Forty Mile River

by J. R. Roberts

  “I do.”

  “All right, then,” Parker said. “When do the boats leave?”

  “A couple of hours.”

  “Then you better get on it,” Parker said.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Clint and Ike got to the docks. There were four men waiting for them on a flat boat. They were all holding poles. On the boat were enough supplies for the ride upriver, which would take weeks.

  Ike made the introductions.

  “This is Clint Adams, my partner,” he said. “He’s also the moneyman, so if the boat starts to sink, he’s the one you should save. Clint, these are Ben, Phil, Dallas, and Jud.”

  “Boys,” Clint said, nodding. He wished Ike hadn’t said what he did about him being the moneyman. He might be the one they saved if the boat sank, but he’d also be the one they killed if they decided to rob them.

  They all nodded.

  “These boys have been up and down these rivers a million times,” Ike said. “They’re the best.”

  “Then we might as well get going, before one of those lawmen decides to keep us here.”

  “Boys,” Ike said, “all aboard.”

  Hector found Bent Miller in one of the saloon tents, sitting alone over a beer. There was a lot of activity going on around him, but the man didn’t seem to notice.

  Hector got himself a beer and carried it to Miller’s table.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  Bent looked up at him.

  “We got some business?”

  “We might, if I can sit and talk to you.”

  “Go ahead,” Bent said, kicking the chair out for Hector to sit in.

  “I’m heading upriver to Forty Mile today,” Hector said.

  “And?”

  “I want you to come with me.”

  “What for?”

  “I want you to be my right-hand man.”

  “What about your boss, Parker?”

  “He’s not coming.”

  “So you’d be number one up there, and I’d be number two?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Will I get paid like a number two?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Will I have to make any mining decisions?”

  “I’ll take care of the mining operation,” Hector said.

  “And what do I take care of?”

  Hector took a deep breath. This was where he had to show some courage, try and establish the pecking order right from the beginning.

  “Whatever I tell you to take of.”

  Bent stared at Hector for a while. Hector thought if he looked away, he’d be lost, so he continued to stare back at the gunman.

  “Yeah, okay,” Bent said finally, “and when I don’t have anythin’ to do?”

  “Do what you want,” Hector said. “Just be available at a moment’s notice.”

  “I could do that,” Bent said. “When do we leave?”

  “In about two hours,” Hector said. “We’ll go up the Yukon till we get to Forty Mile River—”

  “I know the way to Forty Mile,” Bent said.

  “Have you been there before?”

  “Once.”

  “Okay, then,” Hector said. “Meet me at the dock in two hours, and be packed.”

  “I’ll be there,” Bent said. “How about my boys?”

  “How many?”

  “Two of ’em.”

  “Can you pay them out of your pay?”

  Bent thought, then said, “If I’m really gettin’ paid like a number two, yeah.”

  “Okay,” Hector said, standing up. “Bring them.”

  “We’ll be there…boss.”

  Satisfied, Hector left the saloon and went to the dock to be sure the boats would be ready.

  As Clint and Ike boarded their boat, Clint noticed four similar boats farther down the docks, all loaded with equipment.

  “Whataya think?” Ike asked, seeing where his friend was looking.

  “Seems to be the only person with enough money for an outfit like that is Calvin Parker.”

  “Well,” Ike said, “just because he’s leavin’ from here and goin’ upriver don’t mean he’s goin’ to Forty Mile.”

  “Any other strikes up there?”

  Ike hesitated, then said, “Not that I heard.”

  “Then we may have some competition.”

  “My stake is already filed,” Ike said.

  “When’s the last time you were in Forty Mile?” Clint asked.

  “Two months ago, maybe more.”

  “A lot can happen in two months.”

  Ike looked at Clint.

  “Somebody tries to jump my claim, Clint, I ain’t gonna like it.”

  “Since we’re partners, Ike,” Clint said, “I’m not going to be too happy either. Especially after I came all this way.”

  “We better get movin’, then,” Ike said. “From the look of things, we’ll beat them to Forty Mile easy.”

  Ike addressed the four pole men and said, “Let’s get movin’!”

  “Okay, boss,” one of them said.

  The men all dug their poles into the soft river bottom, each of them standing in a different corner. As they pushed off, the boat started to move slowly away from the dock.

  Clint thought the trip was probably going to take six months at this rate—or six years—but once they cleared the dock and got out into the river, he was surprised at how quickly the boat moved. Apparently the four men were used to working together. They pushed in unison and gathered much more speed than Clint would have thought possible.

  TWENTY-TWO

  When Hector got to the dock, he saw Clint Adams and his partner Ike pushing off. From the lack of equipment on their boat, he assumed they had sent it ahead of them. That didn’t concern him. There was no way their equipment could match what Calvin Parker’s money had bought.

  He walked along the dock until he reached their boats, and carefully boarded each boat to check the cargo. He lifted tarps to look underneath, and by the time he was done, he was satisfied that everything was there. Some of the equipment had been dropped while being unloaded from the ship, but they wouldn’t know if it was damaged until they reached Forty Mile and put it to work. Supposedly, they had a man in place there who would be able to fix any damage. If they needed to bring in new equipment, that was going to set them back months, and they could not afford that.

