Fire on the Plains (Western Fire) (28 page)

Instantly regretting his lack of control
– the ensuing burst of pain radiating from his knuckles all the way up to his elbow – Ben hollered a string of profane expletives.

“What the blue blazes are you staring at?” he bellowed at his horse
, the beast casting him a baleful glance.

While
his first inclination was to chase after his wife, Ben quickly vetoed that idea. If he was going to charge into Beaumont’s camp, gun barrels blazes, he would need help. That meant joining forces with Merle Jenkins and his deputies as originally planned.

As for his wife
: the moment Lydia sneaked away from his bed, she effectively picked her side of the fight. Now she’d have to reap what she sowed.

Leading
the horse out of the lean-to, Ben guided his mount toward the front of the house and hitched it to a porch post. In a hurry, he went back inside the hacienda to retrieve his Henry rifle and Colt revolver. After verifying that both weapons were fully loaded, he stormed out of the house, slamming the door shut behind him.

Moments later, he was galloping
toward Uvalde at break-neck speed. Because he had no idea when Lydia slipped away from the hacienda, there was still a chance that he and the sheriff’s men could reach Beaumont’s camp ahead of her.

Christ.
Doesn’t Lydia know that she was tangling with the devil?

Too late,
Ben regretted that he hadn’t told Lydia about Beaumont’s stockpile of stolen munitions when he had the chance. Maybe then she would have seen the man for what he really was – a thieving Reb wanted by the U.S. authorities because he’d killed a hundred Union soldiers two months
after
the war ended. But because Ben had been unwilling to listen to Lydia defend the ‘gallant’ Colonel Beaumont, he’d kept his mouth shut.

Of course,
if he wasn’t so buck-eyed infatuated with his wife, he would have seen this coming. And the hell of it was that despite Lydia’s betrayal, he still loved her.
Deeply. Passionately
.

Riding
into Uvalde’s darkened main street, Ben headed straight for the sheriff’s office. A few moments later, sighting the seven horses tied to the hitching post, he knew that they would be going into Beaumont’s heavily armed encampment with only eight rifles.

Like charging
the vaunted Stonewall Brigade with nothing but a slingshot.

Reining his horse to a halt, Ben swung his right leg over the pummel and vaulted to the ground. Through the smudged window
panes, he could see that all six members of Jenkins’ posse were corralled in the sheriff’s office.

“I was just getting ready to deputize the posse,” Jenkins announced in a self-important tone of voice
as Ben entered the office.

“
Then you best hurry. Beaumont knows that we’re coming,” Ben matter-of-factly informed the assembled group of men.

Merle Jenkins’ washed
-out blue eyes opened wide. “How could he possibly know that?”

“Because my wife told him.”

“Your wife!”

Ben
confirmed with a brusque nod. “What can I say? The woman got the fool notion into her head that someone ought to warn Beaumont of our upcoming visit,” he muttered, keeping the details of Lydia’s deception to a minimum.

“Holy shit.”
Not only did the color drain from the sheriff’s face, but he looked like he was about to lose the contents of his stomach. “You said this would be a peaceful arrest. That all we had to do was ride into Beaumont’s camp, catch him unawares, and be on our merry way.”

“
You’re not fixing to turn yellow just because things got a little complicated, are you?” Ben challenged.

A hushed silence fell over the room, the assembled posse nervously glancing between
Ben and Sheriff Jenkins.

Having been painted into a corner, t
he sheriff hitched up his britches with a balled fist. “Damn you, Strong. Seeing as how your wife could be in danger, I
have
to go.”

“Then we need to
hurry and make tracks.”

As he grabbed a rifle from the wooden rack behind his desk, Merle Jenkins shot Ben an angry glance. “If this thing turns ugly, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

Ben held his tongue. In his experience, war was always ugly.

“From this distance, the camp looks real peaceful. Maybe your wife didn’t warn Beaumont
, after all.”

