Ralph Compton Whiskey River

by Compton, Ralph

  “So you aim to take them wagonloads of whiskey without paying,” said Wilder. “That’s why you brought every man of us. We’re gonna have to shoot our way out of a damn double cross, with all that whiskey to slow us down.”

  “You’re forgetting something,” Estrello said. “The whiskey will be brought to the usual landing south of St. Louis, and we have more than thirty men.”

  “Last time, we had to pay before they’d allow us to go aboard,” said Wilder. “You got any ideas it’ll be better this time?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have,” Estrello said. “I will cheerfully pay them whatever they ask. Whatever it takes to get possession of the whiskey, because we’ll be reclaiming all that we’ve paid them.”

  Wilder laughed. It was the lowdown kind of double cross he appreciated.

  “We must get some men aboard each of the boats, then,” said Bideno.

  “We’ll have men aboard as usual,” Estrello said. “At least enough to silence each of the four-man crew aboard the vessel.”

  “Those aboard must die, then,” said Bideno. “Who will man the boats?”

  “Use your head,” Estrello said. “Nobody dies until the wagons leave the boats at the Fort Smith landing. Until then, every ship’s crew will be under the gun.”

  “That might work,” Wilder said grudgingly. “There ain’t a man among us sharp enough to pilot one of them boats from St. Louis to Fort Smith.”

  “When the boats reach the landing here at Fort Smith, sixteen men must die,” Bideno said. “That part I do not like, señor.”

  “What the hell would you have us do, Bideno?” Wilder shouted. “Maybe we can just take the whiskey and send them all back to St. Louis, so they can get the law after us that much sooner.”

  “That’s enough, Wilder,” said Estrello angrily. “I understand Bideno’s objection. In our business, it is necessary to kill a man occasionally, but what we’re considering now is premeditated murder. A massacre. Unfortunately, there is no other way.”

  “When we have done the killing and taken the whiskey, let us anchor the boats somewhere,” Bideno said. “It is better than setting them adrift, as derelicts.”

  “You’re right about that,” said Estrello. “The first steamer up the Arkansas bound for Fort Smith will report the killings. We’d better be long gone by then.”

  “Since you aim to take the whiskey without paying,” Wilder said, “that means extra money in our pockets. How much are we talkin’ about?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Estrello cautiously.

  “When you are sure,” Wilder said, “tell me. Then I’ll decide if a shootin’ showdown’s worth it.”

  “Like hell,” said Estrello. “You’re either in or you’re out, Wilder. There’ll be no last-minute decisions. If you’re with me, I want a commitment now. If you’re not, then I want you to saddle up and ride. You’re not welcome here.”

  “By God, you’re a caution,” Wilder said. “You’ve just told me you aim to murder the steamboat captains and firemen, and you’re offerin’ me the chance to just ride out? I think I’ll stick around and collect my share of the money.”

  Estrello laughed. “A wise move, Wilder. You’ve already done enough killing to face the rope ten times over. I’m sure the law would like to get its hand on you.”

  “I’m sure that some back-shootin’ son-of-a-bitch would turn me in,” Wilder said, “if he can do it without risking his own hide.”

  “Señor Estrello, you must tell the others,” said Bideno. “When?”

  “Tonight,” Estrello said. “You think I trust you and Wilder to keep your mouths shut until some better time?”

  Bideno laughed. “Ah, señor, is it not a joy to be among amigos who are predictable?”

  The fire had burned down to a bed of coals when Estrello called a meeting. He spoke for only a few minutes before it all erupted into a storm of shouting and cursing. Estrello drew his Colt, and two blasts from it silenced them.

  “Now I’ll answer any legitimate question,” said Estrello, “except for the money, I think we’ll just have to wait and see how it works out. All of you know what has to be done. I think we’ll cut the cards. Those with low numbers will become our executioners.”

  “My God,” Betsy whispered fearfully, “suppose you or Mark draws a low card?”

  “We’ll face that if and when it happens,” said Mark, “but I can promise you that we’ll not take part in these planned murders.”

