Well below the surface, yet impelled swiftly downward by the sturdy rush of the current, sweeping about the steamer's stern, I struck out with all the strength of my arms, anxious to attain in that first effort the greatest possible distance. I came panting up to breathe, my face lifted barely above the surface, dashing the water from my eyes, and casting one swift glance backward toward the landing. The high stern of theAdventurerwas already some considerable distance away, exhibiting no sign of movement along her after-decks, but with that snake-like line of men still pouring over the crest of the bank, and disappearing forward. Great volumes of black smoke swept forth from the funnels, and my ears could distinguish the ceaseless hiss of steam. Again I permitted my body to sink into the depths, swimming onward with easier stroke, satisfied I had not been seen.
When I came up the second time I was quite far enough to be safe, and the stragglers had largely disappeared on board. Content to tread water, yet constantly drifting farther away in the trend of the current, I was able to observe all that took place. The sun had disappeared, and the western shore rested obscured by a purple haze, the wide stretch of water between slowly darkening. Light lingered still, however, along the clay hills of Yellow Banks, crowded with those soldiers left behind, who had gathered to speed the departure of their more fortunate comrades. The decks of theAdventurerwere black with men, their cheers and shouts echoing to me along the surface of the river. Slowly the steamer parted from the shore, as the paddle-wheel began to revolve, flinging upward a cataract of spray, the space of open water widening, as the advancing bow sought the deeper channel, and headed northward. A great resounding cheer from both ship and shore mingled, rolling out over the darkening waters of the river, and echoed back by the forests along the bank. Farther up two other boats—mere phantoms in their white paint—cast off also, and followed, their smoke wreaths trailing behind as they likewise turned their prows up stream. Ten minutes later the three were almost in line, mere blobs of color, barely distinguishable through the descending dusk.
I swam slowly ashore, creeping up the low bank into the seclusion of a shallow, sandy gully, scooped out by the late rains. The air was mild, and I experienced no chill from my wet clothes, the warmth of the sand helping to dry them on my body. The river and sky were darkening fast, the more brilliant stars already visible. The western shore had entirely vanished, while nothing remained in evidence of those department boats except the dense black smoke smudge still outlined against the lighter arch of sky overhead. To my left the camp fires of the soldiers still remaining at Yellow Banks began to show red with flame through the shadows of intervening trees, and I could hear the noise of hammering, together with an occasional strident voice. Immediately about me all was silent, the steadily deepening gloom rendering my surroundings vaguely indistinct.
Thus far I possessed no plan—except to seek her. How this was to be accomplished appeared in no way clear. I lay there, my mind busy with the perplexing problem. Where could Kirby go, now that he was ashore? How could he hope to find concealment in the midst of that rough camp? that little, squalid frontier settlement of a few log huts? Could it be possible that he had friends there—old cronies to whom he might venture to appeal for shelter, and protection? men of his own kidney to whom he could confide his secret? As the thought occurred to me it seemed quite possible; indeed it scarcely appeared probable that he would, under any other circumstances, have made the choice he did.
Surely such a man could never have risked going ashore unless some definite plan of action had already formulated itself in his mind. And why should the fellow not possess friends at Yellow Banks? He knew the river intimately and all the river towns; possibly he had even landed here before. He was a man feared, hated, but obeyed the full length of the great stream; his name stood for reckless daring, unscrupulous courage everywhere; he could command the admiration and loyalty of every vicious character in the steamboat service between Fort Crawford and New Orleans. It was hardly likely that none of these men, floaters at best, were in this miscellaneous outpouring of militia; indeed it was almost certain there would be some officers among them, as well as enlisted men.
As my thought grasped these facts, they led to the only possible decision. I would venture forward, rather blindly trusting that good fortune might direct my steps aright. I would have to discover first of all, where Kirby had taken Eloise—into whose hands he had deposited the girl for safe keeping. This task ought not to be difficult. The settlement was small, and the camp itself not a large one; no such party could hope to enter its confines without attracting attention, and causing comment. There was but slight discipline, and the majority of the soldiery were simple-hearted, honest fellows who could be easily induced to talk. Once I had thus succeeded in locating her, the rest ought to prove comparatively easy—a mere matter of action. For I had determined to play the spy no longer; to cease being a mere shadow. To my mind the excuse for masquerade no longer existed. The two fugitives were already safely on their way toward Canada, beyond any possibility of pursuit; and, from now on, I could better play my game in the open, confident that I held the winning hand in my knowledge of the girl's identity.
So I proposed finding Eloise, and telling her the whole truth; following that, and assured of her support, I would defy Kirby, denounce him if necessary to the military authorities, identifying myself by means of my army commission, and insist on the immediate release of the girl. The man had broken no law—unless the wanton killing of Shrunk could be proven against him—and I might not be able to compel his arrest. Whatever he suspected now relative to his prisoner, he had originally supposed her to be his slave, his property, and hence possessed a right under the law to restrain her liberty. But even if I was debarred from bringing the man to punishment, I could break his power, and overturn his plans. Beyond that it would be a personal matter between us; and the thought gave me joy. Certainly this method of procedure looked feasible to me; I saw in it no probability of failure, for, no matter how many friends the gambler might have in camp, or the influence they could exert in his behalf, they could never overcome the united testimony I was now able to produce. The mere statement of the girl that she was Eloise Beaucaire would be sufficient to free her.
I attained my feet, confident and at ease, and advanced up the gully, moving cautiously, so as not to run blindly upon some sentry post in the darkness. There would be nervous soldiers on duty, liable to fire at any sound, or suspicious movement, and it was a part of my plan to penetrate the lines unseen, and without inviting arrest. Once safely within the confines of the camp, the lack in uniforms and discipline, would afford ample freedom, but to be held as a prisoner, even for a short time, might prove a very serious matter. Within a short distance the gully became too shallow for further concealment. I could perceive the red glow of the fires gleaming out between the trees, and the numerous dark figures of men, engaged in various tasks, or lying idly about, waiting a call from the cooks to supper. My judgment told me that I must already be safely within the picket lines, able to walk forward unmolested, and mingle with these groups fearlessly. I was yet standing there, uncertain as to which group I should choose to companion with, when the dim figure of a man, unquestionably drunk, came weaving his uncertain way along a footpath which ran within a yard of my position. Even in that darkness, not yet dense with night, the lank figure possessed an outline of familiarity, and the sudden blazing up of a fire revealed the unmistakable features of the deputy.
