“There’ll be food in the wagon Jake drove,” said Amanda. “All those supplies belong to me and Betsy.”
“Bill and me will keep watch,” Mark said. “The two of you search the wagon for grub, and while you’re looking, keep an eye out for those weapons that belonged to Jake. I’d bet my saddle some of these coyotes have already claimed them.”
Most of the wagon was filled with barreled whiskey, and there was room for little else.
“Jake’s Colt’s here,” Betsy said, “but there’s no sign of the rifles or ammunition.”
“Come on,” said Mark. “We’ll need those Henry rifles and whatever ammunition there is. If Estrello didn’t take them, he’ll know who did.”
With Amanda and Betsy accompanying them, Mark and Bill paused half a dozen yards from where Estrello stood watching them.
“Jake had a pair of Henry rifles,” Bill said. “We want them, along with any available ammunition.”
“Whoever took them Henrys and ammunition, fetch’em,” said Estrello.
Sheepishly, Phelps Brice and Chad Graves stepped forward.
“We took ’em,” Graves said. “Jake was gone, and—”
“Shut up,” Estrello growled, “and get them.”
The Henry repeaters were brought, along with four tins of ammunition. Bill passed one of the weapons to Betsy, while Mark gave the second one to Amanda.
“Now, ain’t that something?” said Dutch McCarty, grinning. “Couldn’t neither one of ’em hit the inside of a barn with the doors shut.”
The roar of a Henry seemed unusually loud in the stillness. Dutch McCarty’s hat took a wild leap off his head, and Amanda stood ready to fire again if need be. But there was no need. Some of the outlaws laughed, while Estrello seemed not to believe his eyes. These damn women could and would shoot a man, if provoked. Mark nodded to Amanda, and she and Betsy retreated to what had been Jake’s wagon.
“Estrello,” Bill said, “if you aim for us to haul wagon-loads of booze somewhere, then it’s time for us to know where and when.”
“It goes no farther than right here,” said Estrello. “You take the wagons off the boats at Fort Smith, and bring them here. Our . . . ah . . . clients come here for the product. The day after tomorrow, you’ll take the empty wagons to Fort Smith, where you’ll wait for their return by steamboat.”
Snider Irvin laughed. “Folks is startin’ to call the old Arkansas ‘Whiskey River.’ ”
Mark and Bill spent the rest of the day near the wagon Jake had driven, cleaning their weapons and watching the outlaws. When suppertime was near, Amanda and Betsy prepared the meal.
“Estrello hasn’t told us much of anything,” said Amanda while they ate. “He could be setting us up for an ambush at Fort Smith.”
“He could be,” Mark said, “and we’ll have to be ready. It’s a risk, but there’s no other way. Keithley and Stackler aren’t too fond of Estrello. Somehow, we must find a time and place to talk to them, without the rest of the gang knowing.”
“Who were the teamsters from Fort Smith when Jake was killed?” Bill asked.
“Besides Jake,” said Betsy, “there was Jules Hiram, Hugh Odell, Bert Hamby, Alfonso Suggs, Snider Irvin, Elgin Kendrick, and Burrel Hedgepith.”
“Eight wagons,” Bill said. “Always eight? Never more or less?”
“Always eight,” said Betsy, “and a dozen outriders. None of the outriders are allowed on the wagon boxes. It’s as though Estrello doesn’t trust them.”
“Estrello aims to send the wagons back to Fort Smith the day after tomorrow,” Mark said. “What will he do with all this barreled rotgut loaded on these wagons?”
“Oh, you haven’t seen the worst of it,” said Amanda. “Tomorrow the Comanches and Kiowa come to trade for whiskey. They’ll trade stolen horses, pelts, gold, silver, and anything Estrello will accept.”
“How many Indians?” Bill asked.
“Five hundred or more,” said Betsy. “Sometimes they’ll tap a few barrels of the stuff and get crazy drunk right here.”
“That’s a hell of a lot of Indians,” Mark said, “when there’s maybe forty-eight barrels of whiskey. Somebody will lose out”
“No,” said Amanda. “Estrello’s thought of that. He’s set his prices high enough that no single Indian can afford a large amount of the whiskey. They’re forced to combine whatever they have to trade and then share as much whiskey as Estrello will sell them. There’s a few of the Indians—Comanches, I think—who manage to trade for four or five barrels of whiskey. They load each barrel on a travois behind a horse and haul it back to their camp. Jake always said they would resell or trade the whiskey for ten times what it was worth.”
