Wanted! Belle Starr! Read online

  Caught just as unawares by the speed and skill with which their proposed victim was responding, Jubal nevertheless had started acting in a way which helped his second cousin. With his right hand catching her by the shoulder as she was turning, his left sank into the top of the wide brimmed hat. While he failed to stop the blow with the reticule being delivered, he had helped to reduce its impact somewhat.

  Just as he was commencing to haul Belle away from Bert, Jubal felt the hat coming off in his grasp. Much to his further amazement, he found he was removing the orange red ‘hair’ at the same time. Startled by the discovery that he was apparently scalping his captive without first having even used a knife to sever the skin around the head, he could not prevent her from snatching free her shoulder. A moment later, her left elbow was rammed into his solar plexus with some force. Giving vent to a grunt of pain, he was driven backwards with the hat and well-made wig falling from his hands. Swinging around, her excessively made up face appearing incongruous when taken with the exposure of her short cropped brunette hair, viii her right fist landed a hard punch to his jaw.

  Once again, the lady outlaw was not allowed to make the most of the advantage she had gained!

  Halting the involuntary stagger caused by the blow from the reticule, Bert sprang forward to wrap his arms around Belle. Caught from the rear, with hands pinioned to her sides, she knew her position was rapidly becoming desperate. Face darkened and made even more ugly by rage, Henry was starting to advance. It was obvious to her that, even if at first he might have been gentler with her because she was woman, now he would not be deterred from delivering a brutal attack by considerations of her sex.

  Struggling against the encircling arms of the man behind her, unable to force them apart by sheer strength, the lady outlaw tried to escape by driving the back of her close-cropped head into his face. Prevented from achieving this by the brim of his hat, she also prepared to try and kick away the other attacker as he was already approaching. She did not hold out much hope for her chances when she made the attempt.

  All in all, Belle considered she was in as dire a strait as at almost any other time in her eventful young life!

  Chapter Three – You’re Luckier’n You Know

  Before either Belle Starr or Henry could put their respective intentions into effect, there was an interruption!

  Having been passing the front entrance to the alley between the Sunbird Saloon and the gunsmith’s shop next door the latter already closed for the night a tall, well built, blond haired and good looking young man was attracted by the commotion. Clad in a tan colored flat cloth cap, gray Norfolk jacket, white shirt with an attachable celluloid collar, dark green and blue striped necktie, knickerbocker trousers, tartan woolen socks and untanned walking boots, but showing no sign of being armed, he was more likely to be from the East than a Westerner. Seeing what was happening, he immediately turned to the rescue.

  “Hey!” the blond shouted, as he started to run along the alley. His accent proved to be that of a well-educated New Englander as he went on, “Take your hands off that young woman!”

  Well intentioned though the motives of the newcomer undoubtedly were and most welcome, the lady outlaw considered he was ill advised to have announced his presence in such a fashion!

  For all that, aided by the speed at which he was moving, the blond achieved some success, in spite of having deprived his arrival of the element of surprise!

  Grabbing Henry by the shoulders before he could turn, the Easterner flung him aside. Jubal, on the point of returning to help deal with the beautiful young woman held by Bert, had his attention attracted by the indiscreet demand. He changed direction and lunged forward. Adopting the posture of a participant in the fast developing sport of boxing with gloves and timed rounds, instead of fighting barehanded until one combatant was knocked down, the blond met the attack competently enough. Deftly blocking the blow being swung at him with his left hand, he sent the right in a stylish jab to the face. Bringing a trickle of blood from the top lip and snapping back the head, the punch caused its recipient to retreat a few hurried steps and his assailant went after him with the intention of delivering a coup de grace.

  Effective as such methods might have been in the boxing ring of an Eastern sporting club against another amateur opponent engaged in a friendly bout, they proved to be less efficacious for a roughhouse brawl in a Kansas trail end town with more than one antagonist involved.