"Hullo," I said, happily, stepping directly before him. "When did you come ashore?"
He stopped as though shot, bracing himself with difficulty, and endeavoring to gain a glimpse of my face.
"Hello, yerself," he managed to ejaculate thickly. "Who are yer? frien' o' mine?"
"Why, don't yer remember me, ol' man? I'm the feller who wus scrubbin' the paint on theAdventurer. We wus talkin' tergether comin' up. I wus goin' fer ter enlist."
"Hell! yes; glad ter see yer. Sum hot whisky et this camp—tried eny?"
"No," I answered, grasping at the opportunity to arouse his generosity. "I ain't got no coin to buy. They wudn't let me leave ther boat, ner pay me a picayune, so I just skipped out. I'm flat broke; maybe yer cud stake me fer a bite ter eat?"
"Eat!" he flung one arm lovingly about my shoulders, and burst into laughter. "Yer bet yer life, we're a goin' ter eat, an' drink too. I don't go back on none o' ther boys. Yer never heerd nuthin' like thet 'bout Tim Kennedy, I reckon. Eat, sure—yer know Jack Rale?"
"Never heerd the name."
"What, hell! never heerd o' Jack Rale! Ol' river man, half hoss, half alligator; uster tend bar in Saint Louee. He's up yere now, a sellin' forty-rod ter sojers. Cum up 'long with him frum Beardstown. Got a shack back yere, an' is a gittin' rich—frien' o' mine. Yer just cum 'long with me—thas all."
I permitted him to lead me, his voice never ceasing as we followed the dim trail. I made out little of what he said, nor did I question him. Drunk as the man was, I still thought it best to wait until more thoroughly assured that we were alone. Besides I could take no chance now with his garrulous tongue. The trail ended before a two-room log cabin, so deeply hidden in the woods as to be revealed merely by a glimmer of light shining out from within through chinks in the walls. Tim fumbled for the latch and finally opened the door, lurching across the threshold, dragging me along after him. The room was evidently kitchen and bar combined, the latter an unplaned board, resting on two upturned kegs, with a shelf behind containing an array of bottles. There were two men at a sloppy table, a disreputable looking white woman stirring the contents of a pot hung over the open fire, and a fellow behind the bar, attired in a dingy white apron. It was all sordid enough, and dirty—a typical frontier grogshop; but the thing of most interest to me was the proprietor. The fellow was the same red-moustached individual whom I had watched disembark from the steamer that same afternoon, slipping in the yellow mud as he surmounted the bank, dragging his valise along after him. So it was this fellow passenger who had given these fugitives refuge; it was his presence in these parts which had decided Kirby to make the venture ashore. He glanced up at our entrance, the glare of light overhead revealing a deep, ugly scar across his chin, and a pair of deep-set, scowling eyes.
"Back in time fer supper, hey, Kennedy," he growled, none too cordially. "Who's yer frien'?"
"A feller whut's goin' ter enlist. He's all right, Jack," the deputy hiccoughed thickly. "Les' liquor, an' then we'll eat. I'm payin' the bill—so whut the hell is it ter yer?"
"Nuthin' 'tall; eny frien' o' yers gits ther best I hav'. Corn liquor, I reckon?"
He set out a squat bottle on the bar, and thinking it best to humor the both of them I poured out a stiff drink, fully aware that Rale was observing my features closely.
"Seen yer afore sumwhar, ain't I?"
"I reckon," I replied indifferently, watching Tim fill his glass. "I worked my way up on the boat; saw yer on board."
"Sure; that's it; 'tain't in my line fer ter forgit a face. Yer ain't enlisted yit?"
"No; reckon I'll wait till maunin', an' clean up a bit furst. How 'bout sum soap an' water fore I eat? an' yer cudn't loan me a razor, cud ye?"
He rubbed his chin reflectively with stubby fingers.
"Wal' I got plenty o' water, an' maybe cud scare up sum soap. Tim yere he's got a razor, an', if he's a frien' o' yers, I reckon he mought lend it ter yer—thet's sure sum hell ov a beard yer've got."
The deputy gulped down his drink, and smacked his lips, clinging with one hand to the bar, regarding me lovingly.
"Sure; he's friend' o' mine. Shave him myself soon's I git sober. Stand most whisky all righ', but damn if I kin this kind—only hed three drinks, tha's all—-whut's thet? Yer can't wait? Oh, all righ' then, take it yerself. Mighty fin' razor, ol' man."
Rale found me a tin basin, water, a bit of rag for a towel, and a small, cracked mirror, in which my reflection was scarcely recognizable. He was a man of few words, contenting himself with uttering merely a dry comment on Kennedy, who had dropped back into a convenient chair, and buried his face on the table.
"Tim's a damn good fellow, an' I never saw him so blame drunk afore," he said, regretfully. "Know'd him et Saint Louee; used ter drop in ter my place. He an' Kirby hed a row, an' I reckon thet's whut started him drinkin'."
"A row; a quarrel, you mean?" forgetting myself in surprise. "Who's Kirby?"
"Joe Kirby; yer sure must know him, if yer a river man. Slim sorter feller, with a smooth face; slickest gambler ever wus, I reckon."
"Why, of course," getting control of myself once more. "We picked him up, 'long with Tim, down river. Hed two women with 'em, didn't they? runaway niggers?"
Rale winked facetiously, evidently rather proud of the exploit as it had been related to him.
