by F. M. Parker
* * *
Cécile met Lew in the courtyard, as usual. He wondered how long she sometimes waited and watched for him, for the time of his arrival varied by hours.
She did not come to him, but gazed across the space separating them, her eyes roaming their tender touch over him. As Lew came nearer, he knew that she had somehow become aware of the coming duel. The worry showed in the tiny crow’s feet at the corner of her eyes.
“You know about tomorrow,” Lew said.
“Yes. Such news about a placée’s man travels swiftly in the Ramparts.”
“We shall not talk about it. Tonight will be like all the past ones.”
She shook her head in the negative. “I want to dance as we did that first night you came to this house.”
“And will you play for me as you did then?”
“And make love to you like never before.”
“Can I stand that much?” Lew said with a grin.
Much later, when the deep darkness arrived, the rain came again to the city. The wet wind whistled dismally late into the night as Lew lay and held Cécile close to him. He begrudged the swift, short passage of the night.
* * *
Lew heard the vehicle stop in the street below. One short whistle sounded. Baudoin had arrived to transport him to the dueling place.
Lew had drawn the charges from his revolver and replaced them with fresh powder. Now he flipped off the caps and pressed five new ones over the nipples. He shoved the weapon into its holster and buckled it on.
He bent and touched Cécile’s hair, shiny and black in the lamplight. She looked up, her eyes dark pools of worry.
She said nothing. It had all been said in the night.
Lew went swiftly from the cottage and into the darkness on the street. He was surprised to see a third man in the buggy.
“Good morning, Tim,” Baudoin said.
“Morning, Yves.”
“This is Doctor Chandler, Tim. He is the best surgeon in New Orleans.”
“My pleasure to meet you,” Chandler said.
“Thank you for coming,” Lew said. “I hope you do not have to practice your skills this morning.”
“So do I,” said the doctor.
The buggy moved off in the damp night. Near the river, the fog thickened, smothering the sounds of the city. Lew felt his clothes absorbing the cool water vapor. The mist formed droplets on his eyebrows and his cheeks became wet. He flicked the moisture away like so much sweat.
They passed a gas streetlight, a dull-yellow stain on the drizzly night. The light faded away behind them, and the foggy gloom enshrouded them again.
Baudoin finally halted the vehicle on the side of the street, and the men sat without speaking.
The uncertain light of the dawn came. Lew could make out the three ancient oaks, called the Three Sisters, that marked the favored dueling spot in the city park.
The gray damp twilight brightened. It gave way gradually to the day, as it had ever since time began its travel across the stars.
Somewhere in front of Lew and his comrades, and buried in the fog, the iron-rimmed wheels of a vehicle rattled in and came to a stop. Shortly another vehicle stopped behind Baudoin’s buggy. A man in black clothing walked past and entered the park.
“The judge of duels has arrived,” Baudoin said. “It’s time to go.”
“I’m ready,” Lew said. He stepped down to the ground.
The surgeon climbed down beside Lew and the three men strode after the judge of duels.
The sun rose big and round over the swamps to the east. The fog immediately began to lift. It thinned rapidly in the warmth of the morning.
The rays of the sun struck the park. The night dew lying thickly on every blade of grass began to sparkle like a million diamonds covering the ground.
The men made their way across the park in the direction of the Big Sister, the largest oak in the grove. Their booted feet killed the glistening diamond points of light and left behind a black path leading to the dueling place.
21
Lew ignored the men near him in the park and watched the strengthening morning light. The last bit of the night fog was unraveling from under the Big Sister and rising upward to vanish among the branches of the tall oak tree. Overhead, the pigeons, hungry after the long black night of fasting, flapped by with a beat of wings in the direction of the waterfront. The sun, an orange ball, inexorably mounted the gray heavens.
“Sunrise has come, Wollfolk, let’s begin,” Paulaga called in a belligerent voice.
Lew heard Paulaga but did not reply. The confidence of the dueling instructor was in his voice.
“Mr. Baudoin, is your principal prepared to begin the duel?” the judge of duels asked.
