The River Devil

by Diane Whiteside

  It was almost impossible to see across the river behind him. Then the Spartan sounded her bell, its note memorized by every riverside dweller, to warn of imminent departure from Council Bluffs on the eastern edge of the Missouri.

  Sounds of town life were muffled and changeable, their source often impossible to determine. Clear and yet eerily attuned to the river’s rushing waters, a line of roustabouts sang of rising early in the morning, as they passed barrels of nails across the levee to be stowed onboard the Belle.

  But Hal could feel the sun shining on his head and shoulders, stronger this dawn than typical for an April morning. It was likely to banish the fog in short order and bring a warm, almost summerlike day. And it might bring spring thunderstorms this afternoon, which would send still more water pouring into the Missouri. The Belle would need two men to handle her wheel, in that case, just to fight her upstream against the current.

  Inside the pilothouse, Bellecourt was humming as he prepared to sail, while the purring of Norton’s engines made the Belle vibrate like a thoroughbred at a derby, eager to begin the sprint to Sioux City. O’Brien’s voice rose from the main deck, where he oversaw the last pieces of luggage and freight coming aboard. Sampson shared coffee and talk of Indian depredations with two army officers on the hurricane deck.

  The Cherokee Belle would sail for Sioux City as soon as William and Viola came aboard. And leave Rosalind behind.

  Hal closed his eyes in pain. Damn, how he wanted to stay behind in Omaha and look for her. If he waited until after the trip to Sioux City, she might be gone forever. The risk of never seeing her again—or worse, losing her to Lennox—was almost intolerable, sending chills through his body such as he’d never felt in combat.

  He made an abrupt decision and stepped up into the pilothouse. “I’m going ashore, Bellecourt, to look for Carstairs. I’ll return within an hour, before Mr. and Mrs. Donovan arrive and the Belle sails.”

  Bellecourt glanced up and shrugged. “Très bien, Lindsay. Please try not to enjoy too much trouble.”

  Hal chuckled at their old joke and flipped a fast salute. With Cicero happily trotting at his heels, he quickly went down to the boiler deck, where Ezra caught him on the promenade.

  “Sir, do you know what Captain and Mrs. Lindsay’s plans were?”

  Hal blinked in surprise; his father never discussed social engagements with his children. “No, they hadn’t spoken to me.” He continued reluctantly, spurred by an instinctive unease, “Why do you ask?”

  “They spent the night ashore at the Cozzens Hotel, sir. But Obadiah just sent a runner to ask if we’d seen them. He took coffee into their room but neither Captain nor Mrs. Lindsay was there. He’s asked around but no one’s seen them.”

  Hal frowned. Mother wasn’t in her bed at dawn? She liked her comforts, beginning with sleeping late. And the Old Man would never miss a sailing time. “I’m afraid I didn’t see them. My compliments to Sampson and ask him to send a steady man to help search.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Hal went ashore, still frowning. If his parents didn’t appear shortly, he’d have to help look for them, although he had no idea where to start, besides their hotel. He shook off that worry when he crossed the levee and headed up the street into town, with Cicero uttering occasional yaps of disdain for the local canines.

  Unlike the hunt for his parents, he had a list of places where he could hunt for Rosalind. Only the Cherokee Belle and the Spartan were sailing upriver today. She’d already refused passage on both of those boats. He couldn’t imagine why she’d bought passage on the Cherokee Star, instead of the Spartan, back in Kansas City. But he doubted her reasons would have changed during the trip upriver. So he’d look for her first in the gambling halls, then broaden the hunt to boardinghouses. High-class gambling halls should remember an elegant and highly competent young poker player. And if the Pinkerton detectives had already flushed her out, then he’d simply have to buy them off or break her loose.

  The fog was thicker in the streets of Omaha than it had been at the Belle’s highest point, cutting visibility down to less than twenty-five feet. The sounds of horses and wagons were both muffled and stronger now, hinting at a town coming to life.

  “Lindsay!” a stranger hailed from the alley to his left.

  Hal spun, instinctively reaching for his gun. His hand froze inches away from the trigger’s comfort. The stranger held a double-barreled shotgun pointed at his chest. At twenty feet, it was unlikely he’d miss.

  Cicero growled, deep and low.

