A Dangerous Promise

by Joan Lowery Nixon

  116

  After reading just a few words Mike settled down comfortably. Major Taylor had written his feelings the way any father would have. "I understand your eagerness to serve the Union, and I'm proud of you for it," the major wrote. "However, you're but a boy, and I'm greatly concerned for your safety. When your ninety-day contract is up, I want you to return to Fort Leavenworth."

  There was advice—lots of it—but a strong, fatherly love came through in every word.

  Mike yearned for the war to end and for Major Taylor to return to Fort Leavenworth. More than anything, Mike wanted a father close at hand.

  The remaining letters were both warm and worried in tone. Each shared small funny family doings, as well as concerns about local problems or the actions of southern sympathizers. Danny's foster parents had been taunted repeatedly by a neighbor who resented their stand for the Union, and Danny complained bitterly about being too young to join the Union Army.

  "Whatever you do, Mike, that's what I want to do, too," Danny wrote, bragging, "I've been practicing with Alfrid's rifle, and you'd be surprised what a good shot I am."

  But Mike was far from sorry that Danny wasn't using that rifle in battle. It was with a great sense of relief that Mike visualized his once tag-along younger brother safely at home, with Alfrid and Ennie Swenson to care for him. With any luck the war would be over soon, and Danny would never see the horrors that Mike had seen or be surrounded by terrors like those Mike could never forget.

  Mike had no sooner flnished reading the letters than Billy Whitley settled down next to him. Billy held out some paper, envelopes, and a pencil. "In case you don't have any writin' materials left, I'm glad to share mine."

  "I can pay you," Mike offered, thinking of the money in his pocket, but Billy shook his head.

  "No need to. In return, you can do me a favor."

  "Glad to," Mike said easily. "What is it?"

  Billy pulled out a thin gold pocket watch with a delicately etched design on its lid, and held it up, dangling on its chain. "I've been thinkin' about Todd's watch and what's come of it, instead of his sister gettin' it, the way Todd wanted. This was my pa's watch, and there's no reason for me to be takin' it into battle and maybe losin' it or maybe a bullet ruinin' it, when by all rights my wife Aggie should have it." He looked at Mike pleadingly. "Will you take it to Aggie for me? She's gone with the children to stay with relations in St. Joe. If you're goin' through St. Joe, you could deliver this easy."

  Mike nodded. "Write down your wife's name and where I can find her, and I'll get the watch to her."

  "Thanks!" Billy clapped a hand on Mike's shoulder, and immediately set about writing the address, along with a note to Aggie. He put the papers with the watch inside an envelope.

  Mike tucked the envelope into his pocket and began to answer his letters. As he wrote, Mike thought about the sad eyes of the girl who had given him a drink of water and the frightened eyes of the housewife who had begun to hate her husband. There was so much to write about, so much to tell, but Mike wrote only that he had rejoined his company and would soon be discharged and sent home.

  In his letter to his mother he added that he'd stop off in St. Joe for a few days to visit. In his letter to Danny he wrote that while he was in St. Joe he'd make a trip to the Swen-sons' farm so the two of them could be together again, even if just for a little while.

  In the morning, after breakfast, Mike left camp with his papers and provisions and caught a ride with a sutler traveling to Jefferson City.

  The hilly countryside, with its splotches of sunlit meadows and shade-cool forests, was beautiful, and the sutler

  confided to Mike that he was glad to have company on the long trip.

  "If we meet up with any Confederate patrols, I've got a near-empty wagon and a small amount of cash in my pocket." He winked and added, "Just enough to satisfy 'em so they'll take it and let us go on our way."

  To Mike's relief, they did not meet up with Confederate soldiers, and at the end of the second day they arrived without mishap in "Jeff City," as the sutler called it. Even though the town was the capital of Missouri and probably bustling with business during dayhght hours, at this time of late evening not too many people were out on the streets. Mike stopped a shopkeeper who was locking his doors, to ask if Jefferson City was still under General Fremont's control, only to discover that Fremont's army had left camp and had begun its trek south to Springfield.

  "Now, if it's Confederate soldiers you're lookin' for, you're in better luck," the shopkeeper told Mike with a wink and a teasing grin. "A couple of patrols are in the area, and they've been showin' up here from time to time."

