Ralph Compton Whiskey River (17 page)

“You took long enough. You should have been here last night,” Laird said.

“No business of yours,” said Estrello, “long as you get your money.”

“The damn whiskey was at the dock yesterday,” Laird said, “and I had to pay extra, hiring men to stand watch over it.”

“Well,” said Estrello, “are we goin' inside, or do you aim to stand out here and bitch my time away?”

“Come on in, damn it,” Laird growled. “I want to settle this thing, so you and your outfit can go. Last time you were here, the captain on a commercial steamer coming from St. Louis reported your four steamboats without running lights.”

Estrello laughed. “Your concern is touching, Laird.”

“Concern, hell,” Laird snorted. “I don't personally give a damn if you and every man in your outfit is caught and strung up. I just don't want any incident involving you and your scruffy bunch to suck me in.”

Laird took a seat in the big leather chair behind his desk. He didn't invite Estrello to sit, and the outlaw stood there waiting.

Finally, Laird spoke. “Like I told you last time, the brew's gone up twenty-five dollars a barrel. I trust you have come prepared to pay the increase?”

“I have,” said Estrello. “There's twenty horses and twenty-two mules.”

Laird laughed, for Estrello always gave him false figures. But from now on, it wouldn't matter, at the lower prices.

“Twenty-five dollars a head,” said Laird. “No more.”

“I'll accept that,” Estrello said, suddenly agreeable. His hard eyes were on the big safe behind Laird's desk. It stood partially open.

“Empty the sack on the desk,” said Laird. “I trust you won't be insulted if I count it.”

Laird's greedy eyes were on the gold, and he failed to see Estrello's right hand drop to the butt of his Colt. Estrello fired three times, and the lifeless body of Taylor Laird struck the wall and slid down to the floor.

Taylor Laird's body was sprawled before the big safe, his big leather-upholstered chair lying partially on him. Estrello dragged the chair away, and then, seizing Laird by the feet, he dragged the body out of his way. He then knelt before the big iron safe, swinging the door open. He caught his breath when he beheld the contents. There were bundles of currency, each bundle neatly tied with string, and the safe was packed full. In his excitement, Estrello dragged most of it out on the floor, finding that apparently all the bills were of hundred-dollar denominations. This was no time to count it, but Estrello had an eye for such things, and he figured there was thousands of dollars—perhaps hundreds of thousands—within the safe. His heart raced like a galloping horse as he pondered his next move. Possibilities boggled his mind, and he could see himself somewhere in Mexico or South America, living like a king.

But Estrello couldn't afford the luxury of dreaming. He must have another sack for all the currency, and he began looking for one. In one office after another he dragged out desk drawers and rummaged through closets. Eventually, he found a suitable burlap bag, and its contents were heavy. Estrello upended the bag, dumping everything on the floor. There was a massive amount of old gun parts, including cylinders, triggers, frames, and walnut grips. Estrello took the now empty bag and hurried back to Laird's office. Quickly, he looked out the window, but all he saw was Laird's horse and his own horse and mule. Kneeling before the safe, he began stuffing bundles of currency into the sack. There was barely room for it all, and seizing a ball of heavy twine from Laird's desk, Estrello had a difficult time tying the neck of the sack. He then returned the gold he had brought to the other sack, and found he was unable to carry the gold and the currency at the same time. He took the sack of gold to the pack horse, and hurriedly lashed the heavy bag to one side of the packsaddle. He then returned for the currency and thonged the bag to the other side of the packsaddle.

Leading the pack mule, he started downriver, reining up when his excitement subsided and common sense took control. He had no idea how many men Laird employed, or how soon they might discover his body. Ten of them had taken the horses and mules to some location downriver and might soon be returning to Laird's place of business. In fact, he might meet them, and the loaded pack mule might quickly arouse their suspicions, for this was the first time he had ever left Laird's with anything but the horse he rode. He quickly rode more than a mile east of the river before again riding south. He knew he must reach the steamboats before encountering anybody.

