantal caught the glint of a rifle from the open hatch of its loft.

Before June could open her mouth, Armand said dryly, "I think you know perfectly well who I am, Emory."

"I – why, can it be? Armand Picard? I had no idea –" The dissimulation was well done. "You must pardon my initial reaction! Do let me offer you my hospitality."

Unfortunately the smooth attempt at deception was completely wasted, since four other people knew exactly what hospitality Armand had suffered. The fact that he had been blindfolded was not, as it were, going to pull the wool over anyone else's eyes.

Armand turned his head towards the house, where sporadic gunfire could still be heard. "Your hospitality is rapidly losing its attraction for me, Emory!" His voice was still as dry as the best white wine he imported. "I suggest you give up this pretence and surrender to the law now."

"Law? I don't see any lawmen to surrender to," Emory said smoothly.

"In that case, I must make the arrest myself!"

Chantal's breath choked in her throat as her father raised his rifle. Three shots rang out almost simultaneously. Armand's missed Turner by a hair's breadth, but the first shot from the barn-loft blasted the rifle from his hands and the second ripped through the hood of the buggy, leaving no doubt that the occupants were in acute danger.

"I suggest you abandon any such idea," Turner retorted. "You are covered and out-gunned. You have no back-up, since my men have pinned down any support you might be relying on. Thank your lucky stars you're not a dead man!"

No sooner had he said this than Chantal put three bullets neatly between his feet, as Jess had taught her ("don't go aimin' higher unless you mean it!").

"The next one is going straight through your hat, Turner!" she yelled. "Tell your men to throw down their weapons or you'll be the dead man!"

The man in the loft aimed for her, but Chantal was quicker and snapped off a shot which sent him dodging back for cover. "I mean it!" She took careful aim and blasted another bullet perilously close to the hat in question.

Turner made an angry gesture and the two men with him threw down their guns. Armand was quick to jump from the buggy, retrieve his own weapon and sight on the man in the loft. "You too!" Moments later the rifle thudded down to join the others. Armand scooped them up and backed off to the buggy. He handed one to June and tossed the rest in the back. Then he gestured to Turner. "Over there, face the wall and get your hands up!"

Chantal remained where she was. Having Turner covered was all important, however much she wanted to join in the pleasure of tying up this rogue and his thugs. Besides, they did not know how the fight in the house had turned out. The gunfire had ceased. Could two men hold out against the dozen attacking them? Or had they been captured? It was impossible to tell, but she could do nothing about that. Common sense suggested remaining where she had some kind of protection. Chantal was not always sensible: in fact impetuosity might have been her middle name. No doubt this was what made her a kindred spirit to Jess, in whom there was a very similar tendency to jump in with both feet without thinking. But she remembered that she had given her word. There would be a blistering row about breaking it and almost certainly another over plaiting her loose hair into a braid because it was more practical in the circumstances. No sense in compounding her guilt by coming out of hiding when she had taken the sensible precaution of being safe. She stayed where she was.

But not for long. Soon she could re-join her father, for, as she watched triumphantly, June found rope in the barn and immobilised the men, while Armand kept them covered. Chantal might have been forgiven for a small smirk of pride as she reflected that the three of them had rounded up the leaders of this scheme without any help from Jess or Jim.

Her triumph was violently cut short.

"You little bitch!" The rifle was wrenched from her hands and flung out of the loft door into the yard. She felt the cold, flat blade of a knife against her neck. "I knew there was something between you and that gunslick!" Rick Turner caught hold of her plaited hair and forced her to turn towards him. "You cut him down, didn't you?"

When she did not answer, he twisted the hair even tighter, sending stabs of agony through her scalp. She was rapidly reviewing the ways of escape with which having three brothers and the benefit of Jess's coaching had gifted her, but soon realised that there was not much you could do when held at knife-point. She did not even have every young lady's secret weapon, the high heels, any longer.

"Well, let's see how much you're actually worth. You needn't imagine Harper'll bother rescuing you. Not if he threw over June Dark. You really aren't in her league, are you?

If he had deliberately chosen a weapon, he could not have hurt her more, but Chantal steeled herself against the pain. She heard again: 'D'y' think I could be so close to you and not know?' and hung on to the words like a life-line as Rick dragged her down into the yard.

As they burst out of the hay barn, Rick shoved her to her knees and yanked her head back by the simple expedient of dragging her braid. The knife hovered a mere half-inch from her exposed throat.

"Picard! If you don't want to see blood of yours running, drop your weapon!"

It took only a split second for Armand to assess the situation and decide that this very unpleasant young man meant what he said. His rifle hit the dust.

"And you, Mrs Dark! Throw those rifles out – now!" This command too was promptly obeyed.

"Now untie my father and his men!" Rick jerked Chantal's hair again, causing her to hiss in protest, although she was determined not to give him the satisfaction of crying out if she could help it.

Emory Turner, released, rubbed his hands in satisfaction, as well as to restore the circulation. "I told you she wasn't worth it!"

