Ralph Compton Whiskey River

by Compton, Ralph

Suggs stepped out into the open, an evil grin on his scarred face. “Well now, girlie,” said Suggs, “I’ve always wanted a better look at you. Leave them britches down around your boot tops and stand up.”

  Amanda sat there in horrified silence. and from behind Suggs, Mark spoke.

  “Suggs, you low-down skunk, you don’t know how much I’d like to kill you where you stand. Get the hell out of here while you still can.”

  Suggs laughed. “I got as much right down here as she has. I’m waitin’ my turn.”

  It was too much. Mark took a step forward, and his right fist cracked against Suggs’s chin. The outlaw was flung back among the horses and mules and, frightened, they started a commotion. Suggs, attempting to use some of the animals for cover, went for his gun.

  But Mark had been expecting that. He rolled under one of the mules, seizing Suggs by his legs and slamming him to the floor. Suggs’s Colt roared, further disturbing the captive livestock. Seizing the front of Suggs’s shirt in his left hand, Mark hauled him to his feet and hit him again. He went down and didn’t get up. But there was more trouble. Captain Jenks stood in the narrow corridor, a cocked Colt in his hand.

  “Mister, tell me what happened here, and it had better be good.”

  Mark quickly explained, as Amanda—with white face and shaking hands—stood beside him. Suggs finally sat up, rubbing his jaw. Stackler, Keithley, Clemans, and Ursino stood in the narrow corridor behind Captain Jenks, but he ignored them. He spoke to Suggs.

  “The ladies have priority down here, and the right to privacy. If I ever again catch you involved in such a shameful affair on my steamboat, I’ll kill you.”

  Suggs got to his knees and finally his feet, staggering a little. He laughed, and then he spoke to Captain Jenks. “I aim to see that Wolf Estrello knows about this, big man. Next time, you may not have the gun.”

  “Be sure you tell Estrello,” Captain Jenks said, “and if there is a next time, it may be you lacking a gun. One of you men find his pistol and turn it in to me. Maybe he’ll get it back, and maybe he won’t.”

  Irvin had come down the ladder to see what had caused the disturbance, and he was just in time to hear Captain Jenks demand Suggs’s Colt. Irvin said nothing, climbing up the iron-runged ladder to the upper deck.

  Chapter 6

  The rest of the day, Irvin and Suggs kept to themselves.

  “From now on,” Mark said, “they’ll be looking for some excuse to come down on us.”

  “Let them,” said Bill. “If there’s trouble between them and Captain Jenks, my money’s on the captain.”

  Near sundown, the steamboats again drew up alongside a crude landing, where the firemen began loading more wood for fuel. Irvin and Suggs made their way down the ramp to the riverbank. From there they walked to the first boat, the Aztec. On deck, Estrello saw them coming and went to meet them before they boarded the craft. If there was trouble, he had no desire for the rest of the outlaws to become aware of it.

  “What the hell are you two doin’ here?” Estrello demanded. “Trouble aboard?”

  “You might say that,” said the surly Suggs. “Your snooty captain threatened to kill me, and he took my Colt.”

  “All for no reason, I suppose,” Estrello said.

  “Aw, hell,” said Irvin, “he run into one of them females on the second deck.”

  “You invaded her privacy, then,” Estrello said.

  “Yeah,” said Suggs. “You could say that. So what? That bastard ain’t talkin’ down to me like I’m nobody. He’s captain of a steamboat, not God.”

  “Whatever you think of him makes no difference,” Estrello said angrily. “He is captain of the steamboat, and if either of you create any more disturbance aboard that boat, you won’t have to concern yourselves with the captain. I’ll come after you myself. Now get the hell aboard and stay there.”

  Irvin and Suggs said nothing, but started back toward the Star.

  Stackler laughed, for he and his comrades had seen the confrontation.

  “I’d of give five hundred dollars to have heard what Estrello told them,” said Keithley.

  “They didn’t much like it,” Mark said. “Look at their faces. They’re killing mad. Maybe we can use that to our advantage.”

  Fort Smith. July 29, 1866.