 

Burt Wills felt uneasy without fully understanding why. Estrello hadn't seemed all that put out over the impending increase in the cost of the whiskey or a reduction in the price Laird had been paying him for horses and mules. Why?

“Pick up that gait, boys,” Wills shouted. “There may be trouble at Laird's.”

The riders swatted the horses and mules with their lariats. Nobody questioned Wills's demand for haste, for he had long been Laird's second-in-command. Reaching the hidden corral where livestock of questionable ownership was kept, they drove the horses and mules inside the corral. Toomey and Grant, two of Laird's men assigned to keep watch, leaned against the six-rail fence, watching. It soon became apparent that the new arrivals didn't intend to dismount.

“Hey,” Toomey shouted, “ain't you unsociable varmints gonna stop and jaw a while?”

“Not now,” said Wills. “We don't have the time.”

Wills and his riders kicked their horses into a slow gallop, and when they came within sight of the huge structure Laird owned, Wills knew something was wrong. There was no lamplight from any of the windows, and even in the starlight, he could see the lone horse where Laird always picketed his mount.

“Trouble,” Wills said, reining up. “We'll go in on foot.”

Reaching the entrance, they found the door open. On the wall inside hung a lantern. Wills lighted it, holding it in his left hand, well away from his body. In his right hand was his Colt, cocked and ready. Wills said nothing, but his nine companions did not follow him. Someone had to go in, and Wills took the risk. At first the office seemed empty, but when Wills reached the big desk, he could see Laird's dead face in the dim light from the lantern. With shaking hands, he lighted the lamp on Laird's desk. That was the signal for the rest of the riders to enter, and they did so, freezing as they viewed the remains of their late employer.

“That son-of-a-bitch Estrello,” said Wills.

“He cleaned out the safe, too,” one of the riders observed. “What'n thunder we gonna do now? There wasn't nobody but him.”

“Wrong,” Wills said. “There's me, and there's the money Estrello took. I want each of you to find as many of our bunch as you can. Have them waiting near the landing where Estrello's four steamboats were. We're goin' after the bastards.”

“How?” a rider asked. “We can't run down them steamboats.”

“We can if we have a steamboat of our own,” said Wills. “Laird has a private steamboat and a crew to pilot it. All of you be waiting where I told you, and I'll have the boat there within two hours.”

“You can take Laird's private steamboat?” one of the riders asked.

“Hell, yes,” Wills snapped. “Now all of you mount up and ride. I especially want men who have Sharps .50 buffalo guns. There's going to be a running fight.”

 

Estrello was thankful for the darkness, for his men had seen to it that everybody went back aboard the boats. Carrying the sack of gold, he went aboard the first steamboat. He had a key to a personal locker he was allowed to use, and dropping the sack of gold inside, he locked the steel door and went back for the bag of currency. Wilder stood on deck, apparently wondering what Estrello was doing, but he said nothing.

“Why the hell are you standin' there?” Estrello demanded. “Get back aboard the
Goose
, where you were assigned. We're pullin' out in a few minutes.”

When Estrello returned with the sack of currency. Wilder was no longer there. Captain Savage, in charge of steamboat one, met Estrello as he came aboard.

“Are we ready to depart?” Savage asked.

“Yes,” said Estrello, “but with one change. I want this steamboat to exchange positions with the
Star
, with the
Star
taking the lead. We'll bring up the rear on this one.”

“Changing positions in the dark without running lights requires a great deal of difficulty,” Captain Savage said. “We don't turn around in the dark. Is this necessary?”

“It is,” said Estrello. “I have reason to believe we may be pursued by a pack of thieves, and we may need the Gatling gun to defend ourselves.”

“I think not,” Captain Savage said coldly. “We have not been paid to defend you and your men against a running attack with your enemies.”

“Maybe this will change your mind,” said Estrello. In an instant, his Colt was in his hand, taking the startled captain by surprise.

“You fool,” Captain Savage said, “you can't keep me under the gun all the way to Fort Smith.”

“I can't,” said Estrello, “but I have enough men so that one of us can. Now you get into the pilothouse and turn this thing around.”

