Quinn's War

Quinn's War Page 13

by Joe B. Slater

Chapter 12

  Quinn lay in his nest on the ridge above the farmstead and spent another night watching. Before dawn four men from the farm house pulled wagons out and loaded them with boxes from the barn’s side shed while three women got help from sentries building the fire in the center of the yard. By the time troops emerged from the barn, pots had been set on the coals and, from what Quinn could smell, the food was ready. The wagons left before the food was served. Quinn ate his biscuits and jerky and drank from his canteen and watched as the men mounted up in groups of ten to fifteen and left leading extra horses. Some were wearing Union bluecoats. Others were outfitted in homespun. He counted men and horses, and when the last of the horses were trailed away from the farmstead, he walked back to his camp and packed his horse.

  He kept one pistol for his belt and his shotgun for the saddle boot. He wrapped the two other pistols in his leggings and buried them under a rock. He doubted he’d be back to get them, but in the short term it was good to know they were there. He rolled the buffalo robe and tied it behind the saddle. He was dressed, he thought, warm though ridiculous--a black woolen overcoat, a tall buffalo skin hat, shiny new Moroccan boots, and canvas pants. He rode a remarkable horse with a union saddle. If challenged, he would explain that he picked the clothes off a dead man and the horse he found running free. If pressed he would follow it up with a wink and a nod--the clothes were warm when he found them, he would say.

  He didn’t choose a particular gang to follow. Instead, he took to the brush for the river ahead of them. If Tough’s map was right, he could get to the ferry at Lexington ahead of the riders and he’d decide then what to do.

  He waited for one ferry and another, then followed one of the gangs on board and led his horse to the rail. The men lined up next to him and one of them complimented him on his horse. Quinn nodded and thanked him, but kept his gaze upstream.

  “I noticed it’s a Union horse. You in Uncle Abraham’s army?”

  Quinn looked at the man. “Do I look like a soldier?”

  “No, but your horse is carryin’ a union saddle.”

  “Ever seen a man wearing a blue coat that wasn’t a soldier?”

  “What are you sayin’?”

  “It’s a rhetorical question, but if you want an answer, ask your friend next to you. He’ll help you out.”

  “Are you gittin’ smart with me?”

  Quinn turned his body 90 degrees and put his hand on his pistol. “The saddle don’t match the horse. I took it from under a man’s head. He was usin’ it as a pillow and his boots were next to the fire. That’s not a riddle, redneck. It’s the truth.”

  The man next to the renegade stepped under the neck of his friend’s horse and spoke to Quinn. “Excuse me for interruptin’, mister, but my brother here is just inarrested. That’s a fine horse. He’d bring a lotta money if’n ya decided to trade him, am I right?”

  “You’re right as long as you think you’re right, yes. Are you offering to trade?”

  “No, I was just thinkin’.”

  Quinn stepped under and pulled his pistol and held it at his side. “That’s OK with me. What are you thinkin’? Tell me.”

  The second man held up his hands in surrender and laughed. “Yer a mite touchy, mister. Put it away. We don’t want yer horse. Our boat ride’s almost over.” He held one hand out palm up. “Let’s get together on the other side and talk. Until then, we kin enjoy the thought that we’re crossin’ this river safely and not gittin’ wet.”

  Quinn turned back to face the water and said nothing.

  Quinn trailed the gang as they left the ferry and hung back as they mounted and rode off. He led his horse to the closest saloon, tied him up, and pulled the shotgun from the boot. He went in and ordered whiskey and propped the long gun against the bar apron. Half way through his drink the trooper from the ferry stood next to him.

  “I’d like to compliment ya on yer shotgun, mister, if ya don’t take it personal. Kin I buy ya a whiskey?”

  “You came back here and looked me up to buy me a drink?”

  “Finding ya wasn’t hard. Let me introduce myself, and then I’ll buy ya a drink.” He held out his hand. “I’m Nathan Bolin. That was my brother on the ferry.”

  Quinn turned and shook his hand. “James Quinn. And you were right. I am a mite touchy.”

  “Whiskey’ll help smooth that out. Let’s go sit at a table.”

  Nathan Bolin brought a bottle and two glasses over and poured. “I expect you heard this before, but I’m gonna ask anyway. What’s yer politics?” Before Quinn could respond, Bolin held up his hand. “And let’s say, if we don’t get along, we have a drink and go our way.”

  “Fine with me, but I don’t have any politics. I don’t recognize any government whatsoever, and I’m not in anybody else’s fight but my own. Is that good enough for you?”

  “Good enough. I understand not signing on to fight somebody else’s fight. Me an my boys ride together and help each other settle our own personal scores. We like to have fun with it. We got started when me and my brothers got two of our cousins to ride with us after we came back and found our farms burned out and our daddy killed. We were in the army. Infantry, for Christ sake. The Union Army. Our ma said she knowed who done it, so we took care and waited and killed ‘em, one at a time. It took us a while. Now all we got to do is kill their families. And that might take a while, too, but that’s OK.”

  Quinn swirled the whiskey in his glass. “You quit the army? Just left?”

  Bolin nodded. “And went off on a different war.”

  Quinn held up his glass. “Then I’ll drink to ‘different wars.’”

  Bolin touched his glass and they drank.

  “That’s my story, my reason,” Bolin said. “What’s yers? Were you in the army?”

  “Never. I’m just a farmer. Three months ago I was burned out by Federals. My homestead was east of the Little Blue. I came in from pickin’ corn one day and found my wife and three kids standing shivverin’ in the yard with our furniture piled up and the house on fire. One was holdin’ a gun on them and the others had the mules and the cow on a rope and were settin’ fire to the barn. I about went crazy, with no gun, no nothin’. Two of them grabbed my team and said they were taking my corn. I said, and by this time I was just about beggin’, I said, ‘if you take these horses and my mules, too, I won’t have anything to work my fields and my family will starve.’ The one holding the gun on my wife said something smart and I bull rushed him and he shot me in the face. It must’ve been a bad charge or I woulda’ been dead. I don’t remember anything after that, but the squaw at the Otoe reservation said that my wife and kids brought me in on a neighbor’s wagon and they left. I don’t know where they are, where they went. A squaw fixed me up, gave me medicine for the pain, and took care of me for about a month. She gave me a buffalo outfit and a knife, and I’ve been out collecting things, workin’ my way up the property ladder, so to speak, for the last couple months. I don’t know who burned me out and shot me, and I don’t know if I’ll ever find out, but you can bet I’m gonna keep looking.”

  Nathan Bolin poured another drink. “Jayhawkers. Any idea where they came from?”

  “No idea. They were wearing Union coats, but that don’t mean nothin’.”

  “They were Federals. I know that fer a fact. They burned out you and a dozen others along the river, goin’ from place to place. You go back there you’ll find that out.”

  “No doubt,” Quinn said.

  “I’m sorry for you and me and every other farmer that gets caught up in this. We’re nobodies. We’re just sheep for the shearing. If ya want, you can come ride with us for a while. Ya don’t have to sign on fer anything and ya can leave whenever ya want. I’ll introduce ya to the boys. If they like ya, they’ll do anything for ya. They might even know something about the men who done it. Whadaya say?”

  “Which way are you headed? I don’t want my horse goin’ west of here. He might smell home.”

  Bolin
laughed. “I understand. We’re goin’ east, to Rolla.” Bolin pulled a map from his waist and laid it out and pointed. “We’re headed here. But we got stops along the way. Here and here.” He swept his finger across the map. “We want to look at the rail head at Sedalia, then go down and cross the Osage at Linn Creek, then over to Rolla. You got anything against capturing runaways and returning them to their rightful owner? There’s money in it.”

  “Friend, I got nothin’ against nothin’, except doin’ harm to a woman or a child. Maybe when I find my family I’ll get back my conscience, but until then, everything in my mind is black.”

  Nathan Bolin put the cork in the bottle and slammed it down with his palm. “That’s it, then. I’m gonna get another one of these, and we’ll go back and have a drink with the boys.”

  The gang camped outside of Lexington, and then they rode east to Dover and then south. They crossed the Minnie and camped the night at Georgetown. As they sat around the fire waiting to bed down, Nathan Bolin explained their mission. “We been riding through Boonslick country. We know both sides of the river like we know the backsides of our mules. No matter what happens in this godforsaken war, the people along here wanna keep their land and their way ‘a life. Tomorra, maybe the next day, we go and deal with one of them Federal spies what keeps a watch on the Sedalia spur. He’s a no good sonofabitch who gives reports when there’s trouble on the line that’s bringing troops south from the river. We’re gonna kill him and see what he’s got, or see what he’s got and then kill him, but we’re gonna kill him, that’s for sure.”

  The gang rode in to the Crane farm early in the morning and found the old man standing in his yard with a Springfield rifle. The men dismounted and tied up their horses and four of them walked over to the barn.

  Nathan walked up to the old man. “Good mornin’, Hiram. We come to check and see if ya got paid yet. If ya wasn’t, we’ll see if we kin hurry things up fer ya.”

  “I ain’t got nothin’ left. Your boys got it all. They came day before yesterday and stole everything and kilt my Edna. She’s dead. Just go away and let me bury her. For God’s sake, let me be.”

  “I’m sorry for yer loss, Mr. Crane. Are ya sayin’ somebody came and kilt yer wife and stole yer money? Tell me who that was and we’ll go git them sonsabitches.”

  “No, I’m not sayin’ they killed her direct, but she had a fit and died right after. First they took all the money and silver and they left and then she jes died. Please go and let me be.”

  “You got her lyin’ in state then, Hiram? Is that right?” Nathan Bolin turned to the men behind him. “You boys go in and pay yer respects. I’ll wait out here and console the bereaved. Jamie, go in with them and take a last look at Edna, will you?”

  Quinn followed the men into the house and found the coffin set up on chair seats. One of the men walked out to the porch. “She’s dead, all right. Want us to look around, Nathan?” The men were already ransacking the house. Quinn walked back out as the men from the barn led out a team of horses and a mule.

  Nathan Bolin turned to the man. “I see they didn’t git yer horses or your mule. There’s a horse shortage goin’ around. I can’t see how they missed ‘em.” He got a rope from his saddle and tied the captive’s hands in front of him. “John’s gonna lead you around the yard a bit until you remember where you put the silver.” He looped the rope twice around the man’s neck and gave the end to John, who took it and mounted his horse. “Lead him around, John, and bring him back when he remembers.”

  The old man followed the horse as it picked up the pace, then fell and was dragged. Nathan turned his attention to the barn. “Burn it,” he said, and then he called out. “John, bring him back. I’m tired ‘a this shit. We gotta go. Jamie, go in and tell the boys to fire the house.”

  Quinn went in and found the men packing food into pillowcases and wrapping clothing into blankets. “The old man was right,” one of them said. “He ain’t got nothin’.” He walked over to the coffin and kicked it off the chairs. The body rolled out of the box spilling coins and silverware onto the floor.

  “Yipp-ee-ee, Johnny Reb!” the man hollered. “We struck it rich!” Three of the men began stuffing silver into the sacks while the other rolled the body over and searched it.

  One of the men walked onto the porch and shouted, “We found it. We got it! It was under the wife!” He walked back in and threw the sacks of food over his shoulder and walked back out.

  The old man lay on the ground trying to work the rope from his neck with his hands bound.

  “Hiram, we coulda given you a soldier’s death, but you had to use your wife to hide behind. That means that you are gonna be given what we call in the service, ‘death by mule.’’’

  “Just shoot me. Please! Give me a bullet. I ain’t done you nothin’ wrong.”

  Nathan stepped on the man’s chest and pulled the rope tight. “John. Loop this around the porch post, then tie it on the mule. We’ll fire the house and make sure it burns.”

  John raised the man to his feet and began to drag him toward the house. “Please, mister, just shoot me,” the old man said.

  He fell to the ground and Nathan walked over and picked up the old Springfield. He looked at it and slid the ramrod in and out of the barrel. Then he walked over to the man and stepped on his chest. “You old sneakshit! You were loadin’ up when we came!” He stuck the barrel into the man’s middle and fired, pinning him to the ground.

  With the buildings afire and the team of horses in tow, Nathan Bolin pulled his pistol and shot the mule. Then he mounted up and waved for his men to follow.

  Quinn brought up the rear. As the horsemen rode onto the main road, he turned his horse and rode back to the man on the ground, dismounted, and put a bullet in the old man’s head.

  The men were in a festive mood. When they stopped for water, Nathan Bolin promised them an early day, that they would stop at Cole Camp and divide up the goods. Nathan brought up the rear with Quinn and as they rode he explained the history he had with the place.

  “I tell people that Cole Camp was my first engagement. I was part of the Union army in June ‘61. We was under Nathaniel Lyon. The month before, we surrounded the Rebel regiment under Frost near St. Louis and they surrendered without a shot. Then we marched to Jefferson City and took control of the capitol. Not a shot fired. We were cutting through Little Dixie like a hot knife through butter. We chased the Missouri State Guard south of Cole Camp into the arms of the Union Missouri Home Guard. That was our boys, Union boys. We thought they had ‘em, and we bedded down fer the night. Around midnight they came and all hell broke loose. These was not the boys we was chasin’. It was two groups of amateurs that had gathered south of here, at Warsaw. They rode right through our pickets and shot us in our bivvies. We scurried like rats and came back to camp at dawn to pick up our dead. That was my first experience in battle. Not like I thought it was gonna be. Up to that point I hadn’t fired my rifle, and I didn’t that night, neither. But I lived. Our General, Nathaniel Lyon, he got killed two months later down in Springfield by the Missouri Militia, and I hear the Confederate General Frost—the one we forced to surrender in May? He’s in Gratiot Prison in St. Louis and his two brothers are still fightin’ for the Union. I sometimes think my life has been crazy, but I don’t know how ya go into battle thinkin’ that maybe it is your real brother ya might be shootin’ at. My brothers are right next to me, and one of ‘em gits hit, I might have a shot at his killer.”

  Nathan handed over the leads of the trailing horses to Quinn and trotted into the middle of an argument. The men were squabbling over what was in the bags.

  “Men! Each ‘a you’s riding a horse that needs water. Dismount, lay the bags out, and we’ll divvy it all up here. Then you boys can fondle what ya got all the way to camp, if that’s the way ya want it. Lay out one of them blankets and dump all the coins out. John, count the coins and see that everybody gets the same. Cut ‘em up if ya have to. George, you lay out the silverw
are and everbody takes a turn pickin’ one thing, and we’ll go around ‘til it’s gone. After that it’s up to you what you do with it. We start with birthdays. Line up. Ya all know yer birthdays, dontcha? Orville, I know yer an orphan. You can have mine. It’s a good one.” Quinn took his place and the others fell in line with a bit of horseplay. “We’re starting with today. Who in line has the birthday closest to today?”

  “Wait, wait!” One of the men held up his hand. “Leroy got the old lady’s ring. He should go last. He cut it offa her after he kicked over the coffin.”

  Nathan pointed and the man removed himself, and the division of the spoils began. When it was over the men stashed their portion of the loot in their saddlebags and went on caring for the horses.

  They rode on into a clearing that at one time had been a rich farmstead. The house had been burned and the windmill lay on its side. Two barns stood on opposite sides of an expanse that Quinn thought must have been fifty yards wide. Granaries, chicken coops, hog pens and corrals were gone and vegetation was beginning to reclaim those fertile spots.

  Nathan directed the men to set up camp in the south barn. “Ya won’t find any forage here, boys. It’s been cleaned out and everbody’s been gone two years. Put up the horses in the north barn, and Harold, take a couple ‘a the boys who can hit somethin’ and go see if you can shoot some game. Give yer canteens to Gerald and Leroy. Take ‘em upstream and try and find some good water, will ya? Thomas, you and yer buddy there get a fire started in the clearing, and John, pull out somethin’ to gnaw on til supper.”

