Three Books in One: A Covenant of Love, Gate of His Enemies, and Where Honor Dwells

by Gilbert, Morris

  The three of them got into the buggy, aware that people were staring at them. On the way home, Les said bitterly, “I wouldn’t let a man do that to me!”

  Grant shrugged. “Vince knew what Duvall was like. He should have left the man’s wife alone.”

  “Do you think he had an affair with Rose?” Rachel asked.

  “Doesn’t matter much, does it? Duvall will kill him whether he did or not.”

  They arrived at Lindwood to find that their father was gone with his unit. Even so, they had to tell their mother what had happened. She said nothing at first, then remarked, “We need to get word to your father. Les, will you go tell him?”

  “Let’s both go,” Grant said, and the two got their horses and left. All afternoon Rachel thought of the ugly scene, and even after she went to bed that night, it kept coming back.

  Father, she prayed silently, feeling helpless, please do something about Vince.

  Finally she got up, put on her robe, and went to the kitchen. She was drinking a cup of warm milk when suddenly Vince came through the door, a suitcase in his hand. He was obviously leaving and was shocked to see Rachel, so he stood there uncertainly.

  “Well, I guess you’re happy about all this,” he snapped hatefully.

  “No, I’m not,” she answered quietly. “Are you running away?” Rachel looked at the suitcase he held in one hand and the small bag in the other.

  He stared at her as if she had said something stupid. “Running away? Of course I’m running away! Did you think I’d stay around and let that fool of a duelist kill me?”

  Rachel studied Vince, then asked, “Where will you go?”

  “I’m taking a little ocean voyage,” he said with a nod. “Been wanting to see more of the world. I’ll let that hothead cool off; then I’ll come back.”

  “Duvall won’t cool off,” Rachel said, quiet certainty in her voice. “You can never come home.”

  “Maybe he’ll get killed in this war. I certainly hope so!” He moved to the door; then something prompted him to turn. He stared at Rachel, then said, “Well, good-bye. I don’t guess you’ll miss me much, will you?”

  “Not much, Vince,” she said honestly. “We haven’t been close, though I’ve tried since you’ve been back. You’ve never thought of anyone but yourself. I can’t think of a worse way to live or a quicker way to become a miserable human being.” His face darkened in anger as he listened, but Rachel went on. “I will be praying for you, though. And I wish you luck. I think you’ll need it.”

  “Just you wait until I get control of this place, dear sister,” he spat at her. “Then we’ll see who’s miserable!” Whirling, he left the room, and soon she heard him driving his carriage, whipping his horse to a full run down the drive.

  Rachel put out the lamp and left the kitchen, disturbed by the scene. She had no love for Vince—he had not opened himself to it—but he was still a part of her family … and as the sound of hoofbeats grew dim, a bleak sorrow came to her.

  CHAPTER 2

  A MIDNIGHT SWIM

  The huge stern paddles of the Memphis Queen thrashed the muddy waters of the Mississippi into a white froth as it drove downstream under full power. Captain Daniel Harness was a bold man to thread the turns of the river at such a clip, but he knew the thousand turns and windings of the river as well as any steamboat captain afloat. In the darkness, Captain Harness stood with his feet firmly braced against the floor, seeming to feel the snags and sandbars with the soles of his feet. When he had threaded a particularly tricky maneuver that put the Queen around a fishhook-shaped bar, he said, “Take her, McClain.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Come along, Jake. Let’s get a drink.”

  Jake Hardin followed the captain out of the pilothouse, and as the two descended to the main deck, he said, “Nice job, Captain. I think sometimes you know every snag on the Mississippi.”

  “I’ve had collisions enough to know some of ‘em pretty well.” Captain Harness was a short, barrel-shaped man of thirty- five, with a round head and a pair of gimlet hazel eyes. He was temperamental, as all captains were, but now he turned a friendly smile on his companion. “My job is a lot safer than yours, though. You gamblers are the ones who take risks. Most of you wind up either broke or with a bullet in your head.”

  The two entered the salon of the Queen, and a waiter came rushing up. “Yes, sir, Captain. Right this way!” He led them to a table, and Harness said, “Bring us some steaks, Phil. Make mine rare.”

