by Mike Blakely
“When we get to Port Caddo, a big fellow named Brigginshaw is going to board for New Orleans. Wears a beard, talks with an Australian accent. You can’t mistake him.”
“And?”
“Well, I’d just as soon he didn’t know I was on board. Personal matter. You understand.”
“No, not really.”
Colton took a gold coin from his pocket and flipped it into the air. “Well, if you could refrain from using my name out loud, and see that I get my meals behind the curtain in my berth, I would make it worth your while.” He held the double eagle out for the clerk to take.
“I don’t see any harm in that, Mr. Colton.” The youth slipped the coin in his pocket.
“Now, don’t ‘mister’ me, son. Just call me Henry.”
He was watching from the shadows of the hurricane deck when the Hopper moored at the Port Caddo wharf. It was the middle of the night. He expected to see no one but Brigginshaw board. But as soon as the gangplank fell on the wharf, a burly man trotted from behind the jailhouse, to the wharf, and sprinted up the gangplank.
Colton got only a glimpse in the dark, but recognized the new passenger as the man with the gator eyes. He had learned at Esau’s that Kelso was suspected of blowing up the Glory of Caddo Lake three months before. And, he had a grudge against Brigginshaw. Colton sighed. He didn’t care for complications at this point. What did Kelso have in mind?
Brigginshaw didn’t leave the Treat Inn until the final whistle blew. Billy came out on the front porch and shook the big man’s hand. Carol Anne hugged him. They were good friends to see him off past midnight.
As the captain boarded, Colton went quickly to his berth and pulled the curtain. He strapped on a shoulder holster holding a .44-caliber Smith & Wesson revolver. He pulled a light jacket on over the weapon and lay down on his berth to listen.
There was a card game going on in the forward part of the saloon, but he heard the Australian’s long strides tramp across the floor, muting the swearing voices and clinking glasses.
“This will be your stateroom, here, Captain Brigginshaw,” the clerk said.
“Stateroom, is it?” The deep laughter filled the long saloon.
Brigginshaw was across the saloon and three berths aft. Colton could lie behind his curtains and keep track of Trevor’s comings and goings. He hoped Trevor was in a drinking mood. It had been three nights since the big Australian had tied one on. Colton had him pretty well patterned. Yes, the big pearl-buyer would be thirsty tonight.
But where was Judd Kelso? He hadn’t come up to the boiler deck. Probably riding among the cargo on the main deck. The fares were lower down there. Every pearler in the Goose Prairie camps knew Kelso had run out of money two weeks ago. He had tried pearling for two days, then disappeared. Tonight was the first Colton had seen of him since then. What was he up to, sneaking aboard like that?
The Slough Hopper was backing into the Big Cypress Bayou channel when Colton heard Brigginshaw’s boots pace forward to the whiskey bar. Someone was playing a harmonica, and playing it rather well, Colton thought. The steam engines were barking again. Still, he could hear Trevor’s rich voice ordering a drink. The smell of the clerk’s pipe tobacco hung in the stagnant air of the passenger cabin.
He found himself wishing for whiskey, though his stomach was still sore from retching this morning. Nothing to do now but wait. Wait for Trevor to get drunk, pick a fight, lay some poor devil out with the satchel, and retire to his berth. It would take till dawn.
He had been listening to Brigginshaw’s loud talk and laughter for over an hour when the steam whistle blew.
“What’s that about?” Brigginshaw asked.
“Someone wanting to board at Potter’s Point, I guess,” the clerk answered.
“You bloody guess!” The captain was beginning to feel belligerent. “I suppose I’ll have to find out for myself.”
Colton peeked through his curtains and saw the captain leave through the forward saloon door. He quickly left his berth and headed aft, climbing the stairs to the hurricane deck as soon as he left the saloon. Once above the passenger cabin, he snuck forward on the starboard side, passing between the texas and the exposed moving members of the huge paddle wheel.
Remaining in the shadows, he looked ahead and saw a lantern on the shore. He saw men and horses in the small circle of light. The bayou was wider here, the cypress trees fewer and farther away from the channel. Stepping momentarily into the light of the burning pine knots, he looked down on the boiler deck and saw Trevor standing directly under him, clutching the satchel, watching the men and horses at Potter’s Point.