“Tarnation,” Bill said, “with thirty-six gallons of pure alcohol per barrel, these Indians could stay crazy drunk for God knows how long. If we’re leaving the day after tomorrow for Fort Smith, what happens if all this whiskey hasn’t been sold?”
“It will be,” said Betsy. “When it gets down to the last few barrels, there’ll be fighting over what’s left. One Indian tried to trade his squaw for a barrel of the stuff.”
“Makes me wonder why Estrello don’t add some more wagons and haul in more of the stuff,” Mark said.
“Jake said Estrello’s too smart for that,” said Amanda. “By limiting the whiskey, he’s able to demand a higher price. If he brought in too much, the bidding wouldn’t be nearly as fierce.”
“With so many men in camp, where do the two of you usually sleep?” Bill asked.
“Under Jake’s wagon, when it’s here,” said Betsy. “When it’s not, we try to hide out in the brush.”
“Then take your place under the wagon tonight,” Bill said. “We’ll be close by.”
But to the surprise of Mark and Bill, Estrello had plans for them.
“Them Indians knows the whiskey’s here,” Estrello said. “On the first watch, I want Rogers, Harder, and all you men.” He pointed at eleven others. “The rest of us will take the second watch at midnight.”
Hiram, Odell, Hamby, Suggs, and Irvin knelt behind one of the wagons, rolling smokes.
“It’s us against them,” said Ursino. “No good reason to have so many men on the first watch. Them five coyotes hunkered behind the wagon is there to keep an eye on us.”
“I suspect you’re probably right,” Clemans said. “Estrello’s been watching us almighty close ever since he shot Jake. He’s expecting some kind of revenge.”
“He’s damn well going to get it,” said Long, “unless he gets me first.”
“One thing you ain’t considering,” Sullivan said. “There’s as much a price on our heads as there is on Estrello’s. If we cash in Estrello, we lose contact with that bunch at the illegal distillery. Then there’ll be no more whiskey, and we’ll have every damn Indian in the Territory after our scalps.”
“I’m about ready to saddle up and ride,” said Stackler, “price on my head or not.”
“I’m of the same mind,” Keithley said, “but the time’s not right. I think we’re all on trial, along with Rogers and Harder.”
“I think you’re right,” said Mark. “When you and Stackler sided with Bill and me, Estrello got suspicious. Now he aims to keep an eagle eye on us. It would be almighty easy for some of us to be shot off the wagon box in the middle of the night, without any proof as to who done the shooting.”
Outlaw camp on the Washita. July 19, 1866.
The night passed uneventfully. It was barely dawn when the Indians began arriving. With an eye for business, Wolf Estrello had tapped a keg of the brew and allowed each of the Indians a single tin cupful. It being summertime, many of the Indians wore only a loincloth and moccasins. From beneath Jake’s wagon, Amanda and Betsy were watching as the trading began.
“It seems downright indecent, the two of you watching these half-naked Indians get drunk,” said Mark. “A loincloth don’t cover much.”
“It won’t cover anything at all after they’ve had enough whiskey,” Betsy s
aid. “The loincloth comes off. We’ve been watching this for five years, and we’re not shocked anymore.”
More and more Indians arrived. Many of them led horses and mules for trading, whose brands attested to their having been stolen. One Indian arrived leading three heavily laden horses. Each animal was loaded with prime pelts, and a shouting argument ensued as the Indian and Estrello got into a trading mood. Slowly, Estrello began to give in to the Indian demands, and the Indian grinned delightedly. He was about to best the white man in a trade. He demanded and received three full barrels of whiskey for his three horse loads of pelts.
“My God,” said Bill, “he’s swapped two thousand dollars worth of pelts for three barrels of rotgut that ain’t worth fifty dollars a barrel.”
“They do that all the time,” Amanda said. “The only things they won’t swap are their weapons. Lots of them own repeating rifles.”
“All these horses and mules they’re trading are branded,” said Bill. “How does Estrello dispose of them?”