  Mike spoke up boldly, his mind on Jiri. "Where will I find these Confederates?"

  The shopkeeper looked at Mike in surprise. "If I were you, I wouldn't try too hard to find them," he said. "They're much more likely to find you. "

  But Mike searched for Rebels nonetheless, walking the streets where taverns were to be found, looking in vain for horses with Confederate Army trappings.

  His wanderings took him down to the landing where, among countless riverboats, a large stemwheeler was moored, its white paint gleaming brightly in the light from the dockside oil lamps. Mike leaned against a shuttered storefront in the shadows, awed by the ornate three-story floating giant.

  Suddenly, a slender figure appeared on the empty deck of the nearest boat and ran down a narrow gangplank to the

  dock, pausing under one of the hanging oil lamps. "Jim!" Mike whispered as he recognized his old friend who had traveled west with him on an orphan train. He hurried forward, calling, "Jim? Jim Riley?"

  "Mike!" Jim shouted as Mike came into the pool of light. "I never thought I'd see you here!"

  Since their last meeting, Jim had grown taller and more muscular, and the sun had browned his skin. Mike clapped Jim's shoulder. Grinning, Jim poked Mike's arm with his fist. "I guess you got what you wanted," Mike said, glancing at the docked paddlewheeler. "You told us you'd get adopted by a family who lived by the river."

  "It didn't work out exactly that way," Jim answered, and Mike caught a flash of sorrow in his eyes. "I ran away, drifted down here, and found work as a deckhand on the Mary Belle.'' Jim put an arm around Mike's shoulders and guided him to a bench under one of the lamps. "You're limping," he said. "What happened to you?"

  Mike flopped onto the bench next to Jim and told him briefly what had taken place in his life since they'd parted in St. Joe.

  "Shot in the leg in battle?" Jim slowly shook his head in wonder. "Mike Kelly a drummer in the Union Army? Never would the boys back on the New York docks beheve a wild tale like that!"

  They laughed, but Mike soon turned serious. "I'm being sent home to heal. I need to find out if there's a steamboat headed upriver to St. Joe."

  Jim jumped to his feet. "The Mary Belle is! One of the few passenger boats left after the army commandeered most of them. And yours truly"—he thumped his chest—"is traveling with the Mary Belle, polishing brass, oiling machinery, scrubbing decks, and slaving at whatever else the second mate can find to keep me busy twenty-four hours day and night."

  Mike got to his feet, balancing his knapsack and bedroll. "Can I get a ticket this time of evening?"

  "No, but you've got plenty of time," Jim told him. "The Mary Belle isn't due to shove off until ten o'clock tomorrow morning." He paused and studied Mike. "Have you got the price of a ticket?"

  "Depends," Mike said. "What's the cost?"

  "A cabin and three meals a day all the way to St. Joe will set you back forty to fifty dollars."

  Mike whistled. "I haven't got near enough."

  "Never mind," Jim said. "Seven dollars will buy you a place to sleep outside on one of the decks. Since you've got a bedroll, that shouldn't be a problem, and you can bring along your own food."

  When Mike didn't answer, Jim said, "You haven't got seven dollars either?"

  "Closer to five," Mike told him, "and some of that I'd need to use to buy fo
od for the trip."

  "Come on," Jim said cheerfully, and led the way toward the darkened boat. "You can sleep in my cabin tonight, and if Seth, the second mate, is in the same tavern he usually frequents, we'll find him and remind him that he can use another deckhand, now that Oliver's quit."

  Jim led Mike on a tour through the boat, showing him everything from some of the fancy cabins, with their chan-dehers and puffy coverlets on the beds, down to the boiler room, which was much more familiar to Jim. Finally, Mike and Jim settled into a cabin with space for little more than the two bunks that nearly filled it.

  As they chewed hard on the tough dried beef and bread from Mike's knapsack, Mike told Jim about his friend Todd and about Jiri's theft.

  Full of sympathy for his friend, Jim said, "We'll find Seth and make sure of that job for you." He stashed Mike's knapsack under his bunk behind his own possessions, then led the way to a tavern near the waterfront.