  “Well done,” Hardin murmured. “And some whiskey.” The two waited until the bottle and glasses came; then Hardin poured two drinks. Lifting his glass, Hardin said, “Here’s luck, Dan.” The two drank, and then Hardin picked up on the captain’s words. “I guess you’re right about my trade. I’ve been on the river five years, and most of the captains who were here when I started are still around. A lot of gamblers are gone, though.”

  He was tall, this man, and he sat loosely in his chair, running his eyes idly over the salon. He was an inch under six feet, and his 180 pounds were so solid that he looked as though he weighed less. He had sharp brown eyes and a long English nose over a wide mouth. Crisp brown hair, slightly curled, could be seen from beneath the black wide-brimmed hat he wore shoved back on his head. His fingers were long, supple, and strong.

  Captain Harness took his drink slowly, studying the tanned face of his companion. He had few friends among the gamblers who traveled on the Queen. Indeed, he had a thinly veiled scorn for most of them. In his mind they produced nothing, and he was one who believed that a man should do or make something useful with the strength God gave him. Even so, he had grown fond of Jake Hardin, seeing in him something more than the usual greed and sloth that made up most gamblers.

  The two of them had once spent some time together when the Queen had hit a submerged tree just out of St. Louis and was forced to lay by while the hole was repaired. Most of the passengers had chosen to take another ship, but Hardin had stayed, and the two of them had met at dinner. Harness had spent his life studying the dangers, both obvious and hidden, of the river—and somehow he had learned to see what was hidden in men, too. As the two had lingered over meals and talked slowly about unimportant things, the captain had decided that there was none of the meanness in this man that he had come to expect from professional gamblers. Since then, Hardin had been on his boat many times, and the two of them kept up a certain brand of friendship.

  “You ought to do something else, Jake.” Harness squinted his eyes, peering at Hardin as if he were a difficult passage on the river. His comment made the other man shift uneasily.

  “Like what? Be a captain on the river?”

  “You’re too old for that. How old are you, anyway?”

  “Twenty-five.”

  “Got to start at twelve or so to do my job. You got to be responsible, too, which you ain’t never been.”

  Hardin grinned suddenly and took a sip of his drink. “You got that right, Daniel. Got no character at all.”

  “Oh, you got it,” Harness said. “You just ain’t never used it.” As Harness spoke, he seemed to grow somewhat angry. “Makes me mad to see a man wasting what the good Lord gave ‘im. Why don’t you do something worthwhile?” A thought touched him, and he demanded, “Which side you for, North or South?”

  “Neither. I’m a citizen of the Memphis Queen, Daniel. When they start shooting at her, I’ll go to war and start shooting back.”

  Harness glared at him. “Don’t you care about slavery?”

  “All men are slaves, Daniel. We just have different masters.”

  “Now that ain’t so and you know it!”

  The two men argued about the war until the food came. It amused Jake to get the captain stirred up. He liked Harness as much as any man he knew, and he knew the captain liked him—which still surprised him—but he was aware that the two of them were miles apart in their outlook on life. When they finished their steaks and were drinking cups of strong black coffee that was s
tiff with chicory, the gambler tried to explain to his friend how he felt. It was important to him for Harness to know that.

  “Daniel, you’re what you are because of a few accidents. You were born with whatever genius it is that makes a man able to memorize a river, and you happened to be born where there was a river. If you’d been born in Kansas, you’d have been a failure as a farmer because you were born to do one thing. You’re for slavery and the South because you were born and raised in Tennessee, but if you’d grown up in Michigan, you’d be for the Union. You’re right where you are because of a few chances, Dan. And so am I.”

  Harness snorted and slapped his hand hard on the table, making the bottle jump. “Jake, that’s the dangedest nonsense I ever heard! I made my own decisions! And you’ve made yours, which is to be a lazy bum of a gambler!”

  “Guess you’re right. Like I say, I’ve got no character.” He rose, stretched, then grinned down at Harness. “Got to get to the table, Captain. Fellow there named Longley is out to do me. I aim to do the same to him.”

  “Better stay away from Max Longley. He’s a bad ‘un, Jake.”