  The Barton gang, who had attacked Wolf Estrello’s outfit, had suffered a great loss, for eleven of their number—one of whom was Frank Barton himself—had been killed. Near the landing where Estrello’s wagons had boarded the steamboats, what remained of the Barton gang sat in silence, drinking coffee, including Liz, Barton’s redheaded, short-tempered wife, with whom he had constantly fought.

  “Damn it,” said Green Perryman, “we might as well call it quits. There ain’t enough of us for a gang.”

  “We’re not giving up,” snapped Liz Barton. “Attacking Estrello, trying to kill his men, was a foolish move. It was Frank’s idea, and he paid for it.”

  “And took ten men with him,” Will Macklin said. “I’ve enjoyed all the Barton luck I can stand.”

  “Don’t be so quick to run,” said Liz in a more soothing tone. “We’ll add some more riders, and when Estrello returns with the whiskey, we’ll be ready.”

  “Ready for what?” Hez DeShea asked. “Some more buryings?”

  “Don’t get sarcastic with me,” snarled Liz. “Frank Barton was a fool. I did everything except shoot him, trying to prevent that attack on Estrello, but the rest of you went along like sheep. Where the hell were you when it counted?”

  “I reckon you got us there.” said French Loe. “We thought Frank knowed what he was doing. Hell, we had the edge.”

  “Eleven men died,” Liz said. “You call that an edge?”

  She was right, and it silenced them. The looks on their faces suggested they might just saddle up and ride away. Liz tried again, more tactful this time.

  “From now on, we’ll make no moves until everybody agrees,” said Liz. “I won’t ask or expect anything foolish of you, like Frank did.”

  “You?” Tobe Havre said. “Why, you’re just a . . . a . . .”

  “A woman,” Liz said, “but I can out-draw and out-shoot any one of you. I was there in the midst of a stupid attack that cost us eleven men, doing my part.”

  “Then I reckon it’s safe for me to say I disagreed with some of Frank’s ideas,” Sterns said. “He had a mad on for Wolf Estrello, and what would it have gained us if we’d killed a few of his men? The damn territory’s full of outlaws.”

  “That’s what I asked him, after he made the decision to strike,” said Liz. “From now on, we don’t concern ourselves with anything that doesn’t pay. Now who’s going to throw in with me?”

  “I like the way you talk,” Sterns said. “I’ll stay a while.”

  “Count me in,” said DeShea.

  “I like the idea of us all agreein’.” Loe said. “I’ll ride with you.”

  “That goes for me, too,” said Lefty Paschal.

  Whit Sumner, Will Macklin, Tobe Harve, and Green Perryman voted to stay.

  “That’s more like it,” Liz said. “Now we have to come up with a solid plan to take the whiskey from Estrello’s outfit without a face-to-face gunfight.”

  “We have maybe eight or nine days,” said Sumner, “if this trip takes them as long as the others. How many more men are you wantin’?”

  “Since we’re going up against Estrello’s bunch,” Liz said, “we could use twenty more. I am open to suggestions. Do any of you know where we might find these men in the time that we have?”

  “If you don’t have any objection to working with Indians, I can get you two hundred,” said Loe. “We could pay them in whiskey.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that,” Sumner said. “It’s got double cross wrote all over it. Them Indians—Comanche and Kiowa—trade with Estrello. They know what them wagonloads of whiskey’s worth when they reach the Territory.”

  “I don’t want nothin’ to do with renegade Indians,”
said Macklin. “I purely don’t trust the varmints. Maybe they’d help us slaughter Estrello’s bunch, but after they’re done with that, what’s to keep ’em from turning on us?”

  “French,” Liz Barton said, “we’re obliged for the suggestion, but we can’t depend on a bunch of renegade Indians. Like Will said, even if they joined us and we took that load of whiskey from Estrello, the renegades might turn on us. We’ll have to come up with something better.”

  “Nothin’ to do, then, but ride back into the Territory and ask around,” Harve said, “but who’s going?”

  “I suppose that’s up to me,” said Liz.

  “Nobody—especially a woman—rides into Indian Territory alone,” Loe said. “You’d better take us all with you.”

  “No,” said Liz. “Too many riders, and they have the look of a posse. Lefty, you ride with me, and the rest of you wait here. We don’t have much time.”

