by Tim Champlin
Zane squatted on his heels and worked the knob and the latch on the inner door of their cabin. The whole superstructure of this boat appeared to be made of relatively lightweight pine instead of some hard wood. “Becky, I’ll need someone to hold a lamp for me tonight. I’m sure there’s an overhead oil lamp in their cabin like the one in here, but I can’t take time to fool with it. Only need a light for a minute to see what I’m doing with that axe.”
“I’ll hold it.”
“No. I don’t want anyone to see your face. Besides, if something goes wrong, Jim can protect me.” He thought for a moment, holding the inner door partially open and looking across the main saloon. “It’s not over twelve or fourteen feet across this room. Maybe I should bust the inside door instead,” he muttered to himself.
“What?”
“Nothing. Thinking out loud.” Outside, any noise they made would be offset by the breeze, the swishing of the paddle wheel, the low thumping of the machinery and noise of the steam escape pipe. Inside, the axe blows would be confined and probably heard by someone. He wished a thunderstorm would come up and mask the chopping. But, if it were storming, the boat would be tied up, which would make no difference to the escape.
“How do you know Weir and Smealey won’t find the note you slip under the door for Tom and Huck?” Becky asked.
“Jim and I been watching those two men for a few days now. Their routine never varies. They don’t go near the boys’ cabin after they deliver their supper to them.”
“I hope you’re right. Whew! This is scary.”
He stood up and shut the door. “I’m going below to check the axe. Lock the door behind me.”
On the main deck he lounged around until the deckhands and passengers were otherwise engaged, then stepped up and used his thumb to gently test the edge of the axe, which rested in a rack on the bulkhead. The crew kept it razor sharp.
Now, he’d go find Jim and they’d snitch a loose lantern.
At suppertime, Zane watched as Smealey took the boys’ food to them, entering through the inside door to their cabin. Then he came out and locked it. The same routine as before.
Later, during the long summer twilight while the boat continued to plow upstream, Jim took a nap on the mat while Zane tried to rest on the lower bunk. But sleep wouldn’t come. He had to be fresh for tonight. After nearly an hour, he gave up and went outside to stroll the deck. When the sun was resting on the western tree line, he took his written note and slipped it under the door to Tom and Huck’s room. No one was on the catwalk, so he knocked sharply four times on the door before walking away. He hoped they would be forewarned. If not, the escape would still happen.
“Zane! Zane!” A hand shook him out of a restless doze. “It be time.” Jim was squatting beside his sleeping mat on the floor, holding a partially sheltered hurricane lantern.
Zane came instantly awake and glanced at his wristwatch. A few minutes until two a.m. Becky’s eyes from the upper bunk looked large in the dim light.
Zane put on his sneakers and slipped out the door and down to the main deck. The boat was plowing smoothly along in the bright moonlight.
The passengers sprawled and curled up on the main deck were all asleep. Even the two deckhands on duty were sitting forward on the bitts, heads down and dozing.
Zane quietly eased up to the aft bulkhead that closed off the steam engines. He moved confidently as if he was supposed to be there. He was partially shielded by the stacks of cordwood and boxes and barrels of freight as he slipped the axe out. Holding it alongside his leg he ascended the aft stairway. Jim was waiting with the lantern shuttered. In a moment they were only dark shadows under the roof overhang beside the outside door of cabin six.
Jim eased open the shutter of the lantern to allow a sliver of light to escape, then stood back out of the way.
With a last look around, Zane hefted the axe and brought it down with force, splintering the upper panel. Three more hard whacks had the latch mechanism hanging from the damaged wood. More noise wouldn’t matter now. One more blow and the knob and lock assembly fell out. They were quickly inside and Jim opened the lantern, kicking the ruined door shut behind him.
Huck and Tom were wide awake, shackled by their wrists to the bedposts.
“Here, hold your hands like this,” Zane panted, stretching the short chain across the wood. He prayed his aim was good. The blade struck the links and sparks flew. Three hard whacks and the chain parted.
