“Maybe we can get up a friendly four-handed game,” Harkness said.
“Yeah,” Stevens agreed. “Trinity and Shekela won’t play with us.”
“You’re always wanting us to play strip poker,” said Trinity. “We don’t get paid to strip for you.”
“A woman that strips for money shouldn’t be so damn particular,” Stevens said.
“That’s all we do for money,” said Trinity, and she didn’t smile.
With that, Shekela and Trinity left the table and returned to their cabin, ignoring the laughter of the leering gamblers. Nathan and Silver said nothing, and conversation lagged. It suited Nathan when nothing more was said about a “friendly” game. The day dragged on. Surprisingly, after supper, three of the gamblers who had visited Stumberg’s place gathered around the roulette wheel. Stevens, representing the house, took charge of the contraption. For a while, Nathan and Silver watched, but the bets were small and they soon lost interest. They returned to their quarters and stretched out on their bunks.
“God,” said Nathan, “we’ve been on this damn boat just a day and a night, and I can’t rightly remember when I wasn’t here.”
“Get used to it,” Silver said. “This is only Monday night. It’ll be near sundown on Wednesday before we dock in St. Louis.”
Nathan lay awake in his bunk for what seemed like hours, until he ached all over. Finally he got up, and when Silver’s snores continued, he slipped out the door. He was in his sock feet, but it didn’t matter. Reaching the lounge, Nathan wasn’t surprised to find it empty, and continued on until he reached the open deck. For a while he stood near the rail before the stern, watching the big paddlewheel churn the muddy water to silver in the pale moonlight. He started back the way he had come, and when he reached an open hatch to the lower deck, he paused. Yielding to temptation, he climbed down the steel rungs that formed a ladder. When he reached the lower deck, he was well past the forward portion of the deck where firemen fed the greedy fireboxes beneath the boilers. Ahead there were but two bracket lamps along the corridor. Nathan could see the doors to sixteen cabins—eight on either side—and again he recalled Silver’s obvious reluctance to discuss them. They were probably locked, just as Silver had said, but Nathan was determined to see for himself. The first seven doors were locked securely, but Nathan’s heart leaped when he tried the eighth. The knob turned easily, and in the flickering light of the single bracket lamp, Nathan Stone found himself looking through heavy iron bars! French Stumberg was indeed involved in white slavery!
The bars were a second door—the door of a jail or dungeon—and it was locked securely. But the bars didn’t prevent Nathan from looking into the cell. Against the wall, one above the other, were two narrow bunks. Near the barred door there were two sets of chains, one end of which had been bolted securely to the floor. The other end of each set had sprung manacles, waiting to encircle the legs of the pair of unfortunates who were cast into the tiny cell. Above the throb of the engines, Nathan’s danger-sensitive ears heard the snick of a hammer being eared back. Never without his Colts, he tensed.
“Don’t try it,” said Byron Silver quietly.
Nathan relaxed, moving his hands carefully away from the butts of his twin Colts. Just as carefully, Silver eased down the hammer of his Colt and then holstered the weapon. Only then did he speak.
“Curiosity killed the cat, my friend. You don’t take advice well, do you?”
“Stumberg told me to prowl the boat, and this is part of it. I believe I’m entitled to know how these cells with leg irons fit into Stumberg’s plans.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Silver said. “I was beginning to like you.”
“And now you don’t?”
“I don’t have much feeling, one way or another, for a dead man,” Silver replied, “but I owe you something. I’m going to give you one more piece of advice. Don’t trust anybody in Stumberg’s pay.”
“Even you?”
“Even me,” said Silver.
Without another word, he walked away. Nathan closed the door on the cold iron bars and followed . . .
St. Louis. October 25, 1866.
