The Devil's Path (An Alexander Scott Novel Book 1) Page 13

  As he entered the village, Scott saw a farmer standing there cursing a blue streak, his cart full of hay knocked over when Kate’s carriage had barreled through the narrow street. The enraged farmer’s eyes widened as Scott charged straight towards him. With a wave of his fist at Scott, the farmer barely had time to duck down, as Scott’s horse easily leapt over the overturned cart.

  “Sorry,” yelled Scott over his shoulder at the surprised farmer. With a shout of encouragement, Scott willed his horse to run faster.

  The two men leisurely following behind the carriage were oblivious to Scott as he closed in on them. At the last moment one of the men, a squat, bull-necked man thought he heard something. Turning in his saddle, he was surprised to see Scott astride a white charger racing after them. Calling to his accomplice, the man yanked back on his reins, drew his pistol, and then turned his horse about to face Scott. With a yell, the thug dug his heels into his horse’s sides and charged straight towards Scott, his pistol held out aimed at Scott.

  Drawing his own pistol, Scott pulled back the hammer with his thumb and then leaned forward, his arm resting on the neck of his horse.

  The man charging towards Scott fired his pistol. The shot went wide. Taking aim again, he cocked the hammer and then pulled the trigger.

  Scott heard the bullets whiz by over his head. The man may have known how to ride a horse, but he sure as hell didn’t know how to shoot from one, thought Scott. Having ridden all his life, Scott had learnt from Charles Blackhorse, a Sioux warrior, how to shoot and ride. He could hear the words of Blackhorse in his head: take your time, aim, and remember to use your horse to steady your hand.

  The distance closed to less than fifty yards. The thug still shot wildly. Closing one eye, Scott took aim and then pulled the trigger of his Colt pistol.

  His shot hit home.

  The other rider let go of his reins and tumbled over the back of his horse, a hole blasted straight through his chest. Cocking the hammer of his pistol, Scott took aim at the second thug as that man also fired wildly, hoping to hit Scott. Waiting until he was almost on the man, Scott fired his pistol, striking him in the center of his forehead. Rider and horse charged past Scott. Scott never looked back as the rider slid off his horse and fell onto the dirt road.

  Kate sat up the instant she heard the first shot fired. Her heart began racing. A small smile crept across her lips. She knew it had to be Scott.

  Looking over at the thug, Kate could see the sudden flash of fear and confusion in his eyes as he squirmed in his seat to look out the open carriage window. A foul curse escaped his lips. Turning his head up, he called out to the two men on top of the carriage. Kate suddenly felt the carriage speed up as the driver whipped his horses to run faster.

  Scott looked ahead at the top of the charging stagecoach and saw that there was a man sitting next to the driver; in his hands was a rifle. A smile crossed Scott’s face. The man was holding an older cavalry carbine, one that surely had to be reloaded by hand after every shot. If he missed with his first shot, then Scott had a chance.

  Suddenly, Scott heard a shot ring out. He felt a bullet pass by his head, missing him by mere millimeters. Looking over at the side of the carriage Scott saw the man dressed as a gendarme leaning out, taking aim to fire at him again. Firing off a quick shot, making the thug flinch, Scott pulled on his horse’s reins and then quickly moved directly behind the carriage so that he could not be seen or shot at.

  The sound of the horse’s hooves had blocked out the earlier shots, but when his boss had fired, the hired muscle with the carbine on top of the carriage turned his head and with a shock of disbelief, saw that both of his friends were no longer behind them. Instead, a man on a white horse was trading shots with their leader. Turning about, the man pulled back on the hammer of his carbine, raised the weapon to his shoulder, and took aim at Scott. Pulling the trigger, the carbine jerked up as it fired. The man swore as the shot missed, hitting the ground just behind Scott’s horse. Fumbling for another bullet, the man opened the chamber and ejected the spent casing before loading a fresh bullet. Jamming it home, he decided he needed to move. Trying to balance himself on the moving carriage roof, he knelt up, so he could get a better view of Scott riding close in behind the carriage.

