Dusty Fog's Civil War 9 Page 9

  “I can’t go into details such as who the man was, or how he came by his information, of course,” Belle answered, “but I can assure you that the word he brought is genuine and accurate.”

  “Maybe you’d better tell me which man you refer to,” growled the General.

  Quickly Belle told of the meeting with the agent and Ole Devil sat stiff-backed in his chair, taking in every word. Moving on silent feet, Tommy Okasi handed his employer a cigar and rasped a match for it. Through the smoke, Ole Devil studied Belle’s face.

  “The gist of the message is that one of Pinkerton’s best men has been on my trail almost ever since I landed in New York. Strogoff, the agent, arrived in Russelville on the day after the gold raid. He investigated it and is sure that I was responsible for it. More than that, my information is that the Yankees guess at the use to which we intend to put the gold—and where.”

  For the first time Belle saw Dusty and Ole Devil come close to showing emotion. A flicker of expression crossed Ole Devil’s face, almost mirrored by the glint that appeared in Dusty’s eyes. Watching them, Belle saw how Dusty reacted in much the same manner as his uncle and realized that the small young Texan tried to model himself on the tall, grim-faced warrior who commanded him.

  “How the hell did they learn about the Matamoros?” Dusty asked when Ole Devil failed to raise the point.

  “Pinkerton runs an efficient organization; never sell him or his men short on that,” Belle warned. “I was probably under observation most of the time I was in England. If so, they know about my meetings with Smee, and he isn’t the most loyal of men.”

  “Do you think this Smee jasper sold you out?” growled Ole Devil.

  “It’s possible,” Belle admitted.

  “That’s not going to make our work any easier,” Dusty remarked.

  “I know. The U.S. Secret Service don’t like Rose Greenhow or me, we’ve made them look like fools too many times. Pinkerton’s crowd swore they would get me after I escaped from the Old Capitol Prison after they put me there.”

  “I never did learn how you pulled that,” Dusty said.

  “Some other time, Dustine,” Ole Devil ordered and looked at Belle. “In the face of what you’ve told me, I think you had best stay in the South. Dustine and Red—damn it, Dustine, you’ve got me calling him ‘Red’ now—anyhow, they can make the purchase and delivery.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not so easy, General,” Belle smiled. “Dusty and Red are both good fighting men, but they haven’t played my game long enough to know it.”

  “How do you mean?” asked Ole Devil.

  “I’m not selling Dusty or Red short on any counts,” Belle assured him, noting the anger-furrow which came between his eyes. “But you wouldn’t send one of your companies out under the command of a civilian—would you?”

  From what she had already seen of Ole Devil, Belle figured that line would be the one he understood the best. Her judgment proved correct and an admiring glint crept into the hard black eyes as Ole Devil sat back in his chair.

  “I see now how you’ve stayed alive so long, Miss Boyd,” he stated.

  Dusty frowned and put his doubts to words. “Belle’s a valuable spy and the South needs her, sir.” His eyes turned to Belle and he went on, “And I’m not saying that just because you’re a woman. But the Pinkerton bunch want you and I’ve heard they aren’t particular how they go about getting somebody they’re after. You’ll be mighty conspicuous down there.”

  “I agree, Miss Boyd,” Ole Devil put in. “Even though you’re a pretty fair hand at disguising yourself, any American girl down there will stick out like liquorish on a snowdrift. Unless you plan to go there as a Mexican.”

  “My Spanish is non-existent,” Belle smiled. “There are some white girls down there, working in the cantinas or on the streets, but going as one of them would limit my usefulness.”

  “Yes,” agreed Ole Devil. “There’d be too many places in Matamoros closed to that kind of woman; and I wouldn’t want you to go into the kind of hell-holes there are in Matamoros.”

  “I can take care of myself pretty well, General,” Belle replied. “But a cantina worker would not serve my purpose.”

  “We’re assuming that the Yankees in Matamoros hear that we’re coming,” Dusty reminded the others.

  “I’ve told you that Pinkerton’s crowd are thorough,” Belle answered. “Strogoff had already telegraphed news of the raid to Washington. From there, word can be passed to New York and a fast Navy boat sent off. Even starting today, we could hardly be in Matamoros before word reaches the Yankee spies there.”