During the rest of the trip, Byron Silver said nothing to Nathan about the incident on the lower deck involving the chains and barred doors. Nathan was left to draw his own conclusions, and they were by no means pretty. The Queen of Diamonds docked at the landing a few minutes before sundown, while the weary—and probably broke—visitors to Stumberg’s gambling houses could hardly wait for the gang plank to be lowered. It would be a while, Nathan thought, before any of the lot again undertook so foolish a journey. Captain Elias Lambert, a man shaped rather like a rum keg, had positioned himself so that he could observe those departing.
Nathan was quick to notice that none of the crew did. “None of Stumberg’s bunch is going ashore,” Nathan said. “Do we have to ask permission from the captain?”
“No,” said Silver. “We can go now. The captain will remain aboard, of course, to secure the boat, and several firemen will be needed to keep up steam. We’ll be leaving at eight o’clock in the morning.”
“Then we don’t have much time,” Nathan said. “I believe I’ll just pass up supper. How do we get back aboard tonight?”
“Be here before ten o’clock,” Silver replied. “That’s when old Lambert puts everything to bed. After that, he wouldn’t lower the plank for Stumberg himself. I reckon I’ll go with you. Do you have any destination in mind, or do you just aim to look around?”
“I’ve only been through here once,” said Nathan, “and I don’t know the town. There’s some ex-Rebs I promised my Daddy I’d look up, and I’ve heard that St. Louis is a kind of crossroads where, sooner or later, everybody shows up. Do you know of a particular place that might cater to varmints that’s pretty much rough around the edges?”
“Hell,” Silver said, “that could apply to half the joints in town. But if I had to choose just one, I’d pick the Red Rooster Tavern.”
The Red Rooster was within walking distance of the steamboat landing, one of many such establishments along the river. Not only was it a saloon of considerable proportions, it also boasted a lunch counter. There were sandwiches of several kinds, including ham, steak, or bacon and egg. There was cornbread and beans, Polish sausage with sauerkraut, chicken and dumplings, fried fish and roasted sweet potatoes. After the limited fare on the steamboat, it was a veritable feast. There was even fresh butter and plenty of hot coffee.
“It’s suppertime,” said Nathan. “Before we do anything else, let’s eat.”
The bar was virtually deserted, with two bartenders polishing glasses, while men were lined up at the lunch counter awaiting tables. Nathan and Silver had a table against the wall where they could see the door. The two men who took the table next to Nathan and Silver had the look of frontiersmen; their Colts were thonged down and their range garb was rough and worn. Suddenly Nathan paused, set down his coffee cup, and listened to the conversation.
“. . . already a five-hundred-dollar reward for this Cullen Baker,” one of the pair was saying.14
“There’s a scar-faced bastard ridin’ with him,” his companion replied. “A gent name of Tobe Snider. I hear he’s as snake-mean as Baker. Ought to be some bounty on him.”
It was enough for Nathan. He slid back in his chair and stood up, and for the lack of a better approach, he leaned on the back of a chair and spoke to the strangers.
“I wasn’t meanin’ to listen in, but I heard you gents talking about Tobe Snider. I’m looking for a gent name of Virg Dillard, and he once rode with Snider. I promised my pa I’d look up Virg. Have you heard of him?”
The pair laughed, and the one who had mentioned Snider spoke.
“Your daddy ought to be more careful who he socializes with. A man that’s a friend to Baker or Snider is askin’ for a bad name. And no, we ain’t heard of Virg Dillard.”
“I didn’t say he was my pa’s friend or mine,” Nathan replied, irritated. �
�I owe him something. Do you have any idea where Cullen Baker is?”
“Hell,” said the second man, “we don’t know where he is, else we’d track the varmint down and collect the bounty. He’s wore out his welcome in Texas again, and the Federals have chased him back into Arkansas.”
Nathan took his seat at the table and continued eating, but his mind was wrestling with what he had just heard. He now had reason enough to believe Tobe Snider had left New Orleans, but had Virg Dillard gone with him? When there was nobody seated within hearing distance of their table, Silver spoke.