  Quinn and Nathan unloaded their gear in the south barn and led their horses across the yard. “This is it, Quinn. This is where we slept.” He held his horse and looked across the yard. “I was over there, on the perimeter. I’ll show ya where I ran.” He led his horse and Quinn followed him down to the creek on the west side of the barn. “I slid down that bank and hid under that tree there, and I didn’t come out until the sun came up and it was quiet.” He led his horse to a path down to the creek and they watered their horses.

  “That night killed my heroic dreams of battle. It took us two days to bury the dead. We burned everythin’ here ‘cept the barns and then rode back to Sedalia. Thomas deserted right after that. John and me stayed with the army ‘til Christmas. Through the summer and fall, bushwackers kept at us like tail flies. We did a lot of marchin’ and saw one battle—Springfield.”

  The two of them sat and let their horses graze. “You ever seen battle, Quinn?”

  “Nope, but battle’s seen me.” They both laughed.

  “That does seem to be the way it is,” Nathan said. “You think you’re goin’ to war, that yer gonna pick yer fight, and it turns out the fight picks you.”

  “I’m too old to fight. I thought I’d come to America and I could keep away from it, but I can’t.”

  “Real fightin’ is for the young men who have nothin’ to lose. Once ya have somethin’ worth fightin’ for—a family, a farm—ya lose the will to fight for fightin’s sake. These boys we got don’t have nothin’ to lose—it’s either gone or they never had nothin’ to begin with. They don’t care if they die. They don’t care if you die, either. If we come outa this war, I don’t know what they’ll do. What’ll they have to go home to?”

  “Have they all been burned out? You and me are running on get back. What is it with them?”

  “I don’t know about the new ones, but alla my boys was with the Union Army. We all left at different times fer different reasons and we started ridin’ together--it’s been little more ‘n a year--and that first winter we hooked up with a buncha Hindman’s cavalry. They fed us, took care ‘a us. In the spring they gave us good horses and let us go back to bushwackin’. This winter, when the cover was bare, we went north ‘a the river to recruit, and the boys we got—some went south to join Hindman and some stayed with us to form new squads. A few ‘a the veterans and a few ‘a the new boys. Hindman coordinates some ‘a our actions. We git lists ‘a people, jobs to do—like what we’re doin’ next. In the spring we’re free to pretty much go out and raise hell.”

  When the men had done their chores, John put the small game they had shot on the fire and the men sat around drinking whiskey waiting for the meat to cook. Nathan took the occasion to lay out his plans for the gang and to take suggestions and questions from the men.

  “Tomorra we’re gonna ride most ‘a the mornin’ and cross the Osage at Linn Creek. We stay north ‘a Lebanon, out ‘a the reach of their stockade. I got the schedule for the mail stage, and we ride day after tomorra to Wet Glaize and take it somewheres between there and the bridge. Pull down as many poles as we can and cut up the lines.”

  One of the men said he knew the area and suggested they sabotage the bridge and take the stage there. “Sounds good,” said Nathan, “but we’re not gonna get even close to the bridge. They’ll have sharpshooters posted either side and maybe even up a ways. We’ll take it well before that. I’ll post two ‘a you men up somewheres high. I’ll take volunteers. Each ‘a you pick a coach horse and shoot it. That’ll be our cue to go in and pick up the mail, easy as plums.” Nathan laughed. “I know it’s a shame to shoot a good horse, but, damn! It’s sure a good way to stop the mail, right boys?” They all laughed.

  The attack on the stagecoach went off without a hitch. The horses went down and the coach went off one side of the road and the driver and the shotgun guard lay beyond it. Nathan went over and shot them both. John cut one of the horses out of the harness and shot the others. The men gathered up the bags of mail and pulled out the small chest from under the seat.

  “Hang on to that box, boys. There’s no money in it--nothin’ you could use. Tie it behind yer saddle, John, and let’s head for the bush.”

  The men rode east of the Gasconade River. They opened the bags and went through the mail. The box contained papers--no coins and no currency. Nathan removed the contents and stuffed them into his saddlebags. “Harold, you can start the fire with this.” He kicked the box. “John, you supervise the mail. Open everything. Every letter, every package. Save anything that looks like it might be official.”

  John passed out handfuls of letters and the men had a good time opening the mail and reading aloud the contents. One of the men stood, read a letter, and composed a reply ex tempore. “My darling,” he pretended to write. “Yer letter has falled into mah hands and captured mah heart. Although I am a dirty, stinkin’ rebel, yer words has purified mah heart and I am ready when this turrible war is over to come to you and prove to you my love. Please write to me and tell me where you live so I can ...” The hoots of the men drowned the particulars of the renegade’s wishes. The men drank and fed the letters to the fire.

  While the men sat around reading and drinking, Nathan took down a roll behind his saddle and opened it. “Quinn, yer goin’ with me. Put these on.” He held up a Federal long coat and pants. “There’s a belt and a hat here, too. God, yer gonna end up lookin’ like a real soldier.” He walked over to John. “Men! That’s enough with the letters. I’m tired of the noise.”

  The men replied with hoots and hollers. One of them stood and pretended to read an official Union report of one Private Nathan Bolin.

  “OK, listen, Leroy. You just keep readin’. I know once ya learned how, ya don’t wanna stop.” The men laughed and Leroy tossed a handful of letters Nathan’s way. “You men are gonna ride east and raise some hell. John’ll be in charge, and he knows who yer gonna’ hit. If there’s an opportunity, you’ll pull some rails from the line to Sedalia. We’ll meet at the Boeuf Creek crossin’ west of Hermann. I’d like it to be Monday, but Quinn and me’ll wait a day, and if yer not there, we all meet at the warehouse in St. Louis. Let’s lay out the bivy and git supper goin’

  .”

  In the morning the gang rode north and the two men headed east, Nathan in the lead and Quinn behind leading the two plow horses. They crossed the Gasconade River and rode up the hill toward the old fort. As they approached, it s
eemed to Quinn that silhouettes appeared on the horizon and then disappeared as if by magic. It was only when he and Nathan rode up the first crude earthworks built 100 yards from the old fort that Quinn understood the illusion. Men were walking along banks that served for the walls of the fort and then down into a huge entrenchment. The fort was nothing more than a dirt space surrounded by a dry moat that sat below the berm that defined the perimeter. There were no walls, no blockhouse, no decks, no towers, no gates. The two men rode down and up again to the top of the berm. Below them, smoke from morning fires drifted over tattered shebangs and lean-to’s that were set every which way. Lines of black men carried buckets of water and emptied them into troughs for the horses and mules tethered in the moat that surrounded the interior.

  Nathan waved his arm toward the camp. “Look at this, Quinn. This is Fort Wyman. What do ya think?” He waved his arm at the village behind them. “And that’s Rolla. Miserable little town. Federals ran off the rebels two years ago and started to build a fort up here to protect it. They got as far as diggin’ a big square hole and plantin’ thirty pounders on the corners, and that was it. Now it’s just a big sump fer the niggers.

  It’s the goddamn army stupidity. Now they’re buildin’ an honest-ta-god fort overlookin’ the rail spur where it shoulda been in the first place. They just don’t look ahead.

  And what ya see here is a small portion of the problem that will afflict the country if the Union wins this war. Thousands ‘a freed slaves comin’ north lookin’ fer a way to live. This camp has been here fer a year. The niggers come and go. Some git hired by the army building the new fort.”

  He pointed to the south. “The parade of ‘em comes up from Springfield. Beyond that they’re comin’ from Fayetteville. They’re on the road by the hunnerts and it’s easy to pick a few of ‘em off at a time and take ‘em into Kentucky. I won’t say it’s the hard part, but it’s the part that takes the most work. Ya need a certain number of men to guard ‘em on the way down, cause, ya know they don’t wanna go with ya.” He laughed. “Ya can put ‘em up for sale on yer own down there, or ya kin get a broker to take ‘em off yer hands. This time it’s gonna be easy. We don’t havta gather ‘em, and we only havta git ‘em to St. Louis. That cuts off the front and back ends ‘a the project. John and me have an agreement with one ‘a the officers that oversees the work at the fort, and fer a fee he will bring those contrabands to us. I told him this first time I’d leave it upta him to choose the ones we get. I suppose fer a little more, we could choose, but we’ll see how it goes. He brings ‘em to the guardhouse. We pick ‘em up at night and we take ‘em to a trader in St. Louis. The broker takes it from there.”

  Nathan turned his horse and told Quinn he would meet him at the new fort the following day. “Just follow the tracks south. Meet me at the guardhouse tomorrow at noon. If I’m not there, ask for Captain Tiffany. I’m gonna see if I kin give comfert to a war widow. Just another part of the service we Partisan Rangers offer our country.” He touched his hat and rode off.

  Quinn rode down into town and paid for a bed and three squares at an inn. He ate and walked through the town and was greeted with friendly hello’s and an occasional salute. He decided he didn’t want his identity challenged, so he gave up the idea of sitting in the inn and drinking until bedtime. He got on his horse and rode up to the old fort. He dismounted and sat and watched the negroes below until the shadows lengthened. Then he rode back to the inn, ate his supper, and, after mixing a potion of whiskey and morphine, retired early and slept better than he had in weeks.

  In the morning he followed the tracks out of town and up the hill to a camp above the spur. The ground was cleared and flat, with the perimeter walls defined by trenches. A solitary gate unconnected to anything else stood closed and alone with a sentry. Quinn rode around the gate to the center of the fort’s design to a half-constructed limestone blockhouse the size of a frontier cabin. Two sentries stood at the entrance. Quinn dismounted and asked for Capt. Tiffany. He was directed to a log cabin down the hill above the creek.

  He found Bolin talking with a Union officer outside the guardhouse. Bolin introduced him. “This here is Jamie Quinn, Captain Tiffany. He’s my ‘aide de camp,’ as it were, and often my representative. You kin deal with him as you deal with me.”

  Tiffany shook Quinn’s hand and turned to Bolin. “I’d like to take you on a little tour of our camp here. We are proud of it and proud of the work we do. It’s modeled after the camp General Dodge set up in Corinth—the layout, the supervision of the niggers, and the work. The fort building itself we do according to plan, but we see to it that everything’s straight and chinked. Compare it to the camp the niggers set up at the old fort. Nothin’ but a sump, an’ picanninnies runnin’ around in the mud. With nothin’ to do all day the bucks sit around smokin’ and talkin’ and the mammies cookin and sewin’ their rags outa sight in the tents.”

  Nathan nodded. “I took Jamie up there and we watched the goin’s on fer a while. Pretty pathetic place, if you ask my estimation.”

  Tiffany led Nathan and Quinn down toward the rows of tents. “It’s where we send the lazy niggers. The ones we got here are the good ones. Up here we keep ‘em busy all day, and at night they can work on their own. We pay ‘em good, their women, too. At night they are allowed to use materials and tools from the fort to build useful shelter—and they’re workin on a church down in the hollow now. We laid out streets down there and set aside the downhill end for latrines. Good water can be brought in from the creek and they got themselves a trough for bathin’.

  Our biggest problem is numbers—we don’t got room for no more, and they just keep comin’. You asked if we ever have any trouble in the camp. I’d say, no. Or a lot less than we have with our white boys. For one thing, we keep the black boys busy, and they’re so glad to be here that they got no reason to act up. They also got their women here, something we don’t have, and they don’t have to respect the bonds of Christian marriage like our boys. They can just go to a different tent, if you know what I mean.”

  Nathan said, “And they don’t haveta look forward to facin’ the enemy. I did hear that Senator Lane was leadin’ a company of colored down to Fort Scott. Any ‘a yours ever show any inclination to fight?”

  “No. Not at all. Like I was sayin’, the trouble is, it’s that there’s too many of ‘em, and the new ones don’t know how to act. We pay ‘em and keep out some of it for their food and any clothes they draw and a tax in case they get sick and we have to take care of ‘em. I’m not sayin’ they complain a lot, but those that don’t seem happy with it don’t want to work as hard in my experience. The best we can do is send ‘em over to the old fort. Some of ‘em disappear, but we don’t care, we don’t miss ‘em. Two come along the next day to take their place.”

  The Captain showed Bolin and Quinn to their tents and directed them to come to the blockhouse after supper.

  Tiffany was waiting for them. “I got ‘em ready for you Colonel,” he said as he keyed the door to the building. “It ain’t finished yet, but it makes a nice little nigger pen.”

  Quinn smiled in the dark and felt his left sleeve to check his own rank. “There’s been a little change in the orders.” Tiffany said. “Not a bad thing for you. Could be good, as a matter of fact.”

  Tiffany took two lanterns from the wall, lit them, and gave one of them to Quinn. He led them into the blockhouse and down the steps into the vaulted casemate. The Captain held up his lantern. Four black men and three women were huddled in a far corner. He ordered them to line up against the wall.

  Nathan walked in front of the Captain and faced him. “What are you tryin’ to do here? The deal was fer four. I count nine. Nine! Four men, three women, and two picaninnies, one still on the tit. What am I gonna do with ‘em? I got two plow horses to git ‘em to St. Louis by Monday. You think maybe they can ride three up with us?” Nathan turned to Quinn. “Whatdaya think, Quinn? Four bucks on the two big horses and the women and kids ride
with the two ‘a us? Whatdya think?” He kicked an imaginary clod. “What a buncha shit!” Nathan stomped out of the room, up the steps, and out of the building.

  The Captain and Quinn followed him out. “Captain Bolin, the extra ones is free. Like I said, you can do anything you want with ‘em. We caught ‘em on the road as a group day before yesterday. I just need you to move ‘em out or I gotta do something with ‘em. I can’t give you the four and let the women loose with the others. I tell you what, you take all these and I’ll give you a good deal on the next ones. You don’t have to pay for the extras—just lose ‘em once you get on the trail, just make sure they don’t come back here, you know? I don’t want trouble in the camp.”

  Nathan shook his head. “Not my problem.”

  “You’ll get a good price for them bucks, you will. And some for the little ones, too. I kin give you a woman on South Fifth street who buys ‘em for outside the market.”

  “I take ‘em, I gotta transport ‘em. Ya got an extra limber cart? Give it to me and I’ll take ‘em all off yer hands and none of ‘em’ll come back to haunt ya.”

  “I can’t give you gov’ment property just like that.”

  “Course, ya can. Yer takin cumshaw fer them contrabands. How’s about ya just pretend the cart comes along with ‘em?” Nathan showed his teeth and laughed and nodded. He held out his hand. The Captain took it.

  “Bring the horses. I’ll take you to the cart and we’ll rig up a harness.”

  “Naw, Captain. You take care of it and have it ready in the mornin’. Er tell one ‘a yer men to do it. You know where the horses are. Me and Quinn are gonna bunk down with the soldiers tonight. We’ll see ya at breakfast.”

  Capt. Tiffany followed Nathan Bolin.

  “Goddamn! I never thought I’d be givin’ a cart to some runaway niggers to ride in. Your bargain goes against my inclinations, Colonel.”

  Quinn followed the two at a distance.

  The next morning, Tiffany took Nathan and Quinn to the blockhouse and let them in. Nathan waved his pistol and lined up the captives. “I’m takin you to St. Louis and you’ll be ridin’ in a cart. If I have any trouble with any ‘a ya, I’ll kill ya and go on.” He pointed his gun to the door. “Now git on out there next to the cart.”

