Chapter 7

As the two Irish women made their way west, a group of travelers climbed from a train in Black River, a town in the Indian territories. The group talked excitedly in their own language about the start of the second leg of their trip. They had read so much about the American Wild West in the pulp 'dime novels' of the day (translated into their language, of course) that they had to come to America, and now had finally arrived at the 'frontier'.

These people could not have looked more out of place. They were travelers from French high society, and were dressed in the high fashion of a Paris Salon, rather than for a trip into the wilds of the American western frontier.

There were six in the group: Papa – Rene Dupuis, Mama – Aimee Dupuis, Daughters – 15-year-old Belle and 14-year-old Cecile, Nurse/Nanny – Edmee Leveque, and finally the Butler/Major Domo – Jean Le Mat.

Of all of these people, only Jean spoke English. He frequently had a hard time with the American dialects and accents, but did manage, in his usual unflappable manner.

Jean supervised the unloading of the luggage and equipage of the Dupuis family from the train. They had actually brought their own horses and carriage from Paris. While Jean did his thing, the family walked the short distance to the Hotel Boston, with its attached restaurant.

Monsieur Dupuis was a rather wealthy man that could trace his lineage back to the old pre-revolutionary aristocracy. Over the years his family had managed to regain most of what had been lost during the French revolution and they flaunted that fact by their dress and accoutrements. So it was that their carriage and team of four matched black horses were of the finest quality, but very definitely overly ostentatious for the Wild West.

The family, however, was oblivious to the fact that their obvious wealth made them a prime target, or that such a gaudily ornate coach made them a laughing stock in the eyes of the plain American folk.

All eyes were on the group as they went to the hotel. The local men salivated at the beauty of the four French women. Even the older Nurse was gorgeous, for her age. At the same time, many of the local women lusted after the French Haute Couture, while still others condemned the French women as strumpets and harlots for dressing in such a sensual manner.

Among the people that were watching the French family, was Frank Raab. The man was smitten by young Cecile. While most of the people would not act upon their imaginings of a romp with the French girl, at least until the family was out in the wilderness, Frank was more a man of action. He formulated a plan that would grant him access to the girl's charms, as well as earn him a bunch of money by prostituting the rest of the French women. Frank was an entrepreneur of sorts, and considered a leader by the rest of the community. In actuality, he was a robber and murderer. But, because he was not a stupid man, he and his gang had never been caught.

While a local hired man moved the family's luggage to the hotel Jean went to oversee the unloading of the horses and the carriage from the train. Seeing that all was in order, he hitched the team to the carriage, and drove to the livery stable. It was on the other side of town. With the carriage and team safely ensconced for the duration, Jean turned tiredly toward the hotel.

His walk took him past two of the worst saloons in town. He soon became the target of all manner of derision from the drunken denizens of said saloons.

The Frenchman just ignored the questions of his character, sexual preference and parentage and maintained his dignity as he continued on his journey. That is, until two thugs accosted him from an alley. It was a fatal mistake for the two robbers!

So many people think that guns are the only weapons, and they are always wrong. Jean was a master of two French forms of martial arts: Savate (a form of foot fighting) and Canne d'Arme (the form of fighting that used the walking sticks of the day.)

The two thugs, with guns drawn, stood beside each other in the opening of the alley within easy striking distance of Jean's heavy walking stick.

"Hey, ya pansy, git in this here alley, or we'll drill ya where ya stand," said the smaller of the two men.

Jean made as if to comply ... but then, instead, struck with lightening speed! He swung his stick up at the bottom of the first man's wrist and at almost the same time leaned back, and drove a piston kick at the other man's throat. The first man dropped his gun as his hand went numb. The second man collapsed clutching his throat. He soon expired from his inability to get air passed his crushed larynx. The first man, roaring with indignation and anger drew a wicked Bowie knife with his remaining good hand, and charged Jean. But the villain was clumsy. Jean simply sidestepped the charge and kicked out at the side of the man's left knee. There was a loud crack and the man went down screaming. The ignorant fool was still intent on hurting Jean though and attempted to throw his knife at Jean but failed.

Jean, using the heavy gold finial on the end of his walking stick, simply smashed the side of the miscreant's head in with a quick but powerful blow—the robber fell to the ground, dead with a crushed skull!