“The other captains must be told of the change,” Captain Savage said.

“I'll see that they're told,” said Estrello. “Now you do as you're told.”

Some of the men from the lower deck had heard the conversation. Tull McLean and Dutch McCarty had climbed the ladder and stood on the upper deck, looking at Estrello in surprise.

“Don't stand there like damn fools,” Estrello shouted. “I want you to escort this gent to the pilothouse and keep him covered. He's going to turn this steamboat around so that it brings up the rear back to Fort Smith.”

“Why?” McLean asked.

“By God, because I said so,” snapped Estrello.

“He's being pursued,” said Captain Savage, “and intends to use the Gatling gun. I'd say he's gotten himself and the rest of you in big trouble.”

“Is that true?” McCarty asked.

“I had trouble over the price of the whiskey,” Estrello lied. “There was some shooting, and there may be gunmen after us.”

“How in hell do you chase a steamboat?” McLean asked in disbelief.

Captain Savage laughed. “In another steamboat.”

“Give me fifteen minutes,” Estrello told Tull and McLean. “The other captains have to be told about the change in formation.”

Convinced, McCarty and McLean drew their Colts, covering Captain Savage. Estrello hurried to his locker to dispose of the sack of currency, and from the shadows stepped Wilder. His Colt was steady in his hand as he said, “I saw you bring the gold aboard. The gold you took to pay for the whiskey. Now I'm wonderin' what you got in that
other
sack. Open it.”

Estrello had no choice. He untied the neck of the burlap bag, and Wilder's eyes went wide at the sight of the currency. He laughed. “No wonder you're expectin' somebody to come after you. That, and what you didn't pay for the whiskey is quite a pile. When do you aim to divvy it up?”

“Certainly not now,” Estrello snarled. “I must talk to the other captains and get these steamboats moving. We may not have much time.”

“Then put that sack in there with the other one,” said Wilder, “and don't be gettin' no ideas. Some of us will be watchin' you every damn minute.”

Estrello put the sack of currency in the locker, closed the door, and locked it. He then turned away and ran toward the ramp, cursing his rotten luck. Wilder had his circle of friends, and before the night was over, they would all know of his treasure. Gangplanks to the second, third, and fourth steamboats had been raised, preventing Estrello from going aboard. He shouted, seeking to attract the attention of someone on the upper deck of boat two.

“Yeah,” said Skull Worsham, “what is it?”

“Get Captain Lytle for me,” Estrello shouted. “I need to talk to him.”

Captain Lytle took his time, saying nothing until Estrello had told him of the change in the order of the steamboats.

“You've spoken to Captain Savage, I presume,” said Captain Lytle. “What did he say?”

“He's agreed to the change,” Estrello said. “Now get ready to move out.”

As quickly as he could summon them, Estrello spoke to Captain Stock, captain of the
Midnight
, and Captain Jenks, captain of the Star. Estrello hurried back to the
Aztec
and found Captain Savage had done nothing toward reversing position. McCarty and McLean still faced him with drawn Colts.

“Well?” Estrello growled.

“He's captain of the damn steamboat,” said McCarty. “What you expect us to do, shoot him?”

“Yeah,” McLean said, “without him, how do we get this thing back to Fork Smith?”

“Savage,” said Estrello, “if we're attacked, you can die just as quick as any of us. I've talked to Lytle, Stock, and Jenks, and when you turn this steamboat around, they'll lead out.”

The first three captains had already begun the tedious job of reversing their boats, and having little choice, Captain Savage entered the pilothouse. The rest of the men aboard Captain Savage's craft were aware a change was taking place and had gathered on the upper deck. Their attention was drawn to the pilothouse, where McCarty and McLean stood before it with drawn Colts.

“What'n hell's goin' on?” Ike Jabez wanted to know.

“I shot an
hombre
over the price of whiskey,” said Estrello desperately, “and some of the gang may be coming after us. We're moving this steamboat into fourth position so we can use the Gatling gun if we have to.”