Gear, W Michael - Novel 05 (25 page)

 
          
 
He gestured once again for her to put her
digging stick down.

 
          
 
Willow
shook her head, and saw him slowly nod. He
muttered something under his breath and began to close, his war club held out
before him.

 
          
 
The weapon had been crafted of some hardwood,
bent slightly, with a knob on the end.
Willow
circled, holding her digging stick
defensively. If he lunged, she could block the blow, and perhaps poke him in
the face before she skipped out of the way.

 
          
 
Instead, he walked right up to her and swung
the club in an arc.
Willow
easily blocked the blow, but the power of it threw her back and the resilient
chokecherry wood stung her hands. Off balance, she jabbed at him. The Pawnee
sidestepped, and whacked her on the elbow.

 
          
 
The impact didn't break her arm, but pain
caused her to gasp as the nerves tingled and flashed. From the corner of her
eye she barely saw the war club coming around—before lightning blasted through
her vision and the ground swam slowly up to enfold her.

 
          
 
Men began to move about the boat before dawn.
Someone stepped on Richard, then kicked him. "Level Mangeur du lard! Get
up!"

 
          
 
Richard pulled himself back out of the way,
huddling in his blanket as he stared at the burly boatmen who had swarmed
aboard in the gray light. Where was Travis Hart-man? Wouldn't someone here help
him?

 
          
 
"C'mon! Goddamn ye! Dawn's a-coming! Let's
go, you lazy whelps!" a harsh voice snarled out in English. "We got
wind to fill the sails! Let's not waste it, eh?"

 
          
 
Richard watched as men joked under their
breath, poking fun at others who were obviously drunk. Two were brought aboard
unconscious, feet dragging as they bobbed between the shoulders of companions
who sang softly in French.

 
          
 
"Eh? Jules? They 'ave to pry you out of
Rosette's arms, eh?"

 
          
 
"Pry him out of her arms? non! They pry
something else out of Rosette!"

 
          
 
"You better have enjoyed it! There be no
more soft woman for you until we reach the Rees!"

 
          
 
"And they might sell you a woman just to
split your head in two as you go down to poke your pizzle into some greasy
squaw!"

 
          
 
"Knowing you, Trudeau, not even threat of
death will keep you from a woman. And as for the Rees, eh, they do things to a
man not even a
Saint Louis
whore would consider!"

 
          
 
Richard winced. What kind of barbarians were
these?

 
          
 
"Eh! Booshway! We are ready!" a man
called.

 
          
 
"Any time, lads. Sooner we're gone, the
better she'll be," an American shouted from the top of the cargo box.

 
          
 
"Cast off! Cast off, you curs!"

 
          
 
"Eh! Patroon! You are all mouth and gut!
Do we 'ave to listen to you the whole way?"

 
          
 
"Sacre enfant du grace!

 
          
 
Men made clunking noises on the shore side,
and Richard felt the Maria move off and away from the dark bank amid low curses
and grunts. From where he lay, Richard could crane his neck and see the crewmen
as they shoved long poles into the water. Like a lumbering monster, the keelboat
swung out into the current.

 
          
 
"We've still got our breeze," the
American called from above. "Reckon it's a sign! Henri, drop the sheet!
Let's use her while we got her!"

 
          
 
Amidst more cursing and commands, the sail
flapped down, lines being run out to the gunwales to stay the sheet. Someone
struck up a nonsense song in French about fishing in springs, girls in wells,
and hearts in guerdon, all punctuated by a "Ding-ding-a-dong" chorus.

 
          
 
Richard resettled his cramped body and sought
to ease the chafing ropes that bound his wrists. This is going to be horrible.
Escape — I've got to escape.

 
          
 
That was it, slip off the boat, make his way
back downstream to Saint Louis, inform the authorities and . .. Well, no
matter. Someone would advance him the necessary funds to buy passage back to
Boston
.

 
          
 
He pulled hard against the ropes, and gasped
as the bonds burned his raw skin. Too tight. Even if he slipped over to the
side, he'd plummet into the water like a dropped stone. And sink like one.