“Somewhere near St. Louis,” Betsy said. “He has an outof-the-way corral somewhere along the river. When the wagons go after more whiskey, the livestock the Indians have traded are taken along.”
“Have you and Betsy ever been allowed to go to St. Louis?” Mark asked.
“No,” said Amanda, “but Jake was. He told us the little that we know. He didn’t like leaving Betsy and me here with outlaws while he was away. That’s why Estrello killed him.”
The Indian who had traded for three barrels of whiskey had tapped a keg and was selling the lethal brew in lesser amounts to other Indians who didn’t have much to trade. As it turned out, Betsy and Amanda told the truth. As the whiskey took hold, the Indians lost whatever inhibitions they might have had. Many a loincloth was discarded, leaving a band of naked drunken Indians cavorting like mad.
“They’ve got enough whiskey to stay drunk for a week,” said Bill. “What happens if they’re still here tomorrow, and there’s another whiskey run?”
“Estrello will leave enough men here to keep them in line,” Betsy said. “Their whiskey will be gone before the wagons return with another load. They know better than to cause Estrello any trouble. There wouldn’t be any more whiskey.”
“Well,” said Keithley, seating himself with his back to a wagon wheel, “you’ve just had a firsthand look at why Indians hate the white man. When that stuff wears off, they’ll all be wishing they were dead, and some of them may be.”
“When are we going to find out what plans Estrello has for us tomorrow?” Bill asked.
“You’ll know sometime tonight,” said Keithley. “He’ll take a dozen outriders with him, and they’ll be watching you every minute. Estrello doesn’t trust anybody.”
“From the sound of things,” Mark said, “I don’t see how Estrello holds this outfit together. Even if he takes only forty percent of the money, that can’t leave much for the rest of us.”
“After Estrello’s share, the rest of us generally get five or six hundred dollars,” said Keithley. “He’s got the only game in town, so you can’t make any demands. Nobody who’s ever complained about the low pay is around anymore. They’re all dead.”
“We’ll keep that in mind,” Bill said, “but just because we have prices on our heads, it don’t mean we work for nothing. Not for Estrello, or nobody else.”
Keithley laughed softly. “Like I told Stackler, there’s more to you two gents than meets the eye. Some of the rest of us are ready to bust out of this whiskey smuggling, and when you’re ready to make your play, we’ll side with you.”
“Don’t let what you see fool you,” Mark said. “We’ve each got a price of ten grand on our heads, and if all we can make is five or six hundred dollars a haul, it’ll be better than nothing. Outside the Territory, and the law would have us behind bars in a week.”
The conversation trailed off, for someone was coming. It was Estrello, and he spoke abruptly.
“Keithley, you’ll have the lead wagon tomorrow. Following you will be Long, Sullivan, Clemans, Ursino, and Stackler. Rogers and Harder, the two of you will drive the last two wagons. There will be no lagging behind. My outriders will see to that.”
“Will we be driving the wagons into town for loading?” Bill asked.
“You will not,” said Estrello. “All of you will remain in a prescribed area until every wagon has been loaded and returned. You will then load the wagons on steamboats, to be transported to Fort Smith. From Fort Smith, we will return here. Rogers and Harder, I’ll be watching the two of you until you’ve proven yourselves. Don’t do anything foolish.” With that, he was gone.
“Damn him,” said Keithley softly, “he suspects something.”
“Let him,” Bill said. “Mark and me aim to do exactly what we’re told.”
Stackler arrived quietly and hunkered down by the wagon. “Harder, you and Rogers are on trial. Estrello’s outriders will be watching you like hawks, and they’ll shoot you on suspicion.”
Indian Territory. July 20, 1866.
The wagons had been lined up in the order Wolf Estrello demanded. In the last wagon—the one that had belonged to old Jake—Mark sat on the wagon box, Amanda by his side. Just ahead of them, in next to the last wagon, sat Bill and Betsy. With the popping of a whip, the lead wagon lurched into motion, and the other wagons followed. Two of Estrello’s outriders made it a point to stay directly behind the last two wagons.
“They’re watching us,” Amanda said nervously.
“Let them,” said Mark. “We’ll give them no cause for doubt.”