  That wasn’t something he looked forward to telling Calvin Parker.

  Parker drank his coffee and considered the man seated across from him.

  “You’re supposed to be the best carpenter in town,” he said.

  “I am,” the burly man said.

  “Then don’t tell me you built the Skagway Hotel.”

  “Not me,” he said. “They had their own men.”

  “Is there an architect in town?”

  “I don’t know what that is,” the man said.

  Parker wondered if he was making a mistake.

  “He’s the man who draws up the plans for a building,” he said.

  “Plans? Listen, mister, I build things. That means furniture, boats, houses, and I do it the best way I know how. I got men who work with me who are real good with hammer and nails. You want one of them archi—archy—whatever you said, you’re gonna have to bring him in from south of here. That’ll take time. How soon you want this house built?”

  “As soon as possible,” Parker said.

  “You tell me what you want and when you want it, and you pay for it, and you’ll get your house.”

  Parker gave it some thought. The man was right. It would take too long to bring in an architect and a builder from Seattle. And this man looked the part, and seemed confident enough.

  “All right,” he said, “you have the job.”

  The builder reached out and said, “I do things with a handshake, Mr. Parker.”

  Parker eyed the man’s big, rough hand dubiously, but finally reached out and shook it.

  Marshal Sean Casey stared down at the de
ad, brutalized whore.

  “You know who did this?” Casey asked the madam, Lily.

  “Sure do,” she said. “Bent Miller.”

  “Miller.”

  The flap of the tent opened and a man stepped in. He wore a red uniform, a gun in a holster with a flap.

  “What are you doin’ here?” Casey asked.

  “I heard a girl was murdered,” Trooper Alan Craig said.

  “There she is,” Casey said, pointing to the girl on the floor.

  Craig looked down and removed his hat. “Poor girl.”

  Casey, who had not removed his hat to this point, took it off now and said, “Yeah.”

  “You know who did it?” the trooper asked.

  “I know,” Lily said. “He’s done this to girls before, but this is the first one he’s ever killed.”

  “What was her name?” Craig asked.

  “Frankie,” Lily said. “Actually, Francesca. This was her first day.”

  “Too bad,” Craig said.

  “Ma’am, can you give us a minute?” Casey asked. The small tent was crowded with the three of them and the body in it.

  She stepped out.

  “The madam says Bent Miller did it,” Casey told the trooper.

  “Miller? Do you know him?”

  “I know the name,” Casey said. “And the man’s reputation.”

  “Well then, let’s go get him. We can’t let him get away with this.”

  “Why do you keep sayin’ ‘we’?”

  “Because we’re the law,” Craig said. “We may be from different countries, but we both still want the same thing—law and order.”

  Casey sighed and regarded the younger man. He put his hat back on.

  “Bent Miller is on a boat going upriver,” he said. “Left a little while ago.”

  “We have to go after him,” Craig said. “Do you know where he went?”

  “Forty Mile.”

  “I know where that is.”

  “Well, good. Then you can guide me.”

  “We’ll have to get a boat.”

  “Can’t we ride? I hate boats. I was sick the whole way here.”

  “It’s a rough ride,” Craig said. “Over snowy mountains and through snowbound passes.”

  “But you know the way?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then we need to get two horses.”

  “Shouldn’t one of us stay here in Skagway?”

  “I have two deputies, I can leave them here. We have to show these people they can’t get away with murder.”

  “All right,” Trooper Craig said. “When do you want to leave?”

  “Now,” Casey said.

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWO MONTHS LATER…

  Clint knocked mud off his boots before entering the tent he shared with Ike. It was something he was trying to get Ike to do, as well. Sharing a hotel room with him for one day in Skagway was nothing compared to the prospect of sharing a tent with him for months here in Forty Mile.

  He ducked his head and entered the tent. They were camped just outside of the town of Forty Mile. Ike’s claim was upriver. At the present time they were panning the riverbed with sluice boxes for gold, but the equipment was still being set up for them to do some serious mining. Once the sluice chutes were finished, they’d be able to get started.

  Clint was about to pull his boots off with Ike appeared in the tent opening.

  “They’re here.”

  “Who’s here?”

  “The boats from that feller, Parker. We beat them by better’n a week.”

  “Are they unloading?”

  “Right now,” Ike said. “Whole lot of equipment.”

  “Do we know where they’re setting up?”

  “Not yet.”

  “That fellow Hector, is he here, too?”

  “Yeah, he was on one of the boats with that other fella.”

  “Parker?”

  “No, not the fella with the money,” Ike said. “The other guy.”

  “Bent Miller?”

  “That’s him.”

  Clint stood up from his cot, strapped on his gun.

  “What the hell would he be doing here, except looking for me?”

  “Ya think?”

  “I don’t know what else, but maybe we should find out.”

  “How we gonna do that?”

  Clint slapped his friend on the arm and said, “How about we just ask him?”

  “You think he’ll answer you?”

  “We’ll get some kind of answer,” Clint said. “Come on.”