  Scott had been too busy trading shots with the man inside the carriage to notice the thug on top of the carriage firing at him. Seeing the man moving about on top of the carriage, Scott knew that he had to get rid of him quickly. Raising his arm slightly, Scott slowed his horse down waiting until the man with the carbine came into view on his weapon’s foresight. Without hesitating, Scott pulled the trigger. The bullet struck the man in his left shoulder.

  Pain raced through the thug’s body as the man tried to bring his carbine up to shoot Scott.

  With a quick flick of his thumb, Scott pulled back the hammer and instantly fired off another shot. This time the bullet struck home. Clutching a bloody wound in his stomach, the man crumpled over and then fell from the top of the carriage into a narrow stream running along the side of the dirt road.

  Kate heard the shots. Turning to look out the window, she let out a startled cry as a man fell past the window.

  Swearing at the top of his lungs, Kate’s captor moved from side to side inside the carriage trying to see where Scott was. It was pointless; Scott was just too well hidden behind the rear of the carriage. Realizing that he would have to go outside if he wanted to get a clear shot, the assassin opened the door on the carriage and then leaned out as far as he could.

  He saw Scott.

  With a smirk on his face, he realized that Scott had not seen him yet. Quickly raising his pistol hand, the thug took aim.

  Seeing the look on her kidnapper’s face, Kate knew he had the drop on Scott. Screwing up her courage, Kate pivoted on her seat and then as hard as she could, she launched both her feet straight into the man’s hand holding on to the inside of the carriage for support. With a surprised yelp of pain, the thug let go of the door and fell down onto the dirt road, tumbling end over end until he came to a sudden stop against a black-and-white road sign.

  Kate jumped up, leaned out of the door, and saw Scott barely a few yards back riding a horse. She had never been so happy to see someone in her life.

  “Hey,” called out Kate, waving her hands, trying to get Scott’s attention.

  Scott saw the Gendarme tumble out of the carriage. Looking up, he saw Kate. He was relieved to see that she looked unharmed. With a quick wave of his hand, he motioned for her to get back inside the carriage. As soon as the door closed on the side of the carriage, Scott dug his legs into his horse and galloped past Kate until he was parallel with the man steering the carriage. Raising his pistol, Scott fired off a shot right in front of the man’s face. With a startled look on his face, the driver looked down and saw Scott keeping pace beside the carriage, a pistol aimed straight at him.

  “Slow down and stop,” ordered Scott.

  The man nodded his head and slowly brought the racing carriage to a complete stop beside a golden yellow wheat field moving in the breeze like waves on the ocean.

  With a wave of his pistol, Scott motioned for the driver to get down slowly from the top of the carriage.

  “Raise your hands and then sit down on the road,” said Scott, keeping a close eye on the last of the Gendarme’s men as he got down from his horse.

  In the instant that the carriage stopped, Kate threw open the door and ran over to Scott. She wanted to throw her arms around him, but seeing the deadly look in his eyes, she stopped and quietly moved beside him.

  Scott cocked his pistol and aimed it straight his prisoner. “I’m going to ask you this once and once only,” said Scott. “Who hired you and what did they want with the woman?”

  The man looked up straight into Scott’s pistol barrel. Any bravado he might have once had instantly evaporated.

  “I was hired by a man called, Duval. He paid us in gold to help find and then kidnap the American woman,” said th
e man, shaking with fear. “I don’t know who Duval works for. I just do the odd job with him from time to time.”

  “You haven’t finished answering my question,” said Scott menacingly as he stepped closer to the terrified man. “Why did he want to kidnap her?”

  The man started to cry. “Please monsieur…please do not shoot me. I don’t know why they wanted her. I know not to ask these things around them.”

  “Who are they?” said Scott, growing impatient.

  “If you don’t kill me, they will if I say anything more.”

  Scott knew he would get nowhere with the scared thug. Someone or something had made the man too afraid to answer. Deciding that he was wasting his time, Scott flipped his pistol around in the air, grabbed hold of the barrel and then with a quick flick of the wrist, he brought the butt of the pistol straight down on top of the man’s head. With a loud thud, the thug keeled over onto the dirt road knocked out cold.