The Slough Hopper made for the lantern light and lowered the gangplank. Five men waited to board, with six saddled horses. Colton didn’t think the extra horse unusual, except that it was saddled. Perhaps the men were taking the extra horse and saddle to a friend across the lake.
The clerk went down to the main deck to collect the fees for men and horses. The first four mounts clapped up the gangplank behind their owners as if they boarded riverboats every day. The fifth animal proceeded with much more caution, balking every few steps and caning its neck to see in the glare of the pine knots. The horse took the last step onto the main deck in a leap that knocked one of the horsemen down.
Colton heard Captain Brigginshaw chuckle.
The sixth horse at first refused to negotiate the gangplank. When finally persuaded to climb the narrow ramp, it got halfway up and jumped off, falling into the shallow water. Trevor stomped the boiler deck and roared with laughter.
One of the horsemen mounted the unwilling animal and rode up and down the dark lakeshore for two or three minutes, whipping and spurring the horse relentlessly. When the animal was well spent, it climbed the gangplank almost anxiously. Trevor laughed down on the entire episode from the boiler deck, and Colton looked down on Trevor from the shadows of the hurricane deck.
When the gangplank was raised and the Hopper under way again, the five horsemen climbed to the boiler deck where the Australian stood. Colton saw the buckle of a gun belt at one man’s waist. Another carried a gunnysack, apparently stuffed with a change of clothes.
“Bloody fine entertainment!” the captain said as the men reached the top of the stairs.
“From up here, I reckon it was,” the man with the gunnysack said.
“Come inside and let me buy you a drink for your trouble,” Trevor said.
“Hell, partner, we don’t want to drink that rotgut this old tub sells.” He reached for a bottle in his gunnysack. “But you’re welcome to drink some of our good whiskey with us.”
Colton could barely hear their voices over the steam engines. The new passengers exchanged introductions, shook hands with Trevor, passed various bottles and flasks, talked and laughed loudly. The Slough Hopper was back in the channel, steaming forward, heading for the open water of Caddo Lake.
This might be just the break, Colton thought. These horsemen might be just what it takes to get Trevor drunk. He was thinking about sneaking back into his berth from the rear of the saloon when he heard a voice call from the boiler deck, below and aft:
“Hey, you ugly Australian son of a bitch!”
Colton recognized the voice as that of the gator-eyed man, Judd Kelso. He had almost forgotten Kelso was aboard. Now it looked as if he wouldn’t be aboard for long. Brigginshaw was sure to throw him off.
“Who the hell is that?” one of the horsemen said.
“He must be talkin’ to you, Captain. We’re from Arkansas.”
The horsemen laughed.
“Aye, he’s talking to me, mates,” Trevor said. “And he’ll bloody answer to me as well.”
The thin voice of the gator-eyed man rose again: “I owe you a ass-whipping Brigginshaw. Come and get it.”
From the deck above, Colton followed the footsteps and the jingling spurs aft, wondering what he should do, if anything. He knew Brigginshaw could handle Kelso. Maybe that’s what concerned him. Kelso should have known it, too.
Ol’ Gator Eyes couldn’t be stupid enough to think he’d fare any better against the big Aussie this time. Maybe he had a gun. Maybe he had murder on his mind.
“Hot-damn, boys,” one of the horsemen said. “Looks like a fight.” When Colton came to the churning paddle wheel, the engine and machinery noises drowned out all the talk from the deck below. He strained to hear above the blasts of the exhaust valve and the rotations of the huge wheel. He didn’t know for sure if he heard anything unusual, or if he saw a shadow move in a way it shouldn’t have, or if he just plain smelled trouble. But suddenly he sensed that Trevor Brigginshaw needed help bad.
Colton stepped to the rail in front of the paddle wheel, leaned over, and looked below. The man with the gunnysack had put it over Brigginshaw’s head from behind. Another man was pulling on the leather satchel in the Australian’s right hand. A third held the pearl-buyer’s left arm. A fourth had a leg. The man wearing the gun belt had drawn his pistol and was using it to beat Trevor about the head. Firing it would make too much noise, alert too many passengers. Instead, the men were trying to pistol-whip and push the big pearl-buyer headfirst into the turning paddle wheel. They were going to let the Slough Hopper do their murdering for them.
