Paw scratched his cheek, his gaze never leaving me. “It was a mighty curious situation when we reached the privy. The door wasn’t open with your arm flopping through it like Tige described, but closed. I opened it, and there was Cyrus between you and the seat holes, your blade in his belly.” Paw’s brows arched. “I spied your empty scabbard and figured the blade was yours. So I blocked the doorway, keeping the others behind me, till I hid it in my boot. You know the rest.”
He glanced at Tap. “I had Ethan thrown in the river to wash the vomit and the blood off of him and bring him around. I ordered the same for you, figuring you were responsible for his drunkenness.”
Tap’s chin drooped, and he mumbled to himself, not daring to contest the truth of Paw’s accusation.
Paw’s recounting explained much for me. The crackling flames, the heat, and the bloody knife hadn’t been the work of the devil on a rampage. And by the purest stroke of luck, the late hour and the cabin fire had kept any sober tavern patron from visiting the outhouse and observing the scene of Cyrus Paine’s murder with me and my knife present.
Tap could restrain himself no longer. “Well, by damned, if’n Ethan didn’t gut the clerk, who did?”
“We may never find out unless a witness comes forth,” Paw acknowledged with a sigh. “Tige said he told you two Cyrus was at the Scarlet Knight. Did you see or talk to him?”
The pain of the lump on my forehead was lessening. Someone had to tell Paw what had transpired, and I preferred I be the one rather than Tap. With a big sigh of my own, I started talking, relating everything from my conversation with Ensign Young till I was struck senseless in the privy. I tripped over my tongue some, repeated some things, but in the main did a credible job of it. Paw and Tap, though the old scout toed the ground with a bare toe now and again, heard me out without comment or questions.
Paw stared at the fire. “Well, Cyrus didn’t kill himself. He told somebody about your wanting to discuss that manifest with Dyson Barch. Whoever he told either murdered him or was the cause of it being done.”
Tap, relieved Paw didn’t intend to scold him for confronting Cyrus Paine on his own volition at the Scarlet Knight, at least not at the moment, ventured, “Like Court Starnes?”
“Probably not. Court should be on his way downriver from Limestone with a shipment of flour and more packhorses,” Paw informed us. “He’s not due till day after tomorrow at the earliest.”
“What about Barch?”
“Might could’ve been Dyson,” Paw conceded. “He’s been Starnes’s lackey ever since Court arrived from Fort Pitt. It seems his sole duty is to guard Court’s backside when he’s in Cincinnati and spy on my doings when he’s not. We’ll have to inquire as to his whereabouts tonight.” Paw glanced at Tap. “But a little less brashly this go-round, you don’t mind, Mr. Jacobs.”
It was always a telltale sign that Paw’s mood might be changing if he started addressing you as “Mister.” Tap was suddenly furiously busy donning his clothes, not overly concerned whether they were dry or not. Aware of Tap’s ruse, Paw just smiled and turned to me. “What brings the two of you to Cincinnati, anyways? I gave you specific orders to stay with Bear Watkins, I remember.”
My answer was delayed by Tige’s arrival. Skin black as midnight in the brightening dawn, he came bearing a copper kettle of tea and an armful of tin cups. He poured from the yawning vessel without spilling a drop. Never before had plain green tea tasted fine as Madeira wine. “Morning victuals are nearly ready at the cabin,” Tige announced.
“We’ll be right along,” Paw assured him. “Thanks much for the tea. Well, Ethan?”
“General Butler wanted a message delivered here that we must supply him hobbles and bells for the horse herd immediately. Captain Starkweather picked me to make the ride. Bear insisted Tap join me, two rifles being better than one.”
“I take it immediately means yesterday to General Butler?”
“Yes, sir. The captain says he’s at the end of his tether with contractors. And General St. Clair is of the same opinion.”
It wasn’t a pleasant chore, but I revealed to Paw St. Clair’s biting condemnation of Duer’s supply efforts to date during our chance meeting of the general’s entourage north of Fort Hamilton. Paw’s hat brim dipped, and he rubbed his cheekbones with thumb and forefinger. His jaw lifted, and I noticed in the increasing daylight how severely fatigue had deepened and bunched the lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth. To my dismay, he appeared much older than when he had recently visited us upcountry.