  “So am I, Daniel. You just said so.”

  “No, you’re just triflin’ and lazy. Longley is a real bad ‘un.”

  “Well, he’s a rich bad ‘un, so I’ll just relieve him of some of his cash. See you later, Daniel.”

  Hardin left the main salon and made his way to the section set apart for gambling. The Memphis Queen sported the most ornate gambling establishment on the river, complete with roulette wheels, poker tables, blackjack dealers, and a bar across the rear. Jake went at once to a table where four men sat playing poker and took a seat, saying, “Give me five hundred in chips.”

  The dealer, a bulky man with a catfish mouth, said, “Where you been, Hardin? I been waiting to take some of your cash.”

  “Had supper, Max. Had to build up some energy to carry out all that money I’m going to take from you,” Hardin answered with a smile. The game went on slowly. Several times men joined the game; others left with their money mostly in front of Max Longley. Longley’s brother, a dumpy man everyone called Boog, was in the game, as well. He was a sour-faced individual, in contrast to his brother, who was florid and wore a big smile.

  Finally Max said, “Blast these small stakes. How about we double up?”

  One man dropped out, saying, “Too rich for me,” but Hardin, Boog, and two others stayed. The chips flowed across the table, again with Max the big winner. An hour later, he looked across the table, saying, “You game to double again, Jake?”

  “All right with me.”

  It was a big game now, and people came over to watch. Many hands were worth two or three hundred dollars, and slowly the piles grew in front of Hardin and Max Longley. At midnight, only the two of them were in the game. The stakes had swelled to huge sizes.

  As always in such games, the two men finally found themselves involved in one huge pot, with each of them sure he had the winning hand. The air was blue with smoke, and there was no sound except for the falling of cards on the felt or the clicking of chips as the two men continued to shove them across to the small mountain that had grown there.

  Finally, Longley studied his cards and shoved most of his chips to the center. “Bet two thousand more.”

  Hardin watched Longley’s eyes, thinking, He expects me to fold. He had been reading men’s eyes for five years and thought he knew Longley well. But he said without emphasis, “Call you.”

  Longley studied his hand, then said, “I’ll stand.”

  Every eye was on Jake Hardin, and he let the time run on. He knew that pressure could make the sand run out of a man, and he saw the confidence in Longley’s eyes fade. Then he puffed his cigar, saying, “Dealer takes two.”

  A gasp went around the room, and Longley grinned, a savage expression on his face. “Knew you was bluffin’, Jake!” He turned over his hand. “Three aces and two kings,” he announced.

  Hardin once again let the silence run on, then dealt himself two cards. He picked them up, studied them, then smiled and laid them down. “Royal flush,” he murmured.

  Several cries went up, one man saying with a curse, “He filled it! I don’t believe it!”

  Max Longley stared at the cards Hardin had laid down, and his wide face grew even more florid. He stared as Jake reached out and drew in his winnings. Then he said, “You dealt yourself that hand from your sleeve.”

  The sound of men talking was cut off as if it had been sliced with a knife, and the men sitting behind the two players hastily moved to one side. Longley got to his feet, saying, “You’re not taking that pot, Hardin.”

  Jake sat there studying Max. There was only one thing to do. If he backed down, he’d be marked all down the river.

  “Longley, back off,” he said quietly and then got to his feet. “I’m cashing in.” He took a small velvet bag from his pocket and filled it with the chips, all the time keeping his eyes fixed on the man across the table. Slipping the bag into his coat pocket, he gave Longley a careful look, then turned and walked away.

  He had taken only a few steps when he heard the sound of metal against leather, and at the same time a man yelled, “Look out, Jake!”

  Hardin threw himself to one side, drawing his pistol from the shoulder holster. Even as he turned, the crash of Longley’s gun rocked the air and he felt a tug on his right arm. He came around as he fell, bringing his gun to bear on Longley, who was drawing down on him again. The gun bucked in Jake’s hand, and Longley’s second shot went into the ceiling, blowing a chandelier to smithereens. Longley was propelled backward by the bullet, which drove directly into his heart, then fell to the deck and lay still.

