The South Will Rise Again Read online

  The Home of Great Western Fiction!

  The Brotherhood for Southron Freedom’s message had gone out through the ex-Confederate States.

  Give money to buy arms!

  Make ready for the day of reckoning with the Yankees!

  THE SOUTH WILL RISE AGAIN!

  In Texas, the unscrupulous leaders of the Brotherhood had gathered a band of desperate, dangerous men and armed them with repeating rifles. Belle Boyd, the Rebel Spy, now working for the U.S. Secret Service, was on their trail. As she saw evidence of their growing strength and power, she knew that she would need help to defeat them.

  So she sent a message to her superiors, telling all she had learned and offering a solution to the menace.

  She said, ‘Send me three regiments of Cavalry... or Dusty Fog!’

  THE FLOATING OUTFIT 37: THE SOUTH WILL RISE AGAIN

  By J. T. Edson

  First published by Corgi Books in 1972

  Copyright © 1972, 2019 by J. T. Edson

  First Kindle Edition: July 2019

  Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information or storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

  This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book

  Series Editor: Ben Bridges

  Text © Piccadilly Publishing

  Published by Arrangement with the Author’s Agent.

  For my bueno amigo Louis Masterson, in the hope that he will give Morgan Kane a decent gun.

  Publisher’s Note:

  As with other books in this series, the author uses characters’ native dialect to bring that person to life. Whether they speak French, Irish, American English or English itself, he uses vernacular language to impart this.

  Therefore when Scottish characters use words such as “richt” instead of “right”; “laird” for “lord”; “oopstairs” for “upstairs”; “haim” for “home”; “ain” for “own”; “gude sores” for “good sirs” and “wha” for “who” plus many other phrases, please bear in mind that these are not spelling/OCR mistakes.

  Table of Contents

  Publisher’s Note:

  One – Death to All Traitors

  Two – You’re Not Long Out of Jail

  Three – Stomp the Bastard Good

  Four – U. S. Army Paymaster Robbed

  Five – My Name is Belle Boyd

  Six – Isn’t That Captain Fog?

  Seven – I Don’t Like Stinking Rebs!

  Eight – That’s Mark Counter

  Nine – Whip My Soldiers Into Shape

  Ten – You Tried to Get Me Killed

  Eleven – Get Into My Bed

  Twelve – Hands Flat on the Table

  Thirteen – Know Her? She’s My Wife

  Fourteen – I’ll Scratch Her Eyes Out!

  Fifteen – She Wants Me to Kill You, Mark

  Sixteen – She Tried to Kill Me!

  Seventeen – I Owe Him My Life, Belle

  About the Author

  One – Death to All Traitors

  The sign at the side of the stage read, ‘MELANIE BEAUCHAMPAENE & TEXAS, Cowgirl Magic’.

  There were few male members of the audience who would have objected to sharing their campfires with such ‘cowgirls’. Each wore a skin-tight, sleeveless, black satin blouse of extremely extreme décolleté, ending short enough to leave its wearer’s midriff exposed. The riding breeches, of the same glossy material, clung so snugly that every curve, depression and movement of the hips, buttocks, thighs and calves showed tantalizingly. They had black Stetsons set at jaunty angles on their heads. Hessian riding boots graced their feet. Each had on a gunbelt, with a revolver in its holster.

  Of equal height, Melanie Beauchampaine was a tall, slender girl; although anything but flat-chested, skinny or boyish in appearance. For all that, she was out-done in the matter of a figure by the rich, voluptuous curves of her beautiful assistant. A close observer might have noticed that Texas’s left eye was blackened and Melanie had a thickened top lip, hinting possibly at a disagreement between them over some matter.

  Whatever the cause of controversy had been, the girls displayed no sign of it. They were a trifle nervous, but that might have been on account of the quality of certain members of their audience. The Variety Theater in San Antonio de Bexar was that night acting as host to the Governor of Texas, Stanton Howard, and several prominent figures in the State’s all-important cattle industry.