  Kate couldn’t stand it anymore. She threw herself at Scott. Wrapping her arms around him, she held him tight. “I thought I they had killed you.”

  Scott looked down into Kate’s warm green eyes and smiled. “It’s going to take a lot more than a few hoodlums to kill me,” said Scott, just as happy to see Kate.

  Kate sniffed the air and then let go of Scott. Seeing him standing there, she realized that his clothes were dirt-stained and soaked through. He smelt like two-week-old garbage that had been sitting under the sun the whole time.

  Scott saw the look on her face. Sniffing his filth-covered shirt, Scott said, “I guess I do smell a bit, don’t I?”

  Kate’s expression turned serious. “My father’s books…they’re still in my room at Mont Saint-Michael. We have to go back and get them.”

  Scott reached out and touched her gently on the shoulder. “Kate, we can’t risk going back,” said Scott. “We don’t know how many more of them, there are. If they are half as good as I suspect, they are they already have your father’s journals.”

  Kate bit her lip and then nodded her head. Scott was right. They were lucky to have gotten away at all.

  “Besides, they are useless to whoever has them now. Without you, they will never be able to decipher them.”

  “I have this to go on,” said Kate, still clutching her stolen journal.

  “Ok then, no more small talk,” said Scott, looking around. “We need to get moving and put as much distance as we can between us and the abbey before nightfall.”

  “Ok, but one thing, Alexander Scott,” said Kate. “The first thing you need to do after we get away from here is to have a bath, and I get to buy you some new clothes. I want these burnt,” Kate said holding her nose.

  Scott shook his head, helped Kate back inside the carriage, and then found some twine to tie up the unconscious goon. Dragging his body off the road, Scott walked over beside his horse. Gently he rubbed its nose and then turned it back in the direction of the Mont and, with a light tap on its rear, the horse started to gallop back towards its owner. Taking one last look before climbing up on top of the carriage, Scott wanted to make sure that they weren’t being followed. Seeing no one, Scott relaxed somewhat. With a snap of the reins, the horses began to pull the carriage down the road. At the first road junction, Scott turned away from Avranches and head east into the countryside of France instead. They had lost everything they owned back at Mont Saint-Michael. All they had were some gold coins sewn into Scott’s belt, the dirty clothes on their backs, and Kate’s stolen journal.

  With a furious look on his face, Duval stood over the body of the carriage driver, a hole blasted through his skull by his still-smoking pistol. Duval’s head ached worse than if a horse had kicked him square in the forehead. Finding the carriage driver stumbling down the dirt road, a terrified look on his face, it hadn’t taken him long to realize that the man had probably said too much. With as much indifference as squashing a bug, Duval shot the man dead. His chest hurt every time that he took a breath, telling him that he may have broken some ribs when he landed on the dirt road. His day was getting worse by the minute. The people he worked for did not like failure. Thinking through the pain swirling through his mind, Duval knew that the Americans would never head to Avranches. It was far too dangerous for that. Looking up, he saw a signpost pointing the way to Paris. With a thin smile on his hard face, Duval knew exactly where his next stop would be.

  Chapter 13

  Paris, France

  A warm late afternoon sun bathed Paris in golden sunshine. A light breeze seemed to welcome the myriad of people and carriages moving down the wide avenue.

  Kate sat back in the open carriage, like a giddy tourist, happily pointing out the many historical landmarks as they rode past the Champs-Elysees. The bustling avenue was alive with carriages, people on horseback and on foot making their way through the busy city. Paris was home to more than two million souls who busily lived and worked in the very heart of France. After passing the Arc de Triomphe, built to commemorate Napoleon I’s victories, the carriage turned off onto a side street and slowly made its way past a company of blue-coated soldiers smartly marching back to their barracks for the day. A few minutes later, the driver brought the carriage to a halt outside of a bureaucratic-looking, white stone, three-storied building flying the American and French flags side by side. Scott and Kate got out of the carriage and then made their way towards the building.

