Liberty Hill (Western Tide Series) (20 page)

A chorus of shouting filled the air as one body shoved against another, and those nearby could not tell if the blood on their shirt was Boris’ or their own. Amidst the chaos, Lucius realized his party had boarded the ferry, and as he stepped off the
Steam Rose
, a brawl churned in his wake.

“What the devil were you up to?” Brock asked as Lucius stepped aboard the ferry.

Lucius dusted off his shirt and checked himself for stains. He had escaped without a trace of blood, thank God, though that poor Whitfield woman could not say the same. He wondered what had happened to her.

“I had some last minute business to attend to,” he shrugged. He glanced at the faces around him, and when he saw Evelyn, he recalled why the brawl with Boris had ensued in the first place.

He offered her a smug smile.

“I’m pleased to tell you, Miss Brennan, that I got your man.”

At being addressed, Evelyn was shocked out of her fascinated study of their native boatswain’s visible manhood. Her eyes darted to Lucius, her face scrunched up in confusion.

“My what?”

“Your man!” Lucius repeated, oblivious to her anatomical observations. “The one who molested you. I gave the boyo a solid lick.”

“Someone touched you?” Brock asked Evelyn, who was staring at Lucius with a bemused expression.

“Yes, and I taught him a lesson,” Lucius added with obvious pride. “You need never fear, Miss Brennan, for I am not all yellow. I
do
have a bit of courage, and I have avenged you!”

Adele Whitfield laughed from beneath her handkerchief.

“Miss Brennan, I daresay your guardian is a better protector when he has a few drinks in his blood,” she said. “He may prove his worth to you, yet!”

“I should think Mr. Flynn could do a great many things if he only put his mind to it,” Evelyn agreed. “After all, we are here, he and I, and that is his fault entirely.”

Brock did not look amused.

“You should consider the risk you put us in when you decide to drink away your fortune, Mr. Flynn,” he told Lucius. “I’m not about to let you sabotage our safety because you can’t hold your grog.” He turned to the other members of their party. “All in favor of Mr. Flynn abstaining from alcohol for the remainder of this expedition, cast your vote.”

All hands drifted into the air, for although Lucius was certainly entertaining, his inebriation was not at all worth the further endangerment of their journey.

“What?” Lucius asked. “Who made
you
lord over us, Mr. Donnigan?”

“Sobriety is the first thing in my favor, Mr. Flynn. Besides, your charge has made it clear that you, as her protector, are incompetent. I, however, have proven myself otherwise.”

Lucius was upset again, and the others aboard the ferry became acutely uncomfortable. Especially Evelyn.

She tried not to let her eyes wander back to the boatswain, whose naked brown muscles were glistening in the heat. How in God’s name was she supposed to endure all these
men
?

“You?” Lucius scoffed at Brock Donnigan. “You, sir, are not entitled!”

“And you are?” Brock argued. “What recommends you, I wonder? Your childhood frolics? Your wondrous abilities with cards and the fiddle? As Miss Brennan’s guardian, you should have been by her side every moment at sea. You have no idea what perverse situations you subjected her to by leaving her vulnerable aboard a ship with three hundred men. I, on the other hand, have been her devoted companion, and plan to remain so henceforth.”

“Is that right, laddie?” Lucius puffed out his chest. “As I have known Evelyn her entire life, I am willing to excuse your appalling insult to her capabilities as a woman. Miss Brennan, as you are obviously unaware, is the last woman in the world I should worry myself over. She is strong, passionate, and resilient, and entirely capable of defending herself. She did not need me as her shadow any more than she needed you, Mr. Donnigan!”

Evelyn’s ears could not help perking up at this unexpected praise.

“I think your argument was nullified only moments ago,” Brock said, “when you allowed her to be molested on deck!”

“Gentlemen, please!” Evelyn interrupted. “Lay the matter to rest. As we are to advance as one unit from now on, we must look out for one another. We must not squabble like children.”

“Well, I want to know just who this man thinks he is!” Lucius continued. “What gives him the right to waltz into our lives and order us about, as if he knew anything about us? It’s no wonder the blackguard never wanted to play cards; it was never my friendship you wanted, was it Mr. Donnigan? You were just trying to get close to my…” Lucius stopped before he could say
wife
, catching his blunder. “My… my dear Evelyn! Miss Brennan is practically my sister, sir! And I am not so venomous as to actually
allow
any harm to come to her! She is my charge!”

