Then he had found Dewane and Clydell Owen, two down-on-their-luck Americans who had that look Elliot always recognized as being available and willing for anything. He had sent them north across the border, and they had come up with four others just like themselves, as well as a likely spot for an ambush. They were to meet up in the mining town of Bisbee, which he had finally located yesterday. He had spent the remainder of the day riding back and forth over the narrow mule track below, looking for the ideal spot for what he had in mind.
The spot wasn't as perfect as he could have hoped for: nearly out of the mountains, and with the slope that the trail cut across extending on down to the bot-tom. Trees were in this area, at least below the trail on the lower slope, not in any great abundance, but enough to stop a rolling coach if the boulder should do no more than knock the vehicle off the track. That wasn't likely to happen. With as steep a drop as there was directly below the boulder, and with the path wide at that point, the boulder was almost guaranteed to drop hard and go no farther.
If there had been time, he would have moved the bloody big rock to a better spot on the trail, where it would have wedged itself between two slopes and been impossible to move, making the trail impassable for horse or coach. He might have let the duchess pass through first if that were the case, simply for the plea-sure of killing her with his own hands. But as it was now, if the boulder didn't do as it was supposed to and land directly on the lead coach, the trail would still be blocked enough to keep the rest of the escort trapped behind the boulder, with Elliot's men provid-ing gunfire to hold them there for a while. As long as the duchess was on the opposite side of the boulder, the two men he had prepared for that contingency could sneak down and take care of her without a prob-lem.
They could just hear the horses approach now, coming slowly down the trail. "How many lead rid-ers did you count?" Elliot asked the Mexican.
"Six, senor."
Elliot nodded. He should have known her guards wouldn't break habit just because the trail was narrow and not what they were used to. Six always rode ahead, and six behind the coach. It was just as well there was room below on that ledge for the lead riders to maneuver past the coach when the Mexican started the shooting, to draw their attention to the back of the train. There was little that could be done if they didn't move back to investigate, for it was doubtful all six could be picked off before they had a chance to find cover. And if the coach did escape the boul-der, that would leave too many guards to still protect it.
"Go back to your position," Elliot ordered the man, "and wait for the signal to begin."
Dewane watched him go before sneering, "Ya ain't tol' the Mex she's ta die, have ya?"
Elliot stared coldly at the older Owen brother. It was his policy to explain himself as little a possible to his hirelings, and he saw no reason now to mention his experiences with the Mexicans and that he wasn't taking any chances with the one he had hired to guide the duchess away from the main roads so she would be forced to come this way.
"Quite right," was all he said, and that was enough.
These men were leery of him and that was as it should be. They shared a camaraderie of nationality from which he stood apart, which was as he would want it even if their differences did not enter into it. When you employed men as cold-blooded and mer-ciless as yourself, a separateness had to be main-tained so there was never any question of who was in control.
Elliot turned to watch the Mexican hurrying along the upper ledge to his assigned position. This spot really was ideal. With two ledges, the upper one con-cealed from below, it was absolutely perfect for ambush. There was even a path leading down the other side of the bluff to where their horses were hidden. And those below could not give chase even if they wanted to, because the two separate trails didn't meet until they reached the bottom of the mountain on this side. The path leading down the other side of the bluff met the foothills on the western face of the mountain, but horses couldn't maneuver up or down it.
Soon. soon he could get on with his life. Noth-ing was going to go wrong this time. It couldn't. He was due some luck of his own.
He moved into his own position, which allpwed a clear view of the trail below. He could see the lead riders now, and Sir Parker Grahame, captain of the guard, out in front as usual. He knew all of her peo-ple by name, and some of their histories too. He had spoken with them, bought them drinks, almost man-aged to seduce that silly French maid, Babette, while they were in Egypt. That they had no idea who he was or what he looked like made it easy. As long as he never approached one of them unless they were alone, and never approached the same one again in another town or country, they never suspected a thing.
"Best get ready, gentlemen," Elliot said quietly to the men behind him.
He lay stretched out to the left of the boulder. He would not relinquish his place, wanting to see the devastation firsthand. The huge rock sat on the very edge of the bluff. They had had to do no more than loosen it from the mountain's grip beforehand, so all it needed now was a push.
The four men ready to do the pushing set their hands to the boulder and waited. Elliot waited for the lead guards to pass and the first of the coach horses to be directly below before sending the Mexican the signal to begin his part. Dewane joined him, a gun in each hand, though he laid one down for later use.
The last man took out the mirror that would flash the signal to the Mexican.
"I want the driver of the coach eliminated before he applies the brake." Elliot repeated this particular order. "He'll stop the coach as soon as the guards up front start to turn around to investigate the shots from the rear, but whether the guards have passed behind the coach yet or not, the driver must be prevented from applying the brake. Without the driver, the coach horses will then move forward on jtheir own."
"No problem." Dewane grinned, able to see the big man now who was driving the lead coach. "He's no easy target ta miss."
Elliot saw it was one of the grooms driving the duchess today. Too bad it wasn't the Spaniard. That man was a devil with knives, and had killed one of Elliot's men in New York who had been caught tam-pering with the duchess's coach.
The guards were passing now. In another moment, another.
"Send the signal," Elliot ordered over his shoul-der.
He waited tensely, holding his breath. The first pair of matched grays had passed, the second pair was nearly past. Bloody, bloody hell, if that Mexican.
They heard the shot. So did the guards below. They were all turning about, but Grahame sent only two back to investigate. The vehicles were all stopping. There were shouts filling the air, demanding to know what was happening. The driver of the lead coach was standing up to look back.
The third matched pair of grays was below the boulder now.
Another two shots were fired successively. The re-maining four guards began to maneuver past the coach on the side of the slope, the only place there was room for them to go. Grahame stopped, however, un-doubtedly to reassure the duchess. Watching him, Elliott didn't see the driver reach for the brake handle, but Dewane did. The shot fired right next to him gave him a start, but not enough to miss seeing the driver drop the reins as he began falling, right off the coach. He hit the ground behind Grahame's mount, making the horse rear up out of control. The driver hit the ground close enough to the third set of grays; they likewise tried to rear, couldn't, and set their harness mates into fright.