  Lefty Paschal saddled a horse for Liz and one for himself. They mounted and started out eastward, toward Indian Territory.

  “Well,” said Lefty, “now that old Frank’s cashed in his chips, you and me don’t have to slip around, do we?”

  “Frank being gone doesn’t have a damn thing to do with whether or not I see you,” Liz said angrily. “You have the same problem as all men. A few rolls in the hay, and you think you own me.”

  “Well, hell,” said Lefty, “if my claim on you ain’t no stronger than that, maybe I’ll just ride back and join the rest of the boys. Then you can go huntin’ grizzly bears with a switch if it suits your fancy.”

  “Damn you.” Liz said, “I chose you to go with me, and you’re going. Whether or not you share my blankets is my decision, not yours. Now let’s ride.”

  Lefty Paschal said no more. He realized, although they had slipped around behind her dead husband’s back, that he really didn’t know Liz Barton. Her Colt revolver was tied low on her right hip, and he knew for a fact she could pull iron and shoot like hell wouldn’t have it. For the first time, Paschal saw her as more dangerous than Frank had ever been. Nothing more was said until they eventually stopped to rest the horses.

  “If it ain’t asking too much, do you have a plan for taking those four steamboats when they return with the whiskey?” Lefty asked.

  “I do,’ said Liz, her green eyes on him, ”and you’ll learn what it is when I decide to tell the others.”

  North on the Mississippi. July 31, 1866.

  The four steamboats swept past Little Rock in the middle of the night, and not until the third day did they reach the Mississippi, at a point south of Memphis, Tennessee.

  “If anybody calls their hand,” said Stackler, “it’ll be on the Mississippi.”

  “We didn’t see another boat on the Arkansas, all the way from Fort Smith,” Ursino said. “Seems like there ought to be more traffic, at least to Little Rock.”

  “Too dangerous,” said Stackler. “The last few months have been almighty dry, and in the best of times, rivers have shallow water in some places. I imagine these captains of the Estrello steamboats know where these treacherous waters along the Arkansas are.”

  “I’ve heard a good captain can ‘grasshopper’ a steamboat across a sandbar,” Clemans said. “These gents are not very sociable, but they know their jobs.”

  “I sort of like Captain Jenks, after he told off Irvin and Suggs,” Betsy said. “Whatever else he may be, he’s a gentleman.”

  “I hope he still is when we return with all that whiskey,” Long said.

  “I wonder if we can’t talk some sense to Captain Jenks before we return to Fort Smith with the whiskey,” said Bill. “Suppose he knew—as we know—that the steamboat captains and their crews are supposed to die when the need for them is past?”

  “It would be our word against Estrello’s,” Mark said, “and these steamboat people are not making any money off us. Of course, we can’t dismiss the idea entirely, because we have no idea what’s likely to happen before we return to Fort Smith.”

  “All right,” growled Irvin as he arrived in their midst, “what’s going on here, a tea social?”

  “We were taking a vote,” said Clemans. “We’re trying to decide whether we’d prefer to see you hung, or backed up against a wall and shot.”

  “We compromised,” Ursino said. “We decided we’d prefer to see you hung, but while you’re kicking air, we’ll shoot your carcass full of holes.”

  “Where’s Suggs?” Stackler asked. “Did the captain have to kill him?”

  “He’s with his own kind,” said Betsy. “On the lower deck with the mules.”

  “There ain’t a damn one of you got anything to be funnin’ about,” Irvin said. “There’ll come a time to shut your mouths, and I’m looking forward to it.” With all the arrogance at his command, he walked away.

  “There it is,” said Mark. “He as much as told us Estrello aims for us to die.”

  “Oh, Lord,” Amanda said, “that means he intends to kill the rest of you, and then force Betsy and me to lead him to the gold. I’ll drown myself in the river before I’ll do it.”

  “I’ll join you,” said Betsy.

  When darkness fell, Bill, Betsy, Mark, and Amanda took refuge in the wagon that had belonged to Jake Miles.

  “I swear I’m going to stop drinking water until this is over,” Amanda said. “I hate going to that lower deck after dark.”

  “So do I,” said Betsy. “I keep looking for Suggs to show up.”