“Tim, are you ready?” Baudoin said.
“Yes. Let’s get it over with.”
“Let me have your revolver,” said Baudoin.
Lew lifted his Colt from its holster and handed it to Baudoin.
“Are you satisfied with the loads in it?” Baudoin asked.
“Yes. I’ve checked them.”
Side by side the two men walked nearer the judge. Paulaga and Loussat approached.
Dr. Chandler joined Paulaga’s surgeon at a position several steps behind the judge. They spoke short greetings. Then, holding their satchels containing probes, scalpels, and other medical paraphernalia, stood silently observing the ritual of killing.
“Colt revolvers are the agreed-on weapons,” the judge of duels said to Loussat and Baudoin. “Are those the weapons you hold?”
“Yes,” Loussat said.
“Yes,” Baudoin said.
“Let me inspect them.” The judge glanced quickly at the revolvers and returned them to the seconds. “Hand the firearms to the duelists,” he directed.
Loussat and Baudoin offered the pistols to their principals. Each man accepted his pistol and lowered it to hang at his side. The seconds moved away to stand by the surgeons.
The judge spoke. “The number of shots is unlimited with the firing to continue until one man falls. The distance shall be thirty paces and I will count them off. Upon completing the pacing, stop, turn, and await my call to fire. Obey my instructions exactly.
“Take your places here in front of me. Stand back to back.” The judge counted, and the men stepped off in opposite directions.
Lew took very long steps. He should have asked for a greater number. He finished the last pace and turned.
The dueling judge nodded his approval and retreated out of the line of fire to a place just in front of the seconds and the two surgeons.
No one spoke. A deep hush fell upon the park. Not one leaf stirred on the three large oaks. The duelists were as motionless as the boles of the trees.
Paulaga stared at the young Wollfolk. The range was much longer than he liked. However, he had taken several practice shots at that distance the evening before, and his accuracy had been very good. He selected a spot over Wollfolk’s heart. That would be his point of aim.
Lew saw Paulaga turn to the side to present the narrowest possible target to him. Lew turned sideways also. He wondered how much the man had been paid to force a duel with him. Would Paulaga earn the money in the next few seconds?
Lew jerked his thoughts to the imminent deadly action. Every strand of his attention focused on the judge, waiting his call. He clasped the pistol, positioning it just right in his hand.
“Fire,” cried the judge, and his hands smacked together with sharp report.
Lew snapped his pistol up. The old, familiar revolver felt light as a feather. He pressed the trigger as the gun came level. The Colt crashed. The gray gunpowder smoke geysered out in front of him.
Lew heard his bullet hitting solidly against flesh and bone. But Paulaga did not fall. Lew braced himself for the return strike of Paulaga’s gun. Swiftly he thumbed back the hammer for a second shot.
Paulaga staggered at the punch of his opponent’s bullet. God! How could a man be so fast.
He struggled vai
nly to sight along the iron barrel of his revolver. But he could not see the sights of the weapon. Nor Wollfolk. An ocean of blackness was rushing at him. He squeezed the trigger as a ghastly expression washed over his face. Paulaga crumpled, falling limply, his face plowing into the grass of the park.
For a few seconds, all the men remained standing stock-still. Then Paulaga’s surgeon broke his trance and ran to kneel at the side of the fallen man. He jerked the shirt open on the still form.
After a short moment, the surgeon removed his hands from the body and looked up. He shook his head. “It is done. He is dead.”
Baudoin and Loussat moved forward together to look at Paulaga’s corpse. A bullet hole showed on the side of the man’s ribs precisely in line with the heart within.
Baudoin shook his head. Paulaga had got off but one wild shot. This had not been a contest. It had been an execution.
“Loussat, I think you have made a very bad mistake,” Baudoin said. “I would not want Wollfolk for an enemy.”
Loussat did not respond to Baudoin. Angry at Paulaga’s failure to kill Wollfolk, he pivoted away from the corpse. He saw Wollfolk bearing down upon him with long strides. The young man’s expression was grim as death.