No-one likes their parent saying 'I told you so' and Rick was no exception. The sneer enraged him further and he grabbed Chantal by the arm, dragging her across the yard to where an anvil stood outside the stable. The other men began to grin evilly. They knew what he was capable of when he lost his temper. Armand and June watched helplessly.

Rick forced Chantal to her knees again. He seized her by the wrist and held her open hand against the hard iron surface. "I'll teach you to use those pretty fingers to free my prisoner! How d'you think it will feel when I cut them off – one by one!"

Chantal tried to wrench away, glaring furiously at him. "You wouldn't dare!"

"Oh, wouldn't I? No-one's going to come to your rescue, so I've plenty of time to give you a little taster first!" The point of the knife touched her palm, then suddenly slashed across it and glanced upwards to slice her lower arm.

'The pain of a knife-cut's usually enough.' Jess was right! But not so right that she was going to scream – yet.

"See?" Rick grinned. She had not been able to hold back a shuddering attempt to pull away again. "Ready?" Her tormentor was concentrating entirely on her face as he swung his arm back, preparing for a hacking stroke at her finger.

The knife began to descend with appalling swiftness.

A single gunshot split the air. The knife-blade shattered into fragments, splintering all over the torturer and his victim.

Immediately there was a rapid burst of rifle-fire and Turner's men found themselves disarmed and, in a couple of cases, nursing bullet wounds. Emory Turner himself was once more at the wrong end of Armand's weapon. But in all the chaos, Rick had not released his hold on Chantal. She ducked down, making herself as small as she could, in the hope that someone would put a bullet into him as well. Instead, figuring she was his best shield, Rick pulled her in front of him.

A rifle bolt clicked. It was behind him.

Then a voice growled: "Leave him, Jim!"

"Why?" Dark demanded, unwilling to let anyone get away with anything at this stage in the proceedings.

"Because I'm gonna beat the hell out of him!"

There was a dark blur of movement as a flying body somehow surmounted the corral fence in a single jump and, from it, leapt high over the crouching girl to knock Rick sprawling to the ground.

Suddenly released, Chantal stumbled away from the maelstrom that resulted from this precipitate attack, remembering the last fight when Jess had yelled at her to 'keep the hell out from under my feet!" Armand put an arm out to steady her, but she turned at once, tense with fear and anger, and willing only one result to the struggle. If Chantal thought she had seen Jess in black-bull mode before, she found out her error now. This time he was incandescent with rage, a red and black rage that made a goaded bull look mild by comparison and exploded into violence with the force of a volcano.

To give him his due, Rick put up a commendable resistance. He was both taller and heavier than Jess. And he had not spent the night being beaten up, hanging by his arms over a cliff-face, swimming in a cold river, rowing a boat and walking several miles barefoot. This did not seem to give him the advantage it should have done.

The two men staggered back and forth across the yard, trading punishing blows. Jess knocked Rick to the floor, picked him up by his collar and slammed another punch into him. Rick used his greater weight to force Jess back against the corral fence, but only ended up hitting the wood as Jess ducked at the last moment. Lunging forward, Jess head-butted him in the stomach and the pair of them rolled over and over until Rick somehow managed to stagger to his feet. Jess launched into a flying tackle but only succeeded in making his opponent stumble. The pause was enough and before Rick could recover, Jess scrambled up and hauled him round for another furious exchange of punches. For a moment it seemed that Rick was winning when he kicked Jess's feet from under him. But as he flung himself on his sprawling opponent, he suddenly found himself caught in a headlock and then heaved viciously through the air to land flat on his own back. In an instant, Jess was on top of him with his hands clamped round Rick's throat, banging his head on the ground. Rick flailed and struggled, gasping for breath as he tried to throw off this manic attack, but to no avail.

Jim shifted uneasily. He could not interfere without taking his eyes off the other men he was covering. Armand had his hands full enough with his daughter and Emory Turner. Jim doubted very much whether Jess would take the slightest notice of anything June said or did. All the same, he did not want to be arresting a corpse. He contemplated momentarily giving Jess a sharp tap on the skull with the butt of his rifle, but this somewhat risky procedure proved unnecessary.

Chantal walked quietly over to the struggling men and put her uninjured hand firmly on Jess's shoulder. "Es suficiente, toro negro!"

Jess stilled, his hands clamped round Rick's throat. Chantal repeated: "Suficiente!"

"Y' sure about that?"

"I think you've made your point," she said softly, "unless you have a specific reason for actually killing him?"

Jess jumped to his feet and glared at her. "He was hurtin' you! What the hell d'you expect me to do? Shake his hand?"

Chantal drew in a shaky breath. There had been times in the last twenty four hours when she had certainly thought she would like Rick Turner killed, but not, it now seemed, if Jess had to be the one to do it. "No. Just handcuff him, will you? I'd like to see him live long enough for the law to punish him."