  Hal lifted an eyebrow. He’d always been good at bluffing. Perhaps he could stretch this encounter out until someone would take notice and help him. “I’m afraid I don’t know you, Mr….?”

  The big-bellied dandy laughed. “You’re a cool one, aren’t you? I’m Eli Jenkins, an associate of Nicholas Lennox.”

  Shit. “How do you do,” Hal returned politely, calculating his odds. If Cicero attacked, he might distract Jenkins long enough for Hal to draw his Colt. But Cicero would probably die in the attempt. Stall. “And to what do I owe the honor of this meeting, Mr. Jenkins?”

  “There’s a price of ten thousand dollars on your head, Lindsay, and I mean to claim it.”

  Hell and damnation, the devil’s to pay now. And he’d never see Rosalind again. Cicero growled again and edged forward.

  “Mr. Jenkins—”

  “I’m really not interested in talking to you, Lindsay, since the Spartan’s waiting for me. I need to claim my money now, before I follow Donovan’s casket to Boot Hill.”

  The feathers of a lady’s hat appeared over Jenkins’s shoulder. “Watch out, ma’am!” Hal yelled and leaped forward. Cicero jumped for Jenkins’s arm.

  Two Colts barked, almost as one. The shotgun jerked upward and fired into the sky. Then Jenkins’s neck disappeared in a cloud of blood and flesh. He crumpled slowly into the mud, facedown. The Spartan’s bell rang again, summoning its last passengers.

  Hal jerked to a stop, mud and blood splattering his boots. Cicero howled in surprise and backed up to the safety of Hal’s boots.

  At the alley’s other end, a lady slowly lowered her two pocket Navy Colts, holstered them under the skirts of her jacket, and folded back her veil. She stared at Jenkins’s body and swallowed hard, her complexion turning green. “Dear God in heaven, forgive me,” Rosalind Schuyler murmured. Hal could almost see the effort of will it took for her to remain upright.

  The truth rushed out of his mouth in a torrent. “Damn, but I love you, Miss Schuyler. Will you marry me?”

  She looked at him then and smiled faintly. She was an incredible sight, in her highly fashionable green carriage gown with bell sleeves and a deep flounce in front. It emphasized her superb figure, caressing her breasts and waist like a lover’s glance.

  Her hat provided the finishing touch. A high-crowned velvet affair, its feathers rose over the crown before dancing down the rear. The black face veil, trimmed with point lace and jet beads, was folded back to the hat’s brim, then fell in neat pleats down her back.

  Her appearance was sophisticated, feminine, and worlds away from a New York debutante or riverboat gambler. None of Pinkerton’s men would recognize her. If Hal hadn’t slept with her, he doubted he would have known her.

  “Yes, I’ll marry you.” Rosalind nodded, her smile playing around her mouth. She rummaged in her reticule for a handkerchief, which she held in front of her nose and mouth, as if warding off the stench of death. “We need to warn Mr. and Mrs. Donovan of their peril.”

  Cicero curled his lip at the enemy’s remains, then frisked ahead to Rosalind. She patted him and rubbed his ears in his favorite caress. He leaned against her in pure adoration, displaying an ease Hal wished he could emulate.

  Hal followed Cicero and stopped in front of her, carefully blocking her view of Jenkins’s body. “They spent the night with friends and should be returning within the hour.”

  He hesitated, embarrassed about his clumsy declaration of love. Will
iam had told him once that women needed to hear the words. Heaven knows the man told Viola often enough that he adored her. But flowery words weren’t for him. “I came to find you first, before looking for them or for my parents. I found it intolerable to live a day without you.”

  Joy broke across her face, and she reached out to him. He swept her into his arms then, and held her close. She buried her face against his chest and shook as if she would shatter. He wrapped his arms around her fiercely. He would never let her go again.

  As her tremors slowed, Hal backed her out of the alley and onto Farnam Street’s boardwalk, the next street over; he needed to enjoy this moment without any thought of death or enmity. He had a little time for Rosalind before finding, and warning, William.

  Cicero sat down beside him, scratched his ear briskly, then yawned. A few men, mostly laborers, gathered to point and stare at Jenkins’s corpse. A uniformed driver, sitting at the reins of a very elegant brougham with a large trunk strapped on behind, tipped his hat to Hal and waited. That must be how Rosalind had arrived.