Ben handed his spyglass to Sheriff Jenkins
. “Think, again. I just sighted two dozen troopers headed this way.”

“Damn, that’s one helluva welcoming party,” the sheriff
said few moments later as he passed the spyglass to the deputy reined alongside of him.

“Look
! They’re carrying a white flag,” the youthful deputy exclaimed, not bothering to hide his relief.

Ben
shot a quick glance at Jenkins’ six-man posse.
Lord help ‘em, but these green deputies were no match for Beaumont’s seasoned veterans.

“All right, men. I want you to hold your fire,” Jenkins boomed in a loud, authoritative voice. “Let’s hear what they have to say.”

“I got a feeling that we’re not going like it, whatever it is,” Ben muttered under his breath as he yanked his Henry rifle out of the scabbard.

“You know, I just don’t get it,” Jenkins said with a shake the head. “If Beaumont knew we were coming, why didn’t he break camp and hightail it for Mexico?”

“He doesn’t have to leave until he’s good and ready,” Ben answered. “First of all, he knows that he can outgun us if it comes to a fight. And because he’s only a three day ride from the Rio Grande, Beaumont also knows that the Federal troops can’t get here quick enough to stop him from crossing the border.”

“
So, in other words, because of your wife’s meddling, he’s holding a winning hand.” Wrapping a gloved fist around his saddle pummel, the sheriff leaned toward Ben. “You know, if she was my woman, I’d be inclined to take a shaving strop to her.”

Furious, Ben grabbed Jenkins by his jacket lapel, battling the urge to haul
the man out of the saddle and hurl him to the ground. “Well, she’s not your woman, is she?”

“Hey, now
. I meant no offense.” There was no mistaking the frightened look on Jenkins’ face.

Since this wasn’t
the time or the place for an altercation, Ben released his hold on the sheriff. Then, turning a deaf ear on the man, he moodily stared at the contingent of riders who were fast approaching.

Unknowingly, Merle Jenkins had broached
a subject that had been weighing heavy on Ben’s mind since he’d discovered Lydia’s deception. Truth be told, he didn’t know how he should deal with his wife once he finally caught up with her.

Forming a battle line approximately twenty yards in front of them, the Confederate troopers brought their horses to a halt. As he scanned the line, Ben
noticed that Beaumont was not among them.

A
rider with a white flag approached, the horseman none other than Lieutenant Starkweather.

“Good morning, Captain Strong.”

“What do you want, Starkweather?”

“The terms are simple:
You are to disarm and follow me back to the camp.”

“And if I refuse?”

Whether by accident or design, the other man ignored the question. Instead, in an overly polite tone of voice, Starkweather said, “Both Colonel Beaumont and Mrs. Strong anxiously await your arrival.”

H
earing that, Ben’s gut tightened. He’d erroneously assumed that, having warned Beaumont, Lydia would have already returned to the hacienda.

Faced with no other option, Ben handed his rifle to Jenkins.

“The revolver, as well, Captain Strong.”

Cursing under his breath, Ben unbuckled his gun holster
and passed it to the sheriff for safekeeping.

“Now, sir, if you would be so kind as to follow me.”

Taking a deep breath, Ben nudged his horse forward. Weaponless, he was now at Beaumont’s mercy.

Several minutes later
he and the Rebel troopers rode through the sleeping southern encampment. As they approached a large field tent, Starkweather raised a balled fist, motioning Ben to bring his mount to a halt.

You can go right in,” the junior officer said,
gesturing to the tent.

Hoping
to God that he wasn’t walking into a trap, Ben dismounted and entered the field tent. To his astonishment, Lydia and Beaumont were seated at a linen-covered camp table drinking coffee out of china cups. Not surprisingly, his wife refused to look him in the eye.

As he surveyed
the disquieting scene, Ben’s gaze unerringly landed on the silver ring that he’d earlier placed on Lydia’s left hand. When she noticed the direction of his gaze, she slid her hand under the table.

