by L. J. Martin
There’s nothing like a shotgun, as I learned while in the doorway of my own barn, should you be faced with bad odds. And God only knows what lies before us.
With Indians in front of us and enemies behind, we will be well served to be well armed.
And it seems I’ll need to be.
But I won't be without friends, as I'm surprised to see Ian waiting at the top of the gangway upon our return.
"No job?" I ask.
"Good job, but if 'n I gotta be swinging a hammer I might as well be swinging a pick and trying to get rich alongside you."
"Glad you're back, pard." I don't tell him I was dreading a long lonely trail without a friend now as close as a brother.
Again, I swear there's the hint of a tear in the old boy's eye.
Chapter 13
I’ve made friends with Alexander Strobridge, a merchant who has crate after crate of goods on board. Some of the powder is his as well as shot and two cases of firearms, flour, salt, sugar, spices, shoes, pie fruit preserved in bottles, wine, brandy, iron hatchets, shovels, picks, and only he knows what else.
Alex is a tall slender fella with good manners and a quiet but determined way. I notice his crates are marked as his, with a return address in St. Louis, but addressed to other merchants in Helena, Great Falls, Deer Lodge, Virginia City, and Bannack. He’s a wealth of knowledge and I badger him with questions until his eyes roll back in his head. He’s been to all those places and more, and I want to learn all I can.
But he’s no gambler.
Chance has been teaching me daily and seems to enjoy doing so even more than the four bits I pay him, and although I’m no expert, he’s pleased with my progress. And he has shown me a few things that he says he wouldn’t show the average student. He’s taught me how to palm and change a pair of dice from honest to loaded…not that I would, but it pays to know what others can do. He has a pair of dice that will roll a seven four out of five times.
In addition to poker and faro, Chance has taught me Whist and Cribbage…and I’ve taken eleven dollars from Alex as I’ve practiced my cards. It’s a small fortune for the average working man. Alex laughs it off as if it’s nothing.
When and if I get to where he owes me fifteen dollars, I plan to trade him for supplies.
I take an early supper as it’s my night to work, and enjoy it with Chance, Alex and the two Swedes, then excuse myself as they head for the Gentlemen’s smoking room and a tumbler of brandy.
It’s getting dark more and more early, and I’m happy light is coming from more than one stateroom as I head abaft to a midship’s ladder.
But I don’t quite reach it as Skunk steps from a doorway, blocking my path, close enough his bad breath burns my eyes.
“I hear you done been winning a little money playing cards,” he snarls.
I try to brush past him but he puts a hand in the middle of my chest. I start to turn and see the two German boys closing fast behind me.
It seems I’m in a bit of trouble, and my Colt and other weapons are below.
So I turn back to Skunk, who to my great consternation, has filled his hand with a knife that catches the light from a nearby stateroom. It’s large enough to chop wood.
“How about you share a little of that new wealth?” Skunk asks, and he and the two now behind me laugh. “In fact, everything you got in your pocket.”
“How about you put that pig sticker away before I shove it where the sun don’t shine,” I bluster, but it’s just that.
“I tink we turn him upside down and shake it outta him,” Horst says, with a chuckle, now only a pace behind us, “den we drop him overboard and see how he swim.”
I turn to the side, and shoot a booted foot to the personals of Horst Gas, who’s knocked back, but I spin back to meet the butt of Skunk’s knife as it slams into my forehead. I collapse to my knees, my head swimming, then to my hands on all fours as one of the Germans shoves me to my face with a boot in my butt.
I clamor to my knees so I can get up, and am surprised to see Skunk rise in the air as if suspended from the ship’s hoist, then realize Ian has come up the ladder and is lifting the big man overhead as if he were a sack of oats. Ian takes two steps, and Skunk flies overboard. I hear him hit the water with a scream.
Gauss is standing holding his personals, bug eyed, looking as if he’d just swallowed a big toad frog. His partner, Proust, is standing, shocked that the big Skunk has flown overboard. I’m still on my knees as Ian squares away with the German with the crooked eye, Horst Gauss. That terrible right hand of Ian’s takes Gauss upside the head and the thump of hitting him is only exceeded by the crack of Horst’s head hitting the wooden deck.
Proust comes to his senses and leaps forward, suddenly with a blade in hand. When he squares away with Ian he has his back to me, and I kick him behind the knee, which folds under him. He lands on his back and Ian is all over him, stomping away, first on his knife filled hand, crushing his knuckles and then when released he kicks the knife overboard. Proust rolls to his stomach and gets up with his legs under him and his hands still on the deck, and I kick him again, square in the butt propelling him forward. Ian helps him along, and he too flies out into the darkness, screaming then hitting the water.
I’m on my feet and reach down and grab Horst by both ankles as Ian grabs him by the wrists.
“One, two, three,” Ian says, as we swing the big German and sling him after his lowlife friends.
“Damn,” Ian says, “if we ain’t shed of about six hundred pounds or more of useless cargo.”
“Damn if we ain’t,” I say, and we both laugh.
We turn and are staring at Captain Isaac Johanson and his purser Felix Calderon. Johanson looks as serious as a losing Union general and Calderon’s mouth is hanging open, even wider than his eyes.