Huck held his hands the same way with the chain around the wooden bedpost. Two more quick, powerful blows with the heavy axe blade and the chain popped in two and slid over the splintered post.
Making a quick decision he pulled Jim forward to hold the light on the inside door latch. Four more hard blows smashed the wood and knocked loose the knob and lock so the door could be kicked open.
The dimly lit main saloon was empty and in three steps they were across the dozen feet to their own room where Becky held the door open for them. They shot inside and she closed and locked it.
Tom and Huck dove under the lower bunk, pulling their feet out of sight. Becky vaulted into the upper. Zane opened the outer door, looked right and left, and flung the axe into the river. Then he closed the door quietly, engaged the bolt, and he and Jim, breathing heavily, lay down on the mat and lower bunk as if they’d been there all night.
A minute or two later they heard some commotion and voices raised outside. Whoever had been on watch had heard the banging and crashing and come to investigate.
Zane’s heart was pounding and he mentally practiced what he’d say if or when the mate came with questions.
He heard footsteps thudding on the catwalk, then voices inside the saloon. Would the boat’s officers take the chance of aggravating all the other sleeping passengers by pounding on their doors at this time of night?
If the cabins were searched, the mate and others would likely wait until daylight. Tom and Huck would be discovered and he and Jim and Becky would be in trouble. He’d have to tell the story to the captain.
What would the kidnappers say? Even when the officers realized that cabin six was occupied by two boys Weir and Smealey had brought aboard, the kidnappers would deny any knowledge of what’d happened.
Zane had never met the captain, so knew nothing about the man. If he tended to blame the black and the young people for the break-in and damage, Zane would ask to see Andre Carrick and explain the situation to him. The metal handcuffs hanging to the boys’ wrists should be some proof their story was true.
Zane wondered what was happening outside, but forced himself to remain still for the few minutes it took for his breathing steady down.
Jim had left the hurricane lantern burning dimly on the floor in the corner. While there was still some stirring and voices in the main saloon, Jim rose and slowly cranked open the small transom above the inside door.
“. . . nothing we can do about it until morning,” the rough voice of the mate growled.
“Passenger list shows two boys in that room.”
Zane didn’t recognize the voice.
“Robbery you think?” the mate said.
Zane was straining to hear as the boat’s officers moved away from the door.
“Could be. We got a rough bunch aboard.”
“Knock up the men in number two. They brought ’em aboard.”
“Tried, but they ain’t in their room.”
“That’s almighty str . . .”
The voices faded as the men moved forward.
Zane caught his breath. The two kidnappers had fled. But where? They couldn’t escape the boat in the middle of the river at night with two heavy bags of gold.
Becky was looking over the edge of the upper berth, and Tom and Huck had crawled out from under the lower. They gave and received quick hugs all around before hunkering down for a quick conference.
For once, Tom seemed at a loss for words, but tears glistened in his eyes in the lamplight. The two boys looked pale and drawn as
if they’d just awakened from some long sickness. “We heard the knock and saw the note under the door,” Huck said. “I stretched fur as I could and drug it over with my foot. Me and Tom was able to read it. Then I shoved it in my pocket. Got it right here.”
“Okay, now that we’ve sprung you, the kidnappers have bolted,” Zane said.
“Should we go to the captain right now and tell our story?” Becky asked.
Everyone was quiet for a moment, trying to think what was best.
“Maybe if we tell him right now, they can arrest those two when they try to go ashore.”
“Or, the captain will blame us for not coming to him right at first, instead of busting up that cabin.” Zane looked at his watch. “Let’s wait a few hours until we dock. Sometimes doing nothing is the best course.”
Jim nodded his agreement.
“Is that agreeable to everyone?” Zane asked, looking around.