  Hurling Belle so that she collided with the wall of the gunsmith’s shop and was momentarily stunned, Bert sprang at and trapped the young man in the same manner he had employed to reduce her ability to fight back. Snarling curses, the other cousins Henry having recovered sufficiently from the kick to join in diverted their rage from her to the newcomer and converged with the intention of venting it upon him.

  Once again, the trio were to be thwarted!

  However, on this occasion, the intervention was by somebody whose views on sporting conduct were clearly better attuned to the needs of the situation!

  Clad in all black clothing, of the style which was practically de rigueur for a cowhand from Texas, except that his sharp toed boots had low heels, the most recent arrival upon the scene was tall, with a whipcord slender build and Indian dark, almost babyishly handsome features which made him appear very young. Dangling suspended by its barbiquejo chin strap on his shoulders, his hat left exposed glossy black hair which had recently been cut to an acceptable shortness. Regardless of his facial appearance, unlike his predecessor, he was not without visible weapons. On the contrary, he was remarkably well armed. The Winchester Model of 1873 rifle he was carrying, its finish being of a much higher grade than given to standard production pieces, was augmented by an old Colt Dragoon Model of 1848 revolver, butt forward in the holster on the right side of his gunbelt, and an ivory handled James Black bowie knife of massive dimensions in a sheath at the left.

  Advancing swiftly and silently, the young Texan made no attempt to announce his presence in any way until he was close enough to do so with most effect. Even then, he did not speak. Instead, he delivered a round arm swing which slammed the twenty-six inch octagonal barrel of the rifle against the side of Henry’s head. The impact twirled the tallest of the cousins towards the wall of the saloon. Striking and rebounding from the unyielding planks, he went down in the limp and uncaring fashion of one who had been rendered unconscious.

  Seeing what happened to Henry, Jubal forgot his intention of repaying the punch he had taken from the New Englander. Instead, he started to reach for his holstered Colt and began to turn upon the latest arrival. Without so much as having broken stride while felling the tallest cousin, holding the rifle with only his right hand grasping the wrist of the butt disregarding the fact that it was not an ordinary production model, but one of the rare “One Of A Thousand” type so highly prized and much sought after on account of their superlative quality he continued to use it as a club rather than a firearm. Reversing the direction it was travelling, the barrel swept around just as rapidly and arrived with an equal force against Jubal’s jaw before the draw was completed. He was sent in a headlong plunge against the other building, from which he flopped to sprawl unmoving on the ground.

  Alarmed by the unexpected and decidedly disturbing way in which the affair was developing, Bert shoved the New Englander forward and also elected to continue the hostilities with his revolver. As he was reaching for it, Belle lurched from where she had been flung and rammed shoulder first into his back. He was sent after the young man he had pushed in the direction of the black dressed Texan, but was not offered an opportunity to halt what he sensed to be a most undesirable movement.

  Stepping aside with the casual-seeming ease of a master toreador avoiding the charge of an inexperienced bull, the second rescuer took himself clear of the blond and into view of the last cousin. Catching the wooden foregrip of the Winchester with his left hand, he lunged as if he was a soldier delivering an attack with a bayonet. Jabbed just below the
breastbone with the muzzle of the weapon, all the breath left Bert’s lungs in an agonized “whoosh!” As he was stumbling away and all thoughts of pulling the Colt were obliterated, the rifle was brought up to hook beneath his descending jaw. Giving a surging heave, indicative of the powerful muscles of the slender frame, the Texan lifted and flung him backwards. His head slammed against the ground and he too lapsed into immobility.

  “Now I wouldn’t want to go sounding all pushy and nosey afore we’ve so much’s said, ‘Howdy, you-all’, formal-like, Mr. Bullstrode,” remarked the Indian dark and most effective young intruder, his Texas drawl a musical tenor, having glanced around to ensure there was no further need for hostile action against the trio. “But, happen you’re figuring on staying out west of the Big Muddy and aim to keep billing in on other folk’s doings, no matter should it be thought polite back to home, I wouldn’t keep on shouting to let them know you’re coming for ’em, head down ’n’ horns a-hooking.”