  “We’ll lose nothing by assuming that’s already happened, Dustine,” Ole Devil pointed out.

  “Yes, sir,” Dusty answered in a disinterested manner which drew Ole Devil’s eyes sharply towards him.

  Seeing that Dusty did not intend to say more, and knowing his nephew very well, Ole Devil turned back to Belle. “Could you pass yourself off as a French girl?”

  “Possibly, although my French is of the Creole variety. There can’t be so many French girls in Matamoros that the sudden appearance of another would go unnoticed. Of course, it is a thought.”

  Glancing at Dusty, Belle waited for him to make a comment, but he sat back in his chair, a blank expression on his face. For almost a minute nobody spoke. Then Dusty sat forward in his chair. While he tried to keep his features free from expression, a faint glint of eagerness showed on them.

  “What is it, Dustine?” asked Ole Devil.

  “Just a fool notion, sir.”

  “Go ahead,” the General ordered, thinking of other occasions on which Dusty came out with a “fool notion” that proved to be a very sound piece of planning and brought success.

  “Like we figure, Belle’s arrival in Matamoros is bound to attract some attention—no matter what she wears or how she tries to hide.”

  “We’d already assumed that,” growled Ole Devil.

  “Then why hide her at all? Let her arrive in plain view and with conspicuous company.”

  “Such as?” asked Belle.

  “Let her go into town as the wife, or amie—is that the word I want?—”

  “It’ll do,” grunted Ole Devil. “I have heard of even Confederate officers having such things.”

  “But why would a Confederate officer be in Matamoros?” smiled Belle.

  “He could have come in from Texas on an official visit to the French authorities, to discuss—”

  Dusty’s voice trailed off at that point, for he had not been able to think of a convincing reason for the visit.

  “He’s come to discuss an exchange of deserters. Quite a few French soldiers have gone over the hill, jumped the Rio Grande and settled in Texas. There are some of our own down below the border. The visit could be to arrange for an exchange—with more serious undertones, such as a closer association between our Government and the French.”

  “That’s a really good idea, general,” Belle breathed. “The French would be only too pleased to give us cooperation if they thought their cause in Mexico might benefit by it.”

  “Only it won’t work,” Ole Devil answered.

  “Why not, sir?” asked Dusty.

  “Such a mission would not be handled by a captain, no matter how distinguished his record, and a first lieutenant.”

  “That’s true enough,” Belle agreed. “But I still like the idea.”

  “We need a field, or staff officer with us, sir,” Dusty stated.

  “I could appoint you temporary rank, Dustine, but you’re too young.”

  “Yes, sir. But it sounds like the kind of trip Pappy would like.”

  “You know I can’t spare an active officer,” Ole Devil pointed out. “I can’t spare you and R—Mr. Blaze—if it comes to that.”

  Although Ole Devil held the Yankees in Arkansas and had inflicted some heavy losses on them, he did so by superior tactics and fighting ability. Outnumbered by the enemy, only keeping every man fully employed prevente
d the Confederate Army from being swept back to the borders of Texas and held them firm beyond the Ouachita. Taking Dusty’s company out of the field would mean cancelling, or postponing several projects as Ole Devil well knew. He could not spare both Hondo and Dusty at one time.

  “Major Amesley could come, sir,” Dusty suggested. “His orderly room staff do most of his work anyway, and he’s champing on the bit to see some action.”

  “You could be right at that,” smiled Ole Devil. “Wouldn’t need to put too much strain on his leg and he’s got the way with him to carry the affair off.”

  “There would be no objection on age grounds to Major Amesley receiving promotion, General,” Belle remarked.

  “How do you mean, ma’am?” asked Ole Devil. “You think I should appoint him a lieutenant or full colonel for the trip?”

  “A brigadier general would be even better,” she replied calmly.

  “A general!” Ole Devil barked.

  “Yes. The French Army officers are either members of the ancien regime, or, as they say, of the people. The former respect a man for his breeding, which we know the major has, and his rank. The latter, like most of their type, are arrant snobs and are more likely to show deference to a general that to a major or colonel. One other point to remember is that a general would be more likely than a colonel to have a captain and first lieutenant on his staff.”