  The boys found Seth at an opportune moment. He was sitting in a tavern, complaining to his friends about the shortage of good help, with so many able-bodied hands off to fight the war on either side. Mike had only to assure him that he was fit and hearty enough to work as a deckhand, and all was settled. He'd report to work early the next morning.

  Once outside the tavern, Mike said, "If Jiri Logan's in Jefferson City, then he'll probably be with his friends, gambling at one of the taverns. Do you have any idea which ones the Confederates go to?"

  "I might," Jim said. They followed the nearest street down two blocks to a large, brightly lit tavern. Flickering lamps refiected in the water, which seemed to leap and jump with flashes of fight, but Mike's attention was drawn to the Confederate Army horses. He stopped Jim by gripping his arm.

  "There's Jiri's horse!" he whispered. "Tan with white markings. I'd recognize it anywhere."

  Jim looked up and down the empty street before answering, "No one's in sight. Do you want to look in the saddlebags?"

  Mike smiled, even though his pulse was racing. "If I find the watch and take it, Jiri might not notice it was missing for days. He might think he lost it."

  "I wouldn't be too sure," Jim said. "You tried for the watch once, and if it comes up missing, first thing off he'll suspect you were the one who lifted it."

  "That may be," Mike said, "but he won't know where to find me."

  Mike carefully scanned the sfient street and sUd quickly between the horses. "Keep watch," he whispered to Jim.

  Although the horse blew through its nose and nervously high-stepped back, pulling against its tether, Mike murmured soft soothing sounds and firmly stroked the animal's neck until it relaxed.

  Still speaking low to the horse, Mike gradually eased his right hand toward the saddlebag and opened the clasp. Standing on tiptoe, he reached down into the bottom of the pouch. With nervous fingers he explored inside until he touched the round cold metal of Todd's watch.

  This time Mike didn't hesitate. He grasped the watch firmly and pulled it out of the saddlebag. There was enough light to examine it thoroughly, and Mike was positive it was Todd's watch. There were the tooth marks left by Todd's baby sister. This was definitely Todd's watch!

  Mike fastened the clasp on the pouch again and slipped the watch into a pocket in his trousers. He stepped behind the horses and rejoined Jim, who seemed to be more interested in what Mike was doing than in watching the street.

  "I've got the watch!" Mike whispered. "Let's go!"

  Jim heaved a long sigh of relief. "No one's in sight," he said, and took off at a run. "Come on! Back to the boat!"

  Exhilarated by his triumph, Mike couldn't resist a last glance back at the tavern. But he was unprepared for the sight of a dark shape slipping from the shadows into the lamplight. The man looked directly at Mike, then turned and entered the tavern.

  "Mike, what's the matter? You look awful!" Jim said, his smile vanishing as Mike scrambled to join him at the gangplank.

  Clutching his chest as he swallowed great gulps of air, Mike managed to say, "A man was watching. I saw him. He looked right at me, then went into the tavern."

  "Are you sure?" Jim asked. '1 kept a sharp eye out. I didn't see anyone."

  "He was standing in the shadows. I spotted him when he stepped into the Ught." In his fright, Mike clasped Jim's arm. "He'll tell the soldiers. I know he wUl."

  "Why didn't he shout at us? Why'd he just watch?"

  "Maybe he recognized you, Jim. If he did, he knows we'd come back to the boat."

  Jim looked back along the empty landing. "If the man who saw us informed the Rebs, they'd have come after us, wouldn't they?"

  Maybe Jim was right, but Mike couldn't count on it. If Jiri

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  knew where to find Mike, he'd be in no rush to catch him. "Is there a place I can hide on board the boat?" he asked.

  Jim frowned. "Not if the Rebs make a thorough search."

  Mike hobbled off the gangplank, his right leg still aching with pain. "Then I'd better find another place to sleep. Maybe there's an alley ..."

  "Not an alley!" Jim brightened and jumped down to join Mike. "I know just the spot, and I can get a key to let us in." He pointed to a narrow street that led away from the landing. "You head for the storage rooms. Fourth building down, ru meet you there."

  While Jim ran up the gangplank and disappeared into the boat, Mike hurried to the protective darkness of the street.

