Summer of Pearls (20 page)

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Authors: Mike Blakely

BOOK: Summer of Pearls
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Two of the bandits produced weapons and fired back at Colton. Coolly, he ignored the muzzle blasts and fired at the man carrying the satchel. The bandit fell, dropping the leather bag. Kelso jumped from the boiler deck, into the water. Two others swung over the railing, down to the main deck where the horses stood. The last outlaw ran down the aft stairs.
Colton heard the hooves drumming crazily on the main deck as he trotted aft. He kicked the revolver away from the first robber he had shot, for the man was still moving. He pulled Trevor away from the paddle wheel. He saw blood in the Australian's hair, but the huge chest was still heaving.
He continued aft and put his pistol to the head of the second bandit he had shot, but could tell that the man was dead when he rolled him over. The leather satchel was in the bandit's death grip. Colton grabbed it.
Horses were pounding the deck below, leaping into the lake. Colton looked over the rail and considered letting a few rounds go at a man on a swimming horse. No need. Let them go. Don't draw their fire now.
He looked forward and saw that Trevor Brigginshaw was still out cold. The leather pearl-and-money bag was in his own hand now. He had what he needed, and two outlaws, to boot. He felt his heart racing. He felt more alive than he had in months. Years!
Damn, Henry, he thought. Your luck's comin' back.
WHEN TREVOR BRIGGINSHAW CAME TO, HE SAW SEVERAL BLURRY MEN
looking down on him. He heard voices and smelled tobacco smoke. He focused on the ceiling of the riverboat saloon and felt for his satchel with each hand.
“He's coming out of it, Mr. Colton,” a voice said. “I mean, Henry.” Trevor recognized the voice as that of the young riverboat clerk.
He tried to sit up, but his head hurt terribly, and the exertion made his stomach feel ill. He closed his eyes and remembered the smelly sack over his head and the horrible sounds of the paddle wheel, screeching inches from his ears. He remembered Judd Kelso, and a name: Christmas.
Opening his eyes again, he saw a familiar face. He grabbed Henry Colton by the collar. “My case.”
“Easy, Trev. I've got it right here. I looked after it for you while you were out.”
Trevor felt the familiar handle in his hand. He tried to sit up again, and succeeded with some help from the passengers. He found himself on the dining table of the
Slough Hopper.
“Henry, what in the bloody
hell are you doing here?” He touched his head where the capstan bar had hit him.
“Saving your life, looks like,” Colton said.
“The Christmas Nelson gang tried to rob you,” the clerk added.
Trevor looked around at the passengers, then back at Colton. “I thought you were going back to the Indian Territory.”
“That was just a story, Trev. Sorry I had to lie to you. Comes with the job.”
“What bloody job?”
“Mr. Colton's a Pinkerton detective,” the clerk said.
“That's right, Trev. I've been after that Christmas Nelson gang. Sorry you had to get between us.”
The Australian saw two bloody men stretched out on the saloon floor. “Is that them?”
“Two of them,” Colton replied. “One dead, one damn near dead. I don't know if either one of 'em is Christmas Nelson himself.”
“Did they get anything?” He fumbled with the latches to his leather case.
“Not a thing, Trev.” Colton put his hand on the big man's shoulder. “I stopped them before they could open it. Your goods are safe.”
The pearl-buyer breathed a sigh of relief and stood, steadying himself with one hand on the table. “Where the hell are we, Henry? How long have I been out?”
Henry chuckled. “You've only been out a few minutes. That iron bar would have killed any other man on this boat. We're heading back to Port Caddo to put that live one in jail. Captain Pipes didn't hardly want to, but I told him the Pinkerton Agency would pay for the lost time.”
Trevor motioned for a glass of whiskey that one of the passengers was holding. “Why are we going back to Port Caddo? They must have a better jail in Shreveport.” He poured the contents of the glass over his wounded head, wincing as the whiskey stung him.
“Last thing I want to do is cross a state line with a prisoner. If that wounded one lives, I'll have all that extradition foolishness to deal with to get him back to Texas for trial.”
Brigginshaw chuckled a little as he held his glass out for a refill. “You, Henry? A Pinkerton? I never would have guessed it in a million years.” He poured the next jigger down his throat instead of over his head.
“That's the idea, Trev.”
“How did you know the gang was going to try to rob me?”
“I didn't. If I'd have known that, I'd have warned you. I got a tip from an informant that they would board this boat tonight somewhere between Jefferson and Shreveport. And it looks like my informant was right.”
“That it does,” Brigginshaw said. “That it bloody does, and thank God for it. I owe you one, mate.” He laughed, in spite of the condition his head was in. “Pinkerton detective!”
 