“So that’s your game. The vengeance trail. Is this Dillard the only one, or just next on the list?”
“I don’t consider that any of your business,” Nathan said.
Silver smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re right. According to frontier custom, I have no right to know any more about you than you want to tell me. Just as you have no right to question me.”
Neither man spoke again. A waiter brought a pot of steaming coffee and refilled their cups. Only then did Silver speak.
“For what it’s worth, you’d best hang around New Orleans for a while. I seem to recall that when Cullen Baker gets in trouble in Arkansas, he crosses the line into Louisiana until he can sneak back into Texas.”
Nathan nodded, saying nothing. It was as close as Silver would get to an apology for his breach of Western etiquette.
“I’m not much of a drinking man,” said Nathan.“What are you of a mind to do, short of going back to the Queen of Diamonds?”
“I’d like to get my back to the wall and play some poker.”
Nathan laughed. “You’re a caution. All the way from New Orleans, Stevens and Harkness tried to lure you into a friendly game.”
“Where I come from,” Silver said, “there are no friendly games. There’s only win or lose. For reasons you can likely figure out for yourself, it’s not healthy knowing too much about the habits of Stumberg’s house men.”
There were plenty of poker tables in the Red Rooster, most of them fully occupied. When two men folded, Nathan and Silver took their places at a table with three big men who looked like bullwhackers. Their names were Keller, Zondo, and Thigpen. The three were well oiled, and their skill with the cards—if they had any—had suffered mightily. It was table stakes. Nathan took two pots and Silver took the next two.
“You varmints is winnin’ jist too damn often to suit me,” said Thigpen, loud enough for the entire saloon to hear.
“I don’t play to suit you,” said Silver coldly.
“You know, Silver,” Nathan said, “Thigpen is almighty close to Pigpen.”
“By God,” said Silver, “you’re right. I been wondering what that smell was.”
Thigpen’s two companions had already folded. They roared with laughter, along with everybody else who had heard the exchange.
“Damn you,” Thigpen shouted, “cut the palaver an’ play poker. I raise you ten.”
“I’ll see that,” said Silver, “and I raise you twenty.”
“I’m out,” Nathan said.
“My deal,” said Thigpen with a triumphant smirk.
“One card,” Silver said.
Thigpen dealt the single card, and before he could deal for himself, Silver’s cold voice stopped him.
“This time, take the card off the top.”
Thigpen seemed about to strangle on his fury as he carefully slid a card off the top of the deck. It was time to put up or shut up, and Thigpen came up lacking. The best he could do was three aces. When Silver showed his hand, he had four kings.
“You bastard,” Thigpen snarled. “I should of—”
“Drawn a fourth ace,” said Silver. “It’s on the bottom of the deck.”
With a heave, Thigpen upended the table. He heaved a whiskey bottle, but Silver ducked and the bottle struck somebody else. Another bullwhacker had drawn back a Colt to slug Silver, but a slug from Nathan’s left-hand weapon sent the Colt spinning. Some of the bullwhackers were so drunk they began slugging one another, while others drew their guns and began shooting. The affair had gotten out of hand and quickly became a knock-down saloon brawl. On hands and knees, Nathan and Silver began crawling toward what they hoped was a back door. Finally out of the fray, they got to their feet and escaped out the back door into an alley.
“We’d best find another place and get off the street,” Silver panted.
“Yeah,” Nathan agreed. “They’ll pull the Red Rooster’s tail feathers plumb out, and it’ll cost a pile to put the place back together.”
They reached another saloon whose back door stood open, with lamplight leaking out into the alley.
“We’d best ease around and go in through the front door,” said Silver. “If the law comes nosin’ around, the bartenders will remember any likely pair that snuck in from the alley.”
They ducked between two buildings and found themselves on a boardwalk between a saloon and an eatery.
