The Devil Gun Read Online Free Page A

as in the case of a legitimate captive; in fact, if Marsden judged correctly, the agent probably knew exactly the right person to see when offering a prime piece of loot for sale.
    ‘If he is a spy—’ the girl put in, just a hint of worry creeping through her voice.
    ‘The Yankees’ll pay well enough to have him delivered,’ interrupted Ashley. ‘Or if they don’t—well, I reckon his gear’ll bring in something. He sure won’t be needing it again.’
    A bellow of laughter greeted the remark, but Marsden noticed that the girl did not join in with her companions. Standing slightly behind the men, her eyes met Marsden’s and an expression of doubt crept on to her face. The arrival of the man with Marsden’s horse brought an end to further talk. A swarm of bushwhackers descended on the bay, eager hands grabbing out at the saddle-bags in search of loot. However the band retained some discipline, for the men holding Marsden did not relax their hold and a watchful hard-case with a rifle stood to one side ready to end any escape-bid.
    After watching that nothing of real value escaped him, Ashley swung towards the men holding Marsden and snapped, ‘Clamp on those leg-irons in the Sibley and leave him safe.’
    The men holding Marsden knew their work and had sufficient strength to enforce their will on him. Swiftly they dragged him into the nearest Sibley tent, slung him to the ground and clamped on the leg-irons before he could make a move to prevent it. A pair of handcuffs followed, securing his wrists, the whole being coupled together by a chain long enough to allow him to sit up, but not stand erect. Marsden knew that kind of restraint, having seen it used on military prisoners, and was aware of the futility of trying to escape.
    After securing Marsden, the men left the tent and he lay on the bare ground, as helpless as a chicken. Outside the flames leapt and flickered, showing against the tent’s walls. Plates and cups rattled, talk and laughter reached Marsden’s ears and he knew the men must be at their evening meal.
    Time dragged by and at last the tent’s flap raised. The girl entered, a plate of soup and mug of coffee in her hands. However, before coming within reach of Marsden’s arms, she laid down the mug, took out her revolver and placed it in the doorway. Not until that had been completed did she advance and kneel by Marsden’s side. Deftly she helped him into a sitting position and laid the plate on his lap.
    ‘You’ll have to make do with just a spoon, and there’s no bread,’ she told him. ‘It’s bear stew, that’s all the meat we have. Thad downed a bear back on the bank of the Ouachita this afternoon.’
    ‘Look, Miss, you have to believe me,’ Marsden said in a low voice. ‘It’s vital that I should reach a Confederate outfit. The lives of thousands of people depend on it.’
    ‘Are you a spy?’
    For a moment Marsden thought of lying, although his upbringing and training revolted at the idea. He knew he could not make a lie that sounded like the truth and so shook his head.
    ‘No. At least, not in the way you mean.’
    ‘Best eat that food while it’s still warm,’ Jill said, her voice cold.
    ‘You have to believe me—’ groaned Marsden.
    ‘Believe you?’ spat out the girl. ‘Why should I believe anything you say? You’re a Yankee and I’m David O. Dodd’s sister.’
    Marsden knew the name and felt sick despair rising in him, for he knew he could expect little sympathy from the sister of a man—a mere boy of seventeen—whom the Union Army executed as a spy shortly after their arrival in Little Rock. However, he determined to try.
    ‘I’m no spy—’
    ‘Nor was my brother. He was just a fool kid who thought he was a man. The information he gathered had no importance and he had no way of passing it to our troops even if it was important.’
    ‘He had maps of our installations, the supply park—’
    ‘I could expect a Yankee to excuse his kind,’ Jill snapped,