  “Lon!” Belle ejaculated, before the New Englander could reply to what she considered was excellent advice, pausing as she was bending to retrieve the hat and wig. “Lon Ysabel. Well I’ll be damned if it isn’t you!”

  “Well now,” replied the Ysabel Kid, showing none of the surprise he was experiencing over the lady whom he and the young Easterner had rescued. “There’s some might say’s how you’ll be damned ’most any ways it’s taken.”

  “I’ve heard the same thing said about you and with better reason,” the lady outlaw claimed, noticing that the young Texan had not given any suggestion of knowing her true identity. Picking up and starting to replace her dislodged property, the hat being secured by a pin to the wig, she went on, “But I’ll give you one thing. You boys of Ole Devil’s floating outfit surely know how to come to hand when you’re most badly needed.”

  “That’s been said so often, it must be truthful true,” the Kid asserted, with a spurious modesty he knew would be expected by the beautiful young women. “Only this time, I’d say you’re luckier’n you know.”

  “How come?” Belle inquired.

  “We should’ve got here two-three days back,” the Texan explained, directing the words to the New Englander as much as the lady outlaw. “Which’s how-all I got to be on hand right now. Cap’n Fog’s sent me on ahead to let you know’s how he’s on his way in, Mr. Bullstrode. The desk clerk down to the hotel told me’s you’d just gone out ’n’ who to look for. Trouble being, just afore I could catch up and say, ‘Howdy, you-all’, I saw you headed in here at a rush and concluded I’d best come see what was doing.”

  “I’m pleased you did,” Andrew Bullstrode declared, but a note of bitterness came into his voice as he continued, “Only I wish Captain Fog could have got here on time, because I’ve made a god-damned fool of myself while I was waiting.”

  “How come?” the Kid inquired.

  “I met a young woman at the hotel—!” the New Englander began, too miserable to hold back the confession he knew he would eventually be compelled to make elsewhere, even though he was in the presence of strangers.

  “How about telling us what happened while we’re walking?” Belle suggested, her manner sympathetic. “I’d rather not stay here until the marshal or some of his deputies come to find out why those three knob-heads have been treated so rough.”

  “Or me, comes to that,” the Kid supported, being sufficiently well acquainted with the lady outlaw to understand her disinclination to be interviewed by the local peace officers. “The John Laws in this town aren’t a bunch of Kansas fighting pimps like those god-damned Earp boys, but they don’t take kind’ to having fellers whomped about so cruel, no matter why it’s done. I know we-all had right good cause to whomp ’em, but I’d sooner not spend the time it’ll take telling the why of it.”

  “But—!” Bullstrode began his upbringing in the best part of Newark, New Jersey, having imbued a strong sense of respect for law and order which led him to consider the proposal far from ethical.

  “From what you’ve told us so far, my guess is that the sooner we hear the rest of your story the better,” the lady outlaw claimed. “And we won’t be able to do that while the marshal or his deputies are questioning us, even if you wanted them to hear what you have to say. On top of which, I’ve got what I reckon to be pretty sound reasons for not wanting to give them a chance to talk to me,”

  “I’m going to walk along with ‘Miss Beauregard’ for a spell,” the Kid declared, in a tone which brooked no argument, having deduced from the disguise that Belle would not want her true identity revealed and employing one of her favorite aliases. “And, going by what you started to say, I’ve got a sneaky feeling you’re sort of caught ’tween a rock and a hard place. Which being, I reckon you’d best come and tell us all about it.”

  Chapter Four – He Let Himself Be Taken

  “You’re certainly right in assuming I’m in trouble,” Andrew Bullstrode confessed, as he was accompanying Belle Starr and the Ysabel Kid in the direction from which, unbeknown to him, she had entered the alley. Feeling a desperate need to talk to somebody, the further realization that the Indian dark young Texan would have to be told what had happened was giving him all the inducement necessary to do so. “I met this young woman in the dining-room at the hotel while I was having dinner last night and, seeing she looked somewhat distressed, got to talking with her. She finally told me, after some prompting, she was in difficulty because her brother had lost a lot of money in a game of poker—!”