 
Colton went up to the pilothouse and asked Emil Pipes not to blow the whistle when the
Slough Hopper
returned to Port Caddo. “Last thing I need is a bunch of citizens around when I'm trying to put a man in jail.”
“The son of a bitch is damn near dead,” Pipes growled. “How much trouble could it be to get a near dead son of a bitch in a jailhouse?”
“It's standard procedure, Captain Pipes. I won't risk getting any civilians hurt if I can help it. For all we know, that Christmas Nelson gang might be on the way to Port Caddo to rescue their men. They could beat us there on horseback.”
“Aw, the hell,” Pipes growled.
“I've worked among outlaws for years, Captain. They'll surprise you.”
The pilot growled and dismissed Colton with a wave of his hand. The Pinkerton man went back down to the saloon and pulled the clerk aside. “There's a constable in Port Caddo named Rayford Hayes. He lives three houses uphill from the livery barn. Do you know where that is?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. As soon as we dock, I want you to run get him. Have him meet me at the jailhouse next to the wharf.”
 
 
Henry Colton saw the
Slough Hopper's
clerk leap to the wharf with his lantern before the rousters had the mooring lines fast.
He went back into the saloon and found the Aussie nursing his head wound and drinking whiskey. “Trevor, you said you owed me one. Now's your chance to make good.”
“Name it, mate.”
“You can carry that live one to the jailhouse for me. You're strong enough to do it on your own, and I'd just as soon keep as many people clear of the jail as possible. Never know who you can trust. I'll guard your leather bag while you carry the prisoner.”
Trevor rose. “I've never trusted another living soul with this satchel.” He smiled. “Until tonight, that is.” He handed the leather bag to Colton and stooped over the outlaws laid out on the floor.
“Not that one, Trev,” Henry said.
“What?”
“That's the dead one. Pick up the other one.”
“By God, Henry! You're right!” The Australian put his hand to his head wound and filled the saloon with laughter.
 