  Nathan led them out and Quinn followed. He gave Quinn the rope from his saddle. “Tie ‘em up. Just the adults. Once around the waist, tied in front. Loop it back through the crotch, up through the waist, up the back, and aroun’ the neck, then on to the next and the next and so forth. Here, let me do one.” Nathan tied the first man. “There. Bring the end up to the pommel ‘a yer horse. Leave a bit ‘a slack. You lead the cart and I’ll bring up the rear. Load ‘em up on the cart now. I’m gonna deal with the Captain.”

  Once they were mounted, Nathan rode up next to Quinn. “We’re takin’ the stage road to Franklin. Not somethin’ I wanted to do, but we need to link up with the boys ‘fore we git to St. Louis. I don’t want any trouble. You lead this train and I’ll bring up the drag. Keep a look out on what’s ahead and don’t worry about what’s behind. If I got problems, you’ll hear from me. If ya see anything, pull that shotgun an hold it on yer hip and keep movin’. We’ll stop once for water about noon and then go on.”

  When they stopped Nathan walked the slaves to the creek and let them do their business. “You want to trade places? I’ll lead for a while? It’s up to you.”

  “Naw. I’m fine. I’d rather you keep watch. I’m good up here.”

  Nathan nodded. “Then let’s git ‘em up.” The slaves filed up and climbed back onto the cart and Quinn threaded the rope up through the traces and looped it twice around the pommel of his horse. He held the leads from the plow horses in his left hand as he stood into the saddle. Without looking back, Quinn spurred his horse and gave the leads a pull.

  Over the course of the afternoon they met a stagecoach, two wagons, and a platoon of men in uniform on foot. Each time, Quinn pulled his shotgun from the boot and held it port arms. When the day was about over, Nathan rode up and directed Quinn to a lane that led down to the river. He dismounted and waved to Quinn. “Let’s tie ‘em up. Gimme the niggers. I’ll take ‘em down to the river. You see to the team an then bring the horses to water.”

  Quinn brought the draught horses to the river and then the mounts, leading them all back to the top of the bank, where he tied them up. He walked back down to the river and offered to get wood and set up camp.

  “Naw, Quinn. Let’s just sit fer a bit and then go. I wanna keep movin’. We’ll ride ‘til dark and dry camp tonight. Tomarra’ we’ll stop early and cook some food. I wanna git there. Don’t wanna miss John and the boys. Let’s just sit fer a while. You might go up and pull a bottle outa my left bag, though.”

  Quinn came back, gave Bolin the bottle, and sat and watched the runaways. The women sat together on a log by the water. One nursed the toddler and the two others sat with their arms around a boy. The men stood apart.

  “Don’t you worry about one of them running once they’re off the string?”

  “Naw. They’re happy in the water, and where they gonna go? Can’t run in the river, and if they make a break on the shore, I kin get ‘em.” He mimed pulling his pistol and pointed his finger. “Boom!”

  Bolin pulled two thin cigars from his blouse and handed one to Quinn. “Hellavaway to make a livin’, ain’t it?” He bit the tip off the cigar and lit it with a lucifer match and passed the lit cigar to Quinn. “Whatcha gonna do with the money we get fer these, Quinn?”

  “I don’t know. Hadn’t thought about it. I’m just along for the ride.” He lit his cigar from Bolin’s and passed it back.

  “I guess we all are, huh? Along for the ride. With any luck it’ll be over soon. Me, I’m savin’ up to start a farm or a little business.”

  He pulled the cork from the bottle and drank. He passed it over to Quinn who took a pull and passed it back. “Three years ago I woulda been champin’ at the bit to git into the field. Did ya notice on the way up how many fields still got crops standin’? It’s a goddamn shame what goes to waste. If this war goes on much longer, the fields’ll go back to weeds. Hell, right now I bet there are more wild pigs out there in the woods than there are pigs in pens. No chickens left in the coops, and somm’a the troops are eatin’ horses. I hear down south it’s twice as bad.”

  “Horse meat’s not so bad.” Quinn said. “Back home you wouldn’t let it go to waste.”

  “Back home?” Nathan said.

  “Ireland, of course. You can still hear it, can’t you?”

  Nathan nodded. Quinn went on. “You’re impatient, Nathan. America’s new at this. Give it some time. Ireland’s been in rebellion for centuries. Rebellion muddies the waters. In time it will settle out and the muck will fall to the bottom. There’ll always be slaves and there’ll always be masters. The land won’t lie fallow for long. It’ll come back under one hand or another.”

  “I’d just as soon it’d be my land under my hand.”

  “That’s the American dream, lad.” Quinn said, laying on a heavy accent. “But know the land’s not yours, only yours to work. You know that’s the truth.”

  “Maybe. I don’t like to think on it too long.” He picked up a stone and threw it at the men near the creek. “It’s all about them. Them now and them in their comin’ to this country. This war is all about them. People gettin’ all tore up about slaves. Whether slaves is right or wrong--I’d never have a nigger if ya gave him to me. Too goddamn much trouble. Missouri don’t need ‘em. Most don’t even want ‘em around. Even Uncle Abe wants to send ‘em back where they came from.”

  Nathan laughed. “We’re doin’ our part, ain’t we, sendin’ ‘em back where they came from? Jesus Christ, I’d rather be ridin’ and robbin’ and killin’ than catchin’ contrabands. Only thing is, it pays good. You saw all’a ‘em in Rolla. They jus keep comin’ and comin’, and nothin’ can stop them. Fer some ‘a ‘em it’s the dream of 40 acres and a mule, and fer som
e ‘a ‘em it’s just runnin’ til they can’t run no more.”

  He picked up another stone and held it. “At least we’re givin’ ‘em a ride.” He threw the stone into the river and stood. “Let’s git ‘em up to the cart.” He walked to the river and took the rope from the bush. “Git up, niggers! Up to the road!”

  Two days later Quinn and Bolin met John and his boys in Hermann and exchanged reports and the next morning they set out for St. Louis.

  Nathan sent the men ahead with orders to ride tight and two abreast. He gave Thomas the job of leading the plow horses. He and Quinn rode drag. After less than a mile, John Bolin fell back and joined them. “Eighteen men leadin’ a cart fulla niggers ain’t gonna look good to the population, Nate,” he said. “Not the way they ride. They don’t even look like soldiers, much less act like ‘em. I broke ‘em up ridin’ here. Groups ‘a three’r four, and spaced a couple miles apart. Just to keep ‘em from squabblin’. Ya might haveta shoot one ‘er two, jest to keep order. Don’t make no difference. Just pick. Mosta these boys is reject renegades. Recruits, my ass! I think they’re with us ‘cause Hindman couldn’t handle ‘em.”

  “Now, John, yer jest trail weary, and not cut out to be an officer.” Nathan laughed big. He pulled his pistol and fired three quick shots in the air and chaos erupted on the road. Thomas and the limber cart plodded on. Five of the riders rode over the top of those ahead and spurred their horses down the road. A few pulled their pistols and wheeled their horses looking for the source of the shots. Six of the men spun off their horses and rolled into the ditch.

  Nathan turned to his brother. “We have just sorted our recruits. Which ones would you shoot, John?”

  “I don’t know, Nate. That’s why I’m not in the army.”

  “Well, if you could lose some, which would you keep? Whatda ya think, Quinn?

  “I’m no military man, but I wouldn’t bother with that bunch that rode off.” He waved toward the men who were crawling from the ditch. “I kinda like the ones that dove for the ditch. They didn’t run, and they were smart enough not to stand in the road.”

  “Yeah, well, we gotta keep em all. John, go round ‘em up. If they ask, just tell ‘em I thought I saw somethin’. We’ll split ‘em up like you said. Go ahead and group ‘em any way you want. Tell ‘em we’ll meet at the warehouse in St. Louis, and they can look forward to a night on the town ‘fore we go back to rapin’ and pillagin’. And John, make it clear if they’re not at the warehouse when we git there with the runaways, they don’t get paid.” He shouted to Thomas. “Let’s give it a break. Leave ‘em on the cart and give ‘em some water, and we’ll wait a bit.”

  John rode off. Quinn followed Nathan to a clearing, where they dismounted and sat. “It’s gonna take us a little longer, is all. One thing the army taught me, Quinn, is that waitin’ is a major part of the war.” They sat and smoked.

  As they approached the city, Nathan Bolin took point and Quinn rode drag down along the levees and then along the waterfront, passing barges in the river and wagons on the road. Riotous commerce, Quinn thought, a roiling exchange of people and goods. The barges and transfer boats he worked on the Missouri were a petty enterprise compared to this. Everything imaginable was being ferried, freighted, stored, and sold along the river. A quarter mile downstream, lanterns were being lit on the riverboats and along the waterfront. Shouts and sounds of bagpipes cut the air. Ripples and swirls broke the smooth expanse of the water as the light faded, and Quinn wondered at the current and how long it would take a man to drown.

  Nathan led Thomas to a narrow road between warehouses and down toward the river. He pulled up in front of a warehouse and whistled. John Bolin swung one of the great doors open and walked over and spoke to his brother. Nathan dismounted and directed Thomas to bring the cart around back and unload the cargo. “Leave ‘em tied, Thomas. I’ll be out to deal with ‘em jest as soon as I set a few things straight inside. Quinn, unload the bags next to the fire pit.” He waved to John, who followed him into the warehouse.

  Quinn sat his horse. He could hear Nathan inside, and except for an occasional phrase punctuated by a familiar curse, he couldn’t make out the subject of his rant. When Quinn thought the fury was spent, he dismounted and tied his horse to the rail.

  Another voice cried out and was followed by a pistol shot.

  Nathan pushed the door open dragging a screaming, flailing colored girl by the hair. “Quinn. Git over here. Take this black catamount offa my hands. Jesus Christ!” One of the men Quinn recognized from the gang appeared in the door. Nathan pointed at him. “You come outa that door and I’ll shoot her. Ya know I will.”

  Quinn walked over and grabbed the girl by the front of the dress and Nathan untangled his fingers from her hair. “Bring her around back and put her with the others. Tell Thomas to tie her up tight. You stay with ‘em, Quinn. I’ll come back when I’m finished here.” He walked through the warehouse door and pulled it shut. Quinn led the struggling, screaming girl around the building. He held her while Thomas unloaded the slaves from the cart and helped him harness the girl and tie her to the others.

  “Stop fussin’, girl, or I’ll knock you out,” Thomas said. She quieted and sat on the ground. One of the women came and sat next to her and talked quietly. Thomas joined Quinn leaning against the building.

  Nathan came around the corner with John talking to his back.

  “And I told ‘em if they weren’t back fer breakfast, don’t come back at all. I jest didn’t wanna deal with ‘em. Like a pack of wolves. I told Carlie you’d deal with him and the girl when you got here.”

  “Thomas,” Nathan said, “I’ll take care of the niggers. You go in and find a corner for us to bivvy. Then come out and git a fire goin’.” He turned to John. “You and Quinn water the horses. And bring me the bottle from my saddlebag. Now go on.”

  Quinn mounted his horse and took the reins of the plow horses from John, who led with Nathan’s horse trailing. They rode down toward the river, and the draught horses pulled ahead of Quinn as they smelled the water and pulled on the reins. “Just let ‘em go, Quinn. They won’t go nowheres.”

  Quinn dropped the reins and the big horses walked into the canal. Both men dismounted and led the saddle horses to the water and tied the reins together.

  “Let’s go sit. Take our time,” John said. He walked up the bank and hunkered down. “Let Nathan cool off.”

  Quinn joined him. “What was that about?” Quinn said.

  “Carlie caught himself a nigger gal and fell in love. Wants to keep her.”

  Quinn squatted and pulled up weeds between his feet.

  “She was walkin’ in the road like nothin’ and Carlie grabbed her and put her on his horse.”

  “Just like that?” Quinn said.

  “Jest about. He ran her down. Tied her up. She made a lota noise the first night, but she quieted down after. I shoulda made him let her go right away, but I thought it weren’t no harm fer a while, and then he said he wanted ta keep her, and by then it was too late. Some ‘a the boys sided with him and said he caught her, he oughta be able to keep her. And some of ‘em didn’t like it and said they was gonna go out and find a nigger gal ‘a their own, and I said they better wait. I said Nathan’d take care of it.”

  “And he did.”

  “He did. He’s up there now reamin’ Carlie’s ass. Carlie better watch it, or he’ll be gone.”

  John and Quinn brought the horses up to the warehouse and were brushing them when Nathan came around the back. “Bring the horses and the niggers inside, John. And you keep an eye on ‘em. We’ll get some supper. I don’t know what to do about the boys. What you told ‘em and what I told ‘em. Ya hear me, John? Now go in and tell Thomas and Carlie to git their asses out here and cook some food.”

  John handed the plow horses to Quinn and led the parade of horses and slaves into the warehouse. “Pull down some ‘a that hay, Quinn, and leave ‘em. They’ll be fine.” John brought the slaves to the en
d of the warehouse and talked quietly to Thomas and Carlie, and then the two men left.

  Quinn fed the horses and checked with John and then walked out back.

  Thomas was coaxing a fire with wads of cotton and Nathan was standing against the warehouse pissing against the wall. “Pull up a stump, Quinn, and let the boys fix us some supper.” He buttoned his pants and settled his gun belt down around his hips. He came over and sat on a log and offered Quinn the bottle.

  Carlie came back with an armload of wood and left for another. Back at the fire John was boiling grits and frying meat. “Got rabbit on a stick fer our guests and we get the good stuff.”

  Quinn sat next to Nathan, who passed him the bottle. “Ya gonna go with us on our next ride, Quinn? Spring is comin’ and that’s the best time for bushwackin.” When Quinn didn’t answer, Nathan said, “But suit yourself. I know what’s wrackin’ you.”

  “I’ll catch up with you down the road. I’m no closer to finding my jayhawkers. I thought I’d go to the Benton barracks tomorrow and ask around. This is a long way from the Blue River, and if I can’t find anything here, I’m heading back north, maybe over to the Kansas side and poke around. The longer I wait...well, it’s just no good. You got your brother. I got nothin’.”

  “Yeah, I’m lucky. I sometimes think about givin’ up this partisan shit and head out west. You go ahead and go to town. I decided to bring the boys together in the mornin’ and give ‘em a talkin’ to an then cut ‘em loose fer a few days. You, too. Quinn. Three days, an then we’re goin’ back up to Rolla fer another load. I’m sending Thomas and the boys out on a mission. I could use ya to help me an’ John with the niggers.”

  Nathan brought the bottle over to Thomas. “When that rabbit’s done, take it in and feed ‘em. Give John some grits and fatback and leave the bottle with him. Tell him we’ll be in and spell him in a bit.” Nathan went to his bag and pulled out a bottle. “Then come on out here and eat with us.” He pulled the cork and sat on the log.

  “It’s none of my business,” Quinn said, “but what about the contrabands?”

  “This is where we offload,” Nathan said. “Tomorrow I ride down to Lynch’s, tell the man there we got some goods, and he comes and picks ‘em up. Ya don’t dare go downtown anymore with runaways. There’s contraband camps and free niggers guarding them. Since Uncle Abe’s Emasculation Proclamation the abolitionists are holdin’ rallies and meetin’s to try and get Missouri’s legislature....” Nathan waved his palms in the air like a minstrel. “...the real Missouri legislature, to free all Missouri’s slaves. It ain’t gonna happen. The only Missouri politics that matters comes out of a gun.”

  Carlie brought wood and fed the fire and sat apart while the three men ate and drank. Nathan assigned Thomas the first watch. “You go in an help John get ‘em settled.” He stood and scraped the plates and wiped them off with his fingers and put them on a rock next to the fire. “Thomas--and Quinn, this goes fer you, too--we’re not watchin’ just to keep them niggers from escapin’. The river attracts the lowest of the low, men who’ll kill ya fer the clothes yer wearin’. So when it’s yer turn, keep an eye on the door. And listen to the horses.”

