by J. R. WRIGHT
“Best I done it. You’re too young to have such things on your soul.”
“And Jake…? How’d that happen?”
“Jake was all wrought up ‘cause you got blamed for what Hans did in killing that Cajun gal. He would have killed Jeb had his goons not shot him first. He had Dunlap’s head over the anvil, the hammer raised when they shot him.”
“Poor Jake,” Luke said, dropping his head. “He died on my account.”
“It was his fierce temper that killed him. He didn’t need to do what he done,” Pierre said to console him. “And a sane person would of known better.”
“How much time do you think we have?”
“I heard Jeb say yesterday he was coming back up here. He didn’t say when.”
“Why would he be so interested in me now that Hans is dead?”
“Maybe he doesn’t know that yet. Quinn was to dump the body up river last night. Besides, you know how Dunlap brags, ‘nobody gets by with killing in St. Louis.’ Prides himself on always getting his man.”
“But how many of those were guilty? He never brought any of them back alive, once he’s pointed them out as the killer.”
“We ought to try to get shy of civilization before night,” Pierre said, antsy to get moving.
“Breanne doesn’t look up to much more travel today,” Luke said. “And those young mules look to be tuckered out.”
“If not today, then tomorrow for sure?” Pierre suggested.
“Tomorrow then,” Luke said, and he headed back inside to be with Breanne, swearing all the while he would kill Jeb Dunlap someday for what he had done to his friend Jake Brumond.
It took some doing to get Pierre in for breakfast. He had made up his mind to feed himself from the meats in the wagon, until Luke explained it would be rude to refuse since Effie had already gone to the trouble.
Breanne, however, didn’t join them, but ate in a room upstairs. She didn’t want anyone to see the ugly way she needed to eat, and sat alone now sipping and slurping some extra soupy corn meal mush Effie had prepared special for her.
That afternoon, a man came running into the Blue Bear and reported loudly to those present, “Hans Hunzinger is dead! They’re fishing him out of the river right now.”
Everyone ran to the levee to get one last look at the notorious man, this time in death. Ironically, Hans’ huge body had floated several miles downriver from where Quinn had dumped it last night, to a point directly in front of the Blue Bear.
Within the hour, Jeb Dunlap arrived at the Blue Bear with six deputies and removed the safe. They carted it out the rear door to a waiting wagon and drove away with it. It was a widely known fact that Hans had no relatives in this country, so Jeb took it upon himself to safeguard the gold until some family member came from Germany to claim it. Of course, everyone present had a notion where the money would really end up. Jeb Dunlap didn’t live in one of the finer houses in all St. Louis and keep servants on his meager wage as captain of the city police.
But it wasn’t only Jeb who had a sudden penchant for larceny. It seemed like everyone in the place wanted a piece of the action now. The whores started it. They were so anxious to take advantage of their newfound freedom, they wasted little time gathering up what they could carry and heading for the door. They took such things as bedding, lamps, pitchers and wash basins, towels, and frilly curtains. And yes, several were seen with chamber pots, which they emptied onto the floor before departing with them.
By nightfall most everything of value was gone, including the hundreds of bottles of imported wine from the basement that Hans had treasured so dearly and the polished marble slabs that covered the bar top.
Most of the whores ended up penniless at Nellie’s door. Having always been one to help another female in distress, she now contemplated becoming a madam again. It was Hans who ran her out of the business before, with his false promises to what prostitutes she had at the time. Now it seemed only fitting that she should start anew with girls from the Blue Bear. This time, she would add a fancy bar in the parlor. The five hundred in gold Pierre had given her before departing would cover the cost of that nicely. Already she had paid for a hundred cases of expensive French wine some fool peddler had sold her for the unbelievable price of a dollar a case. So far it seemed to be her lucky day.
After breakfast, Luke and Pierre unhitched the mules and walked them to the barn. On the way, Luke had to get it clear in his mind what Pierre had in mind of for the three of them. All this blabber about getting away told him little, and he didn’t like the idea of dragging Breanne away from here before she had a chance to heal better. Too bad she had to leave Nellie’s care so soon.