“I don’t believe I just saw that,” Johanson snaps.
“Damned if you didn’t,” Ian says. “I’d a throwed them farther had I had my supper. But I’m a tad weak at the moment.”
“Them? You mean you threw somebody other than that Gauss…”
“Yes, sir,” Ian says, seeming proud as a peacock.
“Who?”
“His pardner and that Skunk fella, the one with the white stripe in his beard.”
“You know I can’t turn this boat around?” Johanson says, now a little incredulous.
“Hell, Cap’n, you’d just have to turn your salon into a court room and then hang ’em, did you fish ’em out.”
“And why would I have to do that?”
“They tried to rob young Bra… Young Nolan here, and two of ’em had knifes long enough to skewer a buffalo for roastin’.”
I point to the growing knot on my forehead from the butt of the knife, and rub it a little deciding it’ll be about half a hen’s egg soon.
The fat purser finally gets his wits about him and speaks up. “The hell you say. You two picked up an unconscious man and flung him overboard…that’s what I saw.”
“Well, friend,” Ian says, bending to look the much shorter man right in the eye, “you didn’t see near all of it, now did you?”
“I saw what I saw. I’m placing you both under arrest.”
Ian laughs aloud. “Sorry, ol’ chum, but you ain’t arresting me or nobody for defending themselves from a couple of no account back-stabbin’ robbers.”
“I’m purser—”
Johanson places a hand on the fat man’s shoulder. “Hold on, Felix,” he cautions. “These fellas aren’t going anywhere. We’ll take it up with the law in Sioux City or Yankton.”
“Captain, they may have murdered three men…”
“May have. And I’m judge and jury aboard this boat. Right now all we have is their word against three fellas trying to paddle to shore. Maybe drowned, maybe not. I suggest you interview everyone on board and see if you have any testimony to the contrary about what they claim. Until you do, these two are confined to the boat.” Johanson turns to us. “You two understand?”
> I speak up for the first time. “We’ve gotta take the stock off to graze when possible.”
“So long as we’re nowhere near a town, you can take them off…one at a time. One of you stays on board at all times.”
Both of us shrug.
“I got to get to work,” I say, and with the captain’s nod, head for the ladder with Ian close behind.
He laughs again as we descend the ladder, then catches up with me as I head to where Sam is already working.
“Hey, do you suppose them no goods can swim?” Ian asks.
“Hope not,” I say.
“What do you think some law dog in Sioux City or Yankton will have to say?”
“I think he’ll have to believe what we say, less’n somebody says something different.”
“Then we’re fine, as anyone aboard who saw the affair will back us up, and them what won’t are likely being chomped on by some of them big bottom dwelling muddy Mo catfish as we speak.”
“From your lips, friend Ian, to God’s ears.” I laugh, then get serious. “I have yet to thank you.”
“What friends is for, young Brad. What friends is for…”
“I guess it can be Brad again, and I thank you again.”
He just laughs and walks back to the ladder. “Don’t get cooked in them boilers.” And he’s gone.
And so are half the enemies I have in the world…or at least I hope they’re gone.
In the night I hear the big bull the Germans have aboard starting to bawl. I guess he didn’t get his portion of hay, and under the circumstances, I’m not surprised.
I see Ian climb from his bedroll and purloin a couple of forkfuls of hay and throw them to the big monster, and he quiets. I guess the bull, Brutus, has lost his providers and wonders what will happen to him.
Sam, the second engineer, is growing to be a real friend. He’s got a quiet and subtle sense of humor and more and more I’m sorry I slighted him when Dag Eriksen, the first engineer, said I was to work for him.
“We got four or five more easy days,” Sam says to me as we stoke the firebox.
I laugh. “These been easy days?”
“Yep, compared to what comes. After we get past Yankton, then Captain Johanson really gots to watch the river. She gets shallow in places and even as high as she’s running, we may have to grasshopper.”
“Grasshopper?” I ask.
“Yep, we put out timbers fixed to the hull, drive them in the sand, then winch the upper end forward, lifting de boat a mite and movin’ her a few feet at a time. It ain’t easy, but it moves us over de low spots.”
I’ve told him about chucking the Germans and Skunk overboard so he’s not too shocked when I say, “That is if Ian and I ain’t warming the cold iron bench of some jail in Yankton or Sioux City.”
This time it’s Sam’s turn to laugh. “Hell, boy, you and dat Ian is good hands. The Captain won’t be turning you over to no law. Good hands is hard to come by, and harder and harder the more we get upstream. Besides, he done come into ownership of a fine bull. He be happy to see them boys go over de rail.”
And he’s right, as Johanson barely stops at Sioux City, only to take on wood and supplies, then again three days later at Yankton.
Just north of Yankton, in the middle of the day, I’m awakened by a mad ringing of the ships engine room signal bell. I jump up and go amidships to see what’s up, and find Dag Eriksen madly directing the day crew to pour the wood to her.
“What’s up?” I yell at him.
“The Emilie, she’s trying to pass us. Johanson will be like a crazy man if another boat passes, and God forbid, beats us to Benton City.”
