Sitka

by Louis L'Amour

  " 'We?' "

  "Alexander, too. There have been times when we have thought of you as our only friend. You've no idea what it means to know there is someone, somewhere, who would come if called. Alexander has said as much several times. "He is ... he is not so young any more, and could never stand the rigors of a trip in an open boat. Had it not been for that we might have made the attempt." "Has he mistreated you? Zinnovy, I mean."

  "He wouldn't dare. At least, not yet. But wait until you see him. He has changed, too."

  "Changed?"

  "Perhaps it is just the veneer wearing off, but he has grown more brutal. He is not formal as he was, not so stiff or so neat. He drinks a lot, and goes to the village too often for his own good. Some night one of the Kolush will kill him. Last month he shot an Indian for nothing at all, and he has had several brutally whipped."

  "How about you? Would he let you go?"

  "Alexander believes he dares do nothing else, but I only wish I were as sure." Shadows had grown long in the room and LaBarge became worried. His crew had been chosen for their fighting ability as much as for their seamanship; should they encounter any of Zinnovy's men there might be trouble. "I can't stay," he said, but made no move to go. "When you return to Russia, what then?"

  "We have no idea what will be planned for us in St. Petersburg. Alexander believes much could be done here, but it would take a certain sort of man to do it."

  "And I'll never see you again."

  She touched the teapot with idle fingers. "No ... unless you come to St.

  Petersburg."

  He chuckled. "And what would I do there? I'm not a courtier. Although," he smiled, "one American sailor did well enough--a man named Jones." "John Paul Jones? I think he was a better hand with a ship than an empress." She turned around to face him.

  "You've never told me about yourself. What was your mother like?" "How can you answer a question like that? She was a little woman with big brown eyes and she used to take me into the swamp with her and show me the useful plants. I believe she came from a good family, wealthy at one time. She told me about the house they lived in: it had once been beautiful, but became very run-down, I guess."

  He paused. "She wanted me to amount to something and was very sure I would, and she used to tell me it wasn't where a man started that mattered, but where he went. She believed the swamp was a good place for a man to begin. She may have been right."

  "And you? What do you want, Jean?"

  "You have a husband ... a man I respect."

  She brushed the suggestion aside. "I did not mean that. But there must be something you want, that you want very much."

  "I suppose there is. It used to be wealth, but it isn't any more. When I first began to learn about Alaska I felt it was a new country, a rich country where a man could become rich in a hurry. But I've done a lot of thinking since then, and I have a friend, Rob Walker, who has given me a different slant. I want to be rich, I suppose, but I keep thinking of Jefferson. I'd like to see Alaska a part of the United States."

  "Why?"

  "I've heard men curse it. I've heard them talk about the cold, the wolves, the northern lights, but that's not important. I want it for my country because someday my country may need it very much."

  The room was now dark and the town only a velvet blackness where a few lights shone like far-off stars. Down upon the bay the harbor lights shot arrows of gold into the black heart of the water.

  "What of you, Jean?"

  "What I want I can make with these--" He lifted his hands. "Where there's fur I'll have some of it, and where there's gold, I'll take my share. But that's not enough. More and more I want to do something of value, the way Rob Walker is doing."

  "Tell me about him."

  "He's a little man, the way my mother was a little woman. I doubt if he weighs more than one hundred pounds. But that's the only way he's small. I think he would do anything for his country, and he knows how to bring men together to work, how to use their ambition, their envy, greed, even their hatred. It's funny--I remember him mostly as a shy little boy, and now to think he's become a great man."

  A servant entered and lighted the lamps. When he was gone she turned to him again. "You may get what you want, Jean. Strangely, perhaps, it is what Alexander also wants. We must talk to him of this." "And what of us?"

  She put her hand on his sleeve. "You must not ask that, and you must not think of it. There is nothing for us, nor can there be anything for us, except"--she looked up at him--"except to say, I love you."

  The door opened and Rotcheff came into the room. "I am sorry, Captain, if I have kept you waiting. You will wish to return to your ship."