  Someday, he’d ask her where she had obtained it. But not yet. Holding her gave him so much joy he had little use for such mundane details as transport.

  Hoofbeats announced the arrival of another carriage. Hal glanced over casually, then cursed under his breath. Rosalind stirred in his arms.

  “Lindsay. And perhaps the lady is Miss Schuyler?” William Donovan asked, a Sharps carbine in his hands and Viola at the reins. Bullet holes laced his buggy’s hood and body, as well as his hat. The feathers on Viola’s bonnet were singed and torn. Dried blood marked a long graze on the horse’s flank.

  Hal snarled, instinctively baring his teeth. There would be no peace or safety for any of them until Lennox was dead. His grip tightened reflexively on Rosalind. She looked at the buggy and hissed.

  “Correct. Although she’s actually soon to become Mrs. Lindsay,” Hal answered as she turned to face the newcomers. He was more than willing to follow William’s lead and not remind the ladies of their peril. However, he did keep an arm around Rosalind’s waist to reassure himself that she was still there. “How did you recognize her?”

  “She reminds me of a young gentleman I met, the former cub pilot on the Cherokee Belle,” William said blandly.

  Hal snorted. He might have guessed William would see through a woman’s disguise.

  “What happened to you two?” Rosalind demanded, totally ignoring the men’s chatter. He should have known she’d insist on the truth.

  “A half-dozen brigands interrupted us on the drive back into town. The sheriff is talking to the two who survived,” William answered briefly. He looked more than willing to gut the next man who disturbed him.

  Hal jerked his head over his shoulder. “Eli Jenkins met the same fate back there.”

  “Jenkins was Lennox’s man?” William’s eyebrows shot up. “That explains a good deal, since he’d have known how to cause trouble for my freight trains. Thank you for disposing of him.”

  “Miss Schuyler managed it. Jenkins had the drop on me and she saved my life.”

  Rosalind shuddered.

  “Thank you, darling, for saving my brother’s life,” Viola declared and launched herself out of the buggy at Rosalind. “Congratulations on your betrothal, my dears. I always knew you two were meant for each other.”

  “You knew?” Rosalind’s voice rose to a squeak as the smaller woman hugged her. She stopped, coughed, and tried again. “When did you realize I was a woman?”

  Eyes glistening with tears, Viola waved off the question. “William knew the moment he first saw you but he made me promise not to speak of it.” She drew Hal close to her and Rosalind. “I am so very glad for you both.”

  Hal wrapped his arms around the two most important women in his life. Joy rose up in him, tempered by the need to protect them from Lennox.

  “I gather that felicitations are in order?” a man drawled, and Morgan Evans strolled down the boardwalk to meet them. He looked remarkably dapper, freshly shaved and his coat neatly pressed. There were few signs, except for his heavy-lidded eyes and a somewhat sated look about his mouth, of someone who’d spent the night in an expensive brothel. He had the courtesy to show only genial curiosity and no recognition of Rosalind.

  Viola chuckled and the little circle broke apart. Viola rejoined her husband, but Rosalind held Hal’s hand as he answered Evans. “Certainly they are. Miss Schuyler, may I present Morgan Evans, top hand for my brother-in-law? Evans, this is Miss Rosalind Schuyler, my fiancée.”

  “Mr. Evans.” His little gambler gave Evans a very formal nod. Hal would wager a day’s receipts she was enjoying this charade.

  Viola glanced at her husband, who winked back at her.

  Evans hesitated briefly, searching Rosalind’s face under the very fashionable hat and veil. Then he smiled, a genuine show of acknowledgment and approval. “It is a very great pleasure to meet you at last, Miss Schuyler.”

  He bowed over her hand with a flourish, and she accepted his homage like a queen. Hal knew he was grinning like a fool and didn’t much care. Evans stepped back to stand with Donovan, just as Ezra arrived with an armful of coats to gape at the assembly.

  Interrupting the general air of relaxation, Rosalind gave Hal her gambler’s all-encompassing scrutiny. “You said you needed to search for your parents. Why?”

