Three Books in One: A Covenant of Love, Gate of His Enemies, and Where Honor Dwells

by Gilbert, Morris

  Bender knocked on the door and, when it opened, slipped outside. Jake pressed his ear against the door. “He’s maybe not gonna live, Charlie. Couldn’t get him awake to eat. Come on, let’s get some of that bonded stuff I got in my cabin,” Bender said.

  “Hey, Milo, I can’t leave here. I’m guardin’ this feller.”

  “Do as you please,” he answered carelessly. “If you’d rather guard a stiff than drink bonded whiskey, it’s your say-so.”

  Jake heard Milo’s footsteps as he moved down the hall alone, and his heart sank. Then Charlie said, “Wait up, Milo! I reckon I got time for just one!”

  Moving quickly despite the pain in his head, Hardin removed a cord from the curtains, then picked up his boots and tied them together. He checked the loads in his gun, slipped it into the shoulder holster, and stepped to the door. Using the knife he opened it easily, then moved to the stairway leading to the deck and climbed topside.

  It was dark, and he could see two figures at the rail, the sound of their voices clear on the night air. Moving to the starboard rail, he peered both ways, then moved to stand beside it. The shore was a mere bulky darkness slipping by rapidly; the trees were ghostly outlines against the night sky.

  Thinking of the huge paddle wheel, he moved back to the stern and stepped over the rail. Without a pause he jumped into the water, holding his boots tightly. The water was cold to his touch, sending a chill through his body, and the pounding of the massive paddle wheel throbbed into his head. Then the action of the churning wake turned him over like a doll, and he spun helplessly until he finally came to the surface, gasping in great gulps of air.

  The stern lights of the Queen glowed like malevolent eyes in the darkness. He only glanced at the boat for an instant, then turned and began to swim for shore. It was not a long swim, but he was weak and confused by his wound, and the weight of his clothes and boots dragged him down. When his feet hit bottom he was about finished. He crawled ashore and lay on his face, gasping for breath.

  The fall air was cold, and he got up as soon as he could breathe easily again, looking around. It was too dark to see clearly, so he blundered along through bamboo cane until he came to firm ground. Then, luckily, he ran into a huge tree that had been uprooted. He followed the outline of the tree to the first limb, groped around, and broke off the ends of the dead branches. It was an old tree and the wood was dry. Making a pile of the twigs, Jake dug into the oilcloth package, found the matches, and carefully struck one. It spurted with a blue flame, and when he touched it to the twigs, they caught at once. As the tiny fire grew and cast flickering beams around, he scavenged as many sticks and as much brush as he could find and soon had a large fire going.

  As Jake took off his shirt and pants and dried them, he thought of what he had said to Captain Harness. “‘A man’s life is made up of accidents,’” he said aloud, then asked, “Wonder if coming ashore here near this dead tree is one of those things? I could have hit a bluff and not been able to climb out.” The question troubled him, but he was not a man to spend time or thought on such things.

  When his clothes were dry, he put them back on, then used a sharp stick to skewer some of the bacon Milo had put in the sack. He cooked it over the fire and devoured it. He was hungry and wanted more but wrapped the rest back in the oilcloth. “Don’t know how long this has to last,” he said. Then he piled more sticks on the fire and lay down.

  The skies were black, without even a single star. As Jake peered into the darkness, he knew that he was in big trouble. The Longleys would have the alarm out before long, and this was their country. If he stayed, they would find him. Of that he was sure. But the Mississippi River had been his home for the past five years. Where else could he go?

  For a long time he lay there, but no answers came. Finally he went to sleep.

  Vince Franklin looked around the saloon with distaste. Should have known better than to come to a dump like this, he thought. He took a drink of the raw whiskey that seemed to scratch his throat as it went down, then looked over at the woman who was drinking with him. She looked a lot better in the dark. He had met her on a side street in Helena, and by lantern light, she had appeared fresh and very pretty. Now he saw her rough skin and the hardened gleam in her red-rimmed eyes and knew he didn’t need her.

  He had gotten off the riverboat at Helena looking for an old crony, only to find that the man had joined the army. Vince was now forced to wait until the next morning to catch a packet, and so he had made a tour of the dives in the river town. There were quite a few of them, and by the time he met the woman, he was both unsteady and surly.

  “You like me, honey?” the woman said with a smile, breaking into his thoughts, the gold in her teeth gleaming in the light. “I love you plenty!”

  Vince suddenly came to a decision, but before he could get up, a man dressed in a checked shirt, whose face was all but hidden by a bushy, unkempt beard, came through the door. He scanned the room, and when he spotted Vince and the woman, he growled, “I got you now!”