  In the morning Quinn stood at the fire and ate cold grits and ham and then saddled up. He agreed to meet the Bolins in three days. “We’ll get a pretty good hunk ‘a change fer these ‘uns,” Nathan said. “You don’t wanna miss payday, Quinn.”

  He took the road north past the end of the upper levy and then the carriage road away from the river. He crossed a bridge and rode through a stockade fence into a plain devoid of trees and brush. A parade field fronted four rows of low buildings with review towers at each end. Hundreds of men and horses moved in formations through the broad, flat landscape. He skirted the drilling field and rode toward the blockhouse. He dismounted and tied his horse and asked a sentry if he would direct him to the regimental hospital. The sentry pointed to the barracks. “Go right on through. The big two-story on the other side. Can’t miss it. Got two flagpoles in front.”

  Quinn climbed the steps of the hospital and was met by a sentry. “If you’re up and walking,” the guard said, “you’ll be wanting the clinic. It’s down around back. The big door in the middle.”

  Quinn thanked him and found the door. He explained his need for morphine to a woman at the front desk and told a story about his wound. She asked him for his discharge papers and Quinn told her he had lost everything. “Except this list.” He presented the paper Lucy Deroin gave him and she handed it back.

  “I’m afraid that won’t help you here. I suggest you try Gratiot hospital downtown. Do you know the downtown area?”

  Quinn shook his head. “I just came in. I got a horse and I can find the river if you can direct me from there.”

  “It’s at Eighth and Gratiot right downtown. Get on the road and go south along the river and you’ll find it. You might prevail upon the ward nurse to give you some morphine. The men who come in there generally don’t have papers.”

  Quinn thanked her and paused. “Why is that, if I might ask?”

  “Gratiot’s a prison. Mostly Confederates, but some outright criminals. Their hospital gets things we don’t get in the regular army. Aid societies and all. Good luck to you, soldier, and I’m sorry I couldn’t help.”

  Quinn thanked her again and walked back to his horse and rode toward the river.

  He followed a horse-drawn streetcar for the last three blocks into the center of town. The trolley tracks ran in a loop around a park that was teeming with people who spilled out into the street. Quinn pulled up and tried to hear what the speaker in the middle of the bandstand was saying. The message was broken up by “hurrahs” and shouts. A band began playing and some of the women lined up for a march and a new speaker took the stand.

  Quinn rode on past the park to the next street, where he found a solid three-story building with three flags flying out front. The building took up most of the block, with a domed central tower that rose above the two wings it joined.

  He tied up and mounted the steps in the center and found the double doors locked. He walked down and tried the doors to each wing and then went down to the doors to the half basement. All locked. The windows were shut. He walked around the building and was challenged by an aging sentry. A man who could have been his cousin faced them at the south end of the building. The sentry shifted his rifle and told Quinn to state his business.

  “I’m tryin’ to get in.”

  “Prison or hospital?” The old man shouldered his rifle and walked toward Quinn. “I’m just jokin’ witchya. It’s closed for the day. Should be open tomorrow. Everything’s closed on account of the meetin’s. Hear ‘em? It’s been goin’ on all day and should really heat up tonight.”

  “Religion or politics?”

  “Both, I’d say. Abolitionists, emancipationists, suffragettes, and the like. We closed the place in case they get a little carried away with good will. Did you want the hospital?”

  Quinn nodded and touched the side of his patch. “I need someone to look at it. Will they be open in the morning?”

  “There’s usually somebody here all the time, if they’ll let you in.” The sentry waved the tip of his rifle slightly. “Did one of them ole graybacks git you?”

  “I don’t know. Don’t remember what happened. I coulda shot myself, for all I know.”

  The sentry nodded. “I got it. You come back tomorrow. Maybe I’ll see ya.” He tipped his rifle again. “I’ll be here.”

  Quinn rode one street south along the tracks and followed the parade of women to the edge of an encampment not far from the river. Unpeeled stockade posts ran for a block on either side and down toward the river from a wide gate. Four black guards in Union blue stood with rifles at their sides. Through the gate Quinn could see tents and lean-to’s lining a broad street filled with black people. The parade of women marched through the gate. Quinn turned his horse and followed the trolley tracks back through the center of town.


  Beyond the shops and hotels and saloons Quinn found a house advertising a room and two meals for a dollar and he stopped. “Supper and breakfast. Dinner for another two bits, if you’re around. You stayin’ long?”

  “Two nights maybe, if I get my business done.”

  “Anything I can help you with? You new here?”

  Quinn nodded. “Yup. Just here to visit the hospital at Gratiot. And maybe get some new clothes. Thought I’d park my things here and go out looking.”

  “Suit yourself. I’ll take you up and show you your room. You’re here alone, right? No guests allowed after nine.”

  “I’m alone,” Quinn said, “and I assure you, I’ll be in bed and alone before nine.”

  “Supper’s at six. Breakfast’s at seven. Show up after that and you take your chances.”

  Quinn paid and took his horse to the stable and gave the boy a dime to put him up. Bundled up against the cold wind, Quinn walked to the line of shops he had passed. He found a tailor easily enough, and he had the woman measure him for a placket shirt, a vest, and a wool frock coat and pants. A cobbler who had a boy in the street hawking for him marveled at his boots. “They don’t quite go with the outfit I have in mind,” Quinn said, and he settled for “ready-made” brogans that fit him with room to spare. The cobbler threw in two pair of new wool socks. A haberdasher gave him a good price on new leather gloves and a new beaver hat. In each case he asked that all his purchases be set aside until the morrow, when his tailoring would be done. Quinn sat in an inn and drank beer and decided to forgo his supper at the boarding house when he smelled spicy sausages and cabbage from the kitchen.

  The woman at the bar asked if he needed a place to sleep. “I do and I paid for the night, I regret to say. If your offer is still good for tomorrow night, I may move my things and take you up on it.” He negotiated for a bath, a shave, and a haircut along with the room, and he sat and ate and sat by the fire and drank beer.

  He returned to his room and sat on the bed. All in all, Quinn thought, a good day’s purchase for his Judas coin. Warm and full of beer. Civilized, he thought. He didn’t remember the name of the man he killed, but when he lay down and closed his eyes he saw his face as he writhed on the ground.

  He got up and took the medicine bag from around his neck. He rolled one ball of opium into his palm. Might as well try this now as later, he thought. Tomorrow I’ll get more morphine and then I’ll be set. The ball was so small he decided it was to be smoked with his regular tobacco, so he loaded the plug into the bottom of the pipe and dropped strings of tobacco on top and tamped it with his thumb. He sat on the bed and lit it.

  As he sat and smoked he had no problem convincing himself that he would easily kill the man who blinded him, but he wondered if he would have the courage to kill the man who cuckolded him, were the man to come out of his nightmares into the light of day, but then the man followed him out of his nightmare into the light of his room and took him to bed and Quinn slept and thrashed and woke before dawn.

  After breakfast he packed up his things and brought the laundry he had carried with him since leaving the Six Mile House--long underwear, socks, undershirt and pants and shirts--and dropped it off at the sewing shop with the promise that it would be ready with his new set of clothes at the end of the day. He rode to Gratiot and tied his horse in front and walked around to the north wing and waved at the sentry. “Did the abolitionists give you any trouble last night?” Quinn shouted.

  The sentry raised his rifle in salute and walked over. “Why, no they didn’t. Thank you for asking. How about you? Did you find any young things that needed emancipating?”

  “No,” Quinn said, “But I did get something of a promise for tonight, along with a shave and haircut.”

  “Oh, my glory!” the sentry said. “I think I know that woman. Sit on your wallet for the haircut and be sure to sleep with your pistol. You’ll be OK. I got my eye on a suffragette. If she comes by again today I might see if I can’t join her parade. Are you gonna give the hospital another try?”

  “Got to. Tomorrow’s my last day in town and I need something for this eye. You keep a good watch and stay off the battlefield, hear?”

  “That’s my plan.” The sentry gave Quinn a salute and Quinn returned the wave and walked around to the steps and went up.

  The double doors were again locked and Quinn rattled them and waited. A grizzled old man in a Federal uniform opened the door and stepped back. “You want the hospital?”

  Quinn nodded. “This is it, right? I was here yesterday and you were locked up.”

  “Well, we ain’t now. Come in. Who do you want? You ain’t a walkin’ wounded. You got papers?”

  “I just need to see a doc.” Quinn touched his patch. “It’s giving me real trouble. Can you tell me where I can get some help?”

  “You got papers?”

  “No, I don’t. I lost them. Is there anybody here I can see?”

  The old man paused and studied Quinn’s face for a moment. “Stay here.” The old man shuffled away and came back and said, “She’s in the ward. Come on.” He shuffled away and Quinn followed.

  They walked halfway round a rotunda that was blocked off by newly built walls and through a door into a theater that had been converted into a sick ward. The air was warm and fetid and smelled of ammonia. A woman dressed in a pinafore and cap and veil stepped down from a platform in the center of the room and walked over to Quinn and the guard. She held out her hand. “I’m Elizabeth Stiles. Lawrence said you wanted me to look at your eye. You want to come over to the window and we’ll take a look?” Without waiting for a reply, she walked away and Quinn followed her to the other side of the room. She pulled out a chair. “Sit.” She leaned over him with her hands clasped behind her back. “Does it hurt?”

  “A little. Not like it used to.”

  “Are you taking anything?”

  “I had some morphine, but I’m out. I thought you might be able to oblige.”

  She ran cool fingers along the bottom of the patch and up. “Please remove the patch for me.”

  Quinn untied the bottom thong and slipped it off.

  She pressed gently around the outside of the socket. “It looks good.” She leaned over from the waist and Quinn could feel her breath on his cheek. “And it smells fine. I would rather not go poking around inside, but I will if you want me to. I can give you a wash and some salve, but one of the best things is to let it air out. Do you sleep on your back?” Without taking a breath she said, “Make sure you take off the patch at night. Check it daily and keep it clean. Wash it with soap. The patch.” She stepped back so Quinn could see her. “That’s it, then.” She turned to the guard. “Lawrence, that will be all, thank you.”

  She took the patch from Quinn’s lap. “Let me help you with this.” She looked at it. “But first, let’s clean it up a bit.” She took the patch to a dry sink, and when she came back Quinn smelled the soap. She slipped the patch over his eye and tied the bottom thong.

  “Now, I suppose you want morphine for the pain.”

  “That would help, yes.”

  “Does it still hurt?”

  “Some, yes it does.”

  “But you don’t know exactly where the pain comes from, isn’t that right? It’s just vaguely there.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Your eye is practically healed, Mr...I didn’t get your name, did I?”

  “Quinn. Jamie Quinn.”

  “As I said, Mr. Quinn. Your eye is healed, and now you have what many call the soldier’s disease--morphine addiction. You’re not aware of it, but that’s the source of your pain, not your eye. You associate the pain with the eye and the morphine with the relief. I’ll give you more because I’ve got enough and I won’t be shorting my patients. You’re lucky you came here. Every military hospital is short on drugs. We have a ready supply because we are the darling of all the relief societies--Union and Confederate. We want for nothing--nothing except qualified medical people.”
<
br />   “But you’re here, and you’ve got help, right?”

  “I’m here, but I’m not a doctor or even a qualified nurse. My training is situational, that’s what I’ve got. A doctor from Benton comes by once a week and checks up on me and teaches me a thing or two, but I’m diligent and caring, and I’ve get lots of cooperation from the military and, as I said, support from both sides. Nobody blames me if someone dies because of my care. Nobody but me. Come up to the desk and I’ll write out something for you and you can be on your way.”

  Quinn followed her to the dais and scanned the beds that surrounded it as she wrote out the note. “This should do it. Take it downstairs to the north door and give it to the soldier at the desk. He’ll get it ready for you.” She handed him the paper and held out her hand and Quinn took it. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Quinn, and I wish you good health and good luck in your quest.”

  Quinn took the paper and thanked her and walked to the door and turned. He wanted to ask her about her last comment, but she had already disappeared among the beds. Lawrence let him out and he walked to the north door and knocked. Heavy odors of alcohol and pungent herbs wafted out the door as the attendant let him in. Quinn gave him the scrip and the soldier looked at it.

  “I can give you a portion of what she is requesting here, enough to tide you over. But I don’t have enough to give it all to you. Or, to be more precise, I won’t. Our supply is due to be replenished tomorrow, and if I fill your order completely, I may not have enough for a real emergency. I’m sure you understand.” The soldier moved to a shelf and took down a wooden box, removed the lid, and spooned out a measure onto a parchment page. “I expect you know how to use this. It’s best on an empty stomach if you’re really hurting.” He folded the paper and tied it with string. “Come back tomorrow after breakfast, and we’ll have some more for you.”

  Quinn thanked the man and took the package and left.

  He rode to the inn and packed up his things. Then he rode to the new inn and stabled his horse. He took a hackney to the wharf and had most of the day to waste before his clothes were clean and he could return to the inn. He rode to the embarcadero and directed the driver to give him another ride along the street, just so he could take in the sights.

  “Close to 150 boats along the levee,” said the driver. “And see out there? Another 50 waitin’ to get in. Just no place to park all of them. Everybody wants to be here. I take it you came by horse.”

  “I rode in yesterday. This is my first time to the big city. What should I see before I go?”

  Quinn paid no attention to the driver’s rambling suggestions. He opened his medicine bag and licked at the contents of the parchment. He watched and listened and smelled the waterfront-- bustling, busy, horses and carts and wagons and buggies. Bells and whistles and noise--tambourine girls, bagpipes, organ grinders, dogs, rasping fiddlers.

  Two wagons had stopped to visit in the middle of the street. A girl ran up holding two apples. “A penny for an apple, mister.” Quinn exchanged one for a penny.” For another penny,” she said, lifting her dress, “you can see the apple tree.” Quinn shook his head and the hack moved on.

  The sidewalks were full of women and children peddling parched corn and cider and tarts. Collapsible stands held cigar vendors, bootblacks, and street barbers. When the commerce of the embarcadero changed to factories and foundries and warehouses Quinn had the hack turn back. He picked up his clothes from the tailor and returned to the inn. After his shave and haircut he bought a watch from the innkeeper and arranged for a bath. Then he sat and waited at the table for supper and drank beer and went to bed. He mixed a potion and slept dreamlessly and woke too late for breakfast. Dressed in his new outfit he walked down to the wharf and watched the steamers maneuver in and out of the docks. Then he took a hack to the hospital.

  The corporal had Quinn’s packet ready along with a note from Elizabeth. Quinn thanked him and walked outside to read it.

  “Mr. Quinn. I’m sorry you had to come back. I won’t apologize for Corporal Avery. He did what he thought was best. Elizabeth Stiles.”

  Quinn walked up the stairs to the double doors and knocked. The old soldier opened the door and let him in. “I suppose you want to see Mrs. Stiles.” Without waiting for an answer, he turned and walked away.

  Quinn followed him to the platform in the operating theater and the old man waved without looking back as he went back to his post. Quinn looked over the beds and saw her at work. He perched on the stool at the desk and waited.

  Elizabeth walked down the aisle and paused to talk to a soldier before mounting the steps to the dais. “Mr. Quinn! Did you get your packet?”

  “I did. And your note. Thank you.”

  “You are welcome. Come back again when you run low. We’ll fill it if we have it.”

  “I wanted to thank you personally. I feel much better.”

  “You look good this morning.”

  Quinn smiled and shook his head. “I really cut a ridiculous figure yesterday, didn’t I?”

  “I wouldn’t say so. You looked trail worn. This morning you look refreshed, rested.”

  “Now that I look and feel a little more like myself, I would like to ask if you would join me at supper tonight.”