  Estrello had produced a new deck of cards and proceeded to shuffle. Each man took a card on the draw. Estrello then began calling names, and each man responded with the card he had drawn. Men drawing the eight lowest cards were Irvin, Jabez, Shadley, Worsham, Jackman, DeWitt, Graves, and McLean. There would be other outlaws aboard, but these eight were the executioners.

  “That’s how it stands then,” Estrello said. “Any one of you that ain’t got the sand for this piece of gun work, let me hear from you now.”

  Nobody spoke, and Estrello nodded in satisfaction. It had gone smoother than he had expected.

  Mark and Bill returned to their wagons.

  “I’m glad neither of you drew a low card,” said Amanda.

  “There was some deck-stackin’ goin’ on,” Bill said. “Nobody drew low cards except the men who are solid behind Estrello. I get the feeling that there’s some of us old Wolf just don’t trust.”

  “I’ve had that same feeling for a while, myself,” said Mark, “and I don’t think you’ve taken it quite far enough. We’ve just heard Estrello choose eight killers to eliminate the steamboat crews. What’s to stop him from choosing another bunch to rid himself of some of the rest of us he’s not especially fond of?”

  “I don’t like to think about that,” Bill said, “but it’s a possibility we’ll have to face. If there are fewer men to claim the money, each share increases. Keithley’s with us on the second watch. Let’s see how he feels.”

  By the start of the second watch, Keithley had already spoken to Long, Sullivan, Clemans, Ursino, and Stackler. They all seemed to share the same doubts, concerning the expected showdown.

  “I think we’ll be safe enough, until Estrello has eliminated the steamboat crews and has taken the whiskey,” said Keithley. “I expect him to make his move after we reach the landing near here, just east of Fort Smith, on the return journey.”

  “Why can’t Estrello be satisfied with just taking the whiskey?” Betsy asked. “Why does he have to murder the steamboat crews?”

  “To silence them” said Keithley. “A man on foot could reach Fort Smith within maybe two hours, and they’ll have the telegraph there. Estrello’s afraid of that.”

  “I don’t know how we can prevent this mass murder Estrello has in mind,” Bill said, “but I’ll feel like less of a human being if we don’t try.”

  “But there’s not enough of you,” said Betsy. “They’ll just turn their guns on those of you who try to stop them.”

  “She’s dead right about that,” Keithley said. “We need help.”

  “There’s the telegraph in Fort Smith,” said Amanda.

  “We’d never make it,” Keithley said. “The moment one of us is missed, Estrello will be ready to send killers after him. Besides, unless you have some ideas, there’s nobody we can reach by telegraph who might get here in time to help us.”

  “No,” said Bill, “and the big question is, can we get help from anywhere in time to stop Estrello’s conspiracy?”

  “We still have to take the steamboats to St. Louis, load the whiskey, and return to this landing near Fort Smith,” Mark said. “That’ll take some time. Todd, is there some way I can get pencil and paper for a message?”

  “Ed Stackler has a notebook,” said Keithley. “How soon do you need it?”

  “Right now,” Mark said, “and I’ll need some light. Who’s got a lantern?”

  “I have,” said Keithley, “but you’ll have to be careful. Some of these hombres on the second watch are Estrello men to the b
one.”

  “Let me go with you, Mark,” Amanda said. “If anybody gets curious about the light, I can tell them I’m sick and that Todd sent me to his wagon for some medicine.”

  “They’ll never believe that,” said Mark, “but we’ll have to try. Getting caught with the message I’m about to send will be the death of Bill and me.”

  “Go ahead,” Keithley said. “You know where my wagon is. Circle around, comin’ in from the north side. Don’t light the lantern until you have to. I’ll have Stackler get to you with pencil and paper. Good luck.”

  Mark and Amanda reached Keithley’s wagon without being discovered, and within a few minutes, Stackler was there. Silently, he passed the stub of a pencil and two sheets of paper to Mark. He then vanished into the shadows. The lantern was at the very rear of the wagon box. First Mark helped Amanda into the wagon, and following her, drew the rear pucker, and tied it as securely as he could. He then tightened and tied the front pucker. Then he lit the lantern, keeping it on the floor of the wagon box, well beneath the overhead canvas. Kneeling near the lantern, the paper against the rough boards of the wagon box, he began to write. It took but a few minutes for the lantern to draw attention.