"Lo que quieras!" Jess hauled a battered Rick to his feet and marched him over to the barn, where Jim was covering the other men while Armand and June tied them up again. Jess took particular pleasure in making sure Rick was secured so well that there was no chance at all of him breaking loose. Then he turned away and went over to Traveller, who had followed Chantal out when she had been dragged from the hay barn. He fished in one saddlebag and produced a roll of bandage. It wasn't exactly pristine on the outside, but the inside was clean enough.

"Pity Slim isn't here," he told Chantal as he took her hand and pressed a strip of the bandage hard against it.

"Ouch!" Chantal, who had made no sound when Rick had cut her, was not averse to letting Jess know he was hurting her. "Why?" she demanded.

"Because he always has a clean handkerchief!" Jess chuckled. "Now, just keep pressin' this for a bit before I bandage it. Y' lucky it missed the artery when he sliced up your arm. Pity we've no –"

"Comfrey?" Chantal suggested mischievously. "You really should have brought that saucepan - one or other of us always seems to be needing it."

"I was goin' to say needle and thread," Jess retorted. "Comfrey on its own won't do much for an open wound like this. It needs stitchin'."

"I can – ow!" Chantal did not get far with her protest, because she was interrupted by more pressure on the wound from Jess and some parental advice.

"Mais oui, ma fille, il a raison," Armand told his daughter firmly. "Faire ce qu'il tu dit!" He had been watching the bandaging operation carefully and with some hidden amusement. As he surmised, the pair were still capable of vigorous verbal sparring, which was reassuring, given the uniquely battered appearance of both of them.

Their appearances frankly appalled June, who was horrified at the transformation of elegant young woman she had dined with into a tired, grubby and blood-stained urchin in the ragged remains of a once-sophisticated dress. As for Jess! He was covered with blood, bruises, scrapes and cuts - and not much else, since his shirt had pretty well given up the struggle for existence in the fight. He'd been dusty enough when he arrived in Denver, but that looked comparatively clean compared with his state now. "She needs a doctor as soon as possible!" she exclaimed, sounding much more worried than any of them. "We have to get her to the city."

"You all need to get back to Denver!" Jim took charge firmly. "Jess, hurry the posse out here right away, if they haven't left already. June, you take Mr Picard back and make sure he arrives there this time."

"What about that lot?" Jess jerked his head towards the house, his hands being fully occupied with bandaging Chantal.

"They can't break down the door or the gate and I can easily pick off anyone who tries to get out of a window," Jim pointed out, "and this bunch," he glared at his prisoners, "can just sit here nice and quiet against the barn wall until reinforcements come."

Jess grinned. "They'll get awful hot and thirsty!"

Jim grinned back. "So they will. What a pity our hospitality isn't as lavish as theirs!"

"Yeah, y' can sure end up in some strange company around here!" Jess looked up from the bandaging and his expression reminded Chantal about the explanation he was no doubt going to extract from her sooner or later.

"No one invited the dead man!" Emory Turner's voice cut into their conversation. "And I knew I should never have trusted you, Harper!"

Jess grinned again. "You should never trust anyone y' have to pay that much to hire."

"And you never even earnt it!" Emory fumed.

"That depends on your viewpoint," he was told. "I wouldn't take your money, even if the other side hadn't asked me first. So your little payment will be findin' its way into whatever orphan funds Denver has."

Emory's snarl of "Little!" was interrupted by Jim reminding them all that they should be heading for Denver: "Get going, will you? The faster you get there, the less time I have to spend on guard."

"Reckon Trav can make it back there in under two hours," Jess told him. "He's been standin' around eatin' his head off and doin' nothing for the last couple of days."

"Unlike his owner?" Chantal pointed out teasingly.

"Hell, yeah! I'm starvin'!" It was not like Jess to miss one meal, never mind three. He turned swiftly to his mount. "Down, Trav!"

The horse obligingly knelt down and before memory could suggest evasive action, Chantal found herself swept up once more. Jess settled into the saddle with her resting his arms and Traveller lurched upright again. The sensation was extremely familiar and so was her reaction. But before she could utter a word more than her usual imprecations - "Maton! Gamberro!" - she was interrupted.

"Escúchame, Tal!" Jess snapped. "Y' can't ride with that arm. Anyway, it serves y' right if I have to take you to Denver myself. Y' should have kept your promise! Now just shut up and let's get goin'." He turned Traveller neatly and they disappeared down the road at a flat out gallop, raising a cloud of dust which soon hid horse and riders from view.

June exchanged glances with her husband as she gave a sigh half of relief, half laughter. "I told you!"

"You said he wouldn't let any harm come to her - that he'd protect her!"

They were swiftly corrected in their assumptions: "Au contraire! Il ne la traite pas comme du verre!" Armand laughed, then remembered to stick to English. "Quite the contrary. The only reason Jess can manage my daughter is because he doesn't treat her as if she was made of glass. He just assumes she's as tough as he is."

Translations:

Es suficiente, toro negro. That is enough, black bull.

Lo que quieras. Whatever you ask.

Mais oui, ma fille, il a raison. Yes, daughter, he is right.

Faire ce qu'il tu dit. Do as he tells you.