It hurt me inside to admit Paw was aging. Like every son who revered his sire, I boyishly believed he would remain handsome and young and bull-strong forever. I loved him, so I wanted nothing whatsoever to harm him or make him less of a hero. God, standing there sipping tea, how I wished we were home in Kentucky with the whole Duer mess behind us. I would even tolerate the silly dizziness of my sisters, were that required.
I drained my tin cup with a final swallow and plopped on the log that held my drying clothes to don my moccasins. Wishful thinking, I reminded myself, amounted to less than a quick spit. Paw would never renege on his commitments and leave St. Clair’s forces in the lurch. Every ounce of energy he possessed would be expended to rectify what had gone awry, whether the blame fell to him or not. That was the way of a man totally dedicated to what was right and proper. He wore mighty big boots, my Paw did, and I doubted I would ever wear that large a size. My most fervent hope was that I could be more of a help than a hindrance to him.
“Gentlemen, here’s our plan for the day,” Paw said, finishing his own tea. “First we eat. Then, while you sleep off your drunk, Tap, and Ethan rests that knot on his skull, I’ll scavenge up every scrap of leather in Cincinnati. This afternoon, the two of you can start making those hobbles for General Butler.”
“What about Dyson Barch?” Tap put in. “Ain’t we gonna scout around for him?”
“Naw, he’ll show of his own accord,” Paw contended. “Meantime, before Court Starnes lands from Limestone, I intend to search Paine’s office for the original manifest. I doubt it’s there. Lest Cyrus was a fool, he destroyed it soon as he sanded his forgery. But I’ve got to have a look. Without the original manifest, it’s our word against that of Starnes.”
Tap grimaced and disgustedly tossed the balance of his tea into the fire. “I’m the fool, Caleb. My loose mouth has taken our bobber under.”
As was his habit, Paw removed his flat-crowned hat and ran fingers through his black hair. “Don’t condemn yourself just yet, my friend. Thievery and murder often beget punishments befitting the crime, punishments harsher than anything we might imagine.”
It was a point Paw didn’t need to repeat. The fate of Cyrus Paine—a knife in the belly—seemed plenty harsh to me. What could be harsher than that?
Chapter 13
Morning, 10 October till Evening, 14 October
The dizziness beset me following the morning meal. I stepped from the stoop of the Duer company cabin, and my legs buckled. Confused by my sudden helplessness, I lay on my backside in the dusty street, trying to decide which of the twin Paws frowning down at me was real and which the imagined. Though he was but inches from my nose, Paw’s words echoed like he was shouting in a rock gorge. “Must be that blow to his skull. Let’s carry him inside. Tige will look after him for us.”
Five nightmarish days followed. I slept mostly, time being of no importance. My lucid minutes were limited and difficult to remember. I did later recall hearing Paw at the table opposite my rope bed claim rumor abounded on the waterfront that the powder kegs intended for General St. Clair’s artillery had been dropped into the Ohio below Marietta the previous summer. Unfazed, the boat crew had recovered the kegs and not reported the incident upon docking at Cincinnati. Paw had reminded his companions of General St. Clair’s oft-stated conviction that his army could defeat any force of redsticks it encountered due to its possession of cannon and its superior numbers. But what would happen, Paw wondered, i
f those heavy guns proved ineffective because of powder fouled months earlier.
If I tried to move my head the slightest, eye-watering pain rippled through my brain. The good thing was that during my few lucid minutes, Tige was always present with a noggin of meat broth and a spoon. The fact that more broth rolled out the corner of my mouth than I swallowed bothered the black cook and roustabout not at all.
By noon of the fifth day, 14 October, I managed to touch the knot on my forehead without suffering undue agony. By early afternoon, I was sitting up with my legs draped over the railing of the bed. Nature called shortly thereafter, and the resourceful Tige held the slop jar for me. Lured by the aromas of his cooking, I was already seated at the table and partaking of his evening victuals when Paw, Tap, and the two wagoners, Thaddeus and Timothy, entered the cabin at dusk.
“Well, lookee by God here,” Tap intoned. “Now that all the damn hobbles are made, our young bucko’s emptyin’ a plate like a starved hound.”