“Calm down, Lucius,” Evelyn murmured, her eyes pleading. “Mr. Donnigan only means to help.”

Brock nodded sternly and leaned close to Lucius. The boat rocked with the shift in weight, and the others found themselves clutching its wooden edges.

“The lady is right,” Brock said. “It is not my intention to cause division. Mr. Flynn, it is merely my wish to partner with you, to lend an extra hand in seeing this fellowship safely to California. I know a thing or two about survival. Allow me to be of service to all of you.”

He extended a hand to Lucius, who, chest heaving, looked back and forth between the peace offering and its witnesses.

Evelyn thought Lucius looked very young, like a wild colt backed into a stable. She almost pitied him. He needed to sleep, and he needed to eat.

Lucius had no more experience adventuring than Evelyn, and the Whitfields possessed the soft hands and sensitive white skin of English high society. If what they knew of Chagres was true, there was no way they could manage alone. Brock Donnigan was a Godsend to them all. They needed him.

 “Take his hand, Mr. Flynn,” she told Lucius. “We are all in this together.”

Lucius met her gaze.

“It’s for the best,” she added.

“Come, Mr. Flynn,” Stephen Whitfield chimed in. “Let us commence our journey with the strong foot of unity.”

Brock Donnigan waited until, finally, Lucius Flynn accepted his hand.

“Good man,” Brock said.

“We work together,” Lucius replied. “No man better than the other.”

“You stay away from the grog, mate, and you’re my equal.”

“Agreed.”

“Agreed.”

All eyes turned towards the shore, which they were fast approaching. Some of the returning canoes had already beached, and a crowd was forming where the ocean met with the mouth of the river.

            “Prepare yourselves, mates,” Brock uttered quietly. “The Rush is about to begin.”

Brock reached over and took Evelyn’s hand. Startled, her eyes darted to his.

            “Remember what I told you,” he whispered. “Stick close to me.”

            She nodded, unblinking.

Across the ferry, Lucius watched, bewildered. Was Mr. Donnigan going to hold everyone’s hand through this next venture?

Lucius thought not.

Something was going on here, and Lucius felt his temper rising once more. This guy was really starting to get under his skin, and Lucius didn’t think it was because of the alcohol. The effect of last night’s drinking was finally wearing off, leaving him with a headache and a very suspicious outlook on the world around him.

Brock released Evelyn’s hand as fast as he had taken it, for before the canoe had come to a stop, passengers began jumping off the sides into the shallow water, luggage in tow. The boat rocked violently, threatening to capsize, leaving Lucius with little time to dwell on the scene that had just transpired before him.

            The ferry ran ashore, and what followed was a frantic blur of motion. Laden with trunks and boxes of all shapes and sizes, the lot of adventurers plunged their feet into the soft, hot sand. They raced towards the nearby canal, following the long legs of the Australian, their self-appointed leader.

Lucius lumbered along malevolently, kicking up sand with every step. His pace was slower than that of the women, whose skirts were hitched up about their knees. He watched from behind, and for some elongated seconds, he became distracted by the sight. Evelyn’s well-formed calves had adopted the muscular chisel of running, and some of her hair had come undone. Lucius’ heart rate increased, and it was not because of the exertion.

            They joined the crowd of transients at the banks of the canal, where a foul smell permeated the air. Human excrement and fish carcasses polluted the water, where half-shaded
bungos
, long, narrow, flat-bottom rafts, were readied to take the greenhorns upriver to Gorgona. Some were already slipping away, each with a pair of boatswains standing upon the bows using long, carved poles to push them along.

Brock barged like a juggernaut through the mob, with Evelyn and the others close behind. Protests arose and there was a great deal of pushing and shoving, a scene much akin to the helter-skelter they had left aboard the
Steam Rose
. The crowd swelled as men attempted to swarm the
bungos,
and, with waning patience, the natives pushed back. They had grown accustomed to this sort of business, and they were not about to allow a crowd of determined white men to bully their way upriver. Fares must be collected and the boats must be filled but not overwhelmed.

