A Horse Called Mogollon (Floating Outfit Book 3) (23 page)

‘
Yeah,’
grunted Buck-Eye. ‘Anyways, Mrs. Count’s offering a good price to
whoever fetches Counter in on the hoof. And Hubie Stagge won’t let
none of us get close enough to find out if Laura done had a mistake
’n’ told the truth for once.’

‘
You
had a right smart notion, coming down this way,’ Roarke enthused.
‘We made us a good catch.’

‘
Don’t
go figuring I’m all magical-like,’ Buck-Eye warned. ‘Coming here
was a whole heap safer’n going someplace that we might’ve run
across
Cabrito.
Douse the fire and let’s load him up ’n’ head back to the
ranch.’

When de Brioude had returned the
previous evening, he had given his blessing to
Beatrice
’s
and Stagge’s suggestion of settling permanently in Kerr County.
Interviewing the new arrivals, the
Vicomte,
with Stagge’s backing, had told them what
would be required of them. With money in such short supply
throughout Texas, Buck-Eye and the others had agreed to work for
the de Brioudes. Of the opposition, only Dusty Fog and the Ysabel
Kid—especially the latter—had attained sufficient prominence to
cause the hard-cases any anxiety. Even that was stilled by de
Brioude’s assurance that they would not be asked to clash head-on
with the Schells’ faction until enough men had arrived to give them
numerical superiority. Pointing out that the five must earn their
keep, Stagge had suggested that they should go on the scout around
the county. If the chance to do so in safety arose, they were to
reduce the enemy’s fighting strength.

Buck-Eye in particular had
reservations about the soundness of Stagge
’s proposals and had shared them with
Roarke. Killing Schell employees could easily spark off an open
confrontation before Weasel brought in reinforcements. Apart from
that, no man with an ounce of sound common sense would deliberately
set out to hunt down the Ysabel Kid. Few who tried it lived to
confess their folly. So, once clear of the ranch and other
hard-cases, Buck-Eye and Roarke had made for an area in which they
would be unlikely to meet up with members of Libby Schell’s
party.

Despite their precautions, they had
come into contact with a member of the opposition. Resting in the
clearing, they had seen a rider approaching through the trees and
realized what an advantage fate had thrown their way.

With the introductory meeting
ended, a poker game had commenced. Taking her chance while the
others were occupied, Beatrice had managed to contact each of the
five in private. Nothing romantic had ensued. Instead she had
offered every man a hundred dollars if he could capture and bring
Mark Counter to her. Recognizing the blond giant from
Beatrice
’s
description, Buck-Eye and Roarke had decided to make the most of
their opportunity. Clearly their visitor suspected nothing and
Buck-Eye’s ‘sleeping potion’ had reduced him to helpless
unconsciousness. All that remained for them to do was deliver
Counter to the
Vicomtesse
and collect their reward.

The first part of that proved
easy enough. Physically strong and skilled horse-handlers, they
experienced no difficulty in lifting Mark or draping him belly-down
across the
blood bay’s saddle. Then they gave thought to what they
should do next. In addition to wishing to avoid sharing the
loot—Mark’s horse, saddle, weapons and other valuables—with their
companions, they remembered that the
Vicomtesse
wanted the delivery to be made in secret.
Which meant that they would have to arrive at the ranch after dark.
According to Beatrice, her husband could be expected to spend most
nights playing cards with the other men at the bunkhouse. So
Buck-Eye and Roarke believed that they could carry out her
stipulations with no great danger of detection.

Making their plans, but not
forgetting to keep a careful watch all around, the two men led
Mark
’s
stallion and left the shelter of the post oaks. They saw nobody
during the journey to the ranch. Night had fallen by the time they
arrived, so they brought the horses to a halt at the rear of the
corrals. Telling Roarke to watch over their victim, Buck-Eye first
visited the cook-shack. Everything was as Beatrice had predicted,
for de Brioude was sitting in the poker game with Stagge and the
other men.