  “That’s true,” conceded Ole Devil, then smiled. “So’s everything you said. However, promotion from major to brigadier general might be construed as straining the powers of even the commanding general of the Army of Arkansas.”

  “My department would back you on it,” Belle promised. “Put it down to the necessity of the situation. And the promotion would only be temporary—and unpaid.”

  “You can be certain of the last,” Ole Devil informed her definitely.

  “And all the expenses will be defrayed from the Yankee gold,” she went on.

  “I should think so too,” he replied, and for a moment his face softened in a smile.

  In that moment Belle saw the kindly man hidden under the hard mask of discipline and facade of irascible nature. The mask did not stay broken for long and the old, cold face returned.

  “My compliments to Major Amesley, Dustine,” he said. “Ask him to come to see me as soon as it’s convenient. Which means right now, convenient or not.”

  “Yo!” Dusty replied, rising and crossing to the door.

  Five minutes later, Dusty returned with Major Amesley at his side. For the first time Belle noticed the slight limp which told that the wound received in the early days of the War had left its mark. While waiting for Amesley to appear, Ole Devil had told the girl how the major received the wound and also mentioned his age. Belle could hardly believe that tanned, sprightly man had sixty years on his shoulders and would have put his age at the most in the very early fifties.

  Emotion played on Amesley’s face, although only one who knew him as well as did Ole Devil Hardin could have noticed it, as he approached the general’s desk. Being a well-educated man, Amesley could easily add together two and two to make the correct answer. He knew Belle’s identity and guessed that something important kept her in the area. Nor had Dusty’s excitement—again only observable to one who knew the signs—gone unnoticed. Amesley hoped against hope that the call to Ole Devil’s office meant a chance to get away from dull routine and perform some useful fighting task for his country. The old wound stiffened his leg to the point where continued strenuous exercise rendered it unable to move with the speed necessary to keep a combat soldier alive. So he did duty as adjutant and trained the young bloods to handle their swords, much as the tasks galled him. Watching Ole Devil, Amesley prayed that there would be a change in the air.

  “Sit down, Beau,” Ole Devil said, waving a hand towards the chair Tommy Okasi brought to him. “Do you know the Mexican port of Matamoros?”

  “Can’t say I do, sir.”

  Ole Devil proceeded to run through the situation, with Amesley listening attentively and casting occasional glances at Belle or Dusty. At the end, he nodded his head.

  “I can handle my part of it, sir,” he stated.

  “Well, be cagey with it,” Ole Devil warned. “Nobody in our Government will come out with a definite official statement about siding either the French or the Mexicans, not wanting to antagonize either side. You’ll probably find the French brass mighty interested. Particularly those so close to the border. Feel them out, learn all you can about their sentiments, but don’t make any promises that our Government will have to stand by or refute later.”

  “May I say something, sir?” Dusty put in.

  “Feel free,” Ole Devil answered.

  “The Yankees are going to be real interested in our reason for being in Matamoros.”

  “I’d say so.”

  “And they’ll probably put it down to our trying to organize an alliance with the French.”

  “Probably.”

  “Then they’ll be watching us all the time.”

  “No, Dustine,” Belle interrupted. “They’ll be watching ‘General’ Amesley. He has to hold their attention and leave you and I free to arrange for the shipment of arms when Smee arrives.”

  “That may be,” Dusty replied doubtfully. “But while the Yankees are watching Major Amesley, they’re going to see him spending a whole load of their gold.”

  “So?” asked Ole Devil.

  “Aren’t they going to think that just a little mite strange? A Confederate ‘General’ spending Yankee gold.”

  “I think I can answer that, General,” Belle stated. “Going from what I saw in Europe—and I can’t see Matamoros being any different—there’ll be considerable reluctance to accept paper money issued by either side.”

  “That figures,” Ole Devil answered. “Whichever side wins won’t uphold the other’s currency. Foreigners would fight shy of taking something that may wind up by being just so much paper after the end of the War.”

  “Then you don’t reckon the Yankees’ll be suspicious when they see us spending U.S. minted coins?”