“I’m pleased you’re upright, Ethan,” Paw said, pulling a chair from under the table. He waited for the others to fill chairs also. “Gentlemen, an army messenger just dismounted at Fort Washington. He rode one horse to death and wind-broke a second reaching here. St. Clair’s situation is desperate. He had but a two-day supply of flour remaining yesterday morning. Nothing breeds discontent and inspires soldiers to mutiny and desertion like short rations. If we don’t replenish the army’s stores jack quick, the whole campaign may well collapse.”
I laid my spoon on the table. “Has Court Starnes landed yet?”
“No, but he could any hour. He probably had trouble purchasing pack animals. We’ve acquired about all the available horseflesh in northern Kentucky as it is, have we not, Tap?” With the old scout’s vigorous nod, Paw continued. “We need another ten animals to complete a decent pack string. We’ve two thousand pounds of flour in our warehouse on the high ground above the stock pen. Court must fetch another two tons if we’re to alleviate St. Clair’s shortages for just half a week. We’ll depart for the north within a few hours after Court lands, be it day or night. Understood?”
Given the danger of what Paw was proposing, General St. Clair had to truly be in desperate straits. I had been awake before dawn and heard heavy rain falling, and the air was damp and raw whenever the cabin door opened and closed. The weather was changing and not for the better. Additional rain would turn the military road accessing the army into a muddy slough. Traveling that slippery surface in the dark of night would imperil the legs of the horses every step. And then there was always the redsticks and their constant waylaying of travelers to worry about. Yet not a soul at the table voiced an objection. Such was their loyalty to my father.
The meal went quickly, Tige refilling plates till each diner held up a hand signaling he was full. “Tige, you’re a wonder, an honest-to-God wonder,” Tap praised with the usual stroking of his belly.
“He’s a liar, Tige,” Thaddeus interjected with a rumbling laugh. “The last cook who feeds him is always an honest-to-God wonder, same as the last woman who doesn’t run off when he unbuttons his breeches afore her.”
“Damn you, Thaddeus, it’s sad the Lord gifted you with all that heft, or I’d whip you to a fare-thee-well,” the not-so-insulted Tap crowed.
Even Paw laughed at Tap’s empty brag. “Gentlemen, I believe we have unfinished business. I trust the hobbles are sacked and ready, the packsaddles lined out at the warehouse, each packhorse checked for sores or lameness, and our personal gear, including the field tents, packed. Am I correct?”
“Yes, sir, you are,” Timothy responded. “We let Tap tire his jaw the whole day, an’ he didn’t hinder our work nary a bit.”
After another good laugh at Tap’s expense, Paw dismissed the old scout and the wagoners, bluntly stating he was dismissing them to the river tent to sleep and not the Scarlet Knight to imbibe. That restriction set Tap to carping how seldom sincere toil was fairly rewarded as he went out the door on the heels of Thaddeus and Timothy.
Paw’s staying behind was deliberate. I rose from the table and strode to the rope bed in the room’s far corner, striding carefully but purposefully. The pain had diminished to a dull throb across my forehead, and the dizziness was finally gone. All in all, I was in much better shape than the year before when I’d stupidly allowed Cass Talbot the first punch and been thrashed within an inch of death. Then I’d hurt everywhere imaginable from his punching and kicking and seen double for a week.
“Ethan, how do you feel?” Paw asked, dragging his chair to the side of the bed.
I settled on the lumpy straw-tick mattress. “I’ll be ready to ride with you and the others. I won’t be left behind.”
Maybe Paw wasn’t in the mood to argue. Maybe he was beginning to abide by my judgment at least once in a great while. More likely, he remembered the Talbot fight and how quickly I’d recovered, for Paw was short of men he could rely upon, men in whom he had absolute confidence, men whose first allegiance was tied to him and not Court Starnes. Anyway and anyhow, he avoided any argument over whether or not I was able enough to mount a horse and stay in the saddle for hours on end with a closed-eyed nod.
That agreement secured, I broached another subject quick as could be by asking a question that nagged me unmercifully during my wakeful periods. “Did you find the manifest in the clerk’s office?”