These white men were motivated by fear and impatience, both of which were unaccustomed to bowing in favor of order and reason. The natives had learned this well, and they had capitalized on it even better. There was almost nothing the travelers would not pay to ensure transportation on anything other than their own two legs.

Mr. Donnigan shouldered his way up to one of the natives, meeting him nose-to-nose. Evelyn remained a few paces behind Brock, where she was just barely able to see over his shoulder and into the native’s stoney face. Before today, she had never seen such a people. The Panamanians’ skin was a radiant golden brown, their faces strongly sculpted with long, bold noses and dark eyes that narrowed with an outward slant. They were beautiful, graceful, and from an entirely different world than any to which Evelyn had ever been exposed. To her, this made them both intriguing and frightening.

Towering above the native, Brock demanded passage upriver, to which the surrounding men shouted in protest. The native’s expression remained unchanged while the other travelers attempted to shove Brock out of the way. He stood solid as a brick wall, and they quickly gave up in favor of complaining to one another. A few hurled vicious insults, which were met by various forms of agreement and nods of approval.

Happy to leave Brock in charge of negotiations for the moment, Lucius sidled up to Evelyn, who was watching the display with increasing anxiety.

“Don’t be frightened, lass,” he told her. “I’ll make sure we make it through this all right.”

Evelyn took in his wild appearance: windblown hair, heaving chest, bloodshot eyes. He had only just caught up with them, and had not yet recovered his breath.

“Oh, really?” she asked. “I don’t see you doing much to alter our current predicament.”

He waved a hand though the air.

“Sometimes,” he replied, “things simply work themselves out.”

“You can’t always trust your luck, Lucius.”

“It has never failed me before.”

“Indeed,” she said, wryly. “You should be dead, yet here you stand.”

He reached up to tip his hat, but realized he had forgotten to wear one.

“Well, thanks to you, m’lass, I am alive and well.”

“I have no faith in talismans, Mr. Flynn, and I am nothing of the sort. Without a good course of action, nothing is accomplished. I suggest you desist this ‘luck’ silliness and join Mr. Donnigan in his negotiations.”

“I was just on my way.”

“Of course you were.”

Like a prancing cock, Lucius advanced through the crowd. He felt the strangest desire to impress Evelyn, a desire more often reserved for far less dignified, far more experienced women.

He contributed it to her damn legs. They had done him in.

And besides, it was high time Brock Donnigan stepped aside and allowed a man of business to do the talking. Through the years, Lucius had done his fair share of negotiating, bargaining, and persuading, and the poor Australian seemed to be failing miserably at all three.

Lucius had nearly reached him when Brock produced a bargaining chip he had previously withheld, causing Lucius to stop in his tracks.

It was a revolver.

“Do you know what this is, mate?” Brock asked the native, pressing the cool steel barrel against the man’s forehead. “No doubt you two have recently become acquainted. I want two boats, and I am through asking nicely.”

            The effect of this aggressive demand was somewhat muted. Everyone watched in confusion as the native’s face remained stoic.

Brock Donnigan was not the first to use a firearm as currency in these parts. 

From where she stood, Evelyn’s eyes widened. Brock had never said anything about using a revolver as leverage. The gesture was alarming, and Evelyn realized she had stopped breathing. She found herself hoping this was only a prop. A ruse. The gun couldn’t possibly be loaded, could it?

The crowd continued to swell as the ferries made more deliveries, and several newcomers wondered about the hold-up. There was some shouting from the mob’s rear, and curious faces rose on tiptoes to peer above the throng.

“I’m waitin’ on an answer, mate,” Brock demanded. “You wanna tell

your fellas-”

He did not finish, for a shot cracked through the hot, humid air. Immediately, a gasp ensued, followed by a thick hush.

            The Australian withdrew the barrel, still cool, and turned to see what had happened.

His finger had not moved. His gun was indeed loaded, but he was not the one who had fired.

Another native stood a slight distance up the canal, a smoking barrel held aloft in his hands. His eyes were sharp, his patience was exhausted, and he was tired of standing by while these white hustlers bullied his people. It was high time they knew with whom they were dealing.