  “All right, damn it,” Wilder said, “Who’s usin’ that lantern, and why? That you, Keithley?”

  “It’s me—Amanda,” came the reply. “I’m sick and Keithley has a medicine chest. I’m looking for some laudanum.”

  “Then find it, and put out that lantern,” Wilder growled.

  “Bless you, Amanda,” said Mark softly.

  Mark wrote rapidly, of necessity keeping the handwriting small, so that he might get as much into the message as possible. When he was finished, he quickly blew out the lantern.

  “I want you to go on back to the wagon,” Mark whispered. “I still have to get this on its way, if I can.”

  “But how—?”

  “Later,” said Mark. “Now get going.”

  Mark waited in the shadow of Keithley’s wagon until he believed Amanda had returned to their own wagon. He then walked down near the river, where the horses and mules were grazing. Suddenly, there was the snick of a Colt being cocked, followed by the rough voice of Snider Irvin.

  “Stand where you are and identify yourself. What’n hell are you doin’ among the stock in the middle of the night?”

  “Mark Rogers,” said Mark, “and I have as much business here as you. I’m part of the second watch.”

  “Then mind what you do after dark,” Irvin growled. “Cat-footin’ up on a man when he can’t see you is a damn good way of gettin’ your hide ventilated.”

  “Thanks,” said Mark. “I’ll try to remember that.”

  Mark walked on toward the river, seeking the roan horse he had ridden to the outlaw camp from Fort Worth. The difficult portion of his task still lay ahead. When at last he could see the roan, he quickly found his saddle. From the boot he removed the Winchester. In one of the saddlebags he placed the written plea for help. Very slowly, he led the horse so that it might appear the animal was grazing, should anybody notice. Holding his breath, expecting a challenge at any time, he went on. He led the saddled horse for more than a mile westward. There he tied the reins securely to the saddle horn and slapped the roan on the flank. The horse trotted a few yards and looked back, clearly undecided as to what was expected. Again Mark swatted the roan on the flank, and this time the animal neither paused nor turned back.

  “Old son,” said Mark softly, “I hope you still think of Captain Ferguson’s post as home. If you show up in the morning here in Estrello’s camp, I’ve ridden my last trail.”

  Chapter 5

  Keithley and Bill stood in the shadow of one of the wagons. Quickly, Mark explained the desperate move he had just made.

  When he had finished, Bill spoke. “It ain’t often I disagree with you, amigo, but I’m goin’ to this time. I just wish you’d taken the time to talk about this. We’re at least three hundred miles from Fort Worth. A drifting, riderless horse could take a month getting there.”

  “One other thing you should have considered,” Keithley said. “Give a horse two weeks on a particular range, and he considers it home. The critter might return to our old camp on the Washita.”

  “I reckon I’ll have to agree with both of you, as much as I hate to,” said Mark. “Come daylight, if that saddled roan is grazing along the river. I’ll have to come up with answers to some mighty hard questions.”

  “Oh, God,” Betsy said, “the horse might follow us then.”

  “Yes,” said Mark, “and I should have considered that. It was just a desperate move to try to get a message to Fort Worth.”

  “That’s the second time the two of you have mentioned Fort Worth,” Keithley said. “Is that your federal contact?”

  “Yes,” said Mark. “You might as well know, and you can tell the others who are with us. The post commander is Captain Ferguson. We don’t know if there’ll be any lawmen who can get here in time to help us. We may all have to run for our lives, and I want all of you, should you have the chance, to be prepared to telegraph Ferguson at Fort Worth. Mention Bill and me, and I promise you that will get Ferguson’s attention.”

  Keithley laughed softly. “I knew there was more to you hombres than a pair of outlaws on the run. Now that I can tell the others, it’ll pull us all closer together.”

  “See that they know tonight,” said Bill. “If that saddled roan’s here at daylight, Mark may be needin’ us all.”

  “The boats still must go to St. Louis, pick up the whiskey, and then return to Fort Smith,” Bill said. “How long does that take?”