Slipping away from the window
undetected, Buck-Eye crossed to and circled around the house. He
knocked gently on the side door and heard soft footsteps approach
it on the inside. Gun in hand, Beatrice opened the door a couple of
inches and peeped out. Cold suspicion showed on her face, but died
as she heard his news. Hard and tough though he might be, Buck-Eye
felt uneasy at the glow of hatred which replaced the
Vicomtesse’s
previous
expression.

‘
Bring
him here!’ Beatrice hissed eagerly.

‘
Sure,
ma’am,’ the lanky man replied. ‘We’ll put up his hoss—’

‘
Leave
it saddled and ready,’ Beatrice corrected. ‘There will be another
hundred dollars in it for you if you do as I ask with
le beau
Counter after I’ve
finished with him.’

‘
You’ve
hired a man,’ Buck-Eye promised. ‘Wait a whiles and I’ll fetch him
to you.’

‘
Bring
some pieces of rope with you,’ Beatrice hissed. ‘Hurry.’

Gliding away silently, Buck-Eye
rejoined Roarke. On hearing of the
Vicomtesse’s
offer and requirements, Roarke agreed to
help. Producing several rawhide thongs from his saddlebags,
Buck-Eye thrust them into his pocket. Then the two men removed Mark
from the blood bay’s back and carried him to the side entrance of
the house. At Buck-Eye’s knock, Beatrice opened the door. Ignoring
the two men’s bug-eyed scrutiny, for she wore her diaphanous robe
over more scanty underclothing than either had ever seen,
the
Vicomtesse
allowed them to carry their burden into the front room.
Closing the door, she found them awaiting her
instructions.

‘
Put
him on his back on the table,’ Beatrice commanded. ‘You have
brought the ropes?’

‘
Sure,’
grunted Buck-Eye as he and Roarke carried out the order. Mark lay
motionless, arms and legs dangling over the table’s edges. ‘You
want for us to hawg-tie him for you?’

‘
No,’
answered Beatrice. ‘Remove his gun belt and put it on that chair.’
She saw their startled glances and continued, ‘I may want to do
some shooting with his guns, you see.’

While they did not see, the men
raised no objections. Buck-Eye lifted Mark
’s torso and held it up until Roarke
had unbuckled and slid free the gun belt.

‘
Anything else, ma’am?’ Roarke asked, hanging the belt on
the back of a chair.

‘
Just
the ropes,’ Beatrice replied. ‘Oh yes! Make sure that nobody comes
near here until I send for you.’

‘
What
if it’s your husband?’ Buck-Eye queried.

‘
He’s
the last you need worry about,’ the
Vicomtesse
stated. ‘How can I get to you when I want
you?’

‘
Seth’ll be with the hosses at the corral, ma’am,’ Buck-Eye
suggested. ‘And I’ll stop at the bunk-house.’

With the arrangements completed,
the men took their departure. Dropping the door
’s bar into place, Beatrice made
sure that all the blanket-drapes were fully closed. Satisfied that
nobody could see into the room, she slunk like a great cat towards
the table.

Something cold and wet splashed
on to Mark
’s
head and jolted through the haze which filled it. He opened his
eyes and looked up at a lamp suspended from the ceiling of a cabin.
Hard planks, which shook and creaked a little, supported him and he
became aware of the uncomfortable position in which he was lying.
Shaking his head, he tried to sit up. Then he realized why his arms
had been drawn above his head. Bent at the elbows, their wrists
were fastened to the legs of a table. The same applied to his feet.
Raising his head, he discovered that his shirt had been removed. In
fact, unless he guessed incorrectly, he was completely naked.
Growling a curse, he tried to tear himself free.

‘
It’s
no use,
Cherie,’
purred a sultry feminine voice he recognized.

Twisting his neck, Mark saw
the
Vicomtesse
approaching. Her bare body was quivering with lust and
passion. In her eyes flamed a light as cold and chilling as the
steel of the spear-pointed knife she carried. Up and down whipped
her right hand, spiking the blade into the table close to his face.
Then she leaned over, her nipples brushing against his chest.
Digging her left fingers into his hair, she held his head still and
lowered her face. Hot lips crushed against Mark’s and her tongue
tried to thrust its way into his mouth. At the same time, her right
hand explored his body like a spider crawling about on its
web.