  Nervous or not, the girls had given a good performance of magical tricks. They had been a fitting climax to a pleasant show. Clearly, however, they were coming to the end of their act.

  ‘And now I would like the assistance of a few gentlemen,’ Melanie announced. Seeing several male members of the audience rise hurriedly, she went on, ‘With so many handsome volunteers to choose from, I do declare I don’t know who to take.’

  ‘We’d best pick them quickly, Melanie,’ Texas suggested, speaking in a similar Southern drawl to that of her companion. ‘If we don’t, they’ll stompede all over us.’

  ‘Why sure,’ Melanie agreed. ‘Let’s be tactful for once, shall we? I think all you boys had better sit down and we’ll get somebody a bit further away. They won’t be coming on the stage, anyways.’ Waiting until the men had returned to their seats, she waved a hand towards the guests-of-honor’s box. ‘Perhaps his Honor, the Governor, will oblige?’

  ‘I wish I was the Governor,’ yelled one of the disappointed candidates.

  ‘The job has to have some consolations,’ Governor Howard pointed out, standing up.

  ‘May I ask Captain Dusty Fog to take part,’ Melanie called, ‘without being thought to be making favorites?’

  ‘Go on, Dusty,’ the burly rancher known as Shanghai Pierce suggested. ‘It’ll make up for you losing out on that beef contract.’

  ‘We haven’t lost it yet,’ the well-dressed young man whom the rancher had addressed replied and came to his feet.

  ‘No bickering, boys!’ Melanie warned. ‘This is a peace conference you’re all here for.’ Swinging towards the box on the opposite side of the theater, in which were seated the same ranchers’ foremen, she said, ‘Now let me see, how about you, Mr. Figert?’

  ‘Which shows you’ve got right good taste as well as beauty, ma’am,’ drawled Miffin Kennedy’s segundo as he stood up.

  ‘If I get something like that said to me, I’m picking the next one,’ Texas declared. ‘Mr. Counter, will you make our other assistant?’

  ‘Why I’d admire to assist you, most any old time, ma’am,’ declared the handsome blond giant to whom the words had been directed.

  Going by the glance Melanie threw at her assistant, she had not expected the interruption. However, she made no comment on it.

  ‘Now Texas will go into the magic box,’ Melanie announced, indicating the large, gaily-painted but as yet unused structure standing in the center of the stage. ‘We will see what happens next.’

  ‘Mind you-all drop me on top of the handsomest of them, Melanie,’ Texas requested, opening the door and showing the empty interior of the box, then entering.

  ‘Why I’d do that, honey,’ Melanie answered, closing the door. ‘But I doubt if Governor Stanton’s wife would approve.’

  There was a laugh from the audience, wiped away by the orchestra in the pit commencing a long roll of the drums.

  Every eye was on the slender, beautiful girl as she reached for and jerked open the door of the box.

  It was not empty!

  Two male figures in range clothes sprang out, holding revolvers.

  ‘Death to all traitors!’ bellowed the smaller, swinging his weapon into alignment.

  Shots thundered from both the newcomers’ revolvers, their barrels pointing towards the guests-of-honor’s box. Clapping his hands to his forehead, Governor Howard spun around and tumbled to the floor. Clutching at his left breast, Captain Dusty Fog was pitched backwards and landed across the knees of Pierce and the third rancher, Richard King.

  Instantly wild confusion reigned in the building. Due to the delicate nature of the situation—the Governor was trying to avert a range war between his companions—the San Antonio town marshal had caused every visitor to the theater to be disarmed on arrival. Voices raised in shouts. Women screamed. Men rose, grabbing at empty holsters and blocking the lines of fire of the peace officers who were standing guard at the exits.

  The moment the two men had made their appearance, Melanie stepped into the back of the box. She pressed herself to the rear, for there was little enough room inside.

