by Mike Blakely
Turning back to the cove, he observed a man lying on his stomach in a skiff. To keep the sun from scorching, the skiff had a wagon sheet fixed to it on bows, like a prairie schooner. The man propelled himself through the shallow water with his hands. Occasionally he scooped a mussel shell from the mud and threw it over his shoulder into the covered skiff.
Colton shook his head. These pearl-hunters were a strange bunch of—
There was that distinct motion again! This time he glanced quick enough to see the old Indian reaching for the flask in his pocket. Ah, now he recognized the shack. Saloon. He had enjoyed better from Denver to San Francisco, but he had survived far worse in a hundred cow towns and mining camps.
A right handy saloon would make this vacation all the more endurable. Besides, he had to blend in. If the pearl-hunters were drinkers, well, he had better take an occasional snort, too. His bosses had told him to curb his vices or find other employment, but they didn’t understand how it was in the field.
He licked his lips. True, it was early. If he started now, he’d stay drunk all day. The old Indian reached for the pocket flask again, as if to goad him. Better watch that muscular fellow next to the Indian. Those beady little squint-eyes meant trouble. Seen that look before. Pure meanness.
A trio of boys beached a skiff and began lugging kegs up to the saloon. Whiskey? No, drinking water. The kegs were heavy, but the boys handled them well. It was routine to them. He remembered being adrift at their age—Illinois to California. It was a wonder he had survived those years.
He found himself surveying the saloon again. After all, there was no hurry. The pearl-buyer wasn’t even around. He had a description of Brigginshaw. A man that size would be hard to miss. Get acquainted with the drinkers first. Might learn something. He got up and sauntered casually toward the shack.
By noon, Henry Colton was somewhat drunk and very hungry. “Where’s a man eat around here?” he asked.
“We’ll fry some fish directly,” Esau said. He heard Billy’s buckboard rattling down Port Caddo Road. “Or you can buy some cold meats and stuff from the wagon.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder without looking.
“That sounds good,” Colton said. He checked the purse in his pocket as he rose. He noticed the beady-eyed man sneering at the approaching wagon.
The wagon drew a crowd when it pulled up. Colton thought he recognized the driver from the Treat Inn. Popular fellow. Everybody had a smile for him, and a kind word or two.
“Aren’t you the cook at the Treat inn?” he asked as he paid Billy for his lunch.
“I am.”
Colton congratulated himself. Drink, he believed, actually sharpened his mind for observations, even if it did slow his reflexes a little, and skew his judgments. Nothing to worry about on this job, though. Strictly routine. He retired to the shade of the mulberry with his food.
While eating his lunch, Colton saw a rowboat enter the cove from the main part of the lake. A black man pulled the oars, dwarfed by a huge bearded fellow who stood in the bow like George Washington crossing the Delaware. He had one hand on a pistol butt and the other wrapped around the handle of a satchel. That’s where the money is, Colton thought. And the pearls.
The trace chains jerked on the supply wagon. Colton turned in time to see the driver wave. He followed the man’s gaze out onto the lake. Brigginshaw removed the hand from his pistol grip and returned the salutation to the wagon driver. Friends. Interesting.
You’re good, Colton. You don’t miss anything.
“Pearl!” The cry came from the cove. “Over here, Captain!”
Brigginshaw’s oarsman dipped the blades and wheeled the rowboat, propelling it easily toward the pearl-hunter in the water. As he chewed his cold ham and biscuits, Colton pulled his hat low over his eyes and watched the man in the white suit and panama. The oarsman held the boat beside the pearl-hunter, who handed Brigginshaw something over the gunnel. The buyer inspected the specimen and spoke to the hunter. Making an offer, Colton surmised. The hunter groused for a while, but finally nodded.
Colton narrowed his eyes against the glare and watched carefully. The Australian opened the satchel. He removed a small black case in which he placed the new pearl. Now the glint of a gold coin came from the satchel. Brigginshaw pressed it in the pearl-hunter’s hand, inside the gunnels, so the hunter couldn’t blame him if it fell into the water. Then the big man reached into the satchel again. He pulled out the notebook. Colton watched closely as the Australian made an entry with a pencil drawn from his jacket.
