Quicksilver Passion (124 page)

The man nodded and crawled away.

What to do?
He didn’t have a weapon and he hadn’t finished his plan that would aid his escape. He would have to make his move tonight. Even with a weapon, if he managed to survive the current and make it to shore, he was miles from any white people. He’d be alone among thousands of hostile Indians who had been raiding and burning along the entire Western frontier since spring. But if the plains weren’t crawling with Indians on the warpath, the Union wouldn’t have been desperate enough to recruit former enemies for frontier duty. Suppose his informer was wrong? He could stay and hope Dimon wasn’t plotting against him, or take his chances in this wild country alone.

The moon came out, all silvery pale, and he thought of the girl he’d left back in Colorado Territory. It seemed like such a long time ago. He wondered for a long moment if Shawn O’Bannion was still alive and what had happened to Shawn’s little son and his haughty, beautiful wife.

Silver.
U-ne-ga
. He would probably never see her again. He closed his eyes briefly and saw her in his mind—her long, pale hair hanging loose about her shoulders, hiding her full naked breasts. Her eyes were hard but her mouth was soft and her lips opened as he kissed them. Did she still have the shoes he had bought her or even the gold nugget bracelet? By now, she might have married or left Colorado. He made a vow then that he wanted to hold her in his arms again and that if he made it all the way back to the Rockies, this time he would ask her to marry him and beg forgiveness for ever leaving her.

Cautiously, he turned his head and looked at the sentry. The man appeared to be asleep at his post, his head sunk down on his chest. The stack of rifles was near him. Cherokee glanced up, studying the night sky. A big bank of clouds was moving slowly over the moon’s face, darkening the night. He figured fast. With the clouds across the moon, Cherokee would have several minutes to maneuver before the scene was illuminated brightly again. His life might depend on those several precious minutes.

Cherokee got to his knees and watched the guard. The engine groaned rhythmically, the stern wheel churning water. Somewhere among the sleeping forms on deck, a man snored and a frog along the bank croaked loudly.

The clouds drifted across the moon’s surface as it hung like a gold piece in the ebony sky. He crawled between the sleeping men toward the stack of weapons, mentally calculating how far it was to the rail. Could he crawl through all those sleeping bodies with a rifle? Would the movement awaken the sentry? He had to be careful and not alarm any of the sleeping troopers as he crept across the deck. If he should trod on a hand or awaken anyone suddenly, he might cry out.

Cherokee’s mouth tasted so dry he could hardly swallow and his hand had picked up a splinter from the rough wood planking, but all he concentrated on was reaching those weapons.

He was close—so close and yet so far. Again he measured the distance to the weapons and then to the rail with his eye. If luck was with him, he would steal a rifle, crawl over the side of the boat, lower himself into the water, and swim to shore. With the noise the big paddle wheel was making, the slight splash wouldn’t even be heard. It would be morning before he was missed. Even then, they weren’t likely to come back down river searching for Cherokee, because they wouldn’t be sure where they had lost him. They might even think he had fallen overboard and drowned.

Luck wasn’t with him. He was only another couple of yards from the weapons when a man cried out in his sleep near him. The guard jerked awake and whirled toward the sound even as the moon came out from behind the clouds, lighting up the deck almost as bright as day.

Halt! Halt or I’ll shoot!”

For an agonizing heartbeat, Cherokee paused, making his choice. The weapons were too far away and the guard shouted again and swung toward him with his rifle. Men came up off the deck and soldiers scrambled for weapons. He didn’t stand a chance. Without even thinking, he dived for the rail even as he heard the crack of the rifle behind him.

A pain burned into the base of his skull as he went over the side, and for an eternity, he was in the air. Then he felt the muddy waters of the Missouri close over his head.

Sergeant Baker fired wildly at the dark shape diving across the railing.
Halt! Halt, I say!”

Christ! The bastard was escaping! He fired at the man as he went over the side. Immediately, men were jumping up from the deck, shouting and gesturing. Lamps flickered on all over the
Effie Deans
as men struck matches to coal oil lamps. Colonel Dimon himself came running with a lantern.
What’s going on here, Sergeant?”

Baker stopped picking at his bad complexion and saluted.
One of the men went over the side, sir! I shot at him, don’t know if I hit him or not.”

The young colonel turned to those gathering around him.
Stop the engines! Get some light out here!”

In the confusion of running, shouting men, the colonel glared at him.
Baker! I’ll see this goes on your record. I understand you used to be a captain. Now with this, you may end up a private! Let’s go look at where that man went over.”

Christ! That uppity bastard would mention his record, Baker thought as he picked at his pimples and followed the colonel to the rail. It wasn’t fair that he himself always got such rotten duty—assigned to raw frontier. Before the war started, he’d been stuck in Ft. Smith, Arkansas. Now just because he’d made a little mistake in judgment a few months ago and had gotten half a platoon wiped out, he was being shipped to a new hellhole. What he really wanted was to return to New York. He should have deserted while the
Continental
was docked there, but he was too much of a coward.

The
Effie Deans
shuddered to a halt midstream with men shouting and hanging over the rails, looking into the river. The moon shone big as a gold dollar, the stars glittering overhead, reflecting off the dark water. In the dim light of the lantern, Baker squatted and studied the deck. He put his finger in the scarlet smear and grunted with satisfation.
Christ! I told you I hit him, sir!”

Colonel Dimon bent and looked, then stared out at the brown water. The stern wheeler had come to a complete halt in the middle of the river.
You men shine those lights over the side! Anyone see anything?”