Trevor still had one leg free and was kicking heroically with it. With his outstretched arms against the structural members and hog chains, he was preventing the robbers from beheading him with the paddle wheel. But Colton knew that not even Brigginshaw could hold out long against six men. He drew his Smith & Wesson from the shoulder holster. No good. From his position above, he could barely see the bandit with the pistol, and that was the one he needed to shoot first.
He pulled himself back onto the hurricane deck and sprinted as lightly as he could to the forward stairs. He took the steps four or five at a time, leaping down to the boiler deck. He turned the corner of the passenger cabin and ran back toward the fight at the paddle wheel, leading with his Smith & Wesson.
Now he heard Kelso’s voice: “Move, Christmas, and let me split his head open.” The gator-eyed man wielded the Hopper’s iron capstan bar over his head.
The bandit with the pistol looked forward. Colton was proud to be sober. His aim was superb when he wasn’t drunk.
The Smith & Wesson fired as the capstan bar came down on Brigginshaw’s head. The bandit with the pistol fell, and the others scattered, leaving the Australian’s body slumped inches from danger on the boiler deck, the sack still on his head. The robber tugging at the leather satchel came away with it and ran aft. Then Trevor’s body fell over to one side, and Henry thought the paddle wheel would finish what the outlaws had started. The pearl-buyer’s head came so close that the crushing wheel snagged the sack and yanked it off, exposing Trevor’s bloody face.
Two of the bandits produced weapons and fired back at Colton. Coolly, he ignored the muzzle blasts and fired at the man carrying the satchel. The bandit fell, dropping the leather bag. Kelso jumped from the boiler deck, into the water. Two others swung over the railing, down to the main deck where the horses stood. The last outlaw ran down the aft stairs.
Colton heard the hooves drumming crazily on the main deck as he trotted aft. He kicked the revolver away from the first robber he had shot, for the man was still moving. He pulled Trevor away from the paddle wheel. He saw blood in the Australian’s hair, but the huge chest was still heaving.
He continued aft and put his pistol to the head of the second bandit he had shot, but could tell that the man was dead when he rolled him over. The leather satchel was in the bandit’s death grip. Colton grabbed it.
Horses were pounding the deck below, leaping into the lake. Colton looked over the rail and considered letting a few rounds go at a man on a swimming horse. No need. Let them go. Don’t draw their fire now.
He looked forward and saw that Trevor Brigginshaw was still out cold. The leather pearl-and-money bag was in his own hand now. He had what he needed, and two outlaws, to boot. He felt his heart racing. He felt more alive than he had in months. Years!
Damn, Henry, he thought. Your luck’s comin’ back.
20
WHEN TREVOR BRIGGINSHAW CAME TO, HE SAW SEVERAL BLURRY MEN looking down on him. He heard voices and smelled tobacco smoke. He focused on the ceiling of the riverboat saloon and felt for his satchel with each hand.
“He’s coming out of it, Mr. Colton,” a voice said. “I mean, Henry.” Trevor recognized the voice as that of the young riverboat clerk.
He tried to sit up, but his head hurt terribly, and the exertion made his stomach feel ill. He closed his eyes and remembered the smelly sack over his head and the horrible sounds of the paddle wheel, screeching inches from his ears. He remembered Judd Kelso, and a name: Christmas.
Opening his eyes again, he saw a familiar face. He grabbed Henry Colton by the collar. “My case.”
“Easy, Trev. I’ve got it right here. I looked after it for you while you were out.”
Trevor felt the familiar handle in his hand. He tried to sit up again, and succeeded with some help from the passengers. He found himself on the dining table of the Slough Hopper. “Henry, what in the bloody hell are you doing here?” He touched his head where the capstan bar had hit him.
“Saving your life, looks like,” Colton said.
“The Christmas Nelson gang tried to rob you,” the clerk added.