There it is, he thought. The entire procedure. This was going to be easy. Just figure out a way to separate Captain Brigginshaw from his satchel. Even for thirty seconds. How difficult could that be?
He finished his lunch and had Esau fill his jar with whiskey again. He watched as the buyer made two more purchases out in the cove. Same routine. The pearl, the money, the entry in the ledger book. Finally the captain had his oarsman pull for the shore.
The muscular, beady-eyed man got up. “See you later, Esau,” he said.
“Where you goin’, Kelso?” the old Indian replied, smirking a little.
“To take a shit and name it Brigginshaw.”,
The Indian smiled and winked at Colton.
It was the slowest wink Colton had ever seen. “What was that all about?” he asked when Kelso got far enough away.
“Fight a few weeks ago. Captain Brigginshaw hurt him pretty bad.”
Colton nodded and watched the big Australian consume the lakeshore in huge strides. He lifted his panama and smiled warmly as he approached the mulberry.
“Good day, my Choctaw friend. Gentlemen.”
“Hello, Captain,” Esau said.
“Mr. Kelso’s not feeling sociable today?” The Australian’s laughter shook the mulberry leaves.
Colton was thinking: Let’s see how much this big man will stand for. “He said he was going to take a shit and name it after you.”
“Did he, now? And who are you, mate?”
“Henry Colton. Just drifted down from Indian Territory. Heard about the pearl rush.” He stood and offered Brigginshaw his hand. The Australian shook it and smiled. He was big and strong, with a heart to match. Good-natured, but be careful. As the Indian said, he hurt that Kelso fellow pretty bad. He hadn’t loosed his hold on the satchel yet.
“Captain Trevor Price Brigginshaw. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Colton.”
“Oh, don’t ‘mister’ me. It’s Henry to my friends.”
“Thinking of doing some pearl-hunting, Henry?”
“I don’t know. What are my chances of finding a pearl here?”
“In the bottom of a whiskey jar? Not good, mate.” His laughter boomed into the pines. “Not good at all!”
Colton slapped his knee and laughed along. “Well, how much do you give for a pearl?”
“That depends on many things. Could be anywhere from twenty-five dollars an ounce for dust pearls to eight hundred dollars for a single specimen. I bought a fine drop pearl for three hundred this morning on the North Shore. Isn’t that right, Giff?”
Brigginshaw’s black oarsman had come up beside him after tending to the boat. “Whatever you say, Captain.”
“How many have you bought in all?” Colton asked.
“Today?”
“No, I mean since the rush started.”
“Good God! Thousands!”
“My goodness. How do you keep track of them all?”
The captain patted his satchel. “I carry my office everywhere I go. Pearls, money, and records.” He hitched his coattail behind his pistol grip. “And security, as well.”
“Mind if I look at your record book? See what pearls are selling for? Might help me make up my mind whether or not I want to hunt for ’em.”
The Australian shook his head. “Sorry, Mr. Colton,” he said firmly. “All sales must remain confidential.”
“Now, don’t ‘mister’ me, I told you. It’s Henry to you, Captain.”
“And Trevor to you, Henry. You might as well try your luck for a few days. You’ll earn drinking money even if you don’t get rich.” He looked at his oarsman. “Take a rest, Giff. I’m going to walk through the camps.”
“Yes, sir,” Giff said, sitting on the ground against the trunk of the mulberry.
When Brigginshaw had walked beyond earshot, Colton looked at the black man and said, “Hey, boy. How about that fellow out there in the water? The one the captain bought the pearl from when you first rowed him into the cove. How much did he get?”
“Captain said that’s nobody’s business,” Giff replied. “He said keep my mouth shut. He don’t tell nobody what them pearls sell for.”
“But you know.”
Giff shrugged. “Sometimes I hear. Other times he don’t even say out loud. Just write it down on paper and show the pearl-hunters and they say deal or no deal.”
“But you can see the book when he writes in it.”