Wearing
an ingratiating smile, Beaumont rose from the table and approached him. “Captain Strong, we meet again. May I offer you a cup of coffee, sir?”

“This isn’t a social call,” Ben
grated between clenched teeth, not in the mood for any of Beaumont’s flowery phrase-making.

“
From what your lovely wife has told me, I know that you’re here on official business.”

“I’m here t
o collect my wife,” Ben informed the bastard.

Beaumont’s smile widened.
“Alas, Captain Strong, I can not let you have her.”

“The hell you say!”

In the next instant, Ben lunged toward Beaumont. As he reared back his arm to land the first blow, two armed guards charged into the tent. Their rifles at the ready, the sentries effectively stopped Ben in mid-punch.

O
utflanked, Ben lowered his arm. The battle won, Beaumont silently waved at the two guards. Dismissed, both soldiers retreated to their sentry posts just outside the field tent.

With an i
nfuriatingly smug air, Beaumont reseated himself at the table. “A show of violence will get you nowhere, Captain Strong.”

“Maybe so, but it would have fe
lt damn good while it lasted.” Ready to take his leave, Ben turned to his wife and said, “Come on, Lydia. You and I are getting out of here.
Right now
.”

To his
ire, Lydia remained seated. Head downcast, hands primly folded in her lap, she gave no indication that she’d even heard him.

“In order to ensure our safe passage, Mrs. Strong has graciously agre
ed to travel to Mexico with us,” Beaumont said nonchalantly as he poured himself another cup of coffee.

Christ
! No!

In
a state of stunned disbelief, Ben stared at the gray-suited bastard. At that moment, he felt as though his beating heart had just been ripped from his chest cavity.

“As your hostage?” he
shot back, struggling to maintain his composure.

“How
dare you even suggest such a thing,” Beaumont retorted, clearly taking umbrage. “Your wife will be my guest, of course.”

Uncomprehending, Ben shook his head.
“Do you mean to say that she’s
willing
to go with you Rebs?”

“More than willing, I can assure you. But if you don’t believe me, ask her yourself.”

“Is this true, Lydia?” As he waited for his wife to reply, Ben silently willed her to rise from the table, and in her best ladylike tone of voice, inform Beaumont that she wished to leave the tent immediately.
With her husband.

Instead,
Lydia fumbled with her coffee cup, the bone china cup noisily clattering on its saucer. “Colonel Beaumont has assured me that . . . that once his wagon train has reached Mexican soil, he’ll have me escorted back to Uvalde.”

“The only place you’re go
ing is back to our ranch house,” Ben retorted.
And given what transpired this night, I might not ever let you leave.

“In order to avoid an armed confrontation, you
must comply with Colonel Beaumont’s demands,” Lydia informed him. Then, looking at him beseechingly, she said, “Please, Ben. Don’t be angry.”

Disbelieving what he
just heard, Ben suddenly thought that Sheriff’s Jenkins’ suggestion about the shaving strop sounded like a damned good idea. “And what if I don’t want to ‘comply’ with this bastard’s demands?”

Lydia’s face went ashen. “I’m b-begging you, Ben. You
must
heed the Colonel’s wishes.”

Utterly mystified,
Ben stared at the jumpy, discomposed woman seated at the camp table, thinking her a far cry from the wife he knew and loved. No one would ever accuse Lydia of being a shrinking violet; yet here she sat, practically shaking in her boots. Evidently, she was having a hard time owning up to what she’d done.

“What about Dixie
?”

His question clearly caught
Lydia off-guard. Gripping the edge of the camp table, his wife balled the linen table cloth between her fingers. “Dixie c-can stay at Uncle Avery’s,” she sputtered. “I’m sure that she’ll b-b-be—”

“Just fine,” Beaumont smoothly interjected. “
The fact of the matter is that you and your brave band of men are woefully outnumbered, Captain Strong. And because of that, there is nothing that you can do to stop me from crossing the border into Mexico.”