Paw sighed. “I didn’t expect it to be there. Tap forewarned Cyrus Paine, and Cyrus was thorough with his transactions. He may have destroyed the original soon as he finished the forgery.”
“Then why kill him or have him killed?”
“If he had already destroyed the evidence, it was to keep him out of our grasp. I read every manifest and receipt of purchase in his office. None of them looked like forgeries, but I don’t doubt other manifests and receipts were bloated a-purpose, just not as blatantly as with the Barch shipment. Remember, if not for Ensign Young’s sharp eyes, we wouldn’t be any the wiser.”
“So it’s our word against that of Court Starnes?”
Paw nodded. “Lest we can find other written evidence or witnesses who will testify before the army,” he concluded.
“Didn’t anybody see what really happened at the privy?”
“No one’s stepped forward yet. And maybe that’s not all bad. No one saw Cyrus with your knife in him, either.”
“What about Dyson Barch? Was he in Cincinnati that night?” I persisted.
“Yeah, he was. He was in the Scarlet Knight that evening.”
I rose excitedly onto an elbow, but Paw raised a placating palm. “His being about proves nothing, though I can’t fathom who else Cyrus had reason to warn with Court upriver at the time. Barch may have murdered Cyrus on a whim if he thought the blame might be laid at his stoop. Dyson Barch is as ruthless as Court.”
I dared a question next that could easily rile Paw, who never revealed more of his personal thinking than he thought necessary, even to blood kin. “Did you suspect they were stealing from the army?”
Paw’s sigh now was deep and heartfelt. “I suspected something was amiss. Officers from General St. Clair to the lesser ranks have complained of shortages of equipment like axes as much as they have of how poorly the axes were tempered. With what we’ve discovered, no one can say with any certainty how many axes or quantities of other items were actually purchased and shipped downriver. And Hodgdon and his quartermaster department are no help. They can’t add or plan ahead, and are found wanting every week. The army would never have marched from here if St. Clair hadn’t established his own manufactory and armory inside Fort Washington. His artificers turned out everything from musket cartridges to leather splints for the wounded.”
Paw lifted wearily from his chair. “We can’t allow St. Clair’s soldiers to suffer short rations, not as long as we can do something about it. For the moment, the success of his campaign is more important than proving Court Starnes and his henchmen are cheating the army.”
I couldn’t let P
aw retire without assuaging my own guilt. “I’m sorry I fouled the nest for you. I shouldn’t have gotten drunk with Tap.”
“Ethan, we can’t undo the past. It pays to remember, though, that we can’t outrun its consequences. Get your rest. There may not be much warning before we push north.”
Paw bade Tige good night from the door and was gone into the dark outside. It was as much forgiveness as I was to receive from him. But injury or no injury, I wasn’t being left behind. Through the five days of dizziness and pain, always there in the back of my mind, pretty as a polished gemstone reposing in a pool of clear water, had been the face of Erin Green. And sorry as I was for Paw, the prospect of not seeing her again was as devastating as having to confess I had failed him as well as Ensign Young. Perhaps more so. That disturbing realization only strengthened a final, nagging, unanswered question, the one that had plagued me since Tap and I departed for the Ohio:
Would she ever even speak to me again?
Chapter 14
15 October
The rain resumed the latter half of the night. The steady drumming on the cabin roof put me in such deep sleep it required much shaking by Tige to awaken me. The slim roustabout scalded the grogginess from me with a noggin of piping hot tea laced with whiskey. “Your father stuck his head in the door. He says Mr. Starnes has landed many Kentucky boats. You’re to report to Mr. Downer without delay.”
Not desiring to foster any doubts as to my strength and vigor on Paw’s part, I donned my moccasins and blanket coat with haste and departed with a wad of Tige’s cured jerk filling one pocket. When Paw laid into a chore, his bent was so serious, victuals were unimportant till the work was done. A wise man under his direction, therefore, protected himself from the natural onset of hunger every chance he could.
It was a gray, miserable dawn. Drizzling rain fell, and the dirt of the street separating the company cabin from the line of tents and the river across the way was slippery and pitted with shallow puddles. Drifting mist hung over the surface of the Ohio, thin and wispy as bodice lace on a sack gown. Stalled clouds obscured the hills lining the river’s far bank.
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