They all assented. “As my grandmother used to say, ‘Don’t shake hands with the devil until you meet him in the road.’ If we’re bound for trouble, let it come to us, rather than rushing to meet it. Weir and Smealey must still be aboard. We can bide our time, and let them sweat. We’ll be ready when the boat docks.” Zane turned to Tom and Huck. “Let me see those wrists.” The boys’ wrists, still encircled by the metal cuffs that had chafed the skin, were raw and bleeding. The wounds had not been cleaned or treated.
“Ah’ll snag some whisky fo’ ’em,” Jim said.
“No, let me go,” Zane said. “You stand guard here.” He eased open the inside door and went across the deserted saloon with only a quick glance in the direction of the opposite broken door.
He discovered all the bottles behind the bar were locked in a metal rack. He’d have to wait until later; he wasn’t about to damage any more property.
It was after three o’clock.
CHAPTER 23
* * *
“That’s the last of ’em,” Captain Horace Smith said. “No more passengers debarking at St. Joe.” He glanced at Zane who stood beside him at the head of the gangway. “If what you say is true, those two—Weir and Smealey or Ordway and Phillips—or whatever they call themselves, somehow slipped off the boat earlier. I’ve had my men search this boat bow to stern and even down into the cargo hold. There’s no sign of them.”
Zane’s stomach sank like a leadsman’s weight. “Okay, Captain. Thanks. I’ll pay for the damage to the doors of that cabin.”
“Never mind. The company has insurance and will take care of it. We have some damage every trip. I’m grateful those two boys are safe.” Tom, Huck, Jim, and an unveiled Becky stood to one side.
“Good luck from here on.” The white-haired Captain Smith shook hands with Zane and nodded to the others as he turned to supervise the unloading of the cargo.
Tom, Huck, Becky, Jim, and Zane had no luggage to haul ashore, and had paid fare only one-way. If they decided to return, they’d have to buy tickets and wait for a downbound steamer.
They all trooped down the gangway. A hundred yards or so beyond the wharf was the edge of what looked like a massive, several-acre wagon sale or stockyards, or livery, or maybe the beginnings of the largest tent meeting in the history of Missouri. Wagons, horses, oxen, and people were milling about in what could best be likened to a huge ant hill. Wood smoke, cooking meat, moldy hay, the ammonia odor of urine from hundreds of animals, earthy smells of ground churned up with tons of manure—a repulsive miasma that was only made tolerable by a westerly breeze wafting across the river from Indian Territory.
Zane caught his breath. The sight and odors were almost more than he could bear. “What is this?” he asked aloud.
“Welcome to St. Joe, Missouri, lad,” a voice said as a tall man swept past him from the boat.
“Mister Carrick!” Zane shouted impulsively.
The scout turned around. “You know me? . . . ah, yes, I met you a few days ago. But I forget your name.”
Zane reintroduced himself. “Are all these people heading west?”
“That’s right,” Carrick said.
“Why are they here?”
“Only two ferries cross the river and they run on a first come, first served, cash basis when the water isn’t too high. What you see here is all the backup.” He swept his arm at the milling mob of humans, animals, and wagons churning and re-churning the half-dried mud.
“Looks like our work is laid out for us,” Tom said.
“What work?” Zane asked
“Why finding them kidnappin’ robbers, of course.”
“I thought we warn’t gonna do that, once we was shut of ’em” Huck said.
“Mebbe best to let blame well alone,” Jim added.
“They put us to no end of trouble and they stole our 612,000,” Tom stated. “We gonna let them waltz off into Injun Territory with all that gold? All these folks out here waiting to cross the river are headin’ west to dig gold outa the cricks and ground. Those two had it handed to them.”
Zane could see his point when he put it like that. He glanced at Becky. What was she thinking? Her neutral expression indicated she was game for whatever the others decided.
“All you five together?” Carrick asked.
“Yes.”
“And you’re looking for those two men who stole your gold and held you hostage? I heard some folks talking about it on the boat.”
