Ralph Compton Whiskey River (21 page)

“I hope somebody's found and buried the varmint if we're goin' back there,” said one of the men. “Otherwise, he'll be ripe enough to puke a buzzard.”

“Damn shame we didn't take time to bury him,” Wills said. “Not for his sake, but for ours. He might not have been missed for a while.”

The
New Orleans
had gotten as close to the bank as it could. Wills and what was left of his men waded into deep water and with ropes thrown to them, made their way to the big steamboat's deck. No questions were asked of them, and the survivors had nothing to say regarding their predicament.

“Something uncommonly strange about all this,” Hankins said as he and Captain Troy watched the six survivors come aboard.

“That's exactly why I intend to report it,” said Captain Troy. “The law in St. Louis is too far afield for it to matter, but the military should be interested. We've been hearing of steamboats traveling to St. Louis and loading illegal whiskey. I think what we've just seen were four such steamboats.”

“I still think the law might have been aboard the boat that sank,” Hankins said.

“We'll find out when we reach St. Louis,” said Captain Troy. From the inside pocket of his blue-and-white jacket he took a .31 caliber Colt revolver. After checking the loads, he returned the weapon to his pocket.

Lieutenant Banyon knocked on the post commander's door and was bid enter. He did so, saluting Captain Hailey.

“At ease,” said Hailey, returning the salute. “Take a seat.”

The lieutenant handed Captain Hailey a sheaf of papers.

“That's a complete report on what we learned about Taylor Laird, sir,” Banyon said.

“I'll read it at my leisure,” said Captain Hailey. “Give me a brief report.”

“There were six of us,” Lieutenant Banyon said. “We found Taylor Laird dead, shot three times. The safe was standing open and virtually empty, so the motive could have been robbery. We checked out every bank in town, and Laird had no accounts in St. Louis of any kind. Apparently, he kept all of his money in the safe. Except for the offices near the front of the building, it was full of whiskey, thirty-six-gallon drums. I sent a detail of men there to dispose of it.”

“Good, Lieutenant, good,” said Captain Hailey. “Were you able to find other properties owned or controlled by Taylor Laird?”

“Three more locations,” Lieutenant Banyon said, “and more whiskey. They'll be taken care of before the end of the week. We can't do much about what happens in the territory, but we may have busted up this end of the whiskey smuggling.”

“More so than you realize,” said Captain Hailey. “Just a while ago, I learned six men were taken into custody after the sinking of a steamboat somewhere far to the south. A commercial steamboat, the
New Orleans
, was near enough for the captain to see the tag end of an on-the-river fight in progress between the steamboat that sank and four others. The four had no identifying marks, and I suspect they're involved in the transporting of illegal whiskey.”

“Then there are witnesses?”

“Yes,” said Captain Hailey. “The captain and his pilot were close enough to see it all through their spyglasses. From their report, one of the four boats that escaped was equipped with a Gatling gun. Hankins, the pilot, said the boilers exploded on the ship that sank.”

“That's it, then,” Lieutenant Banyon said.

“Not quite, Lieutenant,” said Captain Hailey softly after the lieutenant had gone. Again Hailey reread the telegram he had received in response to his own, from Captain Ferguson at the Fort Worth outpost. It was painfully brief and worded so that if intercepted, it wouldn't make sense. It read:

It was simply signed “Ferguson,” without a hint of what the captain intended to do, if anything.

Estrello's boats had ten wounded men, including Estrello himself. Only Jabez had been killed. Ed Stackler had taken the medicine kit from the wagon and was doctoring the wounds of Vernon Clemans, Todd Keithley, and Nick Ursino. Nick's was the least serious, it being just a painful burn across his skull. Vernon's and Todd's were more serious, being in the thigh, and blood was draining into their boots. Amanda and Betsy were back on the upper deck, going from one man to another, attempting to help. On the
Aztec,
Renato was working over McCarty, for McCarty had been wounded in the shoulder, as well as the head. The other five wounded men had been hit in arms or legs, and the bleeding had been minimal. Bill, Mark, Amanda, and Betsy brought blankets from the wagons, seeing to the comfort of their wounded companions. Suddenly, there was a strange look in Bill's eyes, and he collapsed on the deck, facedown.