  He had no sooner left the landing than he heard footsteps. Flattening himself against the side of the building, Mike had a clear view of men striding across the landing and up the gangplank of the Mary Belle. There were two in civilian clothes and three Confederate soldiers—and one of them was Jiri!

  In the silence Jiri's voice carried clearly. "A boy with red hair? And you're sure he's on this boat, Mr. Groot?"

  Mike's head throbbed. He took a step forward, instinctively wanting to rush to the boat to help his friend. But he stopped himself. Jim would probably have a better chance on his own. After all, Jim had a job on the boat, a right to be there.

  Mike waited and watched as lanterns suddenly glowed on board the main deck. He could see the search parties moving from deck to deck, from prow to stem.

  Suddenly a quick figure appeared, racing down the gangplank. "Jim!" Mike hissed as Jim entered the dark street. "Over here!"

  "They didn't see me," Jim said. "Come on! Hurry! We've got to get you hidden in the storage rooms!"

  Mike's leg throbbed as he ran to catch up with Jim. Fi-

  nally, he reached the door that Jim held open and slipped inside.

  "Where to now?" Mike asked, recovering his breath once Jim had closed and locked the door. "It's so dark in here, I can't see a thing."

  Jim took Mike's arm. "Just come along with me. I know my way well. There's a path next to these boxes. It makes a turn—ooof!" Jim staggered back. "It makes a turn right here."

  As they felt their way along the open path, Mike's eyes began to adjust to the darkness, and he could see boxes of all shapes and sizes.

  "Some of this is cargo. It'll be carried on board in the morning," Jim told Mike. "Seth will be sure to give us the heaviest loads."

  "How am I going to get on the boat?" Mike asked. "Jiri will be there looking for me."

  "No, he won't," Jim said. "When he finds you're not on board, he'll leave and look elsewhere."

  Jim stopped and began shoving some boxes aside. "There's a door back here," Jim said. "It leads into a room too small to bother with. That's where you're going to hide."

  Jim pushed open a small door, which led to a black pit. "It's not much bigger than a cupboard," Jim said, "but at least there's enough room to lie down, so you can get some sleep tonight. I'll come back for you early in the morning, when it's time to get to work."

  Mike hesitated before he entered the room. Sweat rolled down his back, and his hands were clammy. "It's like a tomb in here," he murmured.

  "It's the safest place I can think of for you to hide," Jim told him. "If you like, I'l
l leave the door open just a crack."

  "I'd like," Mike said. "Thanks."

  The boxes scraped on the groimd and smacked the door as Jim secured Mike into his hiding place. Mike gulped down his anxiety.

  "Are you going to be all right?" Jim asked, his voice muffled through the wall of boxes.

  "Sure," Mike answered bravely. Was that the scrabbling of rats in the comer? Or was his imagination playing tricks on him?

  "Jim?" Mike asked, but Jim didn't answer. Mike was alone.

  Mike made himself sit down and lean against the nearest wall. He could rest this way. He could even sleep.

  But sleep gave him little comfort, as flashing lights and the tread of footsteps filled his dream. Worst of all, Jiri held up Todd's watch and laughed wickedly.

  Waking with a start and a cry, Mike saw that the flashes of fight were real, not part of a dream. He heard someone say, "Listen. Did you hear that? What was it?"

  "I didn't hear anything," a man answered.

  Another man laughed. "Probably a rat. You're going to find plenty of rats in these bmldings near the water."

  Mike would have recognized that scornful voice and laugh anywhere—^Jiri's.

  As quietly as he could, Mike stood and put one eye to the crack in the door. The two men stood a fair distance away, their backs to Mike's hiding place.

  Carefully, Mike pulled the door completely shut and leaned against the wall, weak with fear. What if he were discovered? The men with Jiri would never believe that it was Jiri, not Mike, who had really stolen the watch. With Jiri out to get him, Mike knew he wouldn't stand a chance.

  The lanterns came near, outlining the edges of the door in thin streaks of light. Close to panic, afraid to breathe, Mike tensed, waiting for the door to burst open and Jiri to appear.

  But instead the light faded as the searchers moved on.

  Li a short whfie darkness closed in like a smothering blanket, and the storage rooms fell silent.

  Mike's knees buckled. He slid down the wall, collapsing