“To hell with the saloon,” Nathan said. “Let’s get some coffee and maybe some pie. That’ll give us a chance to catch our wind and find out if anybody’s lookin’ for us.”
They walked into the little cafe, and since it was early evening, found it crowded. There were no available tables, so Nathan and Silver took stools at the counter. The coffee was hot and black, and they sipped their way through a first cup before starting on the pie. By the time their cups had been refilled, it seemed unlikely that they had been pursued as a result of the ruckus in the Red Rooster.
“Well,” Silver said, “I know a place where the women are young and not too hard to look at. Not free, of course, but reasonable.”
“I don’t think so,” said Nathan. “I hate to say it, but that bunk on the Queen of Diamonds is looking better by the minute.”
Silver laughed. “I wouldn’t have thought one saloon fight would leave you runnin’ for cover.”
“Well, by God,” Nathan said, “I didn’t see you hanging around for the finish. I’ve been in enough saloon brawls to learn that they usually end with somebody gettin’ shot and the law comin’ at a fast gallop. Last time I tangled horns with a slick dealer, him and his pard drew on me. I had to shoot the varmints to save my own hide, and still had to shuck out of there without the pot I’d fought for. A man ought to have better sense than to sit in on those small-stakes games with saloon riffraff. You lay with dogs, you end up with fleas.”
“After tonight,” Silver said, serious for a change, “I’d have to agree with you. When you pulled iron, I thought you were going to drill somebody. That was one damn good shot. By all rights, that hombre should have been a dead man.”
“I’d never kill a man in a saloon brawl,” said Nathan, “unless there was no other way. Dead men—even those in the wrong—have friends, and if they don’t come after you, they’ll send the law.”
“We’d as well mosey on back to the Queen of Diamonds,” Silver said. “If we wander into another saloon, we’re just likely to run into those varmints from the Red Rooster, ready to continue the fight.”
Reaching the landing, Nathan and Silver could see the dim hulk of the steamboat. Near the gangplank sat one of the crew in a deck chair. Quietly he got up and lowered the plank. Nathan recognized the man as one of the waiters. He immediately raised the gang plank, once Nathan and Silver were aboard. They were past the lounge and saloon, nearing their cabin, when they were frozen in their tracks by a scream. Drawing their Colts as they ran, Nathan and Silver headed for the lounge, only to find it empty. They shoved through the swinging doors and into the kitchen. There they found the gambler, Harkness, standing over the body of Shekela. The girl had been stripped to the waist. Nathan had the shaken Harkness covered, his Colt cocked, while Silver knelt beside the girl.
“She’s dead,” said Silver grimly.
“It was an accident,” Harkness whined. “I ... I ... she fell . . .”
Chapter 15
“You can tell it to the captain, Harkness,” Silver said
. “Stone, keep him covered while I go for Captain Lambert.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Lambert growled, shoving through the swinging doors and into the kitchen. Behind him was the crewman who had lowered the plank for Nathan and Silver to come aboard. Lambert, in a fury, turned on the cowering Harkness.
“Speak up, damn you,” Lambert bawled.
“She . . . she agreed to ... to meet me here,” Harkness stammered, “but she ... she ... tried to back out . . .”
“And you strangled her,” said Silver. “Her neck’s broken.”
“No,” Harkness cried, “no. She . . . she fell . . .
Captain Lambert took from his pocket a key, which he handed to Byron Silver. “Take him to the lower deck,” Lambert said, “and lock him in one of the cabins. He is to remain there until we reach New Orleans. He will then be turned over to Mr. Stumberg.”
“No,” Harkness begged. “Please.” His face was pasty white, and he sank to his knees before Captain lambert.
“Get him away from me,” Lambert snarled in disgust. “You,” he said, his hard eyes on Nathan, “take the girl’s body to the first deck, and when Silver has disposed of this ... vermin, he will unlock another of the cabins. Leave the girl there until I determine what we are to do with her.”
The Dawn of Fury Page 19