“I figured we would go on over to Independence. Then, come spring, take a steamboat on up to some good trapping country I heard tell of.”
Luke thought that over for a moment, then said, “That fits what I’ve been thinking, the trapping, but it’ll be a month at least before the ice is off the Missouri.”
Pierre said, “We will be safe in Independence though. Jeb won’t come there, leastwise until the boats are running, and by then we’ll be gone on the first boat out.”
“Mind if I talk with Breanne? I need to know she’s up to the travel to Independence. How long will that take?”
“Eight or ten days, if all goes well. Already starting to thaw. If we don’t hurry, we’ll have swelling rivers to deal with. Onion Creek is running already, I noticed,” Pierre said, making his case.
“Okay, we leave in the morning. But if Breanne has pain, we’ll need to stop along the way.”
After the breakfast dishes were finished, Effie encouraged Breanne to let her cut her hair, which had grown long and unmanageable.
“I remember when Tom and I headed here from Pennsylvania back in the early days. Oh, I took such pride in my long hair. It came down to the middle of my back. After three days on the trail I couldn’t get a brush through it. Well, that was the end of that. I cut it all off. I looked like a porcupine for the longest time.”
“Maybe mine should be left a bit longer?” Breanne slurred nervously.
“Just never you fret,” Effie laughed. “I’ll leave you enough you’ll still be pretty, dear. But then that man of yours will love you anyhow. I see the way he looks at you.”
With that Breanne glowed and gave no further argument.
That night over supper, after having been assured by Breanne that she was fit to go, Luke informed Tom and Effie of their plans. They both seemed quite disappointed they were leaving so soon. It was especially hard for Effie, who had become attached to Breanne after having spent the day with her. Perhaps, in such a short time together, Breanne had somehow become the daughter she never had.
“It’s not often I see another woman way out here,” she said sadly. “But I understand. I know you have places to go. I wish you luck. And Breanne dear, you take care of Luke, he’s a wonderful man. We’ve enjoyed his stay here so much.”
With that Breanne’s eyes watered, and she looked to Luke before speaking. “I never had a mother. But I hope she was like you,” she hissed through the wired teeth.
“Say, I have an extra pair of feed bags that may come in handy for them mules on a long trip,” Tom said, more to lighten the moment than anything else. “They’re yours if you want them.”
“I’ll pay you,” Luke said after seeing Pierre brighten with the prospect.
“Not after all the work you’ve done around here this past week. I got the house re-shingled, didn’t I? I ought to be paying you for that.”
Effie stayed up late that night frying up six chickens to be sent along. She also made six loaves of bread with extra heavy lard crusts that would serve to keep them fresh days longer on the trail. Tom had done his share too, not only by plucking the chickens, but by supplying a pair of nippers for removing the wires in Breanne’s teeth, when the time came.
The following morning, after a hearty breakfast, they got underway. It was a sad parting, but one that had to b
e. Breanne sat the seat beside her man as proud as any woman had who was about to venture into the unknown. She knew not what lay ahead, but her heart was here and now with Luke – a man she trusted to care for her, protect her, and guide their future. An hour later, they were completely out of sight on the open plains.
Two hours after that, while Tom Nelson was finishing up with his morning chores, in rode Jeb Dunlap and four of his deputies. They had been riding hard since early morning. Someone had said they saw Pierre LeBlanc leave St. Louis by wagon on the Old River Road night before last. The tracks they followed since first light led them directly here.
“As I told you before,” Tom Nelson said, “I don’t know any Luke McKinney.”
“Do you know Pierre LeBlanc?”
“Nope!” Tom said steadfastly.
“How about a snip of a girl, fair haired, blue eyes. Got her teeth wired together. Goes by the name of Breanne?”
“Nope,” Tom said again. “Nobody ever comes here. We’re the last farm north till they open more land for homesteading.”