  Having fired at and sent the Governor down, the smaller of the pair leapt to Melanie’s side. Instead of following them immediately, the taller, younger man—a boy in his late teens—swiveled in the direction of the foremen’s box. Left, right, left, the long-barreled 1860 Army Colts in his hands boomed out. Mark Counter’s giant frame rocked under the impact. Before the big blond had pitched headlong out of sight, the youngster was joining his companion and the girl. The bottom of the box sank rapidly downwards and carried them from view.

  Two – You’re Not Long Out of Jail

  A few weeks before the incident at the Variety Theater.

  Strolling slowly along
the sidewalk in the direction of the German’s Hotel at Mooringsport, Sabot the Mysterious displayed the attitude of a man engrossed in his problems. He was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he ignored the scrutiny of the slender, beautiful young woman who was standing outside Klein’s General Store. Somewhat over painted and dressed in the kind of clothes poorer actresses, or saloon girls, wore when travelling between jobs or walking the streets, she held the inevitable parasol and vanity bag in her left hand.

  Going closer, Sabot became very aware of the girl. Advancing in a casual-appearing manner, she bumped into him. The collision was anything but accidental. As soon as their bodies came into contact, her right hand slipped under his jacket towards the wallet in its inside pocket.

  Sabot had just concluded a most satisfactory interview with the town’s marshal and was returning to his hotel feeling, for the first time in days, a sense of relief. The state of nervous tension under which he had been living since arriving in Shreveport, to fulfill an engagement at the Grand Palace Theater, was ebbing away.

  Give de Richelieu his due, Sabot mused before coming into contact with the girl, he had been correct in his assessment of how the military and civil authorities would react if their enterprise had not reached its ultimate aims. For all that, being aware that things had gone wrong, the business in which they had been engaged was of such a serious nature Sabot had hardly been left feeling comfortable, or easy in his mind.

  Nobody could have been relaxed and free from care when trying to stir up an open rebellion against the United States’ Congress. Which is what Sabot the Mysterious and the other members of the Brotherhood for Southron Freedom had been hoping to do in Shreveport.

  When the Brotherhood had got into their stride, with a campaign of agitation that was calculated to provoke the Southern States into a second attempt to secede from the Union, they had met with little success. By 1874, the worst elements and excesses of Reconstruction had been eliminated. Prosperity was returning to the lands south of the Mason-Dixon line and the white population had no desire for a resumption of the hardships of war, nor to sample again the bitter consequences of defeat.

  There had been some response to the Brotherhood’s rallying cries; ‘Give money to buy arms!’; ‘Make ready for the day of reckoning with the Yankees!’; ‘THE SOUTH WILL RISE AGAIN!’. Not enough, however, to have made the dreams of secession become a reality. The men behind the conspiracy had realized that some dramatic proof of the Union’s perfidy and hatred of the South was needed. So a devilish plot had been hatched to bring this about.

  All that had been achieved so far was to obtain sufficient money to buy a hundred obsolete Henry repeating rifles and ten thousand rounds of .44/28 Tyler B. Henry ammunition. The chief satisfaction from the purchase had been that the arms—and some military uniforms and accoutrements taken as an excuse for making it—had originally been destined to equip a Kansas volunteer Dragoon regiment that was being raised to fight the Confederate States. So far, the weapons had not been put to use in the cause of Southern freedom.

  They would have been, if everything had gone according to plan in Shreveport.

  Although friendly relations had been resumed between the United States’ Army and the Southern civilian population through much of Dixie, that happy state had not existed in Shreveport. Brevet Lieutenant Colonel Szigo, in command of the local Army Post, was an embittered man who had been passed over for promotion or even elevation from his substantive rank of captain. Blaming the South, which had given up the fight before his brevet rank could be made substantive, he had allowed—even overtly encouraged—his men to behave as if they were still a garrison force of the Reconstruction Period. So there had been little love lost between the soldiers and the citizens.

  Knowing of the hostility which existed in Shreveport, the leaders of the Brotherhood had selected it as the ideal area for their demonstration. Having thrown the United States’ Secret Service off the trail of the arms, [1] they had made ready for action.