"Wal', ther way I understan', they wa'n't both of 'em niggers; however, that was the story told on board. This yere Joe Kirby is pretty damn slick, let me tell you. One of 'em's a white gurl, who just pretended she wus a nigger. I reckon thet even Kirby didn't catch on ter her game et furst; an' when he did he wus too blame smart ter ever let her know. She don't think he knows yet, but she's liable fer ter find out mighty soon."
"But he cannot hold a white woman," I protested stoutly.
"Can't, hey! Wal', I reckon there are ways o' even doin' thet, an' if thar be, Kirby'll find it. They say thar's mor'n one way ter skin a cat, an' Joe never cut his eye teeth yisterday, let me tell yer. Thet gurl's not only white—she's got money, scads ov it, and is a good looker. I saw her, an' she's some beaut; Joe ain't passin' up nuthin' like that. I reckon she won't find no chance ter raise a holler fore he's got her tied good an' strong."
I stared blankly at the fellow, a thousand questions in my mind, and a dim perception of what he meant permeating my brain.
"Do you mean," I asked, horrified, "that he will compel her to marry him?"
"Sum smart little guesser, ain't yer? I reckon she's in a right smart way ter do it, et thet."
"And wus this the cause of the quarrel between Kirby and Kennedy?"
"Wal', I reckon it wus; leastwise Tim wudn't be mixed up in the affair none. They hed it prutty blame hot, an' I reckon thar'd bin a dead deputy if hedn't bin fer me. Tim thought I wus a prutty gud frien' an' cum over yere ter liquor, an' eat. Ther joke ov it is, he never know'd thet Joe hed told me all 'bout the fix he wus in, afore we cum ashore. Hell, it wus all fixed up whut wus ter be done—only we didn't expect the steamer wus goin' on north. Thar's sum boys wantin' a drink; see yer agin."
I finished shaving, making no attempt to hurry, busily thinking over this new situation. In the first place why had Rale told me all this? Quite probably the indiscretion never occurred to him, or a thought that the matter would prove of any personal interest to me. He had been drinking, and was in a reckless mood; he believed me a common river roustabout, with few scruples of conscience, and possibly had even picked me out as an assistant in the affair. I felt convinced the man had some purpose in his conversation, and that he had not finished all he intended to say, when the entrance of customers compelled his return to the bar. His parting words implied that. Perhaps the revolt of the deputy made it necessary for the conspirators to select another helper to properly carry out their nefarious scheme, and Rale had decided that I might answer. I hoped this might prove the explanation, and determined to seek the earliest opportunity to impress upon that individual the fact that I was desperately in need of money, and decidedly indifferent as to how it was obtained. If I could only have a moment alone with Kennedy, in which to learn exactly what he knew. But it was plainly useless to hope for this privilege; the fellow slept soundly, his face hidden in his arms, the sleep of complete drunkenness.
The two soldiers, whose entrance had interrupted our talk, remained at the bar drinking, until after I had completed my toilet; and were still there listening to a story Rale was telling, when the slatternly white woman announced that supper was ready to serve. Seemingly I was the only one prepared to eat, and I sat down alone at a small table, constructed out of a box, and attempted to do the best I could with the food provided. I have never eaten a worse meal, or a poorer cooked one; nor ever felt less inclination to force myself to partake. Finally the soldiers indulged in a last drink, and disappeared through the door into the night without. Tim slept soundly, while the other men remained engrossed in their game of cards. Rale wiped off the bar, glanced about at these, as though to reassure himself that they were intent on their play; then, removing his apron, he crossed the room, and drew up a chair opposite me.
"All right, Sal," he grunted shortly. "Bring on whut yer got."
He remained silent, staring moodily at the fire, until after the woman had spread out the dishes on the table before him. Then his eyes fell upon the fare.
"Nice looking mess that," he growled, surveying the repast with undisguised disgust. "No wonder we don't do no business with thet kind ov a cook. I reckon I'd a done better to hav' toted a nigger back with me. No, yer needn't stay—go an' make up them beds in the other room. I'll watch things yere."
He munched away almost savagely, his eyes occasionally lifting to observe me from beneath their shaggy brows, his muscular jaws fairly crunching the food. I judged the fellow had come over intending to resume our interrupted conversation, but hardly knew what he had best venture. I decided to give him a lead.
"I ain't got no money, myself," I began to explain, apologetically, "but Tim thar sed he'd pay my bill."
"Sure, that's all right; I ain't a worryin' none. Maybe I might put yer in an easy way o' gittin' hold o' a little coin—thet is if ye ain't too blame perticular."
"Me!" I laughed. "Well, I reckon I don't aim fer ter be thet. I've bin ten years knockin' 'bout between New Orleans an' Saint Louee, steamboatin' mostly. Thet sort o' thing don't make no saint out'r eny kin'd man, I reckon. What sort'r job is it?"
He eyed me cautiously, as though not altogether devoid of suspicion.
"Yer don't somehow look just the same sort o' chap, with them ther' whiskers shaved off," he acknowledged soberly. "Yer a hell sight better lookin' then I thought yer wus, an' a damn sight younger. Whar wus it yer cum frum?"
"Frum Saint Louee, on the boat, if thet's what yer drivin' at."
"Tain't what I'm drivin' at. Whar else did yer cum frum afore then? Yer ain't got no bum's face."
"Oh, I see; well, I can't help that, kin I? I wus raised down in Mississip', an' run away when I wus fourteen. I've been a driftin' 'long ever since. I reckon my face ain't goin' ter hurt none so long as the pay is right."
"No, I reckon maybe it won't. I've seed sum baby faces in my time thet sure hed the devil behind 'em. Whut's yer name?"
"Moffett—Dan Moffett."
He fell silent, and I was unpleasantly aware of his continued scrutiny, my heart beating fiercely, as I endeavored to force down more of the food as an excuse to remain at the table. What would he decide? I dared not glance up, and for the moment every hope seemed to die within me; shaving had evidently been a most serious mistake. Finally he spoke once more, but gruffly enough, leaning forward, and lowering his voice to a hoarse whisper.