“Can’t read noways,” Giff said.
Colton took a long draw from the whiskey jar and watched Brigginshaw deal for pearls at a camp a hundred yards away. “Does he really keep all those pearls in that leather case?”
“Safest place he knows,” Esau said.
Colton whistled. “Is he crazy? I heard in the Indian Territory that some outlaw gang was hiding out down here: Christmas so-and-so.”
“Christmas Nelson,” Esau said. “The captain ain’t scared of them. He sleeps with them pearls in his bed, he says. I’d hate to try to steal ’em from him.”
“I’d hate it, too,” Colton said, grinning. “I’d hate the hell out of it!”
He wandered through the pearling camps that afternoon, asking pearl-hunters how much they had received for their finds. Their claims varied widely. He couldn’t rely on them. The information would be of little use. He needed specifics. Checking the coin purse in his pocket, he drifted back to Esau’s saloon to enjoy a few more drinks before returning to the Treat Inn for supper.
Near sundown, the mosquitoes began their forays, and Colton, now quite intoxicated, strode uncertainly back toward Port Caddo. As the afternoon wore on, he had thought more and more of the woman he had seen at the Treat Inn when he registered the night before. A real bayou belle. Maybe he would look her up tonight. He had thought it useless to approach her last night, sober. But now he had the cocksureness of a drunk. How could she resist him?
He arrived just as supper was being served, found an empty table in the corner, and sat down. Billy came out of the kitchen carrying four plates, which he delivered to another table. Colton caught his eye and waved.
“Be right with you,” Billy said.
“No hurry,” the guest replied, smiling. Then he saw her. The woman from last night had grown even more provocative. To Colton, it seemed she flirted a great deal with the male diners as she leaned over their shoulders to fill their glasses with water. He was sure he saw her pressing herself against them. Now he had her figured. She wanted company tonight, and he was just the man.
Billy came through the kitchen door with a plate of steaming food for the new diner. “Here you are, sir. Enjoy it.” He smelled whiskey on the man’s breath and remembered seeing him at Esau’s place earlier. “Any luck pearling today?”
“Huh?” Colton said, tucking a napkin into the front of his shirt. “Oh! Hell, I didn’t even get my feet wet. Maybe tomorrow.”
Billy could read drunkenness in a man’s eyes the way he could grade the luster of a pearl. But, unlike Trevor Brigginshaw, Colton didn’t seem to be a mean drunk. He would probably go to bed after supper without causing any trouble. “Carol Anne will bring you some water in a minute,” he said, heading back to the kitchen.
“How about something stronger?” Colton said, with his mouth full.
Billy stopped. “That’ll be coffee,” he replied, and left the man to his meal.
“Hello, darlin’,” Colton said when Carol Anne came with the water pitcher. He mistook her suspicion for a look of interest:
“Good evening, Mr … .”
“Call me Henry, darlin’. Henry Colton. You remember me. You signed me in last night. Room number five.”
“Oh, yes. Mr. Colton.” She poured the water calmly.
“Now, don’t ‘mister’ me. That’s Henry to you, darlin’.” He grabbed her wrist as she finished filling his glass. “That’s room number five.” He winked, now doubly drunk with desire on top of the whiskey. When he looked at her, he was sure he saw her wink back.
Carol Anne twisted her wrist from his grasp and turned for the kitchen. When she did, he reached for the roundest, softest part of her he could find and pinched it smartly between his thumb and forefinger.
The customers heard Carol Anne yelp, and looked up in time to see her empty her water pitcher in Colton’s face.
“Goddamn, woman!” he said.
Billy was out of the kitchen in seconds and caught Carol Anne as she tried to rush by him. “What’s going on?”
Her features were twisted in anger when she pointed. “He grabbed me!”
Billy marched to the table. “Get out!” he said to Colton.
“What? Are you gonna take the word of a water girl over a guest?”
“She’s half-owner of this inn, mister, and I’m the other half. Get out before I throw you out.”
“But, my dinner.”