“Bill!” Betsy cried.

“Help me get his shirt off,” said Mark. “He might have been hit.”

Removing his shirt, they found that had indeed been the case. While there hadn't been much blood, a jagged piece of lead had whipped through Bill's shirt just above the waist, leaving an ugly, jagged hole.

“I've just used the last of the disinfectant,” Ed said. “We'll have to tap one of those barrels of moonshine.”

On the
Aztec,
Renato turned to Wilder. “We're out of disinfectant. Should we use the whiskey?”

“Hell, no,” Estrello shouted, having overheard. “Leave that whiskey alone.”

Despite their situation, Wilder laughed. “Maybe this is God's way of gettin' back at you, Wolf,” Wilder said. “You'll have to drink some of your own poison.”

Meanwhile, on the
Star
, they stretched Bill out on a blanket next to Vernon, Todd, and Nick. Stackler returned with a wooden bucket full of whiskey.

Mark poured some of the whiskey into Bill's wound, and he sat up with a gasp.

“Don't get up,” Betsy begged. “You've been hit.”

“I feel like I've also been set afire.” said Bill. “What'n hell was
that?”

“Some rotgut whiskey from one of those barrels in my wagon,” Mark said, “and it can get worse. Come down with a fever, and you'll actually have to drink some of the stuff.”

“God forbid,” said Bill, closing his eyes.

Amanda and Betsy made the rounds of the wounded outlaws on the
Star
. They brought a progress report.

“I saw Irvin and Suggs get it,” said Todd, “and that was almost worth takin' a slug myself.”

“I wish I'd seen Wilder plugged but, you can't drown a man that's born to be hanged,” Vernon said.

“Give him some of that whiskey,” said Bill. “He's out of his head.”

“Thanks,” Vernon said. “I'll do something nice for you sometime.”

“I hate to bring this up,” said Carl, “but in another day or two, we'll be back at the Fort Smith landing. How do we free ourselves from these outlaws with four of you hurt?”

“Simple enough,” said Todd. “Those of us who aren't able to make a break for it will have to stay. Carl, you, Lee, Mark, Amanda, and Betsy will have a chance if we stick to our plan.”

“Damn the plan,” Betsy said. “I'm not leaving Bill behind.”

“Then all any of us have done to save you and Amanda will be lost,” said Bill. “Some of these outlaws will take you, having their way with you. Then, if you can show them to that hidden gold, they'll kill you.”

“Much as I hate to admit it,” said Mark, “he's right.”

“If Betsy stays, I stay,” Amanda said. “She's my twin sister, and we've been through too much together.”

“If Amanda stays, then so do I,” said Mark. “That leaves only Carl, Lee, and Ed.”

“I'm not running out on the rest of you,” Ed replied. “I'd feel like a Judas.”

“Then it's up to Carl and Lee,” Bill said. “We still need that telegram sent to Captain Ferguson at Fort Worth. Fort Smith is our last chance. Then it's Indian Territory.”

“You think me and Carl won't feel like we've let the rest of you down?” Lee Sullivan asked. “Maybe Estrello will wait for his wounded men to heal before taking the wagons on into the Territory. That will allow our wounded time to heal.”

“I hate to say it,” Carl said, “but unless some of us take them by surprise, making our break at Fort Smith, you all know we're not likely to get another chance.”

“Then let me make the break,” said Ed Stackler. “One man might have a better chance than two. Soon as we're near the landing, I'll go over the side and into the water. There's a chance they won't miss me.”

“There's also a chance they'll cut you to ribbons with Winchesters or Sharps .50s,” Carl said. “If Lee and I run for it, one of us might make it.”

“Damn it,” said Stackler, “let's cut the cards. The low card goes.”

“Where do we get a deck of cards?” Carl wondered.

“In Jake's wagon, under the seat,” said Betsy. “They were Jake's, and they're wrapped in oilskin.”