  “You all saw it,” Jake said. “He didn’t give me a choice.” He turned and walked toward the door, forgetting that Max Longley had a brother. That lapse was a costly mistake, for Boog Longley pulled a gun and let fly one bullet. Jake felt a cold touch, heard the explosion, then was sucked into a soundless sea of black.

  There was sound but no meaning. From far away came the slow thudding of some sluggish machine, and with each beat, a streak of raw pain touched him like a whip of fire. The heavy darkness that enveloped him was broken at the edges by streaks of light, and something seemed to be drawing him out of the warmth and comfort and safety of the darkness. A voice came to him, muffled but insistent. When he tried to draw away, it came again.

  “Jake! Come out of it!”

  He knew the voice, and now the light came rolling in, but it brought such a slashing pain to his head that he lay still, gasping and waiting for it to go away.

  “Wake up, Jake!”

  He opened his eyes slowly and saw the dusky shadow of a man’s face surrounded by a corona of yellow light. Blinking his eyes, he turned his head carefully, and the outlines of a room began to take shape. He tried to speak, but only a dry croak emerged from his throat.

  “Here, have a drink of water.”

  He heard water being poured, then felt coolness on his lips. Thirstily he drank it down, then gasped, “More!”

  “Sure, Jake.” Now the man moved, and Jake saw that it was Milo Bender, a steward on the Memphis Queen. Bender was a good man who had become well acquainted with Jake—particularly after Jake loaned Milo two hundred dollars when one of his children was sick.

  “Now sit up. Not too fast, though. That’s a bad gash on the top of your head.” Bender let Jake drink the water, then set the glass down. Sitting in a chair beside the bunk, he examined the gambler with a critical eye. “An inch lower and you’d be pushin’ up daisies, Jake.”

  Carefully Hardin reached up and touched the bandage on top of his head. Just the touch brought a sharp stab of pain, and he quickly dropped his hand. He peered at the room around him. “Where is this, Milo? It’s not my room.”

  “No, it ain’t,” Bender agreed. “You’re under arrest for murder, Jake.”

  His words brought Jake’s head upright, a move he instantly regretted. “For murder!
Why, that’s crazy, Milo! The man tried to kill me.”

  “Boog Longley says otherwise, and he’s got two witnesses who say you pulled on his brother and killed him without giving him a chance.” Bender hesitated, then said, “I sure wish you’d picked somebody else to plug, Jake. Them Longleys got lots o’ money, and they just about run this county. I know you’re telling the truth, but the Longleys are the he-coons. They’ve had men put in jail for a lot less. Old man Longley was a senator, and he’s got every judge in his pocket. It don’t look good.”

  A streak of fear threaded through Jake. “But there were witnesses who saw Longley shoot me first!”

  “And where will they be when the trial comes? You know well as I do, Jake, that soon as we dock, everybody scatters. You can bet they won’t be none of them at your trial ‘cept the two Boog done bought and paid for.” Milo leaned forward and whispered, “Jake, you got to get away or you’ll stretch hemp for sure.”

  “Is there a guard outside the door?”

  “Yeah, but I can get him away for a while. You can get outta this cabin, but what then?”

  “Have to swim for it!”

  “With that head?”

  “It’s the only head I’ve got.” Jake was wide awake now and put his feet on the floor. “What about my money?”

  “Boog took it. Here, I brought all I could scrape up. Only about thirty dollars.”

  “Milo, thanks!”

  “Aw, it ain’t much, Jake. Maybe I can get more against my pay, but there ain’t much time.”

  “This will do. Where are we?”

  “‘Bout an hour out of Helena. You can swim to shore easy. Cap always hugs the shoreline along here. Get to town and catch a train or another boat. I better run. Good luck, Jake. Write me a note when you get someplace. I’d like to know you made it.”

  “Sure. And thanks again.”

  “Here’s a knife. You can open the door with it—just slide it along the edge. And don’t lose this. It’s some matches and grub all wrapped up in oilcloth. I snatched your gun off the floor and it’s there, too.” Bender got up and picked up the tray. “I’ll tell the guard you’re still out cold. He’d rather be drinkin’ than guardin’, so he’ll be easy to convince.”