  “She’s about my height,” the lady outlaw interposed, bringing the explanation to a halt as the New Englander glanced at her in a doubtful fashion. “A real pretty blonde, unless she’s changed its color, who looks like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. Seeing that I’m not inclined to be catty, well not especially, I’ll say she’s willowy in build and not skinny.”

  “Yes, she is!” the blond haired young man gasped, swinging his gaze rapidly towards the speaker instead of giving his attention to the Kid. “But how—?”

  “And,” the lady outlaw went on, as if the interruption to her description had never been made. “Because her brother had had to leave town earlier that afternoon, she wanted you to go along with her to hand over payment for an IOU he’d signed to cover his losses.”

  “Why yes, that’s exactly how it was!” Bullstrode ejaculated, staring practically goggle-eyed at the young woman he had assumed to be nothing more than a less then respectable acquaintance of the black clad Texan. “But how did you know?”

  “Then, on the way to the game, which her ‘brother’ had assured her was completely honest, she found out you reckoned yourself a better than fair poker player,” Belle continued, without supplying the information which had been requested. “After which, she suggested you should use her savings and try to win back at least some of the money he’d lost and, with her being so sweet, innocent and defenseless to look at, you were enough of the gallant gentleman to give it a whirl. Only, instead of getting back her ‘brother’s’ money, you lost all she’d given you and, in trying to get that back, got through all of your own.”

  “I don’t know how you know, but that’s just the way it happened!” Bullstrode admitted, hoping he was not sounding and looking as big a fool as he felt whilst listening to a surprisingly accurate description of the previous night’s events. Realizing there must be vastly more to the beautiful and garishly dressed young woman than appeared upon the surface, certainly that she was something vastly different from what he had taken her for although he could not envisage her exact status he went on in a voice redolent of the misery and shame he had been experiencing all day, “Except that it wasn’t just my own money I lost!”

  “Do tell,” the Kid drawled, in what seemed a disinterested manner and was, in fact, considered as being by the New Englander. The Kid had sensed that the final words of the confession were intended more for him than the lady outlaw. “So this skinny lil gal and her good buddies took you for all the cash you were sent here to pass on to
Ole Devil, huh?”

  “Every last cent of it!” Bullstrode confirmed, his voice scarcely louder than a whisper. “God, I was such a fool!”

  “Well, yes, it sounds like you just could’ve been at that,” the Texan asserted, but his demeanor gave little or no indication of how he was receiving the news that the large sum of money intended for his employer, General Jackson Baines “Ole Devil” Hardin, had been lost in a game of poker. “Thing being, was you cheated?”

  “I think I must have been,” the New Englander answered. “But I can’t imagine how they did it. Everything seemed straight and above board.”

  “It ’most always does, happen them doing the taking’re good enough,” the Kid declared. “How’d they take you?”

  “Almost all of it went on the final pot,” Bullstrode replied, quietly and with the bitterness of desperation. “I was holding four jacks and an ace dealt pat and everybody else drew at least two cards. The betting was pretty heavy until, at last, only Reverend Huckfield and I were left.”

  “Reverend Huckfield?” the Kid queried.

  “That’s how he was introduced to me,” the New Englander confirmed. “I’ve known other members of the clergy who like to gamble for high stakes and, him being in the game, I felt sure it must be honest.”

  “Most folks would have felt the same,” Belle commiserated as the explanation was brought to an embarrassed end. “That’s why the Reverend Huckfield was sitting in. So how did the play go?”

  “He’d taken three cards on the draw,” Bullstrode explained, at last having accepted, instead of trying to fight off the belief, that he had been taken in by a well devised and executed plot. “And, as I’d seen a queen and a couple of kings thrown in when the others folded, I couldn’t see how I could possibly be beaten by any hand he’d filled.”