  “Oh, mylandsakes!” She touched her throat. “Supper! Well, I don’t know.”

  “Pardon me, Mrs. Stiles, for being so forward.”

  “No, no. I was thinking of who would cover for me here if I left.”

  “Let me come back at five. If you are free, we will get something to eat. If not, you’ll tell me so.” Quinn slid off the stool.

  Elizabeth slid her hands into her pinafore pockets and nodded.

  “I’ll see you at five, then, Mrs. Stiles.” Quinn said. He didn’t look back as he left.

  Quinn picked up his bags from the inn and rode back to the warehouse and tied up. He found John and two of the boys sitting around the fire smoking. “You’re early, Quinn,” John said. “You and these two--they got tired ‘a chasin’ pussy. What’s yer story? Sit down and take a load off.”

  Quinn sat and filled his pipe and lit it. “The contraband’s gone. Where’s Nathan?”

  “Oh, we done that deal yesterday. He went out this mornin’ ta see if’n he could get rid ‘a the cart and them nags. I’m lookin’ at you and I’d say you done pretty well fer yerself. Did ya knock ‘em dead?”

  “I spent all my money on clothes and didn’t have any left for the women. I sat around lookin’ good and got lots of talk, but when I couldn’t deliver, I lost ‘em. How about you?”

  “Stayed here with Nathan. We’re deferrin’ things, he says. Savin’ ourselves fer later, he says. We did the deal and he left me sittin’ on it while he’s out horsetradin’. He patted one of the saddlebags next to him. “You’re gonna like this.” He gave it another pat. “He said he put an order in fer another train, and unless we git word otherwise we’re goin’ back to Rolla.”

  The man next to him waved his cigar. “Horsetradin’, John? Is that what he calls it? Maybe he’s out ‘whores tradin’ this mornin’. What ya think?” He nudged his companion.

  John ignored the two. Quinn finished his pipe and went down toward the river for firewood and spent some time sitting in the sun. The men trickled into camp and Nathan showed up mid afternoon and paid them.

  Quinn called him aside and confided that he’d like to stay one more night. “I started something I’d like to see finished,” he said.

  “It’s not that we couldn’t wait for ya Quinn, but I promised three days, and I gotta get these boys back in shape and on the road. Just take your time. We’ll sleep here and head off to Rolla in the mornin’. We’re pickin’ up another coffle, and ya can meet us at the fort. We’ll likely lollygag here and there along the way--you may even beat us. It’s good to have ya with us, Quinn.”

  At five Quinn mounted the steps to the hospital and Lawrence let him in. “She told me to make you wait.” He smiled at Quinn. “S
he’ll be ready though. Come on over and sit.” He pulled out his watch. “Fifteen minutes she’ll be here.” Lawrence walked Quinn over to two desk chairs in the corner and swatted the dust off with his cap. “ He pulled a flask from his pocket and gestured. “Sit! Sit! Care for a nip? It’s five o’clock! I’m finished at five.” They sat and Lawrence pulled the cork and passed it to Quinn, who took a drink and shook his head and passed it back. “Like catnip,” Lawrence said and he swayed back and forth. “Drive you crazy, drive you blind, world gets hazy, I don’t mind!” He held up the flask in a toast. “Here’s how!”

  “You off at five, where do you go?” asked Quinn.

  Lawrence took a pull from the flask and pointed to the door. “Right over there. And from time to time over here.” He swung the bottle to his right. “Until some fool rattles the door.” He laughed. “I stay until I get hungry, and then I go get some prison food--better than the hospital food--and I come back here. I stay until I get tired, and I go to the basement and sleep, and then I get up and do this all again.”

  “Where’s your relief?”

  “Oh, he comes on from time to time, mostly at night, if he ain’t drunk. He’s an old man. I don’t mind if the Commander don’t mind. Things are kinda loose on this end of the building. The rest of my regiment pulls duty at the prison, here or Myrtle Street. They get to shoot people.” Lawrence waited for a reaction and got none. “They really do, I tell you.”

  “I believe you,” Quinn said.

  “It’s quiet here and I like the people.” He offered Quinn the flask and Quinn shook his head. “You do too, huh?” The old man chuckled. “You got kids?”

  Quinn scratched the top of his head. “Yes, I do. Why do you ask?”

  “Looks like you’re old enough, is all. Any boys?”

  “Two girls.”

  “Lucky. They’re gonna start drafting now. I suppose you can’t serve with your eye.”

  Quinn nodded. “I was going to say I was too old anyway, but I caught myself.”

  The soldier snorted.

  “And you? You got boys?”

  “Two. One’s dead.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s why I volunteered. Kincade promised we’d see action, and we almost did, then they pulled us back and gave us these shit jobs. I thought it’d be a good way to go, die in battle.”

  “Maybe. How old are you?”

  “Sixty-five. You?”

  “Forty-Five.”

  “You’re young enough to be my son. Is your father still with us?”

  Quinn shook his head. “He died five years ago, and I came over here. He was about your age when he died. He’d have loved comin’ over and getting into a fight. A fair fight, he’d say.”

  “Typical Irish fella, I’d say--the fightin’ part, anyway.” The old man stood. “Look sharp, boy. The general’s comin’! Come on. Get over here.” He walked toward the door and Quinn followed.

  “I’m sure if you wait a little longer, she’ll show up,” he said in an exaggerated stage voice. “Oh, wait a minute. I hear her now! And there she is!”

  Elizabeth was dressed in cloak and hat, carrying her gloves and a bag. “Mr. Quinn, I’m sorry I’m late. There was an emergency on the floor. I see Lawrence has been entertaining you. Thank you, Lawrence. Are we ready?” She waited at the door for Quinn and walked down the steps with him.

  “Lawrence is quite a character, isn’t he? Did he tell you I had an emergency? I sent word out to him.”

  “He said he was told to make me wait.”

  “He’s a big help around here.”

  “He had me going for a while.” They got to the street and watched the lamplighters working their way toward the park.

  She put on her gloves and took a deep breath. “It’s good to be outside.” She glanced back at the building.

  “Help me out here, Elizabeth. I left my horse at the inn.”

  “What a quaint phrase, Mr. Quinn. You’re not lost, are you?”

  “No, I just don’t know where we’re going. I hate getting too far from my horse.”

  “Oh, I’ll take care of that. At the end of the evening you can find your horse.” She laughed and took his arm. “We’re headed toward my neighborhood. We can eat there. It’s not far.” She jostled his arm and led him down the street.

  “Sergeant Kiser is a dear,” she said. “Did you have a good visit?”

  “Yes. I mostly listened. He told me about his boys and said that he wanted to see battle.”

  “I doubt that they’ll be sent down. Did he tell you about his regiment?”

  “No.”

  “It’s the Iowa Thirty-Seventh—they’re known as the Silver Greys. They are all fifty-five or older. Kincade split them up for guard duty around town and at the wharf. You’ve seen the waterfront and the wharf, I take it.”

  “My room is somewhere between here and there. I spent last night along the waterfront. It’s quite a place.”

  “Yes, it is, isn’t it? St. Louis is quite a city. Have you been here long?”

  “Three days. I mostly came to see you and then I’ll be gone.”

  “Oh, pshaw, pshaw, Mr. Quinn. I think it was to see Corporal Avery.”

  “But it is you who are here, not Corporal Avery, so fate had it that I was here to see you.”

  “Fate. Is that right? Do you believe in fate, Mr. Quinn?”

  “I believe that you should call me Jamie and that I should call you Elizabeth.”

  “Jamie, then. Do you believe in fate, Jamie?”

  “Elizabeth, I do. I believe that in looking back we need an explanation, a reason for what happened, and we call that hindsight reasoning ‘fate’. And you, what do you believe in?”

  “I believe there is a hand that guides us, that there is a plan too big for us to see.”

  “And there’s a reason for everything?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the reason I’m here is...besides the obvious one...?

  “Is for us to see. Isn’t that part of the fun? Maybe fun’s not the right word. Interesting. I think that figuring out the reason for things is part of our job, and we can take it or leave it. It doesn’t matter.”

  “Like this war. I know what the reasons are supposed to be. I prefer to think of them as the excuses for war. But reason? I don’t think so.”

  “And maybe everybody’s reasons are their own.”

  “And what are your reasons?”

  “For the war? I didn’t go to war. My husband was murdered by bushwackers.”

  Quinn stopped walking. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...”

  “I’m OK. That was four months ago, and I’m still a little raw. This place has given me a way to raise myself up. I see what the war has done to others. There are things worse than death, you know.”

  They walked without speaking.

  “You never asked me about my eye.”

  “I never ask about the wounds. It’d be selfish of me to ask. If the boys on the ward want to tell me, they can. Most don’t.”

  “I never saw service. I was shot, blindsided by a slave hawk who was after a runaway, a girl of about 14. He shot my mule and then he shot me and left me for dead. I was brought to the Halfbreed Tract and a woman there took care of me for a month. When I thanked her for saving my life, she said it was the morphine. And that led me here.”

  “I imagine it helped. The pain might have killed you, but men have suffered worse and survived. She sent you away with a supply and said you could get more from a Union hospital?”

  “Yes.”

  “She had worked in a hospital?”

  “She said she was in the field.”

  “You were lucky she only had powder. Your condition is manageable. If she had injected the morphine, you’d have some trouble.”

  They walked for a while.

  “You mentioned the Half Breed Reservation. They’re Otoe-Missouria, aren’t they?”

  “Lucy would make a joke about that, but yes. And sh
e’d say they’re lots of things.”

  “Where did you go from there? That’s in Nebraska, isn’t it?”

  “Yup. I crossed the river and went back to where I was shot. Thought I might remember something, or I might get some help identifying the men who did it.”

  “Did it help?”

  “I talked to some people from the town that saw the three of them ride in. Two white men and a negro. I can recall most of what happened that day. But after I was shot, they killed my friend, burned his hotel, and ran his wife off. I was lucky.”

  “Lucky?”

  “My friend’s wife came back and found me and hauled me to the river. She put me in a boat and got me to St. Deroin.”

  “St. Deroin. I know a Deroin up there...the old man, he’s a white man.”

  “That’s Lucy’s grandfather. She took care of me for that month.”

  She shook her head. “I taught at the Shawnee Mission. The Otoe and Shawnee may not like each other, but they talk.” She laughed. “You might have stayed longer. They would have given you a name, taken care of you, brought you into the tribe.”

  “I know. Lucy was working on the name when I left. She wanted me to stay, but I needed to find the men who did it.”

  “And then what?”

  “I don’t know--shoot their mules, burn their houses, kill their friends. That sort of thing.”

  “What did your friend’s wife do? She brought you to the reservation and then what?”

  “She left. Marion and Lucy knew each other because they were part of the Lane Trail. And Lucy knew people in Kansas, some jayhawkers that operated out of a place north of Quindaro called Six Mile. It’s an inn--it was an inn anyway, before the war. Lucy sent her there, and I guess she’s still there. She was when I left.”

  “You went to the Six Mile House?”

  “Lucy led me to believe they might be able to help me. I got wrapped up in what they were doin’ for a while, and then I wandered off and ended up here.”

  “And here we are. This is where I live.”

  They were standing in front of a pair of iron gates that was the only break in a stone wall that ran for nearly a block. Through the spindles Quinn saw a circular carriage drive with a statue in the center. Behind it rose a three-story granite building that dwarfed Gratiot.

  “You live in a hospital?”

  “I thought you’d be impressed. No, I live in the motherhouse behind.”

  “A nun!” Quinn laughed and assumed his brogue. “Sure and now Jesus has me comin’ all this way to be consortin’ with one of his nuns!”

  Elizabeth grabbed his elbow and stamped her foot. “Listen, young man, if you don’t behave I’ll box your ears and send you to bed without supper.”

  Quinn whined and pulled his head into his shoulders. “Ohhhh, Sister!” They both laughed.

  She put her arm through his and pulled him away. “Come on, Jamie. The passage gate is around the corner. We’ll eat with the nuns and then we can sit and talk.”

  After supper one of the nuns led them from the refectory into the drawing room. “When you brought Mr. Quinn to supper, Mrs. Stiles,” she said, “I asked our novice mistress if I could be your hostess. You two sit. I’ll set you a fire and get you coffee before Vespers. Are you Catholic, Mr. Quinn? I expect you are, being Irish, unless you are one of the Black Irish and then you are still a Catholic but don’t know it.” She laughed and knelt at the fireplace. Quinn wanted to say something but decided to listen. “I’m a German Catholic and they call us Dutch Catholics and when I came to the convent I learned not all Catholics are the same. I didn’t ask, but, Mrs. Stiles, are you one of us? I only ask because I haven’t seen you at Holy Mass, but you are not always here, are you? And there are, of course, there are many churches in St. Louis.” She stood. “There. Now I’ll be back with the coffee and dessert. We don’t get dessert, but I know that I can find something.”

  Elizabeth said, “And could you bring some brandy and cream and sugar for our coffee?”

  “Oh, yes. We don’t get that, either, the novitiates. Not even the coffee, but yes, I will bring that, too.”

  She started for the door. “Oh, I almost forgot. Can I get a room ready for Mr. Quinn? It would be after Vespers, but I would be glad to do it.”

  Jamie looked at Elizabeth and shook his head.

  “Why, that would be perfect, Sister,” Elizabeth said, “after brandy and Vespers would be fine.”

  Elizabeth and Quinn sat quietly until the little nun returned with the tray. She laid out the dishes on the serving table and asked about their favorite desserts. Then she stood at the door. “If you would just put the things on the floor outside the door I would appreciate it. Mr. Quinn, Sister Mary John will come later and show you to your room. Good night, Mrs. Stiles. Good night, Mr. Quinn. I hope to see you at Mass in the morning.”

  When Elizabeth and Quinn settled into their chairs with their coffee and brandy, Elizabeth began her story.

  “Jamie, so much of what you told me tonight makes me think we were meant to be here together, from the beginning of your story to the Benton Barracks.”

  “If we were meant to be together, I would rather that not be in a convent.”

  She laughed. “If you had known my plan before we started down the street, would you still have come?”

  “Yes, Sister. I’m Catholic, and I have a strong and unnatural interest in what goes on behind the convent gates.”

  “And, what do you think?”

  “I think the food is simple and fine, the coffee and brandy surprisingly good. The conversation at supper left something to be desired, but Sister Claude made up for it after.”

  “The sisters take the vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience, but not silence. They are not interested as we are in the things of this world, and they view talking about material matters to be idle chatter, a sign of weakness—a fault.”

  “Do you think Sister Claude will make it to final vows?”

  “Part of the novitiate is training to live apart from the world. As time goes on it becomes easier.”

  “I found the silences refreshing.”

  “Peaceful.”

  “I’m not complaining.”

  “Or criticizing. I know. As I said this afternoon, I have found my home here and my calling in the hospital.”

  “Your vocation?

  “The nuns would call it a vocation, but I can’t live my life as a nun. When I came here I had blood in my eye and hate in my heart. I wanted to find the man who murdered my husband and do terrible things to him.”

  “And today you wouldn’t?”

  “I might, had I the opportunity. I’m not sure, if my foot were on his throat, that I wouldn’t step down.”

  “I understand. I entertain myself with great plans for the man I’m after.”

  “If you find him.”

  “When I find him.”

  “But you don’t know his name or where to look.”

  “He was in the company of two men who travelled together hunting runaways. The white men rode horses as distinctive as they were. The market for slaves in Missouri is right here in St. Louis. I’ll find them.”

  “Do you know George Todd?”

  “Everybody knows who he is. Along the river everybody is his friend or his cousin. Is he the one you’re looking for?”