  Ike told Clint when they arrived in Forty Mile that he didn’t recognize the place.

  “There’s buildings here,” he said. “When I left, there was no buildings.”

  There was a trading post, a saloon, a livery, and a whorehouse. No hotel, which was why they were camped on the banks of the Forty Mile River, near their claim.

  The trip upriver had been arduous and cold. Clint decided the first day to take a turn on the poles, and had one of the men show him the proper way to do it. He’d spell each of the men for a while, so they could all get some rest. After a few days Ike was shamed into doing the same thing. With the six of them working, they got up a good head of steam, and Ike said he’d never seen a boat go upriver so fast. Still, it took them almost two months to negotiate the better than fifteen hundred miles. By the time they arrived, they all had full beards, as after a few days on the boat they quit shaving. And washing, except for Clint, who would take a dip in the river every few days.

  When they reached the town, Ike and Clint gave the four men their head for a few days, told them to come back after they’d blown off some steam and be ready to work.

  Three of the men came back a few days later. They said the fourth man had been stabbed to death in a fight in the whorehouse over a girl. There was no law in Forty Mile, and there wouldn’t be unless the U.S. marshal or the trooper made the trip upriver. There was no secret about who had killed Jud. A miner named Paul Ritten had stabbed him with his own knife.

  “Gotta tell the truth,” Ben said. “Jud started it, and Ritten finished it.”

  They put the three men to work with sluice boxes.

  When Clint and Ike got to the river, the flat boats were still being offloaded. Both Hector and Bent Miller were supervising the work.

  “Mr. Adams,” Hector said. He and Miller were both unshaven, and unwashed. Clint was surprised. He’d have thought Hector was the type to bathe every day.

  “Hector,” Clint said. “Nice to see you. Didn’t know you were coming up to Forty Mile.”

  “Didn’t know you’d be here,” Hector said. “Quite a coincidence.”

  “Yes,” Clint said, “a coincidence.”

  “Adams,” Bent said, nodding.

  “Miller.”

  “What’s this place like?” Bent asked.

  “Muddy,” Clint said.

  “Any women?”

  “There’s a whorehouse, a livery, a saloon, and a trading post for supplies.”

  “Any law?”

  “None.”

  “Interesting.”

  “I thought you might find that interesting,” Clint said. “What brings you up here?”

  “Work.”

  “What kind?”

  “Mr. Miller works for me,” Hector said.

  Bent smiled at Clint and said, “He’s number one up here, I’m number two.”

  “What do you know about a mining operation?” Clint asked.

  “Nothin’.”

  “That’s my end,” Hector said.

  “And what’s his end?” Clint asked.

  “Whatever I tell him.”

  Clint studied Hector. The man had changed, by necessity or design he didn’t know, but it was clearly evident.

  “Well,” Clint said, looking at Bent, “that should make for an interesting job.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Clint and Ike went to the saloon. The place still smelled like new wood—the walls,
the floor, and the bar itself. Most of the inhabitants of Forty Mile were miners; therefore, this early in the day they were doing just that…mining.

  But mining camps brought others, as well. There were gamblers, prostitutes, pickpockets, con men, and more.

  The bartender greeted them as they approached the bar.

  “How you two doin’?” he asked, setting them each up with beers.

  “Fine,” Ike said. “Thanks, Zeke.”

  “Heard a big outfit got to town today,” Zeke said. “That true?”

  “It’s true a potentially big outfit got to town today,” Clint said. “Whether they make it or not is another story.”

  “Guess we’ll see,” Zeke said. “’Scuse me.” He went down the bar to serve another customer.

  “So what are we gonna do?” Ike asked Clint.

  “We’re just gonna to keep going the way we have been,” Clint said. “Keep panning until we’re ready to do some digging.”

  “And what about this feller Hector, and Bent Miller?” Ike asked. “They work for that Parker feller. Hector’s gonna run the mine, but what’s Bent gonna do?”

  “You heard Hector,” Clint said. “Bent will do what he tells him to do.”

  “You know, if Bent kills you, I’m not gonna be able to go on.”

  “I’m touched.”

  “I won’t have any money.”

  “Oh. Well, don’t worry,” Clint said. “He’s not going to kill me.”

  “A man like Bent Miller? How’s he gonna resist tryin’ himself against the Gunsmith?”

  “Maybe he’ll try,” Clint said, “but he won’t succeed. Don’t worry.”

  “How can you be so confident all the time?” Ike said. “Don’t you expect to someday meet a faster gun?”

  “I expect one day I’ll meet the man who’s going to kill me,” Clint said. “I don’t think he’ll be faster.”

  “You mean a backshooter? A bushwhacker? Or the way Hickok went?”

  “The way we all go,” Clint said. “Hickok, Ben Thompson, Jesse James, Billy the Kid. There’s too much history to think it won’t happen—but I don’t think Bent Miller is the man.”

  “Well, okay, then,” Ike said. “I’m gonna get to the claim and do some work.”

  “I’ll be along in a while to spell you,” Clint said. He may have been the moneyman in their partnership, but he did what everyone else did on the boat—and he’d do his share of the mining work, as well.