Trevor looked around at the passengers, then back at Colton. “I thought you were going back to the Indian Territory.”
“That was just a story, Trev. Sorry I had to lie to you. Comes with the job.”
“What bloody job?”
“Mr. Colton’s a Pinkerton detective,” the clerk said.
“That’s right, Trev. I’ve been after that Christmas Nelson gang. Sorry you had to get between us.”
The Australian saw two bloody men stretched out on the saloon floor. “Is that them?”
“Two of them,” Colton replied. “One dead, one damn near dead. I don’t know if either one of ’em is Christmas Nelson himself.”
“Did they get anything?” He fumbled with the latches to his leather case.
“Not a thing, Trev.” Colton put his hand on the big man’s shoulder. “I stopped them before they could open it. Your goods are safe.”
The pearl-buyer breathed a sigh of relief and stood, steadying himself with one hand on the table. “Where the hell are we, Henry? How long have I been out?”
Henry chuckled. “You’ve only been out a few minutes. That iron bar would have killed any other man on this boat. We’re heading back to Port Caddo to put that live one in jail. Captain Pipes didn’t hardly want to, but I told him the Pinkerton Agency would pay for the lost time.”
Trevor motioned for a glass of whiskey that one of the passengers was holding. “Why are we going back to Port Caddo? They must have a better jail in Shreveport.” He poured the contents of the glass over his wounded head, wincing as the whiskey stung him.
“Last thing I want to do is cross a state line with a prisoner. If that wounded one lives, I’ll have all that extradition foolishness to deal with to get him back to Texas for trial.”
Brigginshaw chuckled a little as he held his glass out for a refill. “You, Henry? A Pinkerton? I never would have guessed it in a million years.” He poured the next jigger down his throat instead of over his head.
“That’s the idea, Trev.”
“How did you know the gang was going to try to rob me?”
“I didn’t. If I’d have known that, I’d have warned you. I got a tip from an informant that they would board this boat tonight somewhere between Jefferson and Shreveport. And it looks like my informant was right.”
“That it does,” Brigginshaw said. “That it bloody does, and thank God for it. I owe you one, mate.” He laughed, in spite of the condition his head was in. “Pinkerton detective!”
Colton went up to the pilothouse and asked Emil Pipes not to blow the whistle when the Slough Hopper returned to Port Caddo. “Last thing I need is a bunch of citizens around
when I’m trying to put a man in jail.”
“The son of a bitch is damn near dead,” Pipes growled. “How much trouble could it be to get a near dead son of a bitch in a jailhouse?”
“It’s standard procedure, Captain Pipes. I won’t risk getting any civilians hurt if I can help it. For all we know, that Christmas Nelson gang might be on the way to Port Caddo to rescue their men. They could beat us there on horseback.”
“Aw, the hell,” Pipes growled.
“I’ve worked among outlaws for years, Captain. They’ll surprise you.”
The pilot growled and dismissed Colton with a wave of his hand. The Pinkerton man went back down to the saloon and pulled the clerk aside. “There’s a constable in Port Caddo named Rayford Hayes. He lives three houses uphill from the livery barn. Do you know where that is?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. As soon as we dock, I want you to run get him. Have him meet me at the jailhouse next to the wharf.”
Henry Colton saw the Slough Hopper’s clerk leap to the wharf with his lantern before the rousters had the mooring lines fast.
He went back into the saloon and found the Aussie nursing his head wound and drinking whiskey. “Trevor, you said you owed me one. Now’s your chance to make good.”
“Name it, mate.”
“You can carry that live one to the jailhouse for me. You’re strong enough to do it on your own, and I’d just as soon keep as many people clear of the jail as possible. Never know who you can trust. I’ll guard your leather bag while you carry the prisoner.”
Trevor rose. “I’ve never trusted another living soul with this satchel.” He smiled. “Until tonight, that is.” He handed the leather bag to Colton and stooped over the outlaws laid out on the floor.
“Not that one, Trev,” Henry said.
“What?”
“That’s the dead one. Pick up the other one.”
“By God, Henry! You’re right!” The Australian put his hand to his head wound and filled the saloon with laughter.