  After leaving Mont Saint-Michael, Scott and Kate had travelled for several hours using dirt roads and paths through the countryside before stopping at a town located on the train tracks heading towards Paris. Letting Kate do the talking, they got less than a quarter of what they should have for the horses and the carriage, but since their buyer did not ask any difficult or probing questions, they happily took his money. While Scott cleaned up, Kate bought them some new clothes. After a quick meal, they boarded the next train for Paris, travelling in Third Class hoping to blend in with the other passengers. Scott wore light-gray pants, a black vest and matching long jacket. Kate was dressed in a simple brown woolen dress, with a turtle broach made of ivory on her tan-colored shirt jacket.

  At the entrance to the embassy, a lone soldier stood guard. Scott recognized the uniform of a U.S. Marine. The soldier stood there impassively watching people pass by, his rifle with its long triangular bayonet fixed, resting at his side. With a polite nod of his head to the corporal, Scott led Kate by the arm inside the building. He wasn’t sure where to go or who to speak to, but Scott knew that they needed help.

  A young man dressed in a black suit, with long wavy blonde hair approached. With a smile, he offered his hand. “May I be of service?” said the blonde-haired man in French.

  “I sure as hell hope so,” replied Scott in English.

  He introduced himself and Kate to the man who turned out to be the junior secretary to the Minister Plenipotentiary at the embassy. Chatting while they walked, the secretary explained that they currently didn’t have an ambassador in country, so America had a diplomat in place with all the rights of, but not the formal title of, ambassador.

  A short while later, Scott and Kate were alone in a spacious side room. The walls were adorned with paintings from the American Revolution and the Napoleonic Era. Kate took a seat, while Scott walked over and started to thumb his way through the bookshelf on the far side of the room. He was about to take a copy of Charles Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities from the shelf, when the door opened and in stepped the young secretary and a stern-looking man with unkempt black hair and a long thick beard.

  “Lieutenant-Colonel Scott, Miss O’Sullivan,” said the secretary. “May I introduce, His Excellency John Bigelow, the United States Minister Plenipotentiary to the Court of Napoleon III.”

  Scott walked over and shook Bigelow's hand. It was firm and business-like.

  “Donald, be a good lad and fetch us all some coffee,” said Bigelow to his youthful assistant, who nodded his head and quickly left the room. “Now how can I help you, Colonel?” asked Bigelow,
taking a seat.

  Scott sat down and looked into the Bigelow’s dark-brown eyes. “Sir, this may seem impertinent to you, but I need your word of what I am about to tell you will never leave this room,” said Scott bluntly.

  “This is most odd, Colonel, but you have my word,” replied Bigelow.

  Scott laid out everything that had happened from the time he had left Washington, who Kate really was, and his mission to find her missing father. Bigelow sat there taking it all in, never asking a question, just nodding his head while Scott and Kate recounted their tale. When they were done, Bigelow stood, his hands clasped behind his back. He moved away and then paced back and forth for a minute, lost in thought, until with a loud bellow he called for his secretary. With a silver serving tray in his hands, Donald rushed back into the room.

  “Sorry, sir, it took a bit longer than normal,” said Donald, placing cups in front of everyone.

  “Don’t worry about such things,” said Bigelow brusquely. “Go and get something to write on. I need a telegram sent to London and then on to Washington without delay.”

  Donald nodded and then fled the room.

  Bigelow smiled and then poured everyone a piping hot fresh cup of coffee.

  Scott could see the man was just playing at being gruff. He started to warm up to the man.

  A short while later an exasperated Donald returned.

  Bigelow looked over at Kate and Scott and then spoke.

  “From John Bigelow, the United States Minister Plenipotentiary to the Court of Napoleon III, to Edwin Stanton, Secretary of War.

  “Sir, I humbly request your advice in the matter of Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Scott, United States Army, currently under your orders. He is at present my guest along with Miss Katelyn O’Sullivan of the Confederacy. I would like to know how I could better assist them in the furtherance of your goals and desires.