Billy yanked the wet napkin from Colton’s collar, clenched a handful of his shirt, and lifted him to his wobbly legs. The chair fell over and slapped against the floor. The dishes rattled on the table as Colton kicked in surprise. One of the guests was quick enough to open the front door as Billy dragged the offender there and shoved him out.
“Goddamn!” Colton said as he lifted himself from the dirt. It had happened again. How many places had he been thrown out of now? Always drunk.
He looked up and saw the light of the open inn door wavering above him. He saw something coming. His suitcase and the rest of his belongings landed on top of him, knocking him back down. Reflexes slow. Damned whiskey. And this his last chance.
Where would he go now? He stood and staggered a few steps before he got his balance. Back to the pearl camps. Nowhere else to go. He stuffed his suitcase with his things, unable to keep his balance. He suddenly felt a great deal drunker than he had before.
Finally getting his belongings together, he began weaving toward the pearling camps in the dark. Halfway there, his stomach began to boil. He stumbled into the bushes to vomit.
He tried to stand again, but his stomach hurt. He felt better on the ground. Fumbling with his suitcase, he pulled out a pair of pants to use as a pillow. He squirmed under the pinpricks of thirsty mosquitoes. His head was aching now. He felt a chill, pulled another article of clothing over him.
Maybe he should check his pocket for the coin purse. To hell with it. Who really gave a shit, anyway?
This was a familiar misery. Too familiar. His only consolation was knowing that sleep would soon come—the insensible sleep of a drunk. He would go to sleep curled up on the pine needles like a stray dog. Yes, he would sleep. Just as soon as he got through puking again.
17
AFTER SEVERAL DAYS, HENRY COLTON HAD CAPTAIN BRIGGINSHAW pretty well patterned. The pearl-buyer arrived at the Goose Prairie camps about dinnertime every day and rowed out a couple of hours later for other mussel beds around the lake. Colton knew all he needed to know about the Australian now to put his plan into effect.
He was standing chest-deep in water, as he had done every morning for the past four days. He didn’t think it would look good if he found his pearl too easily. But four days would have to suffice. Colton was not accustomed to bathing daily.
The morning after he got thrown out of the Treat Inn, he had sobered up and cleaned up, waited for Billy to take the wagon to the camps, then gone to see Carol Anne in the store. He carried his hat in his hand and kept his eyes on the floor.
“I was drunk and out of line,” he said.
“Is that su
pposed to be an apology?” she asked, wishing Billy were there with her.
“The best I can manage,” he admitted.
“All right, you’re sorry. Now, get out before Billy finds you here.”
He went to find Billy then. Henry Colton was a hard man to shame. He thought Billy might rough him up, but he could take a beating as well as any man. He went through the same routine. Hat in hand, eyes on the ground. “Drunk and out of line.”
“That’s no excuse.”
“It won’t happen again.”
“Just stay away from our inn. You won’t be welcomed there.”
“If you say so.”
He got drunk with Trevor Brigginshaw two nights later at Esau’s place, and told the story of what had happened at the Treat Inn. Laughed about it, in fact. He found out then that the Australian was a mean drunk who didn’t like strangers grabbing the lady friends of his old mate, Billy Treat. The fight didn’t last long. Colton got in a few punches before the leather satchel laid him out.
When he came to, he thought it was remarkable that the pearl-buyer would not set his satchel aside even in a fistfight. It was going to be harder to get a look in there than he had at first thought. The beating had been worth it, though. He had learned quite a lot about Captain Brigginshaw.
Colton was not a man to hold a grudge. Even after the licking Trefor gave him, he became a friend and drinking partner of the pearl-buyer. For every wild tale the Australian told of the high seas, Colton had a match from the western territories. He had been everywhere. New Mexico, Montana, Oregon. Mining, cowboying, drifting, and gambling, he claimed.
He and Trevor both understood the debilitating pleasures of saloon life. Funny how many friendships he had started with fistfights over the years. Of course, the friendships never lasted long. He had to keep drifting in his line of work. He liked Trevor Brigginshaw; he truly did. After the fight and a few nights of drinking together, they got along well. But their friendship wouldn’t last.