  “Bill and me can go with you,” Mark said.

  “I have a better idea,” said Betsy. “We’ll stay on this deck, and get over there near the edge. When it dries, nobody will be the wiser.”

  “Be sure there’s nobody around,” Mark cautioned.

  But they had barely reached the point near the edge of the upper deck when there was a shout. Irvin and Suggs came charging out of the shadows. Mark and Bill scrambled out of the wagon, but the damage had been done. With a shriek, Betsy and Amanda went over the side into the dark, muddy water below. Mark drew his Colt and fired three times. It was an accepted signal of danger on the frontier. One of the men on the third boat, the Midnight, fired three answering shots, and in the distance there were more shots as someone on the Goose relayed the distress signal. Making their way toward shore, the steamboats were grounded shy of it, for there was a lengthy sandbar. Men from the first three boats were wading in mud and water, and as Mark and Bill left the Star, they encountered Wolf Estrello.

  “What the hell . . .” Estrello bellowed.

  “Betsy and Amanda are in the river,” Mark shouted.

  Captain Jenks arrived with a lantern and was told what had happened.

  “We’d better begin walking the banks,” said Jenks. “Can they swim?”

  “We don’t know,” Bill said.

  “I want to know who’s responsible for this,” said Estrello, “and I want to know now.”

  “I heard the shots,” Captain Jenks said, “But I saw nothing.”

  “I fired the first three shots,” said Mark. “Betsy and Amanda were near the edge of the upper deck. Irvin and Suggs ran out of the darkness, startling them. That’s when they went over the side.”

  “Damn them,” Estrello said. “They’ve cost us the gold.”

  “Damn the gold,” Mark shouted. “Let’s look for Amanda and Betsy.”

  “Some of you get aboard boat four,” said Captain Jenks, “and I’ll take you across. We will have to search both riverbanks.”

  All the men scrambled back aboard boat four. Captain Jenks guided the craft as near the opposite bank as he could, and the men aboard descended again into mud and water. Estrello was stomping the deck of boat four, bawling for Irvin and Suggs.

  In the dark waters of the Mississippi, Amanda and Betsy fought the backwash from the steamboat’s huge paddle wheel. When the vessel was far enough away and the water calmed, they swam for the nearest riverbank. They crawled out on their hands and knees, bellied down, and coughed up river water.

>   “Damn,” said Betsy, “are we in a mess. Estrello probably won’t even look for us.”

  “The hell he won’t,” Amanda panted. “We know where the gold is. There’s somebody with a lantern across the river. The question is, should we allow ourselves to be found? This might be the answer to our prayers, where Bill and Mark are concerned. Suppose we could reach a telegraph office and send a message to Fort Worth?”

  “It might be worth a try,” said Betsy, “if we can send it collect. We don’t have a cent between us. But it’ll scare the hell out of Bill and Mark. They’ll think we drowned.”

  “I hate that, but we’re trying to help them,” Amanda said. “Along a river like this, I can’t believe there won’t be a lesser town somewhere between here and St. Louis. Let’s go upstream, the way the boats were going.”

  They started walking, resting when exhaustion made it necessary. Soon the sounds of the search and the shouts of men were behind them. They could hear only the sound of the river and could see nothing in the darkness. There was no moon, and the twinkling stars seemed dim and far away. When they were able to walk no farther, they sprawled in the grass beneath a tree and fell into exhausted sleep.

  Mark and Bill walked the riverbank at least two miles downstream without seeing or hearing anything. Clemans and Ursino were with them.

  “We might as well turn back,” Bill said. “If they’re alive, they won’t be this far downstream.”

  “And we don’t even know if they could swim or not,” said Ursino.

  “No,” Bill said, “and if they could, we may not find them. They’re the kind who would use this as an opportunity to send that message to Fort Smith if they can.”

  “I think you’re right,” said Mark, “and if they’re alive, they’ll be somewhere upstream, the way the steamboats were headed. What’s bothering me is how long Estrello will look for them before saying the hell with it and going on to St. Louis.”

  But Estrello wasn’t about to give up so easily. He found Irvin and Suggs hiding in Bill Harder’s wagon on the Star.