  The woman scrambled to her feet, her face filled with fear. “I was on my way home, Con! Honest I was!”

  “‘I was on my way home!’” The huge man stood there, filling the doorway, mocking her. Drunk as he was, Vince noticed that customers were carefully moving out of the man’s range. He stood up, but the man called Con said, “Where do you think you’re going, sonny?”

  “I–I’m not involved in this,” Vince said quickly. The sight of the man’s wild eyes had sobered him up considerably, and he stepped to the side of the table.

  “You stand right there!” The burly man pulled a revolver from his pocket and laid it right on Vince’s chest. “I’m gonna teach you not to fool around with another man’s woman!”

  As bad as the moment was, Vince almost burst out laughing. He’d run all the way from Richmond to avoid getting shot by one jealous man and was now about to be killed by another.

  Just then there was a movement to his right. A man wearing a ruffled shirt and a pair of black pants stepped to stand beside him. He had on a low-crowned black hat, and his eyes were hidden in the shadow of its brim. “Back off, Con,” he said in a husky voice. “My friend and I are getting out of here.”

  “You’ll get, all right—to the cemetery!” Con cocked the revolver, but the man beside Vince had suddenly produced one of his own, and it was aimed right at the big man’s forehead. Con looked at the muzzle, blinked, and considered the gun in his hand.

  “This ain’t yore fight!” Con muttered, trying to see the man’s face more clearly.

  “Anytime I see a man draw on someone who’s unarmed, it’s my fight,” a flat, emotionless voice answered him. “Besides, I’ve got nothing to lose. So make up your mind …. What’ll it be?”

  Con dropped his gun and threw his hands up. “All right! All right! I ain’t got no gun!”

  “You about ready?” the man said to Vince. Vince grabbed his hat, nodded, and the two of them left. “We’d better move away from here in case your friend has second thoughts,” the man said calmly, holstering his gun.

  “Let’s go to my room,” Vince said. His voice was shaky, and now that the scene was over, he found that the fear made his legs weak. “Come along. I owe you a drink—or maybe more. Name’s Vince Franklin, by the way.”

  After a noticeable silence, the man said, “Jake Hardin.”

  The name meant nothing to Vince, and he hurried along to the hotel. It was late, and even the night clerk was gone. Vince led the way to his room, opened the door, then went in and lit the lamp. “Have a seat, Jake,” he said. “I’ve got a bottle here. Good stuff, too.” He found the bottle, poured two drinks, then said with a nervous smile, “Here’s to you, Jake Hardin. I was never so glad to see anybody in my life!”

  “Glad to help, Vince.” Jake downed his drink, then said, “Well, guess I’ll be going.”

  “Here now!” Vince said quickly. “You can’t run off like that. Sit down, man, and let’s talk. I don’t get my l
ife saved every day!”

  Vince watched the man as he sank back into his chair. “I’ve got nothing to lose,” he’d said. Vince smiled to himself. Anyone that desperate could prove most useful. Soon the two men were talking easily. Vince took in the man’s worn clothing, the still-raw wound on his head, and the fact that Hardin was about dead for sleep.

  “You from around these parts, Jake?” he asked and sat back to listen, calculating.

  Jake had not eaten for two days. He had stayed outside of town as long as he could, then had come in out of desperation. It had not taken him long to find that the Longleys had posted a reward notice for him. He had slept in an alley, sneaking into a store at the outskirts of town to buy crackers and meat, but his limited resources hadn’t lasted long and his money was almost gone. He had gone to the saloon to buy a pint. From there, he didn’t know what he would do.

  Now the warm room and the whiskey made him sleepy—and careless—and he found himself telling Franklin about his life, revealing that he was a riverboat gambler. He broke off abruptly, saying, “I lost all my money and hit rock bottom.”

  Vince smiled again. The memory of Con’s gun looming in front of him was still fresh in his mind, but it wasn’t so much gratitude he felt toward Jake as a sense of not letting an opportunity pass by. Who knows? Vince thought. Hardin might even be the answer to my problems …. “I’ll stake you, Jake,” he said, surprising Jake. “All you need is some good clothes and a little money—plus a little luck. Tell you what, the boat’s due to leave in about three hours. Go with me to New Orleans. I’ll back you until you’ve won some money; then you can pay me back.”

  Jake stared at Vince but said at once, “Well, I’m in no condition to be proud. I’ll just take you up on that offer.”

  “Fine!” Vince said. “Look, we’re about the same size. Why don’t you wear some of my duds? I’ve got too many anyhow.”