"Wal' now see yere, Moffett, I'm goin' fer ter be damn plain with yer. I'm a plain man myself, an' don't never beat about no bush. I reckon yer whut yer say ye are, fer thar ain't no reason, fer as I kin see, why we should lie 'bout it. Yer flat broke, an' need coin, an' I'm takin' at yer own word—thet ye don't care overly much how ye git it. Thet true?"
"Just 'bout—so it ain't no hangin' job."
"Hell, thar ain't really no manner o' risk at all. Yer don't even hav' ter break the law fer as I know. It's just got fer ter be done on the dead quiet, an' no question asked. Now look yere," and he glared at me fiercely, a table knife gripped in one hand. "I'm sum wildcat whin I onct git riled, an' if yer play any dirt I'll sure take it out'r yer hide if I'm ten years a findin' yer. Yer don't want'r try playin' no tricks on Jack Rale."
"Who's a playin' any tricks?" I protested, indignantly. "Whatever I says I'll do, an' thar won't be no talkin' 'bout it nether. So whut's the job? This yere Kirby matter?"
He nodded sullenly, a bit regretful that he had gone so far I imagined, and with another cautious glance about the room.
"I'll tell yer all ye need ter know," he began. "'Tain't such a long story. This yere Joe Kirby he's a frien' o' mine; I've know'd him a long time, an' he's in a hell of a fix. He told me 'bout it comin' up on the boat, an', betwixt us, we sort'r fixed up a way ter stack ther cards. Here's how it all happened: Thar wus an ol' planter livin' down in Missoury at a place called Beaucaire's Landin'. His name wus Beaucaire, an' he hed a son named Bert, a damn good-fer-nuthing cuss, I reckon. Wal' this Bert runned away a long while ago, an' never cum back; but he left a baby behind him—a gurl baby—which a quadroon slave give birth too. The quadroon's name wus Delia, an' the kid wus called Rene. Git them names in yer head. Ol' Beaucaire he knew the gurl wus his son's baby, so he brought her up 'long with his own daughter, who wus named Eloise. They wus both 'bout ther same age, an' nobody seemed ter know thet Rene wus a nigger. Fer sum reason ol' Beaucaire never set her free, ner the quadroon nether. Wal' Kirby he heard tell o' all this sumwhar down the river. Yer see he an' Bert Beaucaire run tergether fer a while, till Bert got killed in a row in New Orleans. I reckon he tol' him part o' the story, an' the rest he picked up in Saint Louee. Enyhow it looked like a damn good thing ter Kirby, who ain't passin' up many bets. Ol' Beaucaire wus rich, an' considerable ov a sport; people who hed seed the gurls sed they wus both ov 'em beauties an' Eloise—the white one—hed an independent fortune left her through her mother. So Kirby, he an' a feller named Carver—a tin-horn—planned it out betwixt 'em ter copper ol' Beaucaire's coin, an' pick up them gurls along with it."
"But how cud they do thet?"
"Luck mostly, I reckon, an' Kirby's brains. The plan wus ter git Beaucaire inter a poker game, ease him 'long a bit, an' then break him, land, niggers, an' all. They didn't figure this wud be hard, fer he wus a dead game gambler, an' played fer big stakes. It wus luck though what giv' 'em their chance. Beaucaire hed sum minin' claims up on the Fevre, an' hed ter go up thar. It's a long, lonesom' trip, I reckon, an' so the other two they went 'long. They got the ol' chap goin' an comin', an' finally coddled him 'long till he put up his big bet on a sure hand. When he found out whut hed happened the of gent got so excited he flung a fit, an' died."
"Leavin' Kirby ownin' all the property?"
"Every picayune, niggers an' all. It wus sum sweep, an' he hed signed bills o' sale. Wa'n't nobody cud git it away frum him. Wal', Joe he didn't want fer ter make no fuss, ner scare the gurl none, so he went down ter' Saint Louee an' made proof o' ownership afore a jedge he know'd. Then, with the papers all straight, he, an' the sheriff, with Tim yere, the deputy, run up the river at night ter serve 'em quietly on the daughter—the white one, Eloise. Kirby he didn't aim ter be seen at all, but just went 'long so thar wudn't be no mistake. Yer see, them papers hed ter be served afore they cud take away the niggers. Kirby wus goin' ter sell them down river, an' not bother 'bout the land fer awhile, till after he'd hed a chance ter shine up ter this yere gurl Eloise. He'd never seen her—but, enyhow, he got thet notion in his hed."
"She wus the daughter; the white one?"
"Sure; he hed the other by law. Wal', when they all got thar, nobody wus home, 'cept one o' the gurls, who claimed fer ter be Rene—the one whut wus a nigger, thet Kirby owned. Nobody know'd which wus which, an' so they hed ter take her word for it. They cudn't do nuthin' legal till they found the other one, an' they wus sittin' round waitin' fer her ter turn up, when the nigger gurl they wus watchin' got away."
"How'd she do thet?"
"Don't noboddy seem ter know. Damn funny story. Way they tell it, sumbody must'r knocked Kirby down an' run oft with her. Whoever did it, stole the boat in which Kirby an' the sheriff cum up the river, an' just naturally skipped out—the sheriff's nigger an' all. It wus a slick job."
"Of course, they chased them?'
"Best they cud, not knowin' which way they'd gone. They reckoned the whol' bunch must'r got away tergether, so the sheriff he started fer Saint Louee, an' the others got onto a troop boat what happened ter cum 'long, and started north. Long 'bout the mouth ov the Illinoy they caught up with a nigger-stealer named Shrunk. They hed a fight in an' about his cabin, an' sum killin'. Two ov the womin got away, but Kirby an' Tim got hold o' this gurl what hed claimed ter be Rene, an' a mulatto cook who wus a workin' fer Shrunk. I reckon maybe yer know the rest."
"I know they wus run down by theAdventurer, an' hauled aboard. But how did Kirby learn his prisoner wus white? Did she tell him?"