  Throughout his engagement at the Grand Palace Theater, Sabot had worked to win the confidence of the Army officers at the post and certain influential members of Shreveport society. He had succeeded to such an extent that Szigo not only permitted him to give a benefit performance free to ex-members of the Confederate States’ Army and Navy—he had already done the same for the soldiers—but had agreed, in the interests of avoiding possible clashes, to place the town off limits to his own troops on the evening of the show.

  That latter, engineered by Sabot, had been very necessary to the success of the scheme.

  Towards the end of the benefit, masked members of the Brotherhood had ‘invaded’ the stage and ‘interrupted’ Sabot’s display of magical illusions. They had made inflammatory speeches, then taken certain precautions to ensure that nobody interfered with their escape.

  Present in the audience had been Colonel Alburgh Winslow, a member of the Louisiana State Legislature and owner of the Shreveport Herald-Times, and other prominent citizens noted for their moderate opinions and their efforts to prevent open conflict between the town’s people and the soldiers. It had been planned that, later in the evening—disguised in the Dragoons’ uniforms [2] —Victor Brandt would take an ‘escort’ and ‘arrest’ Winslow’s party on charges of organizing a treasonable assembly. Any who had resisted were to be shot on the spot. Those who had gone quietly would have been murdered and their bodies—decorated with boards inscribed, ‘So perish all traitors to the Union’—left hanging in the city’s main square.

  Unfortunately, Sabot’s assistant, Princess Selima Baba, had not been convincing in her behavior during the ‘invasion’ of the stage. In fact, her attitude had threatened to spoil the whole effect. So, in the dressing-rooms after changing into his uniform, Brandt—an arrogant, bad-tempered and vicious young man—had beaten her with his fists. Furious at the punishment, Selima had fled. Suspecting that she might warn the authorities of what was planned, Sabot had suggested that the scheme be delayed until she had been captured. Taking two of his men, Brandt had set off to fetch the girl back. One of his escort had returned to say that she was trying to reach Colonel Szigo, but that the others were on her trail and hoped to prevent her visiting the Army post. Brandt had also warned that the ‘arrests’ must not be attempted until he had given the word. As he alone wore an officer’s uniform, that had been sound advice. The party would have lacked credibility if it had arrived to make the arrests comprising only enlisted men.

  When Brandt and his companion had not returned in a reasonable time, Sabot had taken it upon himself to call off the whole affair. Dismissing the men, he had sent a warning to de Richelieu—who had left the theater to supervise the delivery of the arms from their hiding place five miles away—that something was wrong. After that, Sabot had continued with his pre-arranged intention of leaving Shreveport on the Texarkana Belle and travelling to Mooringsport. From that town, he was to commence an itinerary of Texas engagements. During it, he was to spread the word of the ‘Yankees’ dastardly deed and to help arouse enmity in the Lone Star State.

  On his arrival in Mooringsport, shortly before noon, Sabot had immediately visited the town’s marshal. He had told the peace officer a story that would, all being well, hold water when compared with the recollections of the audience concerning what had happened on the stage.

  To hear Sabot tell it, he had been attacked and, along with Selima, driven to his dressing-room by the masked agitators. After they had completed their treasonable activities, he had been compelled to return to the stage and satisfy the audience that he had not been harmed. Then his assailants had departed, taking Selima as a hostage against his behavior. They had also warned that he would be kept under observation and killed, along with the girl, if he should attempt to consult the authorities.

  Fearing for his assistant’s life, despite the men’s promise that she would be allowed to join him aboard the Texarkana Belle, Sabot had complied with their demands. However, the girl had not made her appearance at sailing time and he had left without her. In exculpation for his desertion, he had claimed that, on thinking the matter over, he had reached the conclusion that Selima had been an active participant in the plot. That, he had told the marshal, explained how the masked men had known the trick with which he planned to end his show; and had been able to substitute their treasonable portraits—which portrayed Union generals in an uncomplimentary light and showed an unsavory aspect of life under Reconstruction—for the harmless illustrations which he would have used.