  Chapter 22

  He was crossing the foyer when a door opened and in the opening stood Paul Zinnovy. LaBarge needed only a quick glance to see that what Helena had told him was true. Zinnovy was a changed man. There was about him now an air of sullen brutality. Little remained of the immaculate perfection in uniform that he had once been. His coat was unbuttoned and his shirt collar gaped wide. He carried a bottle by the neck and in the other hand a half-filled glass, but he was not drunk. He was heavier than when Jean had last seen him. There were red veins in his face and his features seemed somehow thicker. "So? Our little merchant comes to pick crumbs from the Russian table? Enjoy them while you can, Captain, it will not be for long." "Perhaps."

  "So you will take our Rotcheff back to Russia, will you? And that will be the end of Zinnovy, you think?" He chuckled. "Think again, my friend. I have power here. I have a warehouse filled with furs, I have wealth. Do you think I would lose all that and what it could mean to me in St. Petersburg for one man? Or a dozen men?"

  Jean was impatient to be away, but the man fascinated him. It was a rare opportunity to see his enemy at first hand. "Count Rotcheff is a good man," he replied shortly, "and very close to the Czar."

  Zinnovy smiled. "Is he now? How long does a man's influence last when he is far away?" He held up two fingers and rubbed them together. "See? I will have this. Gold speaks an eloquent tongue, understood in court or cottage. There are many men who stand between the Czar and any issued order. As for Rotcheff"--he shrugged--"he might be dangerous if he gets back, and as for that little bit--" Jean swung toward Zinnovy. "I'd not say that if I were you." Zinnovy's eyes danced with cynical amusement. "Ah? So that is how it is? Oh, do not worry, my American friend, I'll say nothing to offend either you or the lady, but it interests me that you would fight for her. Chivalrous, and all that." His eyes narrowed a little. "It interests me that you will fight at all. You have always seemed more ready to run."

  Abruptly, Jean turned to the door. Nothing could be gained here and he had a ship to make ready for the sea. A long voyage lay before him and neither the Bering Sea nor the North Pacific was gentle. He walked out, drawing the door to behind him, conscious of Zinnovy's eyes.

  Outside it was completely dark. Most of the lights in the town had been extinguished. Jean LaBarge paused at the head of the flight of wooden steps and looked down, not enjoying that descent into blackness. Hadn't there been a light there, at the foot of the steps? He started to step down when a low voice called to him.

  "Captain! Wait!"

  He drew back from the step and turned to find a girl, her head covered with a shawl. "It is I--Dounia! You must not go down the steps. There are Russian sailors waiting for you! They mean to kill you!" "How many?"

  "Nine, perhaps ten. I do not know."

  "And my men?"

  "They are with the boat."

  "Is there another path? Where we can't be seen?" She caught his sleeve. "Come!" Swiftly she led him through the darkness, past barracks and tannery, to the corner of a storehouse. There they crouched in the shadows, listening.

  It was very dark and very still. The water was gray, with a fringe of white along the rocks. From where they stood he looked along the water's edge toward the landing stage. His ship's boat was clearly visible. Now that they had come this far the girl waite
d, knowing he must decide the next move. The building loomed above them, and looking back he could see the Castle outlined darkly against the sky. A few of the Russians would be waiting at the bottom of the stair, growing restive now, and there would be others in the log warehouse, watching the boat. But they would not be watching closely for they would expect no movement there. It would be sounds from up the street they would be expecting.

  As he watched he saw a man move in the boat; and taking a chance, he called softly. Ben Turk was at the boat, and so was Gant. Both men knew the call of the loon, and he made it now. The moving figure stood still, listening. Softly, he called again, and there was a stirring in the boat shadows. For an instant starlight glinted on an oar blade.

  He realized suddenly he was holding Dounia by the arm. "What about you?" he whispered. "Will you be all right?"

  "I know every path."

  "You're sure?"

  "I played here as a child."

  "Your father should have sent someone else. You shouldn't be out at this hour."

  "Nobody sent me. I ... I just came."

  He took her shoulders in his hands and squeezed them gently. "Thanks ... thanks, Dounia. But you must never do this again, do you hear?" "I won't."

  Suddenly she stood on tiptoe and kissed him fiercely on the lips, then ducked under his arm and was gone in the darkness. He started after her, then realized how futile it would be to pursue someone in such dark and unfamiliar surroundings.