I walk to the rail and see we have more than a half mile of straight river ahead, and abeam and slightly behind, the larger Emilie, half again as big as the Eagle, is gaining on us and will surely pass.
Moving back to the fire boxes, I again yell to Dag. “Can I help?”
“We can only feed her so much. We got a hundred eighty pounds now…”
“Jesus,” I manage, as I know he’s thirty pounds into the red.
“Ain’t that dangerous as hell?”
“Don’t worry, you’ll never know what hit you.”
“So back off.”
“I ain’t Captain, Brad. He calls for it, we give it to him.”
I’ve informed all who know me by name that I prefer Brad to Nolan, so most have gone to calling me by my proper name. Deciding it’s a good time to be as far from the boilers as I can get, I head for the ladder.
As I’m ascending, I hear cheers ring out from all over the boat, and again move to the rail. The Emilie is at a dead stop, one of her chimneys is pitched forward at an odd angle, and men and passengers are scrambling all over her decks.
“What happened,” I yell at a deck hand nearby.
“She grounded. We got her now.”
I nod and give him a smile. But what I’m really smiling about is the fact Dag and the boys below can ease up on the fireboxes, and the boilers, so we don’t all end up being blown or steamed to death.
We’ve been in Dakota Territory since we passed Yankton, and after we load wood at Fort Randle it will be four days to the next settlement. The country is still devoid of trees, except in a few deep washes. We did see more than one Indian village during the last week, and yesterday eight buffalo swam the river. I was not too pleased to watch as a couple of passengers shot them just for sport from the rails, and watching two head float down the river and go to waste. I’ve heard they are fine eating and will shoot them myself, but only if I can take a knife to them and butcher them out. Waste not, want not, my ma and pa taught me.
It’s too more days of easy going, then I’m tossed head over heels on the deck, ending up against the rail, as the boat had shuddered to a sudden stop. I can hear Captain Johanson screaming orders from the wheelhouse high above, and am glad it’s not me he’s taking his wrath out upon.
We’re grounded.
Chapter 14
It doesn’t take me long to figure out why Johanson didn’t complain more about the low fare I paid for my stock, as I’m not requested, but ordered to get them ashore.
We don’t have proper harness, but in no time the deck hands have rigged six-inch-wide leather straps to circle the chests of the mares and mules with over-neck straps to hold them in place, and we have eight powerful animals ready to pull. The three saddle horses are offloaded, as is the bull, but just to get their weight off. That, and every able bodied man on board is ashore and on a tow line.
The deck hands have rigged the grasshopper timbers, and soon we’re ashore pulling while the deck hands are working both the forward and aft capstans. It takes us until dark to move the boat fifty feet over the sand bar, and it’s said we have another hundred feet to go before she floats free.
My stock is now earning their keep.
Everyone is spent, and I’m sure all are ready to head for their bunks as soon as we finish supper, but we’re surprised when Captain Johanson announces over dessert that we’ll all be pitching in to offload cargo until he says different.
He’s not the most popular man on board and continues to snap orders until the boat rings eight bells and it’s midnight. Only then are we allowed to seek rest and respite.
And then only until dawn.
With daylight, after a quick breakfast, I’m put to hauling cargo upriver, but on shore, using planks for sleds. I get very familiar with hundreds of crates of all kinds of goods, as my friend Alex and my partner Ian and I load and unload crate after crate. As Alex knows what might be fragile and what is not, he directs the loading and unloading of every box, crate, carton, and barrel.
It’s noon when the Captain orders the animals put back in harness.
Even with less weight and more freeboard, the boat is still hard to move.
The capstans, normally used to up-haul the anchors, are operated on both the passenger deck and the lower engine deck with a thru-hull allowing eight men to put their weight into it
if necessary. Four men on each deck put their all into it and a smaller donkey steam engine is moved from one rail to the other, and its geared pulleys put tremendous strain on cables, working the grasshopper timbers.
As I’m encouraging my mules and mares to pull, I hear shouting from the deck and see three deckhands running forward to the donkey steam engine. It’s putting tremendous strain on a cable on the shore side of the boat, and I watch in wonder as the cable stretches so taut that it doesn’t even shiver.
“More, more,” a deck hand yells, and I see Ray and another man carrying arm loads of smaller lengths of wood to feed the firebox of the little donkey.
Then a crack as loud as lightening striking rings out, and the cable parts and becomes a whip, and as if in slow motion, I see it pass by, then realize, it’s passed thru, Raymond. Not his torso, but his left leg. He pitches backward, but his left leg and trouser, from just below the knee, continues forward with the last two feet of the cable, and flies overboard.
Knocked skidding across the deck, Ray quickly tries to rise, trying to get a leg under himself…a leg that’s no longer there.
I run to the shore and yell, “Get a tourniquet on that man. Stop the bleeding.” I’ve seen many a limb shot or cut from a man during the war, and know you can bleed out in short order. But the others merely stand and stare. “Goddamnit,” I scream. “Get a belt around that stump.”
Finally, another black deck hand jumps forward, pulling his belt as he does, and in seconds more, has it pulled tight around the stump.