“Loussat, the day has begun with one killing. Do you want to make it two?” Lew’s words were like darts flung through the air.
Loussat had killed men in duels. Yet he shivered now at the challenge thrown at him, Somehow he sensed that, should he fight this man, he would surely die.
“No.” Loussat’s voice choked in his throat.
Lew spoke harshly again. “I think you planned this duel, and for me to die. But I did not. Take Paulaga’s gun. There are still four rounds in it. Stand over there and let’s you and me try this game all over again.”
Loussat spun away from the threatening man. He broke into a rapid walk toward the edge of the park.
“Take the gun and fight me, you cowardly bastard,” Lew’s whiplike voice chased after Loussat.
Loussat’s pace increased. He reached the sidewalk and plunged away.
* * *
“The false Wollfolk would be a very bad man to face in a fair fight,” Morissot said to Tim as they watched Loussat hasten from the park. Morissot’s thoughts continued on silently within his mind. He would not fight the impostor fairly.
“Where did the man come from?” Tim said, mostly to himself. “Where did he learn to shoot like that?”
“I agree, it is strange that a man so young is so skilled with guns. And he showed not one sign of fear.”
Morissot and Tim stood together on the north side of the park. Tim had come, drawn by the duel, but mostly by the desire to watch the impostor. Morrisot had insisted upon accompanying him.
“Lezin, the impostor has told me he believes there is a group of men trying to destroy the Wollfolk Company. He thinks my uncle was murdered and that man Loussat could be one of the members of the gang that did it. He was present at the opening of the bids on the military contracts. Now the impostor has challenged him to a fight. Do you know anything about him?”
“No,” Lezin replied. “But we can find out who he meets with after failing to kill the man he thinks is Timothy Wollfolk. I’ll follow him.”
“Wait. Let me tell you this first: two other men who may be involved are Stanton Shattuck and Farr Rawlins. Watch for them too.”
Morissot felt the sudden tenseness at the mentioning of Rawlins. Over the past years, he had killed two men for Rawlins. Lezin did not know Shattuck, but if he was connected with Rawlins, then he too was suspect.
“I’ve heard of Farr Rawlins,” Lezin said. “He has been around New Orleans for a long time. I think we should find Rawlins and follow him also. I’ll have a friend help us.”
“That is a good plan. Have your friend do it.”
“Right.” Lezin broke into a trot across the park. By cutting through the wooded section he should be able to overtake Loussat before he was lost.
As Morissot closed on the woods, a large man came out of a dense clump of trees and hurried off at right angles to him. The man looked back over his shoulder for an instant. Morrisot recognized the bearded face of Kelty. The presence of the Irishman here gave an added depth of danger to the game, whatever it was, that was being played out. The Wollfolk impostor could be correct about the conspiracy to destroy the Wollfolk Company. The best and surest way to do that would be killing the owner. Now that Paulaga had failed to kill the man he thought was Wollfolk, would Kelty strike to complete the job??
Morissot hurried on. Answers, he must have answers. Should Tim be identified as the true owner of the Wollfolk property, Kelty or someone else might strike at him. Tim would not be as able as the impostor to defend himself. In many situations, Morissot would not be able to protect him.
* * *
Lew and Tim left the park together. As they reached the street and walked toward the waterfront, Tim glanced sideways at the man who impersonated him. There was still the steely tautness in his face. The gray eyes were half-closed as if he were in deep thought.
“Lezin Morissot watched the duel with me,” Tim said. “He is following Loussat and will find out who he meets „ and talks with. I told him your suspicions about Farr Rawlins and Stanton Shattuck. He knew Rawlins, but not Shattuck.”
“Can Morissot be trusted?” Lew asked without turning.
“Yes. He is an honorable man.”
“There is something about him, a look in his eyes that makes me think he could be a very violent man.”
“You seem to know a lot about guns and violence. Where did you learn that?”
“The use of guns seemed to come natural to me the very first time I tried one.” Lew said no more, but lapsed into silence.