‘
So!
You don’t kiss back!’ Beatrice spat, jerking erect when her embrace
produced no response. ‘This is the second time you have spurned me.
But you will make love to me now, or I swear you will never make
love again. By the time I’m finished, you’ll be good for nothing
but a eunuch in a harem. If you know what that is.’

To emphasize her point, she fondled
the area of his body that would be affected by such an operation. A
lusty, vigorous young man, Mark could not prevent an involuntary
reaction to the treatment. Whispering incoherently, Beatrice swung
herself from the floor and crouched astride the big Texan. Louder
groaned the ancient timbers of the table at the increased burden
placed on it.

Sweat flowed freely from
Mark
’s pores,
soaking his bonds. By the time Beatrice lifted herself into a
kneeling position above him, he could feel the thongs loosening.
Rawhide might be strong and practically unbreakable, but it
stretched when wet. Taking advantage of the slight slackening, Mark
twisted his right hand until his fingers gripped the table’s leg to
which it had been fastened.

‘
Wasn’t
that better than your fat old woman?’ Beatrice gasped, panting from
her exertions.

‘
She
even kissed better than you,’ Mark replied.

‘
Kissed!’ the
Vicomtesse
spat and acted as Mark had hoped she
might.

Throwing herself forward, she
pressed her face to Mark
’s. Instantly he gave a tremendous outwards tug
with his right arm and ankle. Already straining almost to the
breaking point, the affected legs tore free from the rest of the
table. Tipping over to the right, Beatrice was tumbled from Mark’s
body. As the edge of the table struck the floor, the knife slipped
free and bounced a few feet across the boards.

Winded by the fall, Beatrice sprawled
on her back. Giving her no time to recover, Mark rolled on to her.
He could feel her voluptuous body writhe in a desperate attempt to
escape. Ignoring the pain caused by her teeth biting at his chest,
he start to rock back and forwards on top of her. Savagely he
ground his two hundred and eighteen pound frame to crush her
against the floor. At last her struggles ended and she fainted.
Mark continued his pressure for a few more seconds to make sure
that she was not bluffing. Satisfied on that score, he rolled from
her. Collecting the knife, he contrived to set himself free.
Beatrice lay where he had left her, moaning a little as she dragged
air into her lungs.

‘
The
next gal’s asks me to sleep with her, I’ll sure as hell do it,’
Mark mused as he stood up and looked around. ‘I’d hate to have her
go to this much trouble if I don’t.’

With that, he donned the
long-John underpants, socks, shirt and Levi
’s removed by the
Vicomtesse
before she had fastened him to
the table. His gun belt came next. Strapping it on, he checked that
the Colts had not been unloaded. Having taken the precaution, he
drew on his boots. While collecting his Stetson, he noticed that
the
Vicomtesse
had rolled on to her stomach and was forcing herself on to
her hands and knees. Distorted with frustrated rage, her face
looked old and haggard as she turned to glare at him. Then she
started to scream. Shriek after shriek burst from her, shattering
the silence of the night.

‘
That
does it!’ Mark growled as shouts rang out from beyond the
building.

Starting towards the door on the side
away from the shouts, Mark slapped the Stetson on to his head.
Still screeching fit to wake the dead, Beatrice hurled herself at
him. She came with teeth bared and hands crooked like talons,
raging like a madwoman.

Although Mark had never seen or
heard of football, he reacted as if he had played the game all his
life. Thrusting out his left arm, he placed the flat of his palm on
her face. For an instant her rage-strengthened impetus caused even
that mighty limb to bend. He felt her fingernails clawing through
the material of his shirt
’s sleeve. Straightening his arm, he flung
the
Vicomtesse
backwards. Colliding with the wall, all the air once
against burst from her lungs. Her screams ended as her feet slipped
forward and she slid, glassy-eyed and mouth working soundlessly, to
the floor.