Hoping to pull the rug out from
under the smug bastard, Ben said, “I’m curious, Beaumont. Just who are you planning to sell your stockpile of stolen munitions to: the Juarista rebels or the Mexican emperor?”

Unfazed, Beaumont said,
“Why, Emperor Maximilian, of course. Although my motives are not nearly as mercenary as your question implies. If you must know, I shall be giving the weapons to Maximilian as a gift.”

The glib
addendum was not what Ben had expected. From the get-go, he’d assumed that Beaumont had stolen the weapons in order to sell them for hard cash.

Do y
ou mean to say that you’re just going to
give
your entire store of stolen munitions to the Mexican Emperor?”

“That’s
precisely what I’m going to do,” Beaumont confirmed.

Ben stared at his
adversary, uncomprehending.
Was the man certifiably insane?
Nobody just gave away munitions worth tens of thousands of dollars out of the goodness of their heart. For starters, Beaumont went to too much trouble to acquire those weapons. There had to be something in it for the bastard.
But, what
?

“What makes you so
certain that Maximilian is going to receive you with open arms?”

Raising
a snowy white napkin to his mouth, Beaumont dabbed at his lips. His movements unhurried, the man was playing the moment for all it was worth.

“While the Emperor may have a legion of French
soldiers at his disposal, in order to maintain those troops, he needs armaments
and
money. Both of which, I happen to have,” Beaumont remarked as he folded his napkin and placed it on the camp table.

“
Money?
I thought you said that your plantation was destroyed during the war and that the Federal authorities confiscated all of your property.”

“
True enough,” Beaumont said with a nod. “However, felicity shined its bright light upon me when I was placed in command of the armed convoy that escorted President Davis out of Richmond at war’s end.”

Ben’s jaw slackened.

Holy hell! No wonder the bounty on Beaumont is so high.
When the Confederate capital at Richmond finally fell to Union forces during the last days of the war, the southern treasury, reputedly worth millions, had vanished into thin air.

“You actually
stole
the Confederate treasury, didn’t you?” Ben uttered in a stunned tone of voice.

“Sir, I take offense to your
patently false accusation,” Beaumont retorted. “Before leaving Richmond, I swore an oath that I would not let our precious southern gold fall into enemy hands.”

“But you’re more than willing to turn over your ‘precious
southern gold’ to a Mexican despot, aren’t you?”

Beaumont’s gaze narrowed.
“Once again, Captain Strong, you’ve jumped to an erroneous conclusion. I intend to make a
donation
, if you will, to Emperor Maximilian. But only a small donation,” he clarified. “Merely enough to demonstrate our good will.”

“And
just what are you planning to do with the rest of the gold treasury?”

Beaumont
peered at Ben as though he’d asked a simpleton’s question. “Why, I intend to rebuild our beloved Confederacy, of course.”

Staggered by the revelation
, Ben’s eyes opened wide. “You intend to do
what?!
”

“Mexico is a vast country, the soil conducive to large
-scale cotton cultivation. And, as fate would have it, Emperor Maximilian has promised me a governorship in one of the more fertile regions.”

Holy hell. The bastard is
planning to give Maximilian weapons and gold in return for his own little piece of Mexico
.

As the significance of the unbelievable scheme began to congeal, it suddenly dawned on Ben that Percy Beaumont was
far more dangerous than he originally thought. All along, he’d painted the man as a vainglorious popinjay, more pretentious than dangerous. But he couldn’t have been further from the mark. Behind the well-tailored gray uniform and the perfectly coiffed curls, there lurked a maniacal, self-serving zealot.

Damn Lydia for getting involved in this mess!
Even now, knowing the whole dirty truth, she was ready to traipse off to Mexico with the bastard.

What the hell
is wrong with the fool woman, anyway?