  “Figure eleven days,” said Keithley. “Whenever they’re loaded, the steamboats won’t leave St. Louis until after dark. Dangerous as hell, travelin’ the Mississippi without running lights, but they’re doin’ it.”

  “Seems to me that’s doin’ it the hard way, taking the Arkansas to Memphis and then the Mississippi from there,” Mark said. “The stuff could have been freighted overland from St. Louis without involving steamboats.”

  “Sure it could,” said Keithley, “but how do you cross that much territory with loaded wagons on a regular basis without raising some hard questions? The steamboats are Wolf Estrello’s idea, and I’ll have to give the murderous bastard credit. It’s worked for almost two years. Steamboats have become so common, nobody stops to think that some of them are involved in illegal activities.”

  “This outfit doing the freighting is as guilty as Estrello and his bunch,” Bill said.

  “They are, and they know it,” said Keithley. “That’s why this arrangement with Wolf Estrello has worked so well. If anybody talks, there’s evidence enough on both sides to hang the whole damn bunch from the same limb.”

  “What bothers me is the possibility that we may have to risk our necks trying to save theirs,” Bill said. “From what Estrello’s said, he won’t waste any time, once his need of the steamboats is past. Whatever we aim to do, we’ll have to do it before those steamboats dock near Fort Smith with the whiskey. Once the wagons are off the boats, they can be well into Indian Territory in an hour or two.”

  Indian Territory. July 26, 1866.

  Some eighty-five miles west of Fort Smith, a Kiowa, returning from an unsuccessful hunt, had stopped to rest his horse. He would lead the animal to water at the great lake.1

  The Kiowa stared at the distant expanse of water, and at first believed his eyes were deceiving him. A roan horse, wearing a white man’s saddle, grazed along the lake shore. First, the Kiowa led his thirsty horse to drink. Then he turned his attention to the roan. The reins had been knotted about the saddle horn, suggesting that the horse, for some unknown reason, had been set free.

  As the Kiowa went closer, the roan nickered, perking up its ears. The Kiowa spoke to the horse until he was close enough. He then took his knife and slashed the double rigging, and removed the saddle he neither needed or wanted. Gratefully, the roan lay down and rolled in the grass. The Kiow
a laughed, waiting for the horse to get to its feet. When it did, the Kiowa had a long rawhide lead for use as a bridle. It was then that he saw the brand on the roan’s left hip. While the Kiowa didn’t know what “U.S.” meant, he had seen it on many soldado horses, and that made his good fortune all the sweeter. He had taken a blue coat’s horse without endangering himself. Leading the roan, he rode west, deeper into Indian Territory.

  Fort Smith. July 27, 1866.

  During the night, the four steamboats arrived. They were stern-wheelers, allowing them easy access to the prepared dock. The firemen fed just enough wood into the fireboxes to keep up steam. Dawn came, and Mark stood looking at the horses and mules. His roan wasn’t among them, and he sighed with relief.

  “You’ve just done yourself out of a horse and saddle,” Bill said.

  “I reckon I’m a mite selfish,” said Mark, “but I like to think my hide’s worth more than a horse and saddle.”

  “Now we go to St. Louis for the whiskey,” Betsy said. “Maybe one of us can escape to a telegraph office and ask for help.”

  “The boats will be loaded a considerable distance south of St. Louis,” said Keithley. “I doubt any one of us would make it to St. Louis alive.”

  “Mark,” Amanda asked, “where’s your Winchester?”

  “In the wagon,” said Mark. “If everything just goes to hell and we have to run for it, I’ll have to take me a horse and saddle from one of these owlhoots.”

  “We’d better split up,” Keithley said. “Wilder keeps lookin’ over here. If I don’t do anything else, I’d like to ventilate his ugly carcass before I split the blanket with this bunch.”

  Two wagons and their teams were to be taken aboard each of the four steamboats. To make them harder to track, no names appeared on the boats; but everyone in the gang was familiar with the Aztec, Goose, Midnight, and Star. Then came the horses belonging to Estrello’s outriders, and the many horses and mules Estrello had taken in trade for whiskey. Counting himself, Estrello had thirty-four men. When it came time for them to board the steamboats, Estrello had a list of names.