Lord Beechmuir asked anxiously, “You weren’t hit, were you?”
Longarm shook his head. “No harm done,” he assured them. “But if you don’t mind me saying so, your ladyship, that was a hell of a shot. You almost parted my hair for me at nearly six hundred yards.”
Helene’s face was pale, washed out. She shook her head and said, “I wouldn’t … I never meant to …”
“It’s all right, ma’am,” Longarm said quickly. “We all make mistakes.”
Booth looked at his wife but spoke to Longarm. “I already made it quite plain to Lady Beechmuir that she should not take any more shots without letting the rest of us know about it first. I promise you, Marshal, we were almost as startled as you.”
“You don’t have to be mean about it, John,” Helene snapped. “I said I was sorry, and I’m sure Marshal Long knows that I meant no harm.”
Lord Beechmuir said, “Well, I’m not sure why you decided to come along today anyway. I expected you to stay at Benjamin’s ranch house.”
“I’ve accompanied you on some of your other expeditions.”
“Not when I was going after a creature like the Brazos Devil,” Booth protested.
“Is that so?” Helene shot back at him. “I suppose it was safer when you were hunting that rogue elephant-“
“I said there was no harm done,” Longarm cut in. “No point in fussing about it.”
“Very well,” Lord Beechmuir said stiffly. “Damn sportin’ of you, Marshal. I might not be so forgivin’ if it was me that my darlin’ wife took a shot at.”
Helene looked as if she wanted to say something else, but she fumed in silence. Longarm moved his horse alongside Thorp’s, and the group started riding toward the Brazos again.
So it had been Lady Beechmuir who had fired that shot, Longarm reflected. Accidentally, of course.
But he remembered the way he had turned aside her advances the night before, and he recalled as well that old saying about the fury of a woman scorned. Could be the Brazos Devil wasn’t the only dangerous creature running around out here.
Chapter 11
They crossed the river a little before midday. Thorp led the way across the sandy streambed, warning the others to follow him closely so as to avoid the patches of quicksand. So far there had been no sign of the Brazos Devil, Emmaline Thorp, or Mitch Rainey. It was as if the rugged, wooded hills had swallowed up all three of them.
When the sun was directly overhead, Thorp called a halt. They were at the top of a grassy knoll with a good view of the countryside around them. As everyone dismounted, Randamar Ghote unwrapped a large bundle strapped onto his horse behind his saddle, revealing a wicker basket. Inside the basket were plates, glasses, a bottle of champagne, and several bowls of food. The silent Sikh, Absalom Singh, took a contraption from the pack on his horse that proved to be a folding table, and when it was set up, Singh brought out three folding stools as well. Longarm watched the servants setting up the meal with an amused look on his face.
“Not much like gnawing jerky and hardtack in the saddle, is it?” he asked Thorp.
The rancher shook his head. “Lord and Lady Beechmuir are accustomed to a certain level of comfort, no matter where they are.”
Longarm could imagine the two servants carting around all this gear and setting it up in the middle of some African jungle. Booth and his wife seemed to take it all for granted. They sat down on the stools as Ghote spread the meal on the table, and Lord Beechmuir said, “Please join us, Benjamin. My apologies, Marshal Long, but we only have one extra seat. You’re certainly welcome to share in our repast, however.”
“Much obliged,” Longarm said. He ambled over to the table and looked down at the food. It was simple fare— chicken, potatoes, corn on the cob, hunks of bread. But it was being served on fine china and washed down by champagne sipped from crystal glasses, here in the middle of nowhere. Longarm settled for a couple of drumsticks and a thick slice of bread. He sat down with his back against the trunk of a tree and stretched his legs out in front of him as he ate. He had brought supplies for his own lunch, but since Thorp’s party seemed to have more than enough, he didn’t mind joining them.
Lord and Lady Beechmuir chatted and laughed as if they were in some London drawing room while they ate. Thorp looked a little uncomfortable as he sat at the folding table with them. He might be a successful businessman now, but somewhere inside him was the frontiersman who had founded the Rocking T ranch before he ever became a banker, and had lived there in a rough stone house surrounded by cowboys. Longarm could tell that putting on all these airs bothered Thorp, but he was willing to tolerate almost anything if it might help his chances of finding his wife.
When the meal was over, Singh and Ghote cleaned up quickly and efficiently while Thorp and Lord Beechmuir smoked cigars. Longarm fired up one of his own cheroots and considered joining them, but he noticed Helene Booth slipping off into a growth of trees farther down the hill. She was just going to take care of some personal business, Longarm figured, but he still felt a twinge of worry. Privacy was all right, but with an escaped prisoner roaming these hills—to say nothing of a possible monster—Longarm decided somebody ought to at least stay within earshot of the lady. He strolled down the slope toward the oaks where she had disappeared.
Longarm hesitated when he entered the edge of the trees. He didn’t want to embarrass Helene by stumbling onto something he shouldn’t be seeing. He thought about Making plenty of noise as he proceeded, scuffing his boots through the fallen leaves, maybe even whistling a few bars of that cavalry song about the big black charger. His lips were pursed to do just that when he suddenly heard low voices somewhere ahead of him in the trees.
A frown creased Longarm’s forehead. One of the voices belonged to Helene; he was fairly sure of that. The other one he couldn’t place. Low and silky, it belonged to a man. Longarm didn’t recall seeing any of the other gents in the party following Helene into the trees. Maybe someone had come down here first to wait for her. No longer as worried about violating anyone’s privacy, Longarm gave in to his curiosity and cat-footed forward.
He crouched behind a screen of brush as he spotted movement up ahead. Peering through the leafy undergrowth, he saw a flash of yellow and knew he was seeing Helene’s gown. Longarm leaned forward and carefully moved aside a branch to give him a better view.