 
          
 
As the sun came up, Richard took stock of the
keelboat. She was built of weathered oak planks bleached white by the sun and
storm. Keelboats were not creations of great beauty. The big square cargo box
filled the hull with limited fore and aft deck space. The passe avant was a
narrow, cleated walkway that allowed passage from the bow to the stern along
each side of the cargo box. A single mast rose from the keelboat's center. The
patroon, or helmsman, stood atop the rear of the box and grasped a long tiller
that controlled the rudder.

 
          
 
A big man with blond hair and a blunt face
walked over to Richard and cut the bonds around his wrists. The pain of
restored circulation made Richard gasp as he stared at his mottled and puffy
hands.

 
          
 
"Mornin'." The big man grinned at
him. "I’m Dave Green. I bought your contract from Francois."

 
          
 
"Mr. Green," Richard sighed. 'Thank
God I've found you! I've been through a terrible ordeal. This Francis robbed me
and tied me up. I have been victimized by the most horrible of crimes. I must
get off this boat, make my way back to
Saint Louis
, and inform the authorities."

 
          
 
"Authorities, huh?" Green squinted
out over the water. "Now, that's a matter of disagreement between us, boy.
A contract is just that, a deal. You are Richard John Charles Hamilton, aren't
you?"

 
          
 
"Yes, sir. I am, but I—"

 
          
 
"And you did sign that paper, didn't
you?"

 
          
 
"But I had no choice! You don't
understand what he was—''

 
          
 
"Then it's a deal. Fair and square."

 
          
 
"Deal! He had a knife to my throat! You
can't—"

 
          
 
"Look here, boy. I don't know what
Francois did, and further, I don't really give a good God damn. Francis is a
black-hearted son of a bitch, I'll grant. But your trouble with him is your
own. My trouble is that I've got to get this boat upriver and I don't have the
men to do it. What I do have is a contract with your signature on it."

 
          
 
"But this is abduction! The laws..."

 
          
 
"Lad, don't go spouting law at me. You're
on the river. Law is for back East." Green laced his fingers together and
cracked his knuckles. Richard stared at those powerful hands and swallowed
dryly. "From the moment you signed that paper, you became an engage. You
know what that means?"

 
          
 
"Contracted labor. But I wasn't—"

 
          
 
"Damn right. Contracted labor. You're
going to work this boat upriver, boy. I'm the booshway on this trip. That means
the chief, understand? Travis Hartman's the little booshway, my second in
command. Henri is the patroon, head of the boat. When it comes to camp, you're
in Trudeau's mess. You're bottom of the heap, boy. You do what others tell you,
and you'll get along fine."

 
          
 
"But I've got rights! Rights guaranteed
under the Constitution of the—''

 
          
 
"You don't have shit, boy. Not here, not
on the river. You'll work ... or you'll wish you had. Understand?"

 
          
 
The engages were watching, drawn to the
commotion. Someone snickered, and another big muscular man grinned and elbowed
the man next to him. Wolves would watch a sheep with eyes like those.

 
          
 
Green chuckled grimly. "Let me lay it out
for you, boy. Let's say you jump ship and make it back to
Saint Louis
. What the hell do you think's going to
happen to you? Francis's gonna get wind of it, and he's gonna kill you. Dead.
Got that? The miracle is that you're alive at all, but then luck slips into
just about anybody's life once in a while."

 
          
 
"Luck? You call this luck?"

 
          
 
"Yep. You're floating on the water
instead of in it. Now, look at it from my side. I'm short-handed, and I damned
sure can't have you going back telling people that the Maria is headed upriver.
Provided you lived long enough to tell anyone, and provided they believed you,
Clark
would send an express off to—"

 
          
 
"Express?"

 
          
 
"A rider... with a message to
Fort
Atkinson
that I was headed that way. Understand?
They'd stop me just as sure as Francois would stop you. They'd just throw me in
jail, boy. But you, well, you're a heap better off on this boat than rotting in
the mud along the bank someplace."

 
          
 
"But I've been robbed!" Richard
cried. "They hit me. I never signed any contract. Not of my free
will!"

 
          
 
Green fumbled in the little leather sack tied
to his belt. He unfolded a wrinkled sheet of paper. "That your
signature?"

 
          
 
"Yes, it is. But you don't understand.
They made me!"

 
          
 
"Uh-huh. Tell you what. You help get this
boat up the river and you can go free as a bird. Till then, your meat's
mine."