The empty caravan moved on toward Fort Smith. There it would board steamboats for St. Louis, delivering another cargo of rotgut poison to Indian Territory.
Chapter 3
Bound for St. Louis. July 22, 1866.
Estrello knew his way well in the darkness. Their only stops were to rest the horses and the mules. Mark and Amanda talked, speaking softly.
“What’s this?” Mark asked as he kicked the inside of the wagon box. “Sounds like metal of some kind. Maybe boilerplate.”
“It is metal,” said Amanda. “If there was an attack, Jake could belly-down in the wagon box and shoot back with little chance of being hit. I hope Estrello allows you to keep this wagon. It could save your life.”
“Since this wagon did belong to Jake, we’ll insist on keeping it,” Mark said. “If it comes to a shoot-out, there’s room for Bill and Betsy in here with us.”
“Estrello and his bunch have been attacked before while returning with the whiskey,” said Amanda. “One of the outriders was killed and a teamster wounded.”
“Were they attacked by the law or another gang of outlaws?” Mark asked.
“Jake said they were renegade Indians,” said Amanda, “led by a Kiowa known as Many Horses. There might be as many as two gangs after us. The danger will be greatest after we leave the steamboats near Fort Smith, with the whiskey.”
“I’ll have to get word to Bill and Betsy when we stop to rest the teams,” Mark said. “If there’s an attack, and there’s time, they can get in here with us.”
When it was again time to rest the teams. Mark slipped to the rear of the wagon and managed to get Bill’s attention.
“Maybe that’s why Estrello was willing to take us on,” said Bill. “Maybe it’s about time for old Many Horses to launch another attack.”
“If it comes, and there’s time,” Mark said, “you and Betsy join us in Jake’s wagon. He had the sideboards lined with some kind of metal. Amanda says if we’re attacked, it likely won’t happen until we’ve unloaded the whiskey at Fort Smith.”
Mark slipped back into the wagon, put his arm about Amanda, and drew her close. The girl didn’t resist, and Mark’s heart leaped. The lie he had told about Amanda belonging to him for five years was taking on more truthful proportions all the time, and he could see her dressed in gingham as she tended his little shack on the Brazos.
Bill was having similar thoughts, and he quiet
ly put his into words. “If Mark and me can get you and Amanda out of here alive,” Bill said, “where will you go? What do you aim to do?”
“I promised to go with you five years ago,” said Betsy. “If you’ll have me, I’ll go with you as soon as we’re free of Estrello and his bunch.”
“Then when we’re free of this damned smuggling, you’ll have a home, Betsy.” His hand was on her shoulder and she moved closer to him.
The wagons rolled on, and just as dawn was breaking, Estrello ordered a halt. It was time for breakfast and a few hours’ rest. Horses and mules were unharnessed, and fires were started along a creek. There was evidence of old fires where teams and men had rested before, but no sign of recent tracks. Nobody spoke. They all set about broiling their bacon over small, smokeless fires. After the outfit had eaten and rested for several hours, they harnessed the teams and moved on.
It was far into the night when Estrello’s band reached the makeshift dock on the Arkansas, near Fort Smith. Quietly, Estrello made the rounds of all the teamsters. “There’s been a change in plans,” he said. “We’ll all be goin’ on to the loadin’dock in St. Louis.” He said no more.
There was a whisper of sound as a horse drew up next to old Jake’s wagon. “We’re bein’ followed,” Ursino said. “Estrello didn’t expect them until we returned from St. Louis and the whiskey was loaded into the wagons. Be ready.”
But there was no immediate disturbance. The wagons, along with the livestock Estrello had taken in trade, reached the secluded dock two hours before dawn. The four steamboats were already there, chuffing, without running lights.
“Betsy, you and Amanda stay in the wagon,” Mark cautioned. “Bill and me will be on the ground under the wagon. If we’re attacked, don’t return any fire.”
The attack began suddenly, lead screaming off the iron wagon tires. But the attackers had been expected, and the return fire was fierce. Bill and Mark, firing from beneath the wagon, accounted for four of the invaders. The attack ended as suddenly as it had begun. The surviving attackers galloped away, leaving their dead behind.
Ralph Compton Whiskey River Page 5