  The boat was drawing close, drifting like a darker shadow on the gray water. The oars stopped and it glided through the water with only ripples to make a whisper of sound. "Captain?" It was Gant's voice.

  "Here."

  At that moment a shot sounded.

  Jean LaBarge had stepped down to the water's edge, but now he stood still, listening, ears attuned to the slightest sound. Far away an unhappy coyote yammered his loneliness to the wide sky, the water rippled, water dripped from the suspended oars, and then a faint woman's cry, from the Castle. "Wait here!" he called to Gant.

  Spinning, he dashed into the darkness. How he found his way through the maze of buildings he never knew, but suddenly he was back on the Hill, and when he stepped through the door Count Rotcheff lay on the carpet, blood flowing from a wound in his side. Helena was kneeling beside him and two servants came running into the room.

  Jean dropped to his knees. His familiarity with wounds had been bred of emergency, and he worked swiftly now. When he had stopped the flow of blood and sent one of the servants running for the doctor, he got to his feet. The door to Zinnovy's quarters opened and the Baron came out, looking down at the wounded man. His face showed no expression, yet there was a faint flicker of amusement in his eyes. "It seems you've lost a passenger, Captain. He may recover, but it will take time ... time." Zinnovy glanced at Helena and then at Jean. "In the meantime he must remain here."

  "You shot him! You did!" Helena's face was white, her eyes enormous. "I will see you shot for this! You ... you ... !"

  "Naturally, you're hysterical." Zinnovy drew himself up. "And of course, I ignore the accusation. It was some Kolush, no doubt, perhaps believing the Count was myself." He smiled again. "I forgive you, Princess, and assure you I shall see that everything is done, everything, I repeat, to speed his recovery. Of course"--he pursed his lips thoughtfully--"it may take months and months." Turning to Jean he added, "And of course, LaBarge, there will be no need for your schooner. None at all. Your stay here is over at midnight tomorrow. If you are in Russian waters within four days I'll blow you out of the water." When he was gone, Rotcheff opened his eyes. He glanced quickly after the Baron to make sure he was unheard, then he whispered, "Take her and go." His eyes were bright and quick. "Take her to the Czar, my friend. I cannot go ... and he will listen to no one else. You must take her, Captain ... and you must go at once ... before they realize."

  "But--!"

  Helena's protest was brushed aside. The Count's voice was firmer and his eyes clear. "Your things are already aboard the schooner, as are mine. Go now, quickly."

  "Leave you?" she protested. "Leave you wounded? Perhaps ..." "Perhaps dying? No, I shall not die, but unless you go now we may both be killed. We know now to what lengths he will go ... for it was Paul. I cannot prove it ... but it was he.

  "If you escape, I shall be safe. If you remain here ... he will try again and again. With you away, safe with the Czar ... then he dare do nothing more for fear of repercussions. You are the only chance." "He's right," Jean told her. "And if we go it must be now, before Zinnovy thinks of this."

  He led her, still protesting, to the door. Suddenly she turned and fled to Rotcheff and fell on her knees beside him. For a moment she was there, then she arose and came swiftly to the door. As they stepped out to the terrace the doctor and a servant came in the Castle entrance. Wasting no time, Jean led her to the path he had twice covered that night.

  Kohl helped her aboard and whispered to Jean, "Zinnovy went out to the Lena.

  What's that mean?"

  "Is the cargo gone?"

  "Gone. And we've loaded the furs. The last lighter cleared an hour ago."

  "All right. As soon as we're aboard we clear for sea. As quietly as possible."

  Ben Turk touched his sleeve. "We aren't the only ones, Cap. Look!" The canvas of the Lena was white against the night as she caught for an instant the reflection of shore light. Phosphorus showed in her wake. Zinnovy was taking the patrol ship out and Jean needed no blueprints as to why she was going. Out upon the dark water the sea would swallow any evidence of what happened to the Susquehanna here in the harbor there were too many witnesses. Without doubt he intended to sink the Susquehanna and end the problem presented by LaBarge, once and for all. Yet he could have no idea they intended to sail this soon, nor could he guess that Helena was aboard.