Just then Dunlap saw a bay horse in Tom’s corral that wasn’t there the other day. He rode over to examine it more closely. Stretching high in the saddle, Jeb caught sight of what he’d hoped to see. There was a JB brand on the left hip. He knew well that stood for Jake Brumond.
“That bay horse belong to you, Mister Nelson?”
“Nope, just came in one day,” he lied. Actually, he had agreed to return it to Jake’s livery on his next trip to town, which was planned for tomorrow.
With that, Jeb simply waved his hand in a circular motion over his head, and the four deputies dismounted. Two headed for the barn and two for the house.
“Now you wait just a damned minute!” Tom protested. “You don’t have jurisdiction out here. Your authority ends with the St. Louis city limits.”
“Is that so?” Jeb removed a rope from his saddle, formed a loop, and tossed it over Tom Nelson’s body. Then, with a swift yank at the right instant, it pulled tight around his ankles.
A moment later Effie came from the house seeking an explanation as to why two police officers from St. Louis were ransacking her house. That’s when she saw her husband being dragged about the yard at a rapid pace. She screamed and tried desperately to block the progress of Dunlap’s horse. She was knocked to the ground. Again she tried and tried, time and time again, until eventually she fell under the horse’s hooves and lay unconscious, bleeding in the dust.
Eventually Jeb stopped. “You want to tell me now where they are, Mister Nelson?”
Fearing his wife was dying, he told Dunlap what he wanted to hear.
“They left for Independence. They’re going west.”
“When?”
“Yesterday,” he lied. It was the least he could do, now that he had ratted on them.
“Are you sure this time, Tom? ‘Cause if you’re not, I’ll be back.”
“I’m sure!” He fumbled to get the rope off his legs. He was anxious to get to Effie.
After looking around for a time, Jeb did determine the wagon tracks went west. But if they had a whole day head start, like Tom Nelson said, he may never catch up. Their horses were tired as it was. Best they go back to St. Louis and take a boat to Independence when the ice has left the river in a few weeks.
Once the deputies were remounted, Jeb gave the expected order. “Shoot ‘em! Nobody gets by with lying to Jeb Dunlap.”
Tom Nelson heard the order, but managed to reach Effie and throw his body over hers before the bullets reached him. It was a futile action. She was already dead.
“Tie the bodies on that bay horse in the corral. We’ll take them in for all to see.”
“Chalk two more up to Luke McKinney.”
CHAPTER TEN
Throughout the first day Pierre busied himself, atop the feed bags in back of the wagon, at taking apart an old pair of buckskin trousers and from them making a number of money pouches, ten in all. In each he placed three hundred dollars of the gold. It was money he had taken from Hans’ safe, plus what remained of the fur money from years ago. The balance of the gold was put into an existing pouch, and all would remain with their possessions except for one and that would be carried on his person. Pierre knew it was not good to carry large sums of money. There were just too many watching, especially in a bustling town like Independence. They would be buying some needed supplies there during their stay, and most of the gold would be spent, but not all at one place, and not all in a single day.
On the evening of the eighth day, Luke drove the tired young mules down the muddy main street of Independence, Missouri. By all the traffic, it appeared as if everybody had picked this day to arrive.
Independence, population-wise, was only seven hundred, but those who traveled the streets preparing to head west often totaled into the thousands. As they moved along, Luke kept an eye out for a suitable place to stay for the duration, which could be weeks before a steamboat was able to depart for the North Country. Of course, every hole in the wall advertised bunks for a dollar or two a week, but he wanted a real room where Breanne could get the proper rest she desperately needed. She never complained the entire trip. The haggard look on her face told the real story. A solid week of bed rest would serve her well at this point.
Finally, two streets over, a respectable looking rooming house appeared. The sign read: Clean Rooms Six Dollars per Week, Hot Water Bath Fifty Cents Extra. Luke wasted no time in inquiring on availability; he rented the last two rooms and paid two weeks in advance. Once their personal belongings were in the rooms and Breanne was settled, Luke and Pierre took a ride along the docks. There were only two small steamboats there, both still quite frozen in the ice, even though the river flowed freely down its center, near half its width.