  Hal shrugged uncomfortably. “They’ve disappeared. Obadiah went to wake them, but they weren’t there, nor could he find them at their hotel.”

  “Mother was gone from her bed at dawn?” Viola’s jaw dropped open. “Impossible. Even during the war, she preferred to sleep the morning away.”

  “It’s equally unimaginable for the Old Man to miss his boat’s sailing time,” Hal agreed soberly. “I sent some of the Belle’s men to help search for them. But we can’t linger for long, since we have to reach Sioux City before Lennox does.”

  “Sioux City? Oh yes, I forgot something.” Rosalind dug in her reticule and produced a battered little leather-bound book, which she handed to William. “I believe you may find it useful.”

  William’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, a rare sight in itself. “Etheridge’s book?”

  “The same,” Rosalind answered.

  “How did you come by it?” He flipped through pages as he spoke, while Viola leaned over to watch.

  “Poker, wasn’t it?” Hal suggested.

  Good Lord, she’d taken away Lennox’s most potent weapon, using that little book to blackmail the Secretary of War into attacking William. William’s business and reputation were now safe from destruction by the corrupt bureaucrat.

  His fiancée nodded, a smile playing around her mouth. “So now you can search for your parents, Hal,” she said pointedly, pulling away slightly to look at him.

  He frowned, unwilling to be without her for any time. He certainly couldn’t take this elegant creature with him while he prowled the roughest part of Omaha. “A simple misunderstanding between the Old Man and Obadiah is the most likely explanation, Rosalind. The Cherokee Belle has a schedule to keep and I’m sure the Old Man will appear.”

  She tapped her toe as she watched him. “But now you have time to be certain of that, since you don’t have to immediately chase Lennox, correct? After all, he’ll need some time to frame another attack, with Jenkins and the ledger book gone.”

  “Correct,” Hal said reluctantly.

  She smiled at him. Hal had the unsettling feeling that he was going to see the same sweetly triumphant look on her face a great many times in the future.

  “Excellent. And Cicero can help us hunt,” she said briskly.

  “Cicero? Help us? You should return to the Belle at once with Viola.”

  “Well, of course, I’m going to help you with Cicero, not wring my hands.”

  Hal acknowledged to himself that any description of helplessness sounded nothing like his little gambler.

  “And you know how fond Cicero is of Captain Lindsay,” Rosalind continued
, “and how clever he is. My old spaniel did similar tricks on many occasions so I’m certain Cicero will find it very easy to find the captain. Won’t you, dear?”

  The besotted dog sat up straight and barked enthusiastically. Hal shot him a jaundiced look, then caught William’s eye.

  His brother-in-law shrugged sympathetically. “Viola and I will accompany you,” he offered. “Donovan & Sons’ depot is a block from here and I’ll have one of my men deal with Jenkins’s body.”

  “Thank you.” Hal bit his lip against suggesting that Viola wait safely aboard the Belle. If her very protective husband wouldn’t utter those words, what could a mere brother say? He grasped at straws to get either of the two women safely away. “What about the carriage?”

  “A friend loaned it to me for a morning’s use. It can accompany us, in case Captain or Mrs. Lindsay prefers to ride in comfort,” Rosalind answered firmly.

  Realizing that he was boxed in, Hal glanced at the mountain of cloth in Ezra’s arms. “Are those for Captain and Mrs. Lindsay?”

  “Yes, sir. I brought the coats from the Belle, in case they were chilled. Their gloves, too.”

  “Give me Captain Lindsay’s gloves.”

  Hal took the proffered leather and squatted down beside Cicero. Homer had been more inclined to chase rabbits than track humans. But for Rosalind’s sake, he’d try her suggestion.

  “You know who Captain Lindsay is, don’t you?” He held out the gloves as he watched the dog he’d rescued from the streets.

  The terrier sniffed the fine leather. Then bright dark eyes looked back at him earnestly, head cocked as if understanding every word. He barked once, sharply.

  A shiver went down Hal’s spine at the unexpected answer, almost a communication. Perhaps if he behaved as if this would work, it might do so. Uncertain of how to give the order, he addressed Cicero as if he were a military scout.

  “Excellent! Now find Captain Lindsay, Cicero. Find Captain Lindsay.” He emphasized the last two words, staring at the dog.