 
Trevor was relieved to see Constable Hayes standing at the bottom of the gangplank with the
Hopper's
clerk when he and Henry came down. The weight of the wounded outlaw in his arms burdened him little. It wasn't far to the jailhouse. He would deposit the outlaw there, get his pearls back from Henry, and be on his way at last.
“What's all this about, Captain Brigginshaw?” Hayes asked, yawning. He looked rather ridiculous with his gun belt strapped around his nightshirt, his black boots contrasting with his white legs.
“Ask Henry. He's the detective.”
“Huh?” Constable Hayes looked at Colton.
“Give the constable your lantern,” Colton said to the clerk, “and keep everybody on the boat.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Detective?” Hayes said, taking the lantern. “You?”
“Pinkerton Detective Agency,” Colton said. “This wounded man is a member of the Christmas Nelson gang. There's a dead one on the boat. They tried to get Captain Brigginshaw's pearls.”
“Christmas Nelson! Well, I'll be damned!” The constable trotted ahead of Trevor with the lantern to open the jailhouse door, his boots slipping in the mud as he ran.
Trevor had taken note of the Port Caddo jailhouse, wondering if he would ever land there drunk. It was a one-room log building with a door facing town and a tiny window facing the bayou. Both openings were covered by crossed iron bars, riveted together. The iron door swung on heavy hinges threaded deep into the logs. It was crude, but secure.
Rayford Hayes unlocked the door and opened it for Trevor. The big Australian had to duck to carry the wounded man into the cell. The iron grating of the jailhouse ceiling was barely over six feet high, and he didn't care to bump his already aching head on it.
“Just lay him out on the bunk,” the constable said, holding the lantern inside the jailhouse.
When he lay the wounded outlaw in the cell, Trevor heard his satchel drop with a splash into the mud, and turned in time to see Colton shutting the iron door on him. Acting on reflex, he rushed to the door and put his foot in its path to keep it from slamming. Colton's Smith & Wesson appeared out of nowhere and leveled on Trevor.
“Colton, what the hell …” Constable Hayes said.
“Don't interfere, Hayes. Just give me the jail key so's I can lock him in. Trevor, back up.”
The big Australian looked into the barrel of the revolver, his anger building. “Henry, what in the bloody hell are you doing now?”
“Look here, Colton!” Constable Hayes said, stepping forward with the lantern.
“I said don't interfere, Hayes. I'll explain everything just as soon as I get the good Captain Brigginshaw locked in your jailhouse. Now, give me the key. Trevor, move your foot and back up.”
The Australian felt his face grow feverish with rage. He kept his foot
against the iron door. He glanced at his leather satchel on the muddy ground outside of the jailhouse. “My pearls!” he said. “He's robbing me, Rayford!”
“Don't move, Hayes!” Colton warned. “I'm not robbing anybody. I'm a Pinkerton agent arresting Captain Trevor Brigginshaw.”
“Arresting him for what?” Hayes said.
“Embezzlement.”
“Embezzlement!” the Aussie roared. “Rayford, can't you see he's lying? He's after the pearls!”
“I'm tellin' the truth. Constable, pick up the pearl-bag. I'll let you hold on to it to prove I'm not after it. You can cover me with your pistol if you want. The evidence I need is in Trevor's ledger book.”
Hayes put the lantern down on the muddy ground to keep his gun hand free. He moved carefully toward the leather bag and picked it up. Then he backed off a few steps. “Colton, put your gun away and we'll sort this out. You must have made some kind of mistake.”
“No mistake. After I get Trevor locked behind this door, I'll surrender my weapon to you, Constable, and explain everything.”
Trevor eased his right hand toward the mother-of-pearl grip of his Colt revolver.
“Your pistol won't do you any good, Trev. I took all the cartridges out while you were unconscious. Go ahead, check it.”
Trevor carefully drew the pearl-handled Colt and spun the cylinder, finding the chambers empty. He was seething so with rancor that he felt on the verge of attacking the Pinkerton man, in spite of the cocked revolver aiming at him.
“Sorry I lied to you again, Trev, but like I said, it comes with the job. I wasn't after Christmas Nelson. I had no idea his gang would be on that boat tonight. I was after you.”
Trevor felt a dark wave of guilt sicken his stomach, but tried to hold on to some kind of hope. “Don't trust him, Rayford. He'll lock me in and shoot us both dead for those pearls.”
“Just give me a chance and I'll explain everything,” Colton argued. “Like I said, Hayes, you can draw your pistol now and cover me if you want to.”
For a moment, the only sounds were those of crickets and bullfrogs along the bayou.
“Let him say his piece, Captain,” the constable finally suggested. “He could have shot you already if that's what he wanted to do. Maybe there's been a misunderstanding.”
“No misunderstanding,” Colton argued. “International Gemstones has suspected Trevor of raking off money for a year now. When he started out working for them, he was the best pearl-bargainer they had ever employed. Then he started losing his ability to get the lowest prices.”
“I don't follow you,” Hayes said. “No crime in that, is there?”
“Not in itself,” the Pinkerton man answered. “But the company trusted his ability more than his honesty. They figured he was padding the prices he got and keeping the extra for himself.”
“You're a lying little bandit!” Trevor bellowed. “You're no Pinkerton man! Look at him, Rayford! Does he look like a detective to you?”
Hayes looked as if he didn't know who to trust. “I still don't get it,” he said. “You're not making sense to me, Colton.”
“All right, listen and I'll explain it so's anybody can understand. I brought a pearl down here with me from the Chicago Pinkerton offices. International Gemstones sent me the pearl to use. I posed as a pearl-hunter for a couple of days, pretended to find the pearl I had in my pocket all along, and sold it to Trevor. He paid me three hundred and fifty dollars of his company's money for it.”
“So what?” Hayes said. “That's the man's job, ain't it?”

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