"I should say not. It wus the mulatto cook who told him, although, I reckon, he hed his doubts afore thet I knew she wusn't no nigger the furst minute I got eyes on her—they can't fool me none on niggers; I wus raised 'mong 'em. But so fur's the gurl's concerned, she don't know yet thet Kirby's found out." He emitted a weak laugh. "It sorter skeered Joe ter be caught way up yere in this kintry, kidnapin' a white gurl. He didn't know whut the hell ter do, till I give him a p'inter."
"You were the one who suggested marriage?"
"Wal', I sed she cudn't do nuthin' 'gainst him onct he wus married to her. I thought o' thet right away. Yer see this wus how it happened: Kirby sed he'd like fer ter marry her, an' I sez, 'why not then? Thar's an ol' bum ov a preacher yere at Yellow Banks, a sorter hanger-on ter one o' them militia companies, what'll do eny damn thing I tell him too. I got the goods on him, an' he knows it.'
"'But she wouldn't marry me,' he says, 'yer don't know thet gurl.'
"'Don't I,' I asked sarcastic. 'Wal', thar ain't no gurl ever I see yet thet won't marry a man if the right means are used. How kin she help herself? Yer leave it ter me.'"
"And he consented?"
"He wus damn glad to, after I told him how it cud be done. But Tim he wudn't go in with us, an' thet's why we got ter hav' anuther man. Come on over ter the bar an' hav' a drink, Moffett; them other fellers are goin' ter eat now."
The diversion gave me opportunity for a moment's thought. The plan was a diabolical one, cold-blooded and desperate, yet I saw no certain way of serving her, except by accepting Rale's offer. I had no satisfactory proof to present against these villains, and, even if I had, by the time I succeeded in locating headquarters and establishing my own identity, the foul trick might be executed without my aid, and the injured girl spirited away beyond reach. I did not even know where she was concealed, or how I could lay hands on Kirby. The genial Rale pushed out a black bottle and we drank together.
"Wal'," he said, picking up the conversation where it had ended, quite satisfied with his diplomacy, and wiping his lips on his sleeve. "What ye say, Moffett? Thar's a hundred dollars in this job."
"Whar is the gurl?"
"Oh, I reckon she ain't fur away; we kin find her all right. I got ter know 'bout yer furst. Are yer game?"
"I'm game 'nough, Jack," assuming a familiarity I thought he would appreciate. "Only I don't want'r jump inter this yere thing without knowin' nuthin' 'bout it. What is it yer got lined up fer me ter do?"
He helped himself to yet another liberal drink, and I was glad to note that the fiery liquor was already beginning to have its effect, increasing his recklessness of speech.
"All right, Dan; have another one on me—no? Wal', hell; I 'spose I might as wal' tell ye furst as last. Thar ain't nuthin' fer eny o' us ter git skeered about. We got it all planned. I sorter picked yer out 'cause thar ain't noboddy knows yer in camp here—see? If yer disappear thar won't noboddy give a damn. An' thar ain't scarcely noboddy what knows the gurl is yere nether—only maybe a few soldiers, who thinks she's a nigger. We don't want this affair talked about none, do we? I reckon not. So we planned it out this way: Thar's a frien' o' mine got a shack down on Bear Crick, 'bout twenty mile below yere. He sells red-eye ter barge an' keel-boatmen, what tie up thar nights. Wal', he's all right—a hell o' a good feller. What we aim ter do is run the gurl down thar ternight, unbekno'nst ter enybody. I reckon yer kin ride a hoss?"
"Yes; so thet's my job?"
"Thet's the whole o' it. Yer Just got ter stay thar with her till Kirby kin git away, without noboddy thinkin' enything 'bout it. It's damn easy money ter my notion."
I thought swiftly. There were several questions I wanted to ask, but dare not. It was better to trust to luck, for I must lull, not arouse suspicion. Thus far the affair had played wonderfully into my hands; if I could maintain my part to the end, there ought to be no reason why the girl should not be saved uninjured. The one thing which I had feared no longer threatened—I was not to be brought face to face with Kirby. If we encountered each other at all, it would be in darkness, where there was only slight probability of recognition. The impatience in Kale's face drove me to declare myself.
"Why, if thet's all I got ter do fer a hundred dollars," I said gaily, "I'm yer man, Jack. An' how soon will Kirby be comin' down ter this yer place on Bear Crick?"
"In a day er two, I reckon. Soon's thar's sum boat headin' down river. Yer see, this yer's all camp; thar ain't no fit place whar we kin hide the gurl, an' make her keep her mouth shet. Them blamed soldiers are a moosin' 'bout every whar, an' if she onct got talkin', our goose wud be cooked. Furst thing we got ter do is git her outer this camp."
"Ternight, yer sed?"
"'Bout midnight; yer'll go'—hey?"
"I reckon; yer got the money?"
With his eyes fastened on the two men eating, he counted out some gold pieces on the bar and shoved them over to me, keeping them under cover of his hand.
"Thar's half o' it, an' the rest is yers when ye bring back the hosses."
"How many hosses? Who's a goin'?"
"Three o' yer. Kirby's fer sendin' the mulatter gurl 'long. She's a free nigger an' might let her tongue wag. Now listen, Moffett, I'm a goin' out putty soon ter git things ready, an' I'll leave Sal yere ter tend bar. Now git this; thar's a right smart trail back o' the cabin, leadin' straight down ter the crick, with a spring 'bout half way. Thar ain't no guard down thar, an' ye can't miss it, even en the dark. The hosses will be thar et midnight waitin' fer yer. All ye got ter do is just put them two gurls on an' ride away. Yer don't never need ter speak ter 'em. Yer understand? All right, then; hav' anuther drink."
I shook my head.
"But how'm I goin' ter git ter this place—whatever it's called?"
"Thar ain't no trouble 'bout thet; all yer got ter do is ride straight south till yer cum ter the crick, an' yer thar. It's Jenkins' Crossing yer after."
"I reckon thar ain't eny Injuns, er nuthin'?"