  “Not if we use coins with pre-war dates on them,” Belle asserted.

  “Are any of the coins dated before the War?” asked Ole Devil.

  Nobody replied for a moment, then Dusty looked across the desk. “I don’t reckon any of us thought to look, sir,” he admitted.

  “Then somebody had better look,” growled Ole Devil. “And soon.”

  “I’ll see to it, sir,” Dusty promised. “Sure hope that it’s all in double eagles though, or I’ll be checking it all day.”

  “You’ve maybe got something better to do?” asked Ole Devil with a grin, then turned his attention to the rest of the occupants of the room. “Anything more before we break this off, Miss Boyd?”

  “I’d like somebody to arrange our passage downriver,” Belle answered.

  “Have your orderly room sergeant see to it, Beau. Have you anything you want?”

  “Only my stars and sleeve insignia,” Amesley replied. “How about my staff?”

  “You’ll have Dustine and Red Blaze as your aides and Miss Boyd will be your amie. I’ll leave it to you how you arrange that.”

  “Servants, sir?” Amesley continued.

  No Confederate general would travel without at least one servant to minister to his needs and all present knew that everything must appear normal if their mission was to succeed.

  “Any suggestions, Dustine?” asked Ole Devil.

  “My striker, he’s a cool hand and can be trusted to keep his mouth shut. And I reckon Billy Jack’d go to private to act as Major Amesley’s striker.”

  “A brigadier general could run to a sergeant-major for striker, sergeant at least,” Old Devil countered. “But why Billy Jack?”

  “Dick’s a mite long in the tooth for rough games and this might turn out to be real rough,” Dusty replied. “Anyways it’s time Billy Jack had a furlough.”

  “Will he volunteer to go alo
ng?” Belle inquired.

  “I’ll order him to volunteer,” grinned Dusty. “How about a maid for you?”

  “We’d best hire one down there, say mine quit before we left Texas,” Belle answered.

  “Which brings up another point,” Dusty went on. “You’ll be travelling as a lady—”

  “Why thank you ’most to death, kind sir,” smiled Belle.

  “You know what I mean,” Dusty answered. “That means you can’t ride into Matamoros dressed like you are today. Which also means that you going in afork a horse is out.”

  “Well, Dustine?” queried Ole Devil.

  “We need a carriage of some kind, sir. And we can’t hope to be lucky enough to pick one up on some deserted bay on the Mexican coast.”

  “Take one with you,” Ole Devil suggested. “Pick it up either in Alexandria or Morgan City. You’ll need something to carry the gold on and pack horses wouldn’t be the best answer.”

  Watching the men, Belle was struck by the attention they paid to small details. Many Army men she knew would never have thought to discuss the matter, but send her out to fend for herself. Belle felt gratified and pleased with the way her luck placed her in the way of such helpful and competent men.

  “Anything more?” asked Ole Devil.

  “Only how we’re going to handle the transportation of the money, and I reckon I can handle that, sir,” Dusty answered.

  “Miss Boyd?” Ole Devil went on.

  “Nothing that I can think of off-hand.”

  “Beau?”

  “I’ll take up anything I think of with Dusty, sir.”

  “Then that’s all, Miss Boyd, gentlemen.”

  Rising, Dusty and Amesley saluted their general and left the office with Belle on their heels. At the door Amesley halted and looked down at his sleeves.

  “Brigadier General,” he smiled. “Now there’s a promotion for you, Dusty.”

  “Yes, sir. General,” Dusty answered, grinning back. “It sure is—even if you don’t get paid for the rank.”

  Nine – Captain Fog Encounters a Travel Hazard

  Before the War, the Rosebud had made the big run along the Mississippi from St. Louis to New Orleans and completed for trade with the many other side-wheeler steamboats which carried passengers and freight at speeds no other form of transport could equal. However, the War disrupted the riverboat trade, for the Yankees controlled the Mississippi’s lower reaches and their gunboats raided far upstream in a manner which rendered peaceful trading decidedly risky. Only a few of the boats remained in business and the Rosebud found a useful route lay between Fulton on the Red River in Arkansas and Morgan City down at the mouth of the Atchafalaya.