“I would think so,” she said, “considering that you’ll be fleeing from the site of mass murder.”
Mirabeau’s smile disappeared. “Not murder,” he said. “Revolution.”
“At least let Joseph help me with the horses,” Charlotte said.
Mirabeau shook his head. “No offense, ma cher, but after today, I no longer trust your brother. I would prefer to have him where I can keep an eye on him.”
Joseph said tightly, “I’m sitting right here, you know.”
“I know,” Mirabeau said with a nod. “Joseph, you have been a dear friend to me. You are almost like my brother, and someday soon, once Charlotte and I are married, you will be. But our cause is more important than anything else, even that.”
“More important than me?” Charlotte asked.
Mirabeau looked coolly at her. “I beg of you not to make me choose.”
She grimaced and looked away.
“After tomorrow, you’ll see that I’m right,” Mirabeau continued. He drank the last of his wine and pushed away the empty plates from their meal. “We should go upstairs and get some rest. Momentous events await us.”
Joseph had reached a decision. He nodded and said, “You’re right, Anton. We should go upstairs.”
Mirabeau looked a little surprised that Joseph would agree with him on anything, even this. But he smiled and said, “Fine.”
The three of them left the dining room and walked through the lobby to the stairs. The Drover’s Rest, as its name implied, wasn’t a fancy place. It catered to cattlemen, and it was furnished comfortably but simply. A number of men sat in the lobby, talking about cattle prices. These were some of the ranchers who were in town for the livestock exposition and rodeo.
They paid no attention to the two men and the woman who went up the stairs to the second floor of the squarish frame building. Joseph and Charlotte had adjoining rooms on the left side of the corridor. Mirabeau’s room was across the hall on the right.
As they approached their doors, Mirabeau put a hand on Charlotte’s arm. He might have wished to kiss her good night, but if so he was going to be disappointed, because she pulled away from him. Joseph, walking along the corridor behind them, was glad to see that. The falling-out that his sister had had with Mirabeau meant she was less likely to be upset by what happened next.
Joseph looked swiftly up and down the hallway. It was deserted at the moment. That was perfect for what he needed to do.
He took the pistol from under his coat, pointed it at the back of Mirabeau’s head, and pulled the trigger.
Chapter 31
But even as Joseph fired, Mirabeau was already moving, twisting around and throwing himself to the side so that the bullet from Joseph’s pistol whipped harmlessly past his head.
The big man’s arm came up in a vicious backhanded blow that crashed into Joseph’s jaw and flung him against the wall. Charlotte screamed as Mirabeau lunged after Joseph and grabbed the wrist of his gun hand.
Bone cracked as Mirabeau gave the wrist a savage twist. Joseph cried out in pain. The gun slipped from suddenly nerveless fingers and thudded to the carpet runner in the center of the hallway.
Mirabeau kept hold of Joseph’s broken wrist and used his other hand to pound a couple of swift punches into the smaller man’s face. Joseph’s head rocked back. His surroundings whirled crazily around him for a second, then a black curtain seemed to drop over his eyes. He was still conscious, but just barely.
He heard a door open, and a second later he felt himself shoved into a room. His legs turned rubbery and collapsed, dumping him on the floor. A kick dug into his belly and drove the air from his lungs. He lay there helplessly, for the moment blinded by pain and gasping for breath.
Another sound came to his ears, but in his stunned state, it took him several seconds to figure out that it was Charlotte crying. The sharp crack of a slap silenced the sobs.
“Quiet,” Mirabeau ordered in a harsh whisper. “People will come to see what that shot was about. As far as they know, no one is in this room.”
Sure enough, a few moments later footsteps came from the hall, and a man’s loud voice asked, “Did anybody see what the hell happened up here? Who fired that shot?”
The red-shot darkness that had descended over Joseph’s vision was fading now. He could see a little again. Mirabeau loomed over him. Mirabeau had one arm wrapped around Charlotte’s waist, and his other hand was clamped over her mouth to keep her from crying out.
Joseph tried to move, but his muscles didn’t want to cooperate. He shifted just enough to draw Mirabeau’s attention. The man kicked him again. Charlotte struggled in Mirabeau’s grip, but she was no match for his brutal strength.
The hubbub in the corridor grew louder. Someone knocked on the door. Mirabeau didn’t answer, and his iron grip on Charlotte kept her from responding. Eventually the commotion died down, and the people in the corridor went away.
When Mirabeau let go of Charlotte, she tried to slap him. He caught her wrist in mid-swing.
“Settle down and behave, Charlotte, or I’ll have to hurt you like I hurt Joseph,” he threatened her.
Joseph watched through slitted eyes. His broken wrist throbbed in agony, but he found himself unable to make a sound.
Charlotte stopped struggling with Mirabeau. “How … how could you do that to Joseph?” she asked in a wretched voice.
“How could I …” Mirabeau shook his head. “That precious brother of yours tried to kill me! Didn’t you see?”
“Because he doesn’t want to be a party to hundreds of cold-blooded murders!”
“It’s not murder,” Mirabeau said. “It’s politics.”
She just stared at him, aghast at his casual pronouncement.
Joseph got his good hand underneath him and pushed himself into a sitting position. By the time he was upright, Mirabeau had drawn a gun and pointed it at him.
“Don’t make me kill you, Joseph,” Mirabeau warned. “I’m not sure your sister would ever forgive me for that.”
“You’re already beyond forgiveness,” Charlotte said in an icy voice.
Mirabeau’s broad shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. “The cause comes before personal considerations. I understand that, even if the two of you don’t.” He looked at Joseph. “Did you really think I wasn’t waiting for you to try something, my friend?”
Joseph had caught his breath enough to say, “You are not … my friend. Never again … Anton.”
Mirabeau shrugged again. “I can live without friendship—” He glanced at Charlotte. “And without love, if it means my people will be free.”
“How can you contemplate doing such evil in the name of good?”
“There is no good or evil, only freedom or slavery.”
“You’re wrong, Anton.”
“We shall see.” Mirabeau kept the gun trained on Joseph. “But not if the two of you continue to interfere. I don’t like to do this, but I have to make sure you won’t ruin everything.”
“How are you going to do that?” Joseph managed to sneer. “Kill us both?”
Mirabeau shook his head as he stepped closer. “No. But you won’t be interfering with me anymore.”
Even if he hadn’t been in such pain he could barely move, Joseph wouldn’t have been fast enough to avoid what happened next. Mirabeau bent down, and the gun in his hand rose and fell. Joseph felt the smashing impact on his head. This time when the black curtain dropped, it enveloped him completely.
He was there, and then abruptly, he wasn’t.
“What’s to stop me from yelling for help?” Meg wanted to know as she and Palmer stood in the darkened doorway of a business across the street from the Drover’s Rest that was closed for the night.
“Go ahead and yell,” Palmer said. He pressed the barrel of the pistol he held harder into Meg’s side. “I’ll just shoot you and be out of here before anybody knows what happened. As many people as there are in Calgary right now, nobody’s gonna find me.”