"Hell, no; they're all t'other direction; nuthin' worse'n wolves. Say, though, yer might have trouble with them gurls—got a gun?"
"No."
He reached back into a small drawer under the shelf, and brought out an ugly-looking weapon, tried the hammer movement with his thumb, and handed it over to me with a grin.
"Some cannon, an' I want it back. Don't fail at midnight."
"An' thar ain't nuthin' fer me ter do till then?"
"Not a thing; take a nap, if ye want'r. Sal kin wake ye up. I reckon I won't be back till after yer off."
I sat down in a chair and leaned back against the wall, tilting my hat down over my eyes and pretending to fall asleep. Through half-closed lids I managed to see all that transpired in the room, and my mind was busy with the approaching crisis. Had Rale revealed all the details of their plan to me, I wondered. It seemed comprehensive enough, and yet it hardly appeared possible that they would thoughtlessly place in the hands of any stranger such an advantage. It would only be natural for them to withhold something—merely trusting me with what I actually had to know. Yet crime was forever making just such mistakes; these men had to place confidence in someone, and, after all, it was not so strange that the saloon keeper had selected me. I had come to him a penniless river bum, representing a class he had dealt with all his life. I had played the part well, and he had found no reason to suspect me. Moreover the course they were pursuing appeared perfectly natural—the only means of carrying out their scheme, with the least possible chance for discovery.
Rale busied himself for some minutes before putting on his hat, counting over some money, and filling his bottles from a reserve stock underneath the shelf. The two men completed their meal and resumed their card game, while Sal hastily washed up the few dishes and tucked them away in a rude cupboard beside the fireplace. Tim slept peacefully on, but had slightly changed his posture, so that his face was now upturned to the light. The sight of his familiar features gave me an inspiration. He was, undoubtedly, an honest fellow, and had quarreled with Kirby over this very matter, refusing to have any hand in it. He had supposed up to that time that he was doing no more than his duty under the law. If I could arouse him from drunken stupor, he might even be willing to work with me in the attempt to rescue Eloise. Rale disappeared through the rear door, after exchanging a few words with the woman, and did not return. I waited motionless for some time, fearful lest he might come back. Suddenly the front door opened noiselessly, and Kirby entered, advancing straight toward the bar. Sal served him, answering his questions, which were spoken so low I could not catch the words. His eyes swept the room, but the hat concealed my face, and he only recognized Tim. He paused long enough to bend above the upturned features of the unconscious deputy, not unpleased, evidently, to discover him in that condition.
"The damned old fool," he muttered, perhaps not aware that he spoke aloud. "Rale has got him fixed, all right."
Sal remained seated behind the bar, nodding, and, so soon as I felt reasonably assured that she was without interest in my movements, I leaned forward and endeavored to arouse Kennedy. This was by no means easy of accomplishment, and I was compelled to pinch the fellow rather severely before he sat up angrily, blurting out the first words which came to his lips:
"What the devil—"
His half-opened eyes caught my gesture for silence, and he stopped instantly, his lips widely parted.
"Meet me outside," I whispered, warningly. "But be careful about it."
The slight noise had failed to disturb the woman, and I succeeded in slipping through the unlatched door without noting any change in her posture. Tim, now thoroughly awake, and aware of something serious in the air, was not long in joining me without, and I drew him aside into a spot of deeper blackness under the trees. He was still indignant over the pinching, and remained drunk enough to be quarrelsome. I cut his muffled profanity short.
"That's quite enough of that, Tim," I said sharply, and was aware that he stared back at me, plainly perplexed by the change in my tone and manner. "You are an officer of the law; so am I, and it is about time we were working together."
He managed to release a gruff laugh.
"You—you damn bum; hell, that's a good joke—what'r yer givin' me now?"
"The exact truth; and it will be worth your while, my man, to brace up and listen. I am going to give you a chance to redeem yourself—a last chance. It will be a nice story to tell back in St. Louis that you helped to kidnap a wealthy young white woman, using your office as a cloak for the crime, and, besides that, killing two men to serve a river gambler. Suppose I was to tell that sort of tale to Governor Clark, and give him the proofs—where would you land?"
He breathed hard, scarcely able to articulate, but decidedly sober.
"What—what's that? Ain't you the fellar thet wus on the boat? Who—who the devil are yer?"
"I am an officer in the army," I said gravely, determined to impress him first of all, "and I worked on that steamer merely to learn the facts in this case. I know the whole truth now, even to your late quarrel with Kirby. I do not believe you realized before what you were doing—but you do now. You are guilty of assisting that contemptible gambler to abduct Eloise Beaucaire, and are shielding him now in his cowardly scheme to compel her to marry him by threat and force."
"The damn, low-lived pup—I told him whut he wus."
"Yes, but that doesn't prevent the crime. He's all you said, and more. But calling the man names isn't going to frighten him, nor get that girl out of his clutches. What I want to know is, are you ready to help me fight the fellow? block his game?"
"How? What do ye want done?"
"Give me a pledge first, and I'll tell you."
He took a long moment to decide, not yet wholly satisfied as to my identity.
"Did ye say ye wus an army offercer?"
"Yes, a lieutenant; my name is Knox."
"I never know'd yer."
"Probably not, but Joe Kirby does. I was on the steamerWarriorcoming down when he robbed old Judge Beaucaire. That was what got me mixed up in this affair. Later I was in that skiff you fellows rammed and sunk on the Illinois. I know the whole dirty story, Kennedy, from the very beginning. And now it is up to you whether or not I tell it to Governor Clark."
"I reckon yer must be right," he admitted helplessly. "Only I quit cold the minute I caught on ter whut wus up. I never know'd she wa'n't no nigger till after we got yere. Sure's yer live that's true. Only then I didn't know whut else ter do, so I got bilin' drunk."
"You are willing to work with me, then?"
"Yer kin bet I am; I ain't no gurl-stealer."