There was no one about the boats, but a name on one of them got Pierre’s attention. It wasn’t the name of the boat, The Missouri Bell, but the captain’s name in smaller print beneath it which caught his eye. ‘William H. Cooper.’
“Captain Bill Cooper,” Pierre double checked his memory. “I know him. He used to come into the Blue Bear when he was in town. Haven’t seen him in years, though. I’d say at least five. I guess this must be his home port now.”
The Missouri Bell had once been the pride of the Mississippi before the arrival of the larger side wheelers. Back then she was called the Gateway Queen and proudly wore the name along with her captain’s, Wm. H. Cooper, lettered in gold on each side of the pilothouse. Now she was the Missouri Bell, badly in need of paint, and carried with her little pride, both in her now drunken captain and in her equally worthless crew.
She had run aground on the Mississippi some years back, forced over by a larger boat, and had to be completely disassembled and transported overland to New Orleans, where she was rebuilt and renamed. It was then she was destined to spend her remaining days pounding up and down the Missouri, where the bigger, deeper boats dare not trek.
In a way, she was still a queen, because she was the most worthy craft on the Missouri. She had once traveled all the way up to the mouth of the Yellowstone without a load and floating light. This was done to collect a barroom bet made with the wealthy captain of one of the larger crafts.
“You think we can find this Cooper?” Luke asked. “He must live around here somewhere.”
“He’ll be about in due time,” Pierre said. “I’ll check the saloons though. If he is in the area, he’ll surely show up in one of them from time to time. He likes his whisky.”
That night, while Breanne was taking a bath down the hall, Luke went through the small wooden box Pierre had given him when they brought the things in from the wagon. “It’s from your mother,” was all he had said.
He looked at it for a long moment before opening the lid. Inside was a sealed envelope that had his name on it, along with the instruction: ‘To be presented upon the arrival of his eighteenth birthday.’ He wouldn’t be eighteen for a while yet, but that wouldn’t stop him from reading it.
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br /> He fingered through the other things in the box; numerous gold coins, some hair combs, the kind women stuck in their hair to hold it back, a lady’s gold ring, a snip of hair tied together with brown thread, and some other trinkets. He closed the lid and sat the box aside, then used his folding knife to open the letter.
November 26, 1831
Dear Luke;
I know I am about to die. I have been sick too long, and there doesn’t seem to be any hope that I will ever recover my strength. I have instructed Pierre to give this letter to you when you are old enough to understand.
I was a school teacher in Ohio when I was younger and taught until I married your father. His name was the same as yours, but he had no middle name. Your full name is Luke Thomas McKinney. Thomas was my father’s name – he went by Tom Hill, even though he was born Thomas Hilbert.
Your father had dreams of going west for the cheap land. I respected his desire, and we set out for Missouri. When we arrived here, we discovered we hadn’t enough money to get a real start. Your father share cropped a small farm for a few years until he got on at the mill. It was at the mill that he was accidentally killed. After that I rented a room at Nellie’s for a time and got a teaching job, but that paid so little. If it weren’t for Nellie, I’m sure we would have starved. Then the teaching job went away when the building burned. That’s when Hans approached me with an offer I found impossible to refuse. He offered to keep us both and pay our way back to Ohio if I would work for him for one year. Well, it seems that year will not come now. I am so sorry for that, Luke. You would have loved it in Ohio.
I don’t want you to feel blame for what became of me. It was all my doing. I could have begged relatives back home for the passage, but my pride stood in the way.
Luke, I only hope you will grow up to be the strong, gentle man your father was.
The ring was mine, given to me by your father on our wedding day. Maybe someday you will see fit to pass it on to a lovely lady you have chosen to make your wife. The hair is from your first haircut, and the money is what I saved toward the fare back east. It’s yours to spend as you wish.
