The Black Jacks

"I declare, General," said Tice, chuckling, "you could teach old Machiavelli a thing or two."

Houston was thoughtfully silent for a while. Then he glanced at McAllen.

"John Henry, the day may come when I have to send you and your Black Jacks down here to take care of Caldero and his bunch. I don't know if anyone else could do the job. Could you do it?"

"I could try."

"I mean, even if you felt as though you owed him for helping you in this matter?"

McAllen thought it over. Then he nodded. "If you said it had to be done for Texas, I'd do it."

Houston reached out and whacked McAllen on the back, raising a cloud of dust from the trail-grimed black shell jacket.

"By the eternal, John Henry, I'm glad you're on our side."

Chapter Twenty-nine

Jonah Singletary's entire existence revolved around the Austin City Gazette. He had absolutely no other interests. After di

Singletary was pleased with his work of recent weeks. Count de Saligny's guarded revelations had provided fodder for several editorials which, by establishing a conspiracy between Sam Houston and the British Crown to turn Texas into an economic vassal of Great Britain, had caused quite an uproar. In addition, Singletary had taken special delight in printed speculations of a most lurid nature into the relationship between Leah Pierce McAllen and the British officer Major Charles Stewart.

When Stewart came calling that night, the editor was so busy putting the finishing touches to his editorial for the next day's edition that he did not hear the Englishman enter. The only sound in the cluttered office off the printing room was the furious scratching of Singletary's pen. The newspaperman nearly jumped out of his skin when he looked up to find Stewart standing in front of the desk, looking down at him with regal disdain.

Singletary quickly recovered from the shock. Peeling the spectacles off his nose, he settled back in the chair—this put a little more space between him and Stewart, which was a good thing considering what the Englishman had done the last time they'd met—and do

"I am sorry to say you have failed to heed my warning."

"We have a free press in this country. I refuse to be intimidated—especially by the likes of you."

Stewart sat on the corner of the desk. "I want to know one thing, Singletary. Why do you take such wicked pleasure in ruining a lady's good name?"

Singletary laughed. "I beg your pardon, Major. You, I believe, are the one actively engaged in ruining her good name, not I. Of course, the idea that Leah McAllen has a good name to ruin is ludicrous."

"That begs the question."

"Because I despise such women," snapped Singletary. "They are weak and sinful creatures. And I despise men like you, Major, who tempt them into sin. Most of all, I despise men like Captain McAllen, who do not have the courage to deal with the situation."

Stewart peered speculatively at the editor. "That is a lot of despising. I'll be damned, Singletary, if I don't understand you now. You were married once, weren't you?"

"I was. To a woman just like Leah McAllen." Singletary gazed darkly at his bony hands, which rested, fingers splayed, on the desk in front of him. "I should have killed her. And the man she was with. But I didn't. I. . . couldn't."

Stewart stood up. For an instant his back was turned, but when he swung back to face Singletary a pepperbox pistol was in his hand. Singletary presumed the pistol had been concealed in the folds of the Englishman's black cloak.

"I told you not to write about her again, or even to let her name pass your lips. You have failed on both counts. Now you must face the consequences."

Singletary shook his head. "You don't scare me. I've been threatened before."

"My threats are not idle ones."

"Who are you trying to fool? You don't give a damn about Leah McAllen. You—"

Stewart triggered the pistol. All barrels fired as one. Singletary's face disappeared in a pink mist. The impact threw his body violently backward, overturning the chair. He was killed instantly.

Leaving the office by the back way, Stewart kept as much as possible to the alleys in his return to the Bullock Hotel. The long black pilot-cloth coat helped him blend into the shadows. But it was after midnight, and the streets of Austin were empty. He wondered how long they would remain so; the report of the pepperbox pistol had been very loud, and surely someone would investigate. How long before Singletary's body was discovered?

His first instinct was to make a run for it. But that, he decided, would be stupid. He'd left no evidence behind, and no one could co

He made it to his room without being seen, left the cloak and pistol on the bed, and went out into the dark hallway and to the door of the room opposite his. He tried the knob before knocking, but the key had been turned from the inside, and he muttered a curse. He rapped his knuckles on the door, lightly but persistently, and kept it up until a sleepy-eyed Leah McAllen opened the door. Before she could protest he had pushed her aside and entered the room, shutting the door behind him.

"What are you doing?" she asked, irritated. "I don't like to be awakened in the middle of the—"

"Shut up." Stewart went to the window and peered through the curtains at the empty street below.

"What's the matter with you, Charles?"

He turned, smiling. "I've just done you a great favor. I've killed that spiteful worm Jonah Singletary."

"This is no time for jokes—"

"Oh, I'm in deadly earnest, darling."

"Oh, my God," breathed Leah, seeing the look on his face and realizing it was true. She shrank away from him instinctively. "How could you have done such a thing?" she asked, her voice pitched high with rising panic. "And why, in heaven's name?"

"How? It was very simple. The easiest killing I've ever done. As to why, he deserved to die. I've simply done what your husband didn't have the nerve to do."

"You idiot. You big stupid idiot."

Still smiling, Stewart backhanded her. The blow sent Leah to the floor, stu

"Really, I'd expected a little more gratitude," he said mildly. "And since I did this for you, I think you could at least give me a kiss."

He grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly to her feet, and his kiss was hard and bruising. She tried to fight him off, desperately tried to claw his face, but when she did he hit her again, harder this time than before, and she nearly passed out. She sagged, but he held her up.

"It's time we played the final round of our little game," he murmured.

She was too dazed to understand—until she found herself facedown on the bed and felt him tearing at her wrapper and nightgown. Then she began to struggle. His weight pi