  Elizabeth nodded and told her story, right up through George Hoyt’s raid the day after the murder.

  “Did you ride with Col. Hoyt?” she asked.

  “Not on a raid. I went out on a scouting party with some of his men and ended up following the Bolin gang. I rode with them and ended up here.”

  “You ride with the Bolin gang? The Bolins are Quantrill’s men.”

  “Technically, they’re part of Hindman’s cavalry. Nathan says he’s got the orders to prove it. He says he carries the papers next to his heart to stop the bullets. If he gets caught it may keep him from being executed in the field, but I doubt it.”

  �
��How about you? Aren’t you worried?”

  “I’ve been with them for a couple months. The worst I’ve done is to lead contrabands on a rope to St. Louis. And I’m not ashamed to say I took the money and spent it on clothes. Tomorrow I’m headed back to Rolla to meet up with the Bolins and pick up another bunch.”

  “Are you going to continue on with this, Jamie? With this…trafficking?”

  “Until I can get some information I can use or information I can pass on to Hoyt. I’m not in any position to stop what’s going on with the gang.”

  They both were quiet.

  “And when you get information for Col. Hoyt,” Elizabeth said, “you’ll send it along by pony express?”

  Quinn did not respond.

  “How will you pass along the information? If you happen upon information that is critical, what will you do?”

  “I haven’t thought that out. I guess it depends on lots of things. Where I am when I find out, for one thing.”

  “Jamie, if Col. Hoyt trusts you, I’m sure that I can, too.” Elizabeth poured brandy into both their cups and stood. “Wait here. I’ll be back in a few minutes and I’ll tell you some things that might help.”

  When she returned she had a messenger bag under her arm and an envelope in her hand. She put the bag on the floor next to her chair and sat.

  “These are my orders.” She pulled out a paper from the envelope and handed it to Quinn.

  Quinn read it and handed it back. “It looks like you are not out of the revenge business after all.”

  “I tell myself I’m in the spy business.” She picked up the strap of the messenger bag. “This is what I do at night.” She lifted it into her lap. “These are letters from the prison and a few from the hospital. I helped write some of them, but most were given to me with my promise that I would pass them on outside regular channels. The people in the hospital or in the prison are officially allowed to write one page per week to a relative. The letters go through a censor and then go to the post. My letters go to a lady from the Southern Aid Society and from there I expect they get delivered personally.”

  “And you, of course, read them first.”

  “I read many of them, copy out parts I believe to be important enough to be sent on. Then I reseal the letters and put them in with the rest. On occasion I hand over the originals to be rewritten, I would assume, with misinformation.”

  “Elizabeth, I am amazed!”

  “That a woman is part of espionage?”

  “No. That you are.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “The first letter I showed you. My orders on Senate letterhead signed by Jim Lane? I watched Lafayette Baker write that paper and sign it. He says he writes many letters for many people and none of them have come back to him. He had quite a laugh about that.”

  “You’re telling me this because...?”

  “I want to help you.”

  “Find the man I’m looking for?”

  “And maybe help the cause. If you’ve got information you think Col. Hoyt might want, write it out and send it on to me. I promise I won’t edit it.”

  Elizabeth put the tray outside the door, and while they were waiting for Sister Claude to take Quinn to his room they talked about their plans.

  “The sisters get up for prayer at four. You may not hear them. If you would like breakfast any time after five, put your shoes outside the door and someone will come and get you.”

  “And if I don’t want breakfast?”

  “You still need to put your shoes outside the door. When the sister comes, just tell her you would like to leave and she’ll see you out. Sister Claude will be here soon, so I’d like to say good-bye before she comes.” She stood and Quinn rose. “Jamie, I don’t expect I’ll see you again, but if you need me, you know how to reach me. The mail to the convent is more than likely secure. The mail to the hospital is not. If you find a place that you stay for a period of time, a place where regular post delivers, you might want to try a letter and I’ll respond. Otherwise, I don’t know what channels you might use. As far as your mission to find the man who shot you, I wish you well.”

  “And George Todd? If I find him shall I send for you?”

  Elizabeth laughed. “No. Just kill him for me. Then go to confession.”

  “Can you imagine the confessions after this war is over, Elizabeth? ‘Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. I was responsible for the deaths of half a million soldiers and God knows how many women and children.’” Quinn blew out his breath.

  “We can’t think about all that, can we?”

  “And I’m not going to ask the big questions either, Elizabeth.” He took both her hands. “Thank you. For everything. For bringing me here. I hope we meet again.”

  A soft knock and the door swung in. Quinn stepped out. “Good night, Elizabeth.”

  “Good night, Jamie.”

  The next day Quinn dressed, ate early, and picked up his horse and gear at the inn. He rode hard to meet the Bolin gang at Rolla. He found Capt. Tiffany in his office and asked if Nathan Bolin had been here yet.

  “Nope. Didn’t see him. Don’t know if he’s comin’. You?”

  “I saw him last in St. Louis and he said to meet him here. Is it OK if I bivy here until he shows up?

  “Why, sure!” Tiffany walked him out to the boardwalk and waved to the left. “Head over to the officers quarters’ and tell them I said to put you up and feed you. Maybe tonight come by and we can have a drink together.”

  Quinn rode to the quarters and put up his gear. In the morning he ate and decided to ride back through town and out to the old fort.

  It had rained in the night and three men in the sump below were busy with shovels. One was draining puddles from the road while two others worked on either side of the camp digging channels to direct water to the low side of the depression. As he sat his horse on the berm above, Quinn thought about the months he had spent digging drainage ditches along railroad beds so he could save enough money to bring his wife and two daughters to America. He wondered about the men below, what purpose they had this morning other than to direct the water away from their tents and to wait for the sun to come out and dry out the mud. And, he thought, were the soldiers he left at Fort Dette any different, waiting? He rode down and found a place to tie his horse. The mud sucked at his boots and he thought of his pistols wrapped in the pink leggings he left under the rock. He walked over to one of the men who was dragging a shoved through a puddle and asked his name. The man stood straight. “Antunny, suh. Antunny. Does you know me, suh?”

  “No, Anthony. I was riding above there and watched you digging.”

  “Am I diggin’ fine, suh? OK by you, suh?” He stuck the shovel into the mud.

  “Anthony, you’re doing fine. Just fine. I myself have spent a lot of time on the clean end of a shovel. Sittin’ high up there, I noticed some things about the lay of the land here. You mind?” Quinn pulled the shovel out of the mud. “I hate to say that I miss the days when all I had to think about was dirt.” He looked at the man and laughed. “Or the mud.”

  The negro stepped back.

  Quinn ran his arm out. “From here you can see the low spot, but you have to go up top to see that there’s a slight rise between here and there. See, the water has to go around it. You need to channel it right first, and then around.” He turned the shovel and dragged it like a hoe through the mud. “See? Bring it this way. You got another shovel, Anthony?”

  “Yes, suh.”

  “Can you get it for me? I got nothing better to do this morning. I’d like to dig in the mud a little.”

  While Anthony was gone, Quinn dragged a channel on the surface of the mud to mark his direction. Then he came back and began to dig a trench and fell into a familiar rhythm, right foot stepping into the shovel, handle bent down, mud tossed to the right, stepping back, his foot again to the shovel, mud tossed to the right and back another step. He didn’t stop until he had broken a sweat, and then he stood and leaned against his shovel and
looked ahead at his progress. Then he turned and looked where he was going. He went back to work, this time working with his left foot, and when he stopped to lean on his shovel Anthony walked up.

  “Massa, you res’. Let Antunny dig a while.”

  Quinn stepped away from the shovel and the black man stepped up to the line and began to dig. “Dis be good,” he said. “It rain again tonight.”

  “The mud never seems to go away.”

  The man tossed a shovel of mud away. “Yessuh.”

  “Have you been here long?”

  “Yessuh. Since Chrismas.”

  “Have you been out to work on the new fort yet?”

  “Yessuh. I been dere.”

  “I was out there yesterday and it looks like there’s plenty of work for colored folks, men. Women, too. Ever think about goin’ back?”

  “No, suh.”

  “Is your family here, Anthony?”

  “Nosuh.” The black man stood straight, stepped the shovel into the mud, and kept his hand on the top of the handle. “Why you here, suh?”

  Quinn looked at him and then at the shovel. “I’ve got the morning to waste. Nothin’ better to do. I used to dig ditches for the railroad.”

  The black man shook his head. “An you wanna come into dis hole an dig ditches with de niggahs, is dat it?”

  Quinn stepped back and folded his arms. “I came here looking for a man.”

  “I know. You a niggah hunta. Dey got lotsa buckrahs like you at de fort. Go back dere. You doan belong heah. We free niggahs now.”

  “I’m not after anybody here. I’m looking for a little white man who shot me in the face.”

  “An you tink he hidin here, dat it?” The man mumbled an expletive. “Go back to de fort, Massa, and look fo him dere. Lotsa lil white men dere hep you fine anotter lil white man.” He pulled the shovel from the mud and walked away.

  Quinn was sitting outside Tiffany’s office when Nathan and John Bolin rode into the fort leading a string of horses.

  “Quinn!” Nathan Bolin swung down and gave his horse to his brother. “Quinn, my man! Did ya wear her out?” He laughed, shucked his glove, and shook Quinn’s hand. “Look what we got! Is Tiffany around? We got an order for some ‘a these, and we can trade ‘em, too.” He waved at his brother. “John, put ‘em up and come on in and get some grub.” He walked with Quinn to the barracks. “Did ya get what ya stayed for?”

  Quinn nodded. “And then some.” He paused. “She had a sister.”

  Nathan hooted. “Oh, no! and don’t tell me she had a mother, too!” He stomped his foot. “Whoo eee! And you made it back! Way to go, boy!”

  “I climbed out when they weren’t lookin’ and ran for my horse.”

  “Good thing, Quinn. Fresh pussy’s like cream, only good fer so long ‘fore it turns, right? You know where yer friends are. Are ya ready fer another ride? We got a big order from you-know-who. Gettin’ horses is what I love. Not more’n pussy, though, right?” He slapped Quinn’s shoulder and laughed.

  At the barracks Nathan asked a sentry to send Capt.Tiffany around, but not to hurry. “We wanna have some dinner and clean up. Can ya get us some food, soldier? We been out foragin’ and couldn’t find nothin’ ‘sept horses to eat, right, John?”

  The men sat and smoked, and with Quinn as an audience they relived their adventures since leaving St. Louis. The food came and they continued their stories while they ate. When Capt. Tiffany arrived he sat with them and listened.

  “There are times when I got half a mind to run off and join you boys. Sittin’ here directing traffic ain’t my idea of fightin’ a war.”

  “You are surely welcome to ride along, Captain. You’d haveta be demoted to private, though, right off, but yer pay would surely increase. And speaking of, can ya take some horses off my hands?”

  “Not sure, but I can keep ‘em for you for a while.”

  “How about some contrabands? Maybe we can trade horseflesh for manflesh.”

  “If I knew you was comin’ I coulda had some. Let me keep the horses until I can round up some articles and we’ll see.”

  “Keep ‘em as long as you can feed ‘em. We got an order fer more horses and we can’t be draggin’ these ones around, although they are some fine animals. You’ll see.”

  “You got to tell me when you’re comin’ back, Colonel. Feeding horses is one thing, contraband’s another. Just gimme an idea and I’ll have ‘em ready.”

  “You got a deal. Can you put us up fer the night? Let me use yer telegraph machine and then I kin give ya an idea about our comin’s and goin’s.”

  Quinn and the Bolin brothers rode a day and met the gang at an abandoned farmstead, where they camped. The next morning he led them to a rise in a clearing at the edge of a hazelnut grove. Below to the left lay a stock pond fed by a stream with a barn next to it. Nathan turned in his saddle and waved right. “John, you take half the men an ride round the back side of the grove. Thomas, take the rest and git across the crick an down the other side. I’ll wait here an talk to the missus.”

  As the men rode left and right, Nathan explained to Quinn that they were looking for livestock. “We was just here couple days ago. Here’s where we got them horses. We was polite an she was polite an’ we didn’t do nothin’. Didn’t take nothin’ ‘scept the horses. Then we left an learned the old man himself was off stealin’ livestock. From the Miamis over in Linn. The lord blessed us with the telegraph an the Indians with smoke signals.” He laughed. “We promised to steal ‘em back. Keep some for ourselfs, ‘a course, but we gonna do what’s right by the Injuns. Goddamn low life bootscraper.” He spat.

  Nathan and Quinn rode down to the house and stopped. Nathan called out. “Mrs. Dryden! We’re back ta see yer husband. Is he home?”

  When there was no response, Nathan pulled his pistol. “Of course, he’s not home, an he ain’t brought the livestock here, either. Look around, Quinn. See any tracks?” He called out again. “Mrs. Dryden, is yer son home? Kin we talk ta him?” He pulled his pistol and fired it in the air. “We’ll give her time ta think about her son an ta hide the family jewels, though everythin’ worth stealin’s probly buried.” He turned his horse toward the barn. “We’ll just go our way, then,” he shouted, “after we burn the barn an rescue what’s in it. Have a good day, Mrs. Dryden.”

  Nathan and Quinn rode down and met Thomas and the men coming up.

  “Nothin’ down there. No tracks, either. An empty corral in back, just mud.”

  Nathan waved toward the barn. “Bring the animals out an burn it. The stacks, too.” Nathan and Quinn rode back up and met John.

  “Can’t get around the grove,” John said. “It goes on ferever, but we didn’t see anything up thata way.”

  “Clean out the smokehouse. Check the tool shed and the cistern and tip over the privy. He’s not here, but we gotta check, anyway. Last thing we do is burn the house. If he’s in there, he’ll come out or she’ll come out, an she’ll tell us where he is. I don’t wanna spend a week lookin’ for them animals, an we got orders ta bring ‘em back.”

  Nathan and Quinn watched as the men led cows and mules from the barn. Two of the men carried chickens over their shoulders, legs tied with string. A goose ran, wings flapping, from the barn, and one of the men shot it. Shoats ran out and a few escaped into the trees.

  John’s men brought hams from the smokehouse and butter from the cistern. Nathan rode around to the tool shed and dismounted. “John. Bring them hams over an let’s eat some. Gerald, you an Alphonse go in the house an see if ya can find some bread an somethin’ ta go with this. Pickles’uld be good.” He fired his pistol in the air. “Mrs. Dryden, we’re in no hurry, if you’d like ta come down and talk with us. We’re gonna burn your house after we have some dinner here.”

  Thomas’s men had the animals tied up and the chickens hung in a tree. One of them carried the goose. Two others had their hats full of eggs. “You wanna keep these, Nathan? They’d be good if we can save ‘em.”

>   “I don’t see us staying long enough to cook ‘em. You can just play with ‘em, Leroy. See if you two kin juggle, or play catch. Maybe get Mrs. Dryden’s attention with them. Let me see yer hat.” He took two eggs and lobbed them toward the house. One of them hit a window. “Dan’l, Jack, drag a couple pigs over an throw ‘em in the cistern.”

  As the men gathered to eat, Gerald and Alphonse brought out a sack full of food and a bottle of whiskey. Nathan carved up one of the hams. The men sat and ate and drank and smoked. One of the men walked up to the horses and brought back another bottle.

  Nathan got up. “You boys stay sittin’. Jamie ‘n me are gonna git the house started. Keep your pistols ready. I can’t imagine any trouble, but don’t get shot sittin’ on yer guns.”

  Nathan took Quinn down to the barn and they tore off boards that had some fire to them and dragged them smoking up to the porch. On a second trip, Nathan said, “Quinn, see if ya can bundle up some ‘a that hay and bring it up. Pile it next ta the door.”