Rising to his feet, Beaumont called for the two guards who’d been standing sentry outside the tent.

“Unless you want this to end in needless bloodshed, I suggest that you, along with the sheriff’s men, return to Uvalde posthaste.”

Ben
stood silent, unwilling to belly under.

When he made no move to leave, Beaumont said,
“Sir, you have my word as a gentleman that your wife will be returned to Uvalde as soon as this unfortunate situation is resolved.”

“Who says that I want her back?” Ben
retorted. At hearing Lydia’s startled gasp, he shot his wife an accusing glare. “Let met guess: you’d rather be a rich man’s mistress than a poor man’s wife.”

“How c
-can you even suggest such a thing?” Lydia stammered, tears pooling in her eyes.

“And how could you betray me
like this?”

“I did not betray you.”

“The hell you didn’t!” Turning a blind eye to Lydia’s obvious distress, Ben snidely added, “They have a name for a wife who sneaks out of her husband’s bed in the middle of night to run into the arms of another man. Do you know what that name is?”

“Such a woman would be called a southern patriot,”
Percy Beaumont affirmed as he gave Lydia a sympathetic glance. “And that makes Mrs. Strong a true heroine.”

“Yeah, she’s a regular Joan of Arc.” Disgusted with the both of them, Ben
spun on his heel and headed for the open tent flap, ready to clear out.

“I would advise you
against taking any quixotic actions, Captain Strong. Such foolhardy behavior will only end in needless tragedy.”

Ben stopped in his tracks
. Refusing to turn around, he said over his shoulder, “Don’t worry. Given that my wife two-timed me, I’m not feeling particularly quixotic.”

T
hat said, Ben stormed out of the tent. Mounting his horse, he rode off without giving the southern encampment a backward glance.

As he peered
at the eastern horizon, Ben could see that the sun had just begun its morning trek. The pink smudge reminded him of the many mornings that he and Lydia had quietly sat with their morning coffee, watching the sun usher in the dawn. Even in those first few weeks of their marriage, when their relationship had been unduly strained, those had been moments of peaceful accord.

Ben swallowed the tight knot in his throat
and shoved the memories to the wayside. To his acute discomfort, the thundering pound of horse hooves was making his head throb with a dull pain. Chalking it up to a lack of coffee, Ben gritted his teeth and ignored the pain as best he could.

When he finally reached
Jenkins and the six-man posse, his approach was met with avid interest.

“Where’s your wife?” Sheriff Jenkins asked as he handed
Ben his Henry rifle and gun holster.

“More than likely sitting down to breakfast with
Percy Beaumont,” Ben muttered, shoring himself against the heartache that those words incited. “To make sure that we don’t pull any heroic stunts, the bastard is taking Lydia with him to Mexico.”

“
Goddamn
,” Jenkins swore aloud, stretching the curse out to three syllables.

“Maybe we
can follow at a distance?” a wide-eyed deputy suggested.

Ben shook his head;
that was the very kind of ‘quixotic action’ that Beaumont had warned against. Besides, he wasn’t about to jeopardize the lives of these men just because his wife had taken up with the enemy.

“Beaumont has a Gatling gun in his arsenal. I’m sure
that he wouldn’t hesitate to use it if he caught a whiff of us sneaking up on him from behind.”

“A Gatling gun? Holy shit! From what I’ve heard,
those damn things can fire more than a hundred rounds a minute,” Jenkins exclaimed, clearly unwilling to tangle with so much fire power. “Hell, it’d be like shooting fish in a rain barrel.”

Ben nodded, for once in agreement with the sheriff. “Yeah, that’s one way of putting it.” An out-and-out slaughter
was another.

And no way in hell did he want that on his conscience. Aside from Jenkins, these were decent, hard-working men who’d willingly volunteered to help track down a wanted criminal. They’d done their duty. Now it was time for them to
go home.

“Guess there’s nothing we can do, huh?”