"Then listen, Kennedy. Jack Rale told me exactly what their plans were, because he needed me to help him. When you jumped the reservation, he had to find someone else, and picked me. The first thing he did, however, was to get you drunk, so you wouldn't interfere. That was part of their game, and Kirby came into the saloon a few minutes ago to see how it worked. He stood there and laughed at you, lying asleep. They mean to pull off the affair tonight. Here's the story."
I told it to him, exactly in the form it had come to me, interrupted only in the recital by an occasional profane ejaculation, or some interjected question. The deputy appeared sober enough before I had finished, and fully grasped the seriousness of the situation.
"Now that is the way it stacks up," I ended, "The girl is to be taken to this fellow's shack and compelled to marry Kirby, whether she wants to or not. They will have her where she cannot help herself—away from anyone to whom she could appeal. Rale wouldn't explain what means were to be used to make her consent, and I didn't dare press him for fear he might suspect me. They either intend threatening her, or else to actually resort to force—likely both. No doubt they can rely on this renegade preacher in either case."
"Jack didn't name no name?"
"No—why?"
"Only thar uster be a bum hangin' round the river front in Saint Louee who hed preacher's papers, en wore a long-tailed coat. Thar wan't no low-down game he wudn't take a hand in fer a drink. His name wus Gaskins; I hed him up fer mayhem onct. I'll bet he's the duck, for he hung round Jack's place most o' the time. Whatcha want me ter do?"
"It has seemed to me, Tim," I said, thoughtfully, "that the best action for us to take will be to let them place the girl in my hands, just as they have planned to do. That will throw them entirely off their guard. As things stand, I have no knowledge where she is concealed, or where to hunt for her; but it is evident she is in no immediate danger. They don't dare to force action here, in this camp. Once we succeed in getting her safely away, and remain unknown ourselves, there ought to be very little trouble in straightening out the whole matter. My plan would be to either ride around the camp in the night, and then report the whole affair at headquarters, or else to strike out direct for Fort Armstrong across country. The Indians will all be cleaned out north of here, and they know me at Armstrong. Do you know any place you can pick up a horse?"
"Thar's a slew ov 'em round yere," he admitted. "These fellers are most all hoss-soldiers. I reckon I cud cinch sum sort o' critter. Yer want me along?"
"Perhaps not, Tim. Your disappearance might cause suspicion, and send them after us. My plan is to get away as quietly as possible, and let them believe everything is all right. I want a day or two in which to work, before Rale or Kirby discover we have not gone to Bear Creek. I'll meet them alone at the spring down the trail, but shall want you somewhere near by. You see this is bound to mean a fight if I am recognized—likely three against one; and those men wouldn't hesitate at murder."
"I reckon not, an' it wudn't be their furst one nuther, Looks ter me like yer wus takin' a big chance. I'll be thar, though; yer kin bet on thet, an' ready fer a fight, er a foot race. This is how I size it up—if thar ain't no row, I'm just ter keep still, an' lie low; an' if a fracas starts I'm ter jump in fer all I'm worth. Is thet the program?"
"Exactly—that's my idea."
"Wal' then, I'm a prayin' it starts; I want just one crack et thet Kirby, the ornary cuss."
We talked the whole matter over in detail, having nothing better to do, and endeavoring to arrange for every probability, yet did not remain together for long. With my eyes to a chink between the logs I got a view of the interior of the cabin. The two card players had disappeared, and I imagined they were rolled up in blankets in one corner of the room. Sal was alone, seated on a stool, her head hanging forward, sound asleep. Evidently she had received no orders from Rale to keep watch over the movements of either of us, and was not worried on account of our absence. In all probability the saloon keeper believed the deputy was drunk enough to remain in stupor all night, and he considered my services as bought and paid for. He had traded with derelicts of my apparent kind before.
I felt nervous, anxious, eager for action. The time dragged horribly. If I could only be accomplishing something; or if I knew what was occurring elsewhere. What if something unforeseen should occur to change Rale's plan? Suppose, for instance, those fellows should decide to force the marriage tonight, instead of waiting until after arrival at Jenkins' Crossing? Suppose she resisted them, and was injured? A suspicion came to me that I might have misunderstood all this. My God! if I only knew where it was they had concealed the girl.
The two of us explored about the silent cabin, but discovered nothing. There was no light visible in the rear room, nor any sound of movement within. The two windows were closed, and the door locked. We found a convenient stump in the woods, and sat down to wait, where we could see all that occurred about the cabin. The distant camp fires had died down, and only occasionally did any sound, generally far away, disturb the silence. The night was fairly dark, the stars shining brightly enough, but dense beneath the trees; yet we managed to locate the nearer sentries by their voices when they reported posts. None were stationed close by. Everything indicated that we were safely outside the lines of camp. We conversed in whispers, until Tim, still influenced by his excessive drinking, became sleepy, and slid off the stump onto the ground, where he curled up on a pile of leaves. I let him lie undisturbed, and continued my vigil alone, feeling no inclination to sleep, every nerve throbbing almost painfully. Three or four men straggled into the saloon while I sat there, coming from the direction of the camp, and were doubtless waited upon by Sal. None remained long within, and all I saw of them were indistinct figures revealed for a moment, as the light streamed out through the opened door. One seemed to be an officer, wrapped in a cavalry cloak—hunting after men out of bounds, possibly—but, later than eleven o'clock, there were no more callers. Soon after that hour the light within was turned low.