  When the two men had the porch smoldering, Nathan kicked in the door. “Mrs. Dryden. You can come down now before we pull the porch posts out. It’ll be easier for ya.” Nathan and Quinn walked back up and sat and watched the smoke draw into the door.

  A woman and a boy ran through the smoke coughing. The boy stopped 20 feet from the house and she kept running up the hill and threw a pillowcase at Nathan. “Here it is. It’s all we got. Now get your boys to help me stop the fire. It’s our home. It’s all we got.”

  Nathan set the pillowcase aside and stood. “Mrs. Dryden. We are not interested in you or yer house. We asked to talk with the mister an he’s not here, so we’ll have to deal with yer son.” He walked over to the boy and grabbed his arm and dragged him to his mother.

  “What’s your name, boy?”

  “Johnny, sir.”

  “Johnny, how old are ya?”

  “Twelve, sir.”

  “You old enough ta have politics, Johnny?”

  “What you mean, sir?”

  The woman got between Nathan and the boy. “He’s got nothin’ to say. He’s a boy. We got another and he’s a man, and he’s fighting for the people who came an got him. Don’t take this one, please.”

  Nathan pushed her aside. “Johnny, where’s your father?”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  “Did ya hear him say he was bringin’ some animals back here?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Who did he ride away with?”

  “Nobody, sir. He went by hisself.”

  “If he was ta bring some animals, where would he put ‘em? Does he have friends or a pasture somewheres?”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  Nathan took the boy by the elbow and led him to his horse and his mother followed. “Let’s go, men. Load up what ya can carry an we’ll go. I’m goin’ ahead with this boy an you can catch up.”

  The mother grabbed the boy and pulled and Nathan let go. He took his rope from the horn. “Tom, grab her an hold her. John, hold the boy.” He tied the boy’s hands in front of him. Nathan turned to the mother, put his hands on her shoulders, and pushed her hard to the ground. As she scrambled away he said, “Don’t you try an get up.” He walked around the right side of the horse and tied the rope. “You stay there on the ground until every last one ‘a my men is out of sight. You get up an one ‘a us sees ya, we will shoot the boy. If we find the stock yer husband stole from the Indians, he’ll live.”

  Nathan put his foot in the stirrup and grabbed the horn. “I don’t wanna haveta come back here.” He lifted into the saddle and led the boy off.

  By the time the gang caught up with their leader, the boy was riding behind him. Nathan reined in when his brother was abreast. “Johnny here says they got another place, the old farm. He didn’t wanna tell us in front ‘a his mother. He says it might be where the Indian stock is, but he doesn’t know fer certain, do ya, Johnny?”

  Johnny shook his head.

  “But it’s a ways. We’re gonna take Johnny there an let him walk home, right, Johnny?”

  The boy shook his head.

  Nathan waved Thomas to come up.

  “Thomas, you an the boys are gonna drive the Indian stock back ta Linn an peel off half the horses before they get ta the Miamis. Some ‘a you’ll take them horses to Hindman an the rest’ll drive the stock to the Indians. I want some sort of receipt from both. I don’t care where ya reconnoiter, but I want ya all to come back together an ride to St. Louis an meet us at the warehouse. John an me an Jamie’ll have a string ‘a contrabands an some ‘a the horses from Rolla, an we’ll wait there fer ya.”

  Nathan Bolin led his brother and Quinn to the road, where they continued at a pace that threatened to exhaust their mounts. “He’s in a hurry ta get to Rolla ta do his widder duty, as he calls it,” John said. “He’s got ‘em here an there an everwhere. An’ some a them ain’t even widders. Yet.” He laughed. “I tease him about goin’ inta town ta git his orders. This one in Rolla is actually a right pretty lady. Her husband was taken away an shot, she says, though she ain’t sure. That’s what she said she heard. Federals showed up one day an took him an she ain’t seen him or heard from him since, an that’s been more’n a year. Nathan jokes about givin’ her comfort, an he does that fer sure, along with enough money ta let her live pretty good without havin’ ta go out ta the camp. I think she does that, too, though. Fer her part she keeps an eye out fer him. There ain’t many people live permanent in that dirty little town, an ones that do see an hear everthin’.”

  John and Quinn were sitting outside Tiffany’s office when Nathan rode up and dismounted.

  “Any new orders, Nate?” John said.

  “Nothin’ I couldn’t fill, little brother.” Nathan stomped up the steps. “Let’s see if we kin git some horses.” He led them into Tiffany’s office.

  “Captain, we nearly filled our equine orders, but I need some ‘a the horses you been keepin’.”

  Tiffany came from behind the desk and took keys from the hook behind the door. “Let’s take a look at the articles I got for you first. Some good ones this time, Capt. Bolin. Got ‘em penned up in the block house. They’re good ones. Be worth somethin’. You ride on over and I’ll be right up.”

  Nathan, John, and Quinn rode to the blockhouse, tied up, and waited while Tiffany trailed in and left his horse with the sentry.

  “Captain, I expect you got some extra ones penned up in there, am I right? Some little pickaninny gals I kin have fer free?”

  “Naw, not this time, but I do have a big buck you’ll want, but let’s look at these ‘uns first.” He lifted a lantern from the wall and lit it. Then he took keys from his belt, unlocked the door, and led them into the dungeon. The slaves were bunched up in the far corner, the children crying.

  “Five strong bucks and four women. I’ll charge you minimum for the kids.”

  “Three kids? I don’t want ‘em. I told you last time.”

  “Then it’s no deal. I know you get somethin’ fer them, don’t tell me different. I got ears in St. Louis. Besides, the big ones are easier to handle when you got the kids. Am I right?”

  Nathan didn’t respond. He pulled his pistol and walked over to the negroes and sorted the men from the women and looked them over. Tiffany followed with the lantern. Quinn and John walked out and waited.

  Tiffany followed Nathan out the door and hung up the lantern. “...and I been keepin him apart from the others. He might give you trouble.” Tiffany locked the door.

  “Trouble? Chained? On the end of a rope? I doubt it, but let’s see him.”

  “He’s in the officers’ sink. This ain’t gonna be pretty.” The man snorted. “But I had to keep him somewhere outa sight of the workin’ niggers.”

  He led the men off to a row of small, narrow sheds on skids lined up down the hill from the blockhouse. “He’s in the one on the end. I had a hasp and lock put on the door, and you shoulda heard the questions and the comments.”

&
nbsp; John and Nathan lagged back. “I don’t need to see him, Nathan,” John said. “You do the deal. Jamie and me’ll stay here and help you out if you need us. Just holler.”

  The two walked down to the privy and Tiffany keyed the padlock and opened the door. A cloud of flies escaped on the stench that washed over Quinn standing thirty feet away.

  “It’s been closed up a couple days. Don’t get much air,” Tiffany said.

  Nathan peered in through the dimness and put out his arm. “I ain’t goin’ in there. Where is he? Is he in the pit?”

  “Yep. If you don’t wanna look down one of the holes, then you got to tell me you’ll take him sight unseen.”

  “Jesus, let’s go upwind and dicker. Lock it up. I’m leavin’.” Nathan walked up the hill past Quinn and John, shaking his head. Tiffany followed.

  “He’s big and he’s worth a lot of money. If I go through the trouble ‘a draggin’ this privy to the next trench now, you gotta take him.”

  “What? You shittin me? You got somethin’ else you wanna show me, ‘cause I don’t buy what I don’t see, and I sure as hell will not look down into that shithole to check out a nigger.” Nathan stopped and turned. “What’s he worth?”

  “Three times a regular buck--$600, but I’ll let you have him for five.”

  “God damn, I gotta clean him up and drag his stinkin’ ass to St. Louis. I wish you woulda found another place to keep him. Damn, Tiffany! You get him out, clean him up and give him some clothes that don’t stink, and I’ll take him off yer hands fer three.”

  “Four.”

  “You can’t sell him fer four. Three fifty. Throw in a mule fer him ta ride and food fer alla ‘em fer a week and I’ll take him. The mule and the food won’t cost ya nothin’. You can do that.”

  Tiffany stopped. “How about a limber cart and a team of plowhorses?” The Union soldier laughed, and Nathan Bolin walked up the hill.

  “I can’t give you a goverment mule,” Tiffany said as he followed.

  “You can give me that mule that’s gonna die tomorrow. Mules die all the time, Captain. Hell, I shoot ‘em ever chance I get.”

  Tiffany caught up to him. “I can do that. Three fifty and a mule.”

  Bolin kept walking. “And I want ya ta throw in a bath, supper, and good beds for me and my men tonight. And if he ain’t clean and ready by breakfast, the whole deal’s off, and I’ll be glad of it.”

  Tiffany stepped ahead and held out his hand and Nathan stopped and took it. He scrubbed his palms on his pants and continued up the hill. “Shit! I must be crazy! Lets’ go look at them horses.”

  Tiffany caught up with him and they continued up toward the barracks.

  Quinn and John Bolin sat on the side of the hill and smoked and watched two men in blue bring out a team of mules and drag the latrine down to the trench below. The soldiers unhitched the shed and brought the mules back up to the pit. One tossed a lariat into the hole and jerked it tight while the other tied the rope to the tugchain clevis.

  The first soldier peered down into the trench. “Pull!”

  “Gittup!” The driver slapped the reins and the rope went taut.

  “Like pulling a stump,” Quinn said.

  “Like pullin’ a stump out of a shithole.” John laughed. A figure slid up over the edge of the trench and the soldier pulled up the reins. “More like pullin’ a tree. Jesus God! Look at the size ‘a him!” John said.

  “Whoa!” The first soldier walked over to the figure on the ground. “Merle, come ‘n help me turn him over. Aw, shit!”

  The second soldier dropped the reins. “Come on, Merle. I think he’s clogged. We can’t let this nigger die or we’re in trouble.”

  Quinn and Bolin stood and walked down. The man on the ground was on his face, his feet kicking, his torso writhing, and his head twisting from side to side against the dirt. He was naked and covered in shit and his wrists were manacled to the ends of a strut that extended three feet on each side of his neck. The solder’s lariat was around one arm of the strut and the black man’s neck.

  The two soldiers grabbed one end of the bar and flipped the man over. The first soldier said, “He’s gaggin’. Clean out his mouth.”

  “You clean out his mouth. I don’t wanna get bit.”

  The first soldier knelt down and loosened the rope. “Get down here and hold his head. Grab his jaw. Get somethin’ to put in his mouth.” The second knelt and pulled his knife and handed it over and the first soldier used it like a bit, then stuck his fingers in the man’s mouth and pulled out the dirt. “God, we shoulda brung some water.” He took the knife out and the man on the ground turned his head and retched. “I’m gonna go get some water.”

  “Naw. Just as fast to drag him down to the crick. Come on. He’s OK. Let’s go.”

  The next morning the two soldiers were waiting with six horses on a string and Tiffany had the slaves tied in a line with the little ones running loose. The big black man wore his bar and manacles and was blindfolded and tethered to a tree. The mule stood apart. “You want him on the mule?” Tiffany asked.

  “Naw,” Nathan said and laughed. “I just wanted a mule. He can walk with the rest of them.” He waved to the two soldiers. “Tie that mule on the line behind the horses.” He walked over to the slave. “He don’t stink. That’s good, but why you got him blindfolded?”

  “The boys here said they didn’t want him lookin’ at ‘em. Don’t ask me why. They just did it and I let it on. You can take it off.”

  Nathan undid the rope from the tree and handed it to Quinn. “Jamie, you lead this one and follow John. I’ll lead the nags and take the drag.” He laughed. He drew his knife and cut off the black man’s blindfold. “Now let’s git on down the road.”

  The men mounted up. “Captain Tiffany, I hope ta be back doin’ business with ya soon.” Nathan said. “I’ll send word ahead.” Nathan saluted the soldier and waved to the road. “Wagons ho! Let’s go, boys!” John and Quinn led the slaves and the animals down the road.

  The ride went slow, and gearing up and breaking down took forever. Quinn listened to the negroes talk and sing, but there was no conversation between the men who rode, and stops along the way were brief and infrequent. At night the men busied themselves with the slaves and the horses. “We’ll each take a watch, Nathan said,“an as I always say, keep one eye on the contraband and one eye on the road an one eye in the weeds. There’s hungry men out there, an we got what they want, horses an men.”

  They built a fire apart for the slaves, who slept waist-tied and huddled in piles. The big man slept sitting, his head down and apart from the rest. At the end of each day his strut was removed, but the manacles and chain remained and he was tethered to the rest. “Watch him, boys, an shoot him if he runs,” Nathan said.

  To keep himself awake during his watch, Quinn hummed quietly and whittled and smoked. He walked around the fire and sang songs from his childhood. Most of the songs were either a call to revolution or sad songs or both, so he mixed them up with wordless jigs and reels, whistling and humming. Quinn imagined sometimes that the slaves listened. The Irish need an audience, he thought. Songs with words were always sung to somebody, he thought.

  In the quiet of the third night, Quinn heard the big black man humming, and Quinn recognized part of the tune as an Irish lullaby. Quinn hummed it, then quietly sang the words to the chorus. and the big man hummed along.

  The next night Quinn sat next to the man and asked him about the song. “I doan know. I jes knowed it from mah mammy.”

  “Me, too,” Quinn said. “From a place across the sea. A country called Ireland.”

  “I heared a dat. One big bunch a sodiers I saw come fum dat place, dey say. Dey dress fancy lak dey fum some otter place else, not de nort or sout.”

  Zouaves, Quinn thought. “I came here five years ago and I thought I would make a farm, but I went to work digging ditches for the railroad. How did you get here? Did they catch you runnin’?”

  The big man nodde
d.

  “You’ll be sold down river when we get to St. Louis, you know.”

  “I know. I a niggah. I know dat.”

  “Where did you run from?”

  “Kintucky. We be down in Lexington ta sell de slabes we cotched, me an Hawk, an now I spect I go right back dere, scept dis time I be on de block”

  “You were selling slaves?”

  “Got em fum right aroun here, dat’s a fac.”

  “You’re a slave catcher.”

  “Yessuh, me ‘n Hawk. We a team. We cotch a lot a niggahs.”

  Quinn stood and walked back to the edge of the fire and stood for a long time staring into the flames. Then he went and sat on a log and waited to be relieved.

  The next night he sat near the big man to ask the questions he had mulled over that day as he rode.

  “You and Hawk been a team of slave catchers. Is Hawk a white man?”

  “Yessuh.”

  “Was he your owner?”

  “Naw. He git paid by de head and I go long ta sniff em out. I be Massa Jeffery niggah. It be Massa Jeffery bidness sellin niggahs.”

  The big man talked about working with Hawk.

  “You been hunting runaways even before the war?” Quinn asked.

  “Yessuh. An I work de feels and be Massa Jeffery stud, too. I be Massa Jeffery niggah since I be born. Down in Kintucky I be young an he put me to de stud. He wuk me all day, an night he put me in de room wit tree or fo gal and tole me I had ta make wit dem. I git dem ever night an when dese got wit chile, he say, I git new gal. I knowed some de gal, cause dey be de ones I play wit when I be lil. Mosly, dough, dey was brung from nuthah planatation. I gots treat good, fed good, din git work too hard.”

  “How was it for the girls?”

  “Some be OK. Otter cry when I done it an Massa Jeffery tell dem he sell dem down de riber if dey doan make a baby fo him, so eben da weepy one done it. Da gal I knowed long year, I sleep wit trew da night. Afer I done my biness, cause de gals would talk ta me an tell me de gossip around de big house, an gal from nuther planatations would talk, too, but I wan’t inerested in dare news.

  I gots ta stay by mysef all day Sunny, and Sunny night I gots ta sleep at mah Mammy’s, she what took care a me mah whole life. Den Munny I go to da feel and come in afer an make with de gal.”