Tim also remained quiet. He had received the requested documents from the people in Cincinnati who would substantiate his true identity over the claim of the impostor. Further, the banker was coming to New Orleans on business within a few days. He could appear in person to testify to the truth.
Yet Tim was not ready to bring down the law on this man who had appeared out of nowhere to falsely claim the Wollfolk inheritance. There was a great unknown danger to anyone named Wollfolk. This strange man so quick with his gun and fists ... let him run the risks and take the brunt. That would serve him right for his crookedness.
Lew and Tim strode on for several blocks with neither man voicing his private thoughts. They turned onto Gallatin Street, a street lined with gambling shacks, sailors, boardinghouses, and barrel houses where a man could get drunk for a dime.
They came opposite the open end of an alley. A ring of shouting men squatting or kneeling on the ground surrounded two multicolored fighting cocks battling with their quick beaks and deadly steel spurs, sharp as needles, fastened by the men over the less dangerous natural ones.
The smaller cock launched itself at its opponent. They fought for a full minute in a flurry of feathers and steel spurs. Then with a powerful flap of his wings, the smaller cock tore free.
A spray of blood jetted out from the neck of the second cock. Its right eye hung half an inch from the eye socket, held there by the torn optic nerve. In but a few seconds the cock’s life blood covered the ground. It quivered and fell to the side. Its strong legs kicked, stirring the dirt. Then it became very still.
A portion of the men groaned. They began to hand money to the other men.
“Damn early for a cockfight,” Tim said.
“They don’t fight good when it’s hot,” Lew replied. He speeded his step. They had yet to find workers for a second shift.
Several early-morning pedestrians ahead began to talk excitedly and hurry off the sidewalk and into the street. Two sailors, bleary-eyed from drinking and with uniforms that appeared to have been slept in, looked about to see what was causing the sudden, scurrying exodus of people.
A soldier called out from the street. “Clear the sidewalk, you dumb swabbies. Get off before you get your heads cracked.”
> A group of nine rough-looking men carrying wooden cudgels, some in their hands, most stuck in the backs of their belts, were swaggering along the sidewalk. Custus led, his shirt hanging in tatters and half-torn off him. He grinned wickedly as he bore down on the two sailors. His cohorts crowded close behind, an expression of pleased anticipation on their faces.
“Off the sidewalk,” the redheaded Custus shouted at the sailors. But before the two men had the opportunity to move, the big man was upon them. He grabbed the nearest sailor and slung him to the rear. His followers immediately fell upon the man with vicious blows.
The redhead struck the second sailor a hard wallop to the head, knocking him up against the wall of the house abutting the sidewalk. He closed quickly on the half-unconscious sailor and began to slug him in the stomach.
The sailor slid down the wall. The redhead continued to hit him, his fists walking up the sailor’s body as it j slumped to the sidewalk.
The body of the first sailor was flung out of the mob and landed with a thud on the street. Custus caught hold . of the second seamen and heaved him onto his mate.
“We’d better give them the sidewalk,” Tim said to Lew. “That’s part of the Live Oak Boys from the Swamp. Looks like they’ve been up all night drinking and carousing. They’re a mean lot. Probably heading back to the Swamp.”
“What’s the Swamp?”
“I only know what Morissot told me. He said it’s a place of whorehouses, dance halls, and gin mills, and the home of the worst scoundrels in all New Orleans. No law officer has been there for twenty years. Sometimes the men come out to prey on the town. They often set something on fire, a house or business, and then loot it in the excitement.”
“Nice fellows,” Lew said. “Do you have your pistol?”
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
“You once said that you could shoot a man. Do you still think you can?”
Tim argued the question with himself.
“Better make up your mind,” Lew said, his sight scouring the faces and weapons of the Live Oak Boys walking straight at them. “I’m not leaving the sidewalk for anybody.”
“If there was a real need to, then I could shoot somebody,” Tim said. “But all we have to do here is step out of the way and there’ll be no trouble.”