All the while I remained there, motionless, intently watchful for every movement about me, with Tim peacefully asleep on the leaves, my thought was with Eloise Beaucaire, and my mind torn with doubt as to the wisdom of my choice. Had I determined on the right course? Was there nothing else I could do? Was it best for me to thus rely on my own efforts? or should I have sought the assistance of others? Yet where could I turn? How could I gain in time such assistance? I realized in those moments that selfishness, love, personal desire, had very largely influenced me in my decision; I was eager to rescue her alone, by my own efforts, unaided. I had to confess this to be my secret purpose. I could dream of nothing else, and was actually unwilling to share this privilege with any other. I felt she belonged to me; determined she should belong to me. From that instant when I became convinced that she was of white blood—that no hideous barrier of race, no stain of dishonor, held us apart—she had become my one ambition. I not only knew that I loved her; but I believed almost as strongly that she loved me. Every glance of her eyes, each word she had spoken, remained indelibly in my memory. And beyond doubt she thought me dead. Kirby would have told her that both men in the wrecked boat went down. It would be to his advantage to impress this on her mind, so as thus to emphasize her helplessness, and cause her to realize that no one knew of her predicament. What an awakening it would be when she again recognized me as actually alive, and beside, her. Surely in that moment I should read the whole truth in those wonderful eyes, and reap my reward in her first impulse of gratitude. It was not in nature to share such a moment with another; I wanted it for myself, alone.
It was nearly twelve before even the slightest sound near at hand indicated the approach of others. I was already in an agony of suspense, imagining something might have gone wrong, when the dull scuffling of horses' hoofs being led cautiously up the trail to my right, broke the intense silence. I listened to assure myself, then shook Tim into wakefulness, leaving him still blinking in the shadow of the stump, while I advanced in the direction of the spring. Suddenly the darker shape of the slowly moving animals loomed up through the gloom, and came to a halt directly in front of me. I saw nothing of Rale until he spoke.
"That yer, Moffett?"
"Yes; whar's yer party?"
I caught view of his dim outlines, as he stepped slightly forward, reassured by my voice.
"They'll be yere; thar's a bit o' time ter spare yit. I aimed not ter keep 'em waitin'. Here, this is yer hoss, an' yere's the leadin' strap fer the others. Better tie it ter yer pommel, I reckon, so's ter leave both yer hands free—yer might hav' need fer 'em. We'll tend ter mountin' the gurls, an' then all ye'll hav' ter do will be ter lead off. Thar won't be no talkin' done yere. Better walk the hosses till yer git crost the crick, so the sojers won't hear yer. Got that?"
"I reckon I hav', an' sense 'nough ter know it without bein' told. Did yer think I wanted ter be catched on this job?"
"All right, but thar's no harm a tellin' yer. Don't be so damn touchy. Eneyboddy in the shack?"
"No; only the woman, asleep on a stool."
"Whar's Tim gone to?"
"I reckon he don't even know hisself; he's sure sum drunk."
Rale chuckled, patting the side of the horse next him. "Whole caboodle workin' like a charm," he said, good humoredly. "Thought onct the deputy might show up ugly, but a quart o' red-eye sure fixed him—thar's our party a comin' now. Ye're ter stay right whar ye are."
They were advancing toward us up the bank which sloped down toward the creek. It occurred to me they must be following some well-worn path, from the silence of their approach—the only sound being a faint rustling of dead leaves. Rale moved forward to meet them across the little open space, and a moment later, from my hiding place among the motionless horses, I became able to distinguish the slowly approaching figures. There were four in the party, apparently from their garb two men and two women. The second man might be the preacher, but if so, why should he be there? Why should his presence at this time be necessary? Unless the two main conspirators had special need for his services, I could conceive no reason for his having any part in the action that night. Had I been deceived in their plans? The horror of the dawning conception that possibly I had waited too long, and that the deed I sought to prevent had already been consummated, left me trembling like an aspen. Even as this fear overwhelmed me with consternation, I was compelled to notice how helplessly the first of the two women walked—as though her limbs refused to support her body, even though apparently upheld by the grip of the man beside her. Rale, joining them, immediately grasped her other arm, and, between the two, she was impelled forward. The saloon keeper seemed unable to restrain his voice.
"Yer must'r give her one hell o' a dose," he growled, angrily. "Half o' thet wud a bin 'nough. Why, damn it, she kin hardly walk."
"Well, what's the odds?" it was Kirby who replied sarcastically. "She got more because she wouldn't drink. We had to make her take it, and it wasn't no easy job. Gaskins will tell you that. Have you got your man here?"
"O' course; he's waitin' thar with the hosses. But I'm damned if I like this. She don't know nuthin', does she?"
"Maybe not now; but she'll come around all right, and she signed her name. So there ain't no hitch. She seemed to get worse after that. Come on, we can't stand talking here; let's get them off, Jack, there isn't any time to waste. I suppose we'll have to strap her into the saddle."
I held back, and permitted them to work, merely leading my own horse slightly to one side, and keeping in his shadow. I doubt if Kirby even glanced toward me, although if he did he saw only an ill-defined figure, with no glimpse of my face. But the chances were that I was nothing to him at that moment—a mere floating bum whom Rale had picked up to do this job; and just then his whole attention was concentrated upon the half-conscious girl, and his desire to get her safely out of that neighborhood. My presence meant nothing of special interest. Gaskins brutally jerked the shrinking mulatto forward, and forced her to mount one of the horses. She made some faint protest, the nature of which I failed to catch clearly, but the fellow only laughed in reply, and ordered her to keep quiet. Eloise uttered no word, emitted no sound, made no struggle, as the two other men lifted her bodily into the saddle, where Kirby held her, swaying helplessly against him, while Rale strapped her securely into place.
The entire proceedings were so brutally cruel that it required all my strength of will to restrain myself from action. My fingers closed upon the pistol in my pocket, and every impulse urged me to hurl myself on the fellows, trusting everything to swift, bitter fight. I fairly trembled in eagerness to grapple with Kirby, hand to hand, and crush him helpless to the earth. I heard his voice, hateful and snarling, as he cursed Rale for his slowness, and the hot blood boiled in my veins, when he jerked the girl upright in the saddle.
"Thar," said the saloon keeper, at last, testing his strap. "I reckon she can't fall off nohow, even if she don't sit up worth a damn. Go ahead now, Moffett."
Both the men stepped aside, and I led my horse forward. The movement brought me more into the open, and face to face with Kirby. By some trick of fate, at that very instant a star-gleam, piercing through the screen of leaves overhead, struck full into my eyes. With an oath he thrust my hat back and stared straight at me.