  A wind stirred along the face of the mountains, and clouds drifted in the wide sky. Lights from the town made golden daggers into the heart of the black, glistening water. The patrol ship had taken the Middle Channel between Turning and Kutken Islands, but it was only a little past midnight and the anchor of the schooner was catted and she was moving.

  "He can sit out there and wait until we come out," Kohl said unhappily, "and when we're at sea and out of gunshot of the town, he can sink us at will." Jean LaBarge was not thinking of Zinnovy; that would come in its own good time. Now he was thinking of a channel that led north past the Indian settlement and Channel Rock where the Susquehanna had lain at anchor on her first voyage. One of the clumsy Russian ships that lay in the harbor had moved across that opening. Zinnovy must have planned shrewdly, hours before; he seemed to have blocked every exit, leaving only the way the Lena had gone. "Keep moving," he told Kohl. "Let her swing as if we were taking the opening past Aleutski Island, and then at the last minute, point her into that opening past the Russian ship."

  The channel where the Russian was moored was not more than one hundred and fifty yards wide, and there were rocks along the shore of Japonski Island, but between those off-lying rocks and the Russian ship there was a space ... very narrow. "We can't do it," Kohl protested. "We'd be fools to try."

  "You do what I tell you."

  The wind off the mountains was picking up, the sails filled, and Kohl went aft and took the wheel from Noble. He watched the approach to the channel past Aleutski. A few Russians loitered along the bulwarks of the moored ship. As Kohl measured the distance sweat broke out on his forehead. It was narrow, far too narrow. He swore bitterly, then setting his jaw, he spun the spokes rapidly and pointed their bows at the Russian ship.

  There was a long moment before comprehension dawned on the Russian sailors. Suddenly a man shouted hoarsely at them and running aft began to wave his hands wildly at the schooner which was bearing down as if to ram. "Steady on!" LaBarge walked away from the rail and stood, his big hands on his hips, watching the narrowing gap. Kohl stared at him. To have seen LaBarge at this moment no man would have guessed that he was gambling his ship
, their lives, and at the very least a Russian prison. Kohl could not know that LaBarge's throat was so dry he could not swallow, and his heart was throbbing heavily. Had he kicked an ant's nest there could have been no greater burst of activity than there now was aboard the Russian. Men shouted and waved their arms to warn him off, but the Susquehanna plunged on. "Gant! Boyar! Get forward and stand by with your rifles. If anybody lays a hand on the wheel, drop him where he stands!"

  It was close. If anyone touched the wheel on the Russian bark it might be just enough to close off the channel and bring about the collision they feared. The water gap narrowed. A hundred yards ... seventy ... fifty! A man standing at the bulwark suddenly ran to the bow and dove off into the black water, swimming wildly for shore. Lights appeared in doorways and people rushed out, shouting and staring seaward.

  Kohl's eyes were riveted on the narrowing distance. "Cap'n!" he pleaded.

  The moment seemed to stand still as the schooner closed that distance.

  Forty-five ... forty ...

  "Hard aport!" LaBarge shouted. His mouth was so dry his voice sounded choked.

  "Hard over! Hard!"

  Kohl swung the spokes and Turk jumped to lend a hand. Jean stood with his legs spread, watching the bow of the schooner swing. He had drawn the line very fine indeed, perhaps too fine. But he knew his ship, and the Susquehanna answered smartly to her wheel, answered as if she understood what her master wanted. The bow began to swing faster. Jean chewed on the stick of a match and watched the narrowing space.

  Thirty yards ... twenty-five ... twenty ... fifteen. The schooner was forging ahead now, but still swinging. She was ... she was going to clear. Suddenly added wind filled her sails and she gathered speed, slipping past the stern of the moored ship with less than ten feet to spare. Close off the port side were the off-lying rocks, but the Susquehanna slipped through and lifted her bows proudly to the seas. "All sail!" LaBarge shouted the command and then walked forward alone so they could not see his hands trembling. He had, in that moment, risked everything. If the wind had fallen the least bit, if the schooner had yawed ... but she had come through like a thoroughbred.