  “Did you ever have trouble with the girls?”

  “Naw, de gal be nice an hep if’n I was tire or sump’in. Only whens it gots ta be a wile an de gal wa’nt makin a baby, den dey do trouble cause dey fear massa sell em down de riber.”

  “But he kept you.”

  “Fo stud at firs, an da feels. Den he use me lak a coon dog, pair me wit a niggah chasah ta go afer de runawayers.”

  “Why?”

  “I be a good hunter. I go out at night wit Massa son an de dogs an hunt de real coons, an I gots ta know de dogs an I gots ta be a good tracker. ‘Sides I knows de way a niggah tinks, lak a coon he do, an I smell em lak de dog do. Den Massa Pitney--dat Hawk name--him ‘n me went an cotched lotsa niggahs.

  Sometime we run em down, but mos’ly we sniff em out. Massa Pitney brung me roun an tell all de white folk I was his niggah an he ax bout any loose niggahs roun. He let me go out de night ta de quatahs an tole me ta come back when I done talk ta de niggah dere. Sho nuff, if’n I stay a night or come back notha night, some gal tell me how glad she be dat one a us git way an I promise I be hepin if’n I could. Den she tell me an I jes go back an tell Hawk. Massa Pitney. Den we fine em and bring em in.”

  “Did you ever...” Quinn paused. “Do you remember catching a little white girl up north a couple months ago? And burning a hotel? Shooting a man?”

  The big man nodded. “Yessuh, I do. She be Massa Jeffery pet. We cotched her an brung her back.”

  “You and Hawk were there with a little white man.”

  “Yessuh, we be dere. Dat Massa Elliott. He do de shootin an de burnin.”

  “Do you remember the mule he shot? And the man he shot after?”

  “Yessuh, an you be him. I know dat....”

  Quinn picked up the rock between his feet and lunged at the big man and struck him alongside the head, knocking him back. The slave held up his manacled hands in front of his face and rolled on his side.

  Quinn stepped over him as Nathan scrambled toward the fire on all fours with his pistol in his hand.

  “The goddamn nigger tried to get away and I knocked him down. Hold that gun on him while I check his rope.” Quinn said. John Bolin stood next to the others with a rifle. Quinn tugged at the rope around the slave’s waist and kicked him in the stomach. “Roll over. Let me see your hands, you black bastard. Hold ‘em up.”

  The big man rolled onto his back and held up his hands. Quinn tugged at the chain. He followed the rope with his hands back to the others who were now standing huddled next to the fire. The women shushed the little ones. Quinn tested the rope between each of them. “They’re good. They’re all good. Now sit down,” he said. He turned to Nathan. “God, I hate this middle of the night watch. I hear things.”

  “It’s OK, Quinn,” Nathan said. “We all get that way. Don’t worry about it. You turn in and get some sleep. I’ll take over.”

  Quinn went to his bedroll and lay awake and thought. He pulled the medicine bag from beneath his shirt, ate some of the powder and drank from his canteen. He fell asleep and didn’t dream.

  The next night Quinn sat next to the big man. “What’s your name?”

  The big man looked up but didn’t answer. “Tell me your name or I’ll put out your eye. I’ll get a rock and knock you out and burn out your eye. I swear I will. You tell me your name and tell me the little man’s name. I’ll goddamn blind you, nigger!”

  “You bline me an den you own me, you know dat. You gotsta pay dem buckrahs fo me an den you gotsta kill me. Dat’s a fac.”

  “If I own you, I won’t kill you, you black bastard. An dat’s a fac!” Quinn picked up a stick from the fire. “Forget your name, then, cause a nigger name don’t matter. Tell me the name of the man who shot me.”

  “Dats whut you really wanna know. Cause if’n I tell you, whatcha gonna do? You gonna bline me den? You gonna shoot me fer runnin? I kin tell who shot yer eye out an what den?”

  “Then I can cut you loose, let you go.”

  “How dat work if’n you is part of dis gang a niggah hawks. I git away an it’s on you. Den whatchu say?”

  “I go with you. We both disappear. You tell me who shot me, I let you go, and we go our separate ways.”

  “An I say I doan b’leebe you. I say it dis way--you hep me run off’n den you run off’n fine me. We bof safe, I tell you mor’n whatchu wanna know. I tell you bout him. An I tell you bout where ta fine him. An I hep you cotch him.”

  “And Pitney. Can you help me find him?”

  “Fergit bout Hawk. He gone.”

  “Tomorrow night I’ve got middle watch again. When everything’s quiet, I will cut you loose and tell you where to meet me. I’ll stay and make sure no one wakes up and then I’ll go.” He put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Tomorrow night.” Quinn walked over to the rock and sat.

  On the next night’s watch Quinn left his knife next to the log where the big man sat with his head on his chest. Quinn went back and sat and crossed his arms and closed his eyes.

  When he opened them, the big man was gone. Quinn stepped back from the light of the fire, picked up his pack, and walked to the road. When he came to the creek, the black man appeared next to him.

  “We’re goin’ up to St. Louis. If anybody stops us, you are contraband. I will beat you if anyone needs convincing. We get to the city, there’s a place where we’ll both be safe.”

  They walked the road for an hour and found a ravine and holed up as the sky brightened.

  The next night they took to the brush and made their way east until they hit the tracks. They stayed between the rails and the river and headed north. During the daytime they rested, and while they waited for dark they traded
stories.

  “Massa Jeffery tole Massa Elliot not ta come back wit out her. I heared him say dat when we go. She way head, cuz she be hep by some white folk. We foun her trail close ta where you be shot, and you member ever thin when we got dere.

  We firs ride off ‘n Massa Elliot be bout crazy ta fine her, an he say ride back, an he say he knowed she be dare. He say he smell her. He ride up an shoot da mule, an he shoot you an de otter man, an he run inta de hotel. Hawk an me tuk out back afer de gal, him ridin down de road and me runnin true de bush. It din’t tak long. I hear de crashin true de trees makin racket an she stop noisin an I jes walk up’n cotch her an tote her back. Massa Elliott be settin fire aroun de hotel, an Hawk rode up an tole him ta git on de horse. De gal rode up front wit me fer a wile an we stop, an den Hawk wrap her up an she ride wit him.

  After dat we rode ta Sain Joe and got on de boat all de way to Sain Louie. Onliest trouble on de way was Massa Elliott messin at her alla time an when Hawk he say stop messin, Massa Elliott put a gun on him an Hawk he jes laughs. ‘I ain’t yo niggah, li’l man,’ he say. ‘You shoot me? You do an you nebbah git back ta yo daddy.’ An Hawk he smile an nod at me and dat’s when Massa whip me wit de pistol. I git on da groun, so he doan hurt me much, an when he done he say he take care a me in Sain Louie.

  De boat ride be long time. I be down in de boat room wit de gal, an she be hid cept fer a walk fer necessaries when it be dark, and Massa Elliott stay way. She nice, but she doan talk much an we jes sit an sometime sing. We git ta Sain Louie, Massa Elliott take charge a her lak he own her, an Hawk he take me back to de quatahs.”

  “Did you ever think of running? You know that when you caught the girl you were three miles from the border of a free state.”

  “Naw, wut I know be dat Massa Jeffery gots mah wibe an chile. He say he know long as dey wif him, he know I doan run. He laugh an say a coon houn run free all night by hisself an come home in da mornin ta sniff da bitch. Hawk brung my wibe an chile an we stay up all night, an in de mornin Massa Elliott come an take em back.”

  “That son of a bitch!”

  “Massa Jeffery he come nex mornin an ax bout mah bloody head an I say Massa Elliott disapined me on da way an I doan know why. An he say, niggah, I doan disapine you wit da rod. I disapine you wit da pussy. Ya do good fer me, but ya gotta learn respec fer Massa Elliott. He a hothead boy fer sure. Hawk gonna take you out fo nother hunt. You do good, you come back, we see bout yo pussy. I doan say nutin an he go.

  Hawk he come an we go out an cotch a messa runawayers, an Hawk say dat Massa say we gotta bring em direc to de market, so we put em on de boat an tek em to Kintucky.

  We gits off de boat an rope up de niggahs an take em to de Cheapside. Massa Pitney talk an argufy an say dese niggahs be Massa Walker niggahs an dey all say no. Dey say Massa Pitney gots ta sell his own niggahs.

  Dat when Massa Pitney talk ta Massa Robards an gits a place ta put are niggahs safe, an I stay wit dem in de pen. Massa Pitney come back an say I stay dere two day, den de auction, an I do dat.

  Den Massa Pitney come wit de clothes an tell me wash dem up clean. In de afer noon we go, an are niggahs walk free wit me ta de square an wait. When it be time we come ta de block fo de show an dat when I see my wibe up dere an are chile, an de man wit de cane hookin an pullen em, an dey all be cryin. I holler out, an dat when de men grab me an club me ta de groun an drag me off an I doan see dem ebah no mo. No mo.”

  Quinn left him in a limestone cave along the river. “You’ve got the pistol and the saddlebags. Stay in the back of the cave and don’t come out. We get your chains off and get you cleaned up and we’ll go into the city.”

  Quinn took the road and got a ride with a wagon. He climbed the stairs to Gratiot and rattled the door. When Lawrence opened, the grizzled soldier just shook his head and let him in.

  “Thanks, Lawrence.”

  “I won’t say you look like hell, Cap, but you look bad enough to need medical treatment. What do you think? Should I call a nurse?” He laughed and walked away.

  He returned with Elizabeth, who carried a duffle. “Oh, Jamie! Look at you. You look...”

  Quinn held up his hand “It’s OK. Lawrence already gave me a diagnosis. Can I clean up somewhere?”

  She pointed. “The door there. There’s a table with water and towels in there.” She handed him the bag. “Here’s a change of clothes. I’ll finish up in the ward and come out and wait for you.”

  On the way to the convent, Quinn told her his story of the last week. “I can’t stay long. I need a cold chisel and a hammer. Can you get them for me?”

  “And he’ll need clothes.”

  “He’s a big man. Whatever you’ve got, throw in a blanket.”

  And I’ll get you a horse. You can stay in my room and I’ll be back in an hour.”

  She left him with the sister and he slept in his clothes on top of the quilt.

  She came back with a bag full of clothes and a pistol in a holster and a Bowie knife and put them on the bed. “There’s plenty of these lying around the hospital. I thought you might feel better if you had them. Lawrence is getting the tools and a horse and should be here shortly.”

  “Lawrence? But who’s covering the door?”

  “He said it was OK, that he’d just lock up. He was happy to be given a job that mattered.”

  “Did you tell him?”

  “I started, and he said, ‘That’s enough, Missy. A man shows up lookin’ like that wantin’ a hammer and chisel and you’re carrying a gun. I’m old, but I ain’t dumb.’ He got a good laugh out of that.”

  “Elizabeth, I’m gonna bring him in, but I don’t know what to do when I get him into town. He’s still a runaway, and once I bring him in it’s only a matter of time before word gets out that he’s here.”

  “You don’t think we can keep him in the contraband camp? He’ll be safe there among his own, and they’re guarded at Benton.”

  “He won’t stand for it, and if it were up to me I wouldn’t either. Walker wants him, and if he finds out where he is, he’ll get him.”

  “You go get him, then. By the time you get back I’ll have a place. Bring him to the convent.”

  Quinn rode into town in the dead of night with the big man on a rope. He brought the slave directly to the carriage house and left him. Then Quinn presented himself to the little nun at the grate and she led him to Elizabeth’s room.

  Elizabeth was sitting at her desk writing and she rose to greet him. “Jamie. Is he all right? Can I get you something?”

  “He’s fine. I left him in the carriage house.”

  “We’re going to put him in the tool shed. I’ve outfitted it with blankets and ticking. Sister Claude will bring him his food and empty his slop pail.”

  “What did she do to get that duty?”

  “She volunteered.”

  Elizabeth went to the door and the little nun was standing there with a lantern. She handed Elizabeth the lantern and stepped out with them and watched as they walkedChapter 16 away.

  “She knows?”

  Elizabeth said, “Of course, she knows. She knows all about me and what I do, as does Mother Superior.”

  The black man was brushing the horse in the dark when they came in, and he kept brushing as Quinn introduced Elizabeth. The slave patted the horse’s back. “He a good horse.”

  Elizabeth held the lantern high. “We’re going to put you in the tool shed.” She led the way around the side of the building. “You’ll be safe there. We’ll lock the door and Sister will check on you.”

  “I be fine.” The slave unwrapped the rope that was coiled several times around his middle and gave it to Quinn.

  “You can move things around and make yourself comfortable,” Elizabeth said. “Tell Sister when she comes around if you need anything.”

  “I be fine.”

  They locked the big slave in and walked to the grated door. “Come back in, Jamie. It’s almost morning. You can leave before sunup.”

 
She knocked quietly and they were led to her room.

  They spent the hours talking. He told her about the escape from the Bolins. He told her about his reasons for freeing the slave. He talked about how he learned about Hunter and Hawk and how little he remembered about the day he was shot. He told Marion’s account of the burning of the hotel and the murder of Rafe. He related the slave’s history with Jeffery Walker and the big man’s fear of being returned to his master.

  “It was Elliott who arranged for him to see his family on the block, and it was Elliott and his men who took him down,” Quinn said. “Elliott turned him over to Pitney, his slave hunting partner, to bring him back, and I think he killed Pitney and then escaped. All he’d say when I asked is, ‘Hawk, he gone.’” Quinn came back around to telling her about Tiffany and the Bolin gang and to the contrabands who were building the new fort. He talked about those who were languishing in the sump of the old one.

  She told him about the people she worked with, especially about the men she admired, Will Brown and Lafayette Baker. She told him about Hoyt’s ride to Shawneetown.

  “A knight avenging his lady. Did it help?”

  “Some. No. I don’t know. When I read the newspaper story about it I felt some satisfaction. I read the article and I felt important. And after that I went to Stanton’s office in Washington where I met Lafayette Baker, and here I am.”

  “A spy in the service of your country. Trying to sort out this mess called Missouri?”

  “I trust that someone’s figuring it out. I do my part,”

  “You’ll tell Brown about me?”

  “I can keep your name out of the report. Tiffany and the Rolla operation are important. And the Bolins. How can it be? I can understand that Tiffany kidnaps negroes. I can understand that he sells them. How does he not know that he is dealing with the enemy?”

  “If you can understand him kidnapping and selling negroes, then it doesn’t matter who he sells them to.”

  “It does for me. In my job. I need to understand that part.”

  “It may matter to you, but it doesn’t to him. He’s dealing in the spoils of war. The negroes he kidnaps are contraband. He thinks no more about taking them than he would capturing horses that were running free.”

  “But who he’s selling them to. They…”

  “They look just like him. They’re wearing a uniform just like his and nobody blinks an eye. They melt into the army population just as they melt into the brush. Put a Union jacket on a man and he’s a Union soldier. Put him on a horse and he’s in the cavalry. Sew a patch on his arm and he’s an officer. Does Tiffany know who the Bolins are? Do Tiffany’s men know? Are the soldiers who pulled that man out of the pit part of the contraband kidnappings? Where does the money come from and where does it go? Who disappears along the way? Who knows what? And who cares?”

  “Do you care, Quinn?”

  Quinn stood. “I think it’s time to go.”

  Elizabeth sat and wrote her report. While she did not identify Quinn by name or link him with the Bolins, she named members of the gang. She named Captain Dexter P. Tiffany. She named Thomas Jefferson Walker and Elliott Norvell Walker and told about the girl who started it all. Now Brown has the big picture, she thought. He should be able to move.

  She would send it by courier in the morning.

 

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