“That’s right.” Tom held up his wrists with the metal bracelets still attached. “I don’t know how they slipped off this boat before we landed, but they did. Maybe swum ashore hanging onto a couple logs o’ cordwood.”
Carrick looked off at the milling throng with campfires smoking here and there. “Maybe I can help you,” he said. “I don’t have to report to my wagon train until later today.” He looked at Tom. “Meanwhile, I can direct you to a locksmith if you boys want to shed that jewelry.”
“That would be most kind of you,” Becky said.
“Come with me; I’ll walk into town with you.” Carrick hoisted his saddlebags over one shoulder.
About a mile away they came to the business district and Carrick led them to a locksmith shop. The smith had the locks opened in a minute without asking any questions. He started to toss the shackles into a trash barrel.
“Wait,” Tom said. “Give me one of those for a souvenir. Since I’ll have scars on my wrists, I want to show what did it.” He thrust one of the bracelets into his pocket.
Zane started to pay the smith, but Carrick waved him aside. “I’ll take care of this. It’s nothing.”
As they walked back toward the crowded campsite of the gold rushers, the issue of what they would do was still undecided, Zane thought. If they didn’t find any sign of the two kidnappers, they could either go on to California, or return to St. Petersburg and give up. Somehow, he couldn’t see them doing this.
“Let me show you around,” Carrick offered. “I have some time to kill. The party I’m guiding has twenty wagons and a few dozen animals—horses, oxen, and mules. I’ll go by the camp and drop my saddlebags and then we’ll see if we see hide or hair of your robbers. In my experience, there are a lot of wanted men who head west, and blend in with all the honest folks.”
For the next two hours, Andre Carrick walked around with them, visiting with other wagon trains, introducing himself, and casually asking about the two kidnappers, letting Becky, Tom, and Huck describe the pair.
Near three o’clock, the wagon master of a long train who was next in line for one of the ferries startled them all when he said, “Yeah, I seen two men like that just this morning.”
All of them were at full attention instantly.
“You know where they went?”
“Naw. Never paid ’em no mind after we concluded our business,” the white-bearded wagon master said.
“What business?” Carrick asked.
“They was in the market to buy two saddle horses. Normally we wouldn’t have had any to spare, but one of our wagons dropped out. The wife took s
ick and the husband and kids decided to go back to Illinois. They had some extra stock they wanted to turn into cash so they sold the two horses. Good, strong mounts. These two men paid cash for horses and saddles.”
“Did they have a couple of heavy saddlebags?” Zane asked.
“Hmmm . . . Matter of fact, they did. No other luggage. Guess all their gear was packed in ’em.”
Tom and Huck’s gold, Zane thought. From the looks on their faces, the others were thinking the same.
As they turned away, the wagon master added one afterthought, “They was in a rush to be off and said they was gonna bypass the ferry and swim their mounts over the Missouri. I warned them it was dangerous, but they only laughed.”
Carrick moved away with his group. “Sounds like your kidnappers,” he said. “I sure would like to help you catch them. I hate to think they’re loose over in the territory where there ain’t no law.”
“You reckon they’re already across and goin’ like smoke on the trail to California?” Tom wondered aloud.
“Very likely, since they bought their horses several hours ago. If they was in a hurry, like the man said, they likely bought a few provisions and hightailed it,” Carrick said. “I reckon about now they’re either several miles out toward the Platte, or they’re in the bottom of the Missouri,” he stated, matter-of-factly.
People in this time treated life and death with equal indifference, Zane thought. You took your chances and either lived or died as a result. This environment would make a boy grow up quick. Given what he’d already been through since last week, he felt about twenty years old.
“I want to light out after them,” Tom said.
“How do we manage that?” Becky asked.
“I don’t know, but we can’t let them off scot-free,” Tom said. “I ain’t hangin’ my head back in St. Petersburg admittin’ I failed and let two outlaws who treated us so mean run away with our gold besides.”