One might think that this was not such a great feat, because the two attackers were drunk. But when you consider the fact that Jean was an elderly man for the time (sixty-two years of age), it was astounding!

After five minutes had passed the Sheriff came running up to the scene with his two deputies in tow. They muscled their way through the crowd of looky-loos and found Jean leaning on his walking stick with both hands as he looked down on the two bodies, contemplating the possible consequences.

"What happened here?" asked the Sheriff as his men went to check the bodies.

Several bystanders tried to tell the story at the same time and made a great deal of incoherent noise.

The Sheriff held up his hand and yelled, "HOLD ON NOW! WAIT JUST A DERN MINUTE HERE! I KAINT HEAR M'SELF THINK WITH ALL YER BLATHERIN'."

He pointed at one of the men and said, "Ya first, Joe."

"Ya ain't gonna b'leve dis, Sheriff, but that old fansy fella did these two bushwhackas in, single handed like ... an wit only that there stick o' hisn. Them two galoots tried to rob 'im at gunpoint and it was self-deefense fa sure."

The Sheriff looked at the other witness and asked, "Thet how it went?"

The witness nodded vigorously in the affirmative.

"Ok, Mista, ya kin go, since it be as clear a case of self-defense as dat."

The Sheriff then turned to his deputies and said, "Jack, ya watch the bodies. Al, ya run an git the undertaker."

The Sheriff strode off. The crowd of witnesses ran to the Saloon to tell their stories, and Jean continued on his journey to the hotel. He had not so much as rumpled his clothes.

"That was unfortunate. Now the whole town will know my method of fighting and my edge will be gone," thought Jean as he walked. "Well, it can't be helped, now. I will have to wear my pistols from now on."

Even before Jean made it to the hotel, the news of his victorious fight with the two muggers had reached the ears of Frank Raab.

"I guess we should just shoot the bastard at the git-go. Too bad, I'd hoped to keep him alive to translate. This needs some more thinking," he thought.

Frank called to his lieutenant, "Maxy!"

"Yeah, boss?"

"Hold off on that job we talked about, for tonight."

"Right, boss," said Maxy as he turned to go to notify the men of the change in plans. As he walked he thought, "Damn! I was lookin' ta git somethin' French tonight. Ah well, I s'pose I kin go see big Bertha 'nstead."

After several hours of thinking Frank came to the decision that he would need the old butler after all.

"As far as we know the old boy doesn't use guns so we should be safe if we keep out of reach of his feet and that stick of his," muttered Frank as he downed his drink and headed for bed.

The next morning Jean stood in front of his mirror muttering.

"All of these weapons ruin the lines of my suit, but it can't be helped," he said with a sigh.

He turned and went to attend to 'his family'.

In another room Edmee was attending to the women. Corsets had to be tied and multiple layers of feminine garments had to be donned and this morning something extra was to join the women's attire.

When all were attired Edmee went to her trunk and opened a secret compartment. She withdrew four leather pads that were made to fit onto a person's forearm and another leather roll-up pouch.

"Now my dears, we have come to the place of great danger of which I spoke when we were in Paris. Just last night Jean had to defend himself from two ruffians. We must now be able to help with our defense in a bad situation. I do hope that you remember what I taught you in France," said Edmee as she helped each woman to don a pad on their off forearm—these pads were in reality holsters for some very nasty weapons.

Next she unrolled the leather pouch and extracted sixteen oversized 'hatpins.' These were not your average hatpins for they were, in reality, the cut-off ends of rapiers that had been reworked.

The pins were eight inches in length with a half-inch diameter ball on one end. Now while a normal rapier is just a sharp point, these pins had a three-inch section at the business end that was flattened and honed to a razor's edge—these were weapons for slashing as well as for thrusting. Once in the arm pouch and covered with the woman's sleeve only the four balls could be seen, if one looked hard enough.

Edmee was not as naïve as her charges and had trained the two girls and, after much argument, the mother in the use of these very lethal weapons with the hope of keeping them alive and free until they arrived at their destination.

"Now my darlings, you are to wear these at all times, even to bed. We are no longer in polite society..." said the old nurse but she was interrupted by Cecile.