“Shame on you, Betsy,” Amanda said. “You're sending one of these men out to die.”

But it was the only fair thing to do, and Stackler went and brought the cards. It was he who shuffled them. Mark drew the first card, Carl the second, and Lee the third. Ed then drew the fourth card.

“Face-up time,” Ed said.

Carl dropped his card, the king of clubs. When Lee dropped his, it was the ace of diamonds. Almost reluctantly, Mark dropped his card, and it was the queen of hearts. Ed dropped his card, the four of spades.

“Damn it, Ed,” said Lee, “you stacked that deck.”

Ed laughed. “I did not. I always beat you gents at poker because you're not that good at it. It's settled. I'm going to make a run for it, jumping ship before any of these steamboats has a chance to dock. If I make it to Fort Smith alive, maybe I can get a telegram off to Captain Ferguson in Fort Worth in time to free the rest of you.”

“It's a long-shot chance,” said Mark. “How far are we from Estrello's old camp on the Washita?”

“About two hundred and fifty miles,” Carl said.

“With loaded wagons, even if there's no trouble, that's twelve to fifteen days,” said Ed. “Ferguson and a company of soldiers could
walk
from Fort Worth in that amount of time. Depending on how serious Captain Ferguson takes that telegram, it's our only way out.”

“Ferguson won't let us down,” Bill said. “According to my count, it's been thirty-six days since we left Fort Worth. I think Captain Ferguson will be looking for something that will tell him we're alive and successful, or that we've failed and are dead.”

“That's my impression of Captain Ferguson, too,” said Mark. “That's why it's important that we complete this mission. Captain Ferguson trusted us when all we had to look forward to was a rope or the firing squad.”

 

“The wounded will give me a slight edge when it's time to make a break,” Ed said. “They may not be so quick to grab their Colts, and those arm and shoulder wounds will limit their use of Winchesters.”

Estrello's outfit on the
Aztec
was a surly lot, as those who hadn't been wounded were forced to tend to their comrades who had been less fortunate.

“Hell, I ain't no doctor,” said Franklin Schorp.

“Me, neither,” Renato said.

“You got no choice,” said Wilder, “same as I don't. Do the best you can, so the wounds don't get infected. Somebody tap another one of those kegs and bring me some more whiskey.”

“You'll have to get it yourself,” Schorp said. “The rest of us got our hands full.”

Finally, all of the wounded Estrello gang, including Estrello, had their wounds taken care of, and the upper deck of the steamboat looked like a battlefield. Captain Savage was no longer being watched, for the few men who hadn't been wounded were exhausted from the August heat and tending their wounded comrades. When the sun sank below the western horizon and twilight approached, there was a cooling wind out of the west.

“Here's where we leave the Mississippi for the Arkansas,” said Carl, watching from the deck of the
Star
. “There'll be one more wood stop before we get to the Fort Smith landing.”

“I might be able to escape during the wood stop,” Ed said, “but it's a long way back to Little Rock, and even farther to Fort Smith, without a horse.”

“I hate it, you having to go afoot,” said Mark. “I feel like that's the responsibility of Bill or me, since we made the agreement with Captain Ferguson.”

“I don't see it that way,” Ed said. “The deal for amnesty includes me, and I don't expect something for nothing.”

“I don't think any of us will be getting it for nothing,” said Lee, “and I don't fault anybody for that. I joined Estrello's outfit because I had a price on my head and nowhere to run.”

“Same as the rest of us,” Carl said. “Somehow, it didn't seem all that bad, right at the first. We were selling whiskey, and the Indians were buying. I couldn't see it coming to this, some of you lying wounded on a steamboat, while we choose one man to risk his neck trying to break loose to bring help.”

“Don't worry about me,” said Ed. “I've done more than my share of fool things, with a lot less to be gained.”

A hundred and thirty miles east of Fort Smith, the steamboats again stopped to take on fuel. Wilder, Schorp, and Renato stood watch with Winchesters to be certain that nobody left the Star except the crew for the loading of wood. Men left steamboats two, three, and four stretching their legs.