  When the boat bound for New Orleans left Helena, the two men got on. Jake saw a man with a sheriff’s star standing by the gangplank, along with a deputy. Vince stopped and asked, “What’s up, Sheriff?”

  “Looking for a killer,” the officer said. He looked at Vince and at Jake, noting the expensive clothes, then said, “Watch out, just in case the man gets on this boat. He’ll be wearing some fine clothes that’ve been in the water—and he’ll have a fresh bullet gash on top of his head.”

  Jake resisted an impulse to tug the hat Vince had given him down tighter. Instead he leaned forward, asking the sheriff, “A dangerous fellow?”

  “A killer, like I said. Shot Mr. Max Longley dead. Fellow’s name is Jake Hardin, but I don’t guess he’d be fool enough to use it.”

  Vince said, “I guess not. Well, come along, Frank. Packet’s about to leave.”

  The two of them went to stand at the rail, and as the hands cast off the lines, Vince said, “I always pay my debts, Jake.”

  “I figure you paid this one, Vince. Thanks.”

  They stood there as the paddle wheels began to churn, and soon Helena was lost as they moved down the river.

  CHAPTER 3

  JAKE GETS AN OFFER

  The trip from Helena to New Orleans should have taken only two days, but the engine developed trouble and they had to dock at a small town. By the time a part had been shipped from Memphis and installed, the Lightning was delayed for two more days. For Jake Hardin it was a welcome delay. It gave his nerves time to settle down and the wound in his scalp more time to heal. And, too, he found himself growing more curious about Vince Franklin. Franklin seemed amiable enough, and the two of them played cards, but only for small stakes because Jake had seen at once that Franklin was not in his class as a card player. They strolled through the small town where the ship was docked, sat on the deck during the afternoon, and ate the good food provided by the riverboat’s excellent chef.

  As for Vince, he felt things were going his way for once. Jake was in his debt—after all, he’d kept him from being arrested and was giving him a new start. And though Vince wasn’t sure how, he knew that debt was going to work in his favor. They had just finished a fine lunch on the second day and were walking around the town when they came upon a group of men in a small field beside the blacksmith shop. “Looks like a shooting match,” Vince said. The two of them stopped and listened as the men agreed on the terms. A tall man named Harrod was evidently the judge. He had a full beard, which gave him the air of a biblical prophet as he announced in a ringing voice, “Costs one dollar to enter. The three top shooters get the prizes—three jugs of the smoothest whiskey Si Edwards ever made. Now fust of all, we’ll have the rifles.”

  The contest proceeded in a leisurely fashion, with much joking among the contestants. Jake watched the winner of the rifle shoot, saying, “That fellow is good.”

  Then Harrod said, “Next, pistols at the settin’ target.” The men lined up and took turns shooting at bottles balanced on a fence, and the winner claimed his jug with a whoop.

  “Now the last prize goes to the feller who can hit a target on the fly. How many of you fellers want in?” Only four men volunteered, and Harrod snorted in disgust. “What’s wrong with you fellers? Ain’t you got no pride?” Then he glanced at Jake and Vince. “How about you two? You look like sportin’ men to me.”

  Jake nudged Vince. “You want to risk a dollar?” Vince grinned and produced the cash. “I’m in,” Jake stated and pulled his gun out. “Anybody got any .44 bullets?”

  “I’m shootin’ a .44,” a short, pudgy man with bright blue eyes said. He pulled a handful of shells from his pocket, saying, “If you win, I get first go at the jug, right?”

  “Sure,” Jake agreed. He loaded his pistol and watched as Harrod said to the first shooter, “Ready, Mac?” When the man nodded, he tossed a glass bottle into the air as high as he could. The contestant took his shot but missed. A hoot went up. He took three more turns, hitting only one bottle.

  Two of the other men hit only one in four, but the final contestant hit three. Harrod turned to Jake, saying, “Your turn, I reckon.”

  Jake looked around at the men, then said, “Anybody here want to bet a little cash?”

  “How much?” the one named Mac demanded.

  “Much as my friend here wants to cover. But the deal is, Mr. Harrod throws all four glasses at once. If I miss even one, I lose.”

  “I’ll just take ten dollars of that bet,” Mac said and began digging in his pocket.

  Vince pulled his wallet from his pocket, saying, “Step right up, gents. All bets covered.”

  Most of the men put a few dollars into the pot, but Harrod shook his head with a grin. “Since I’m doing the throwin’ guess I better not git in on this. You ready?”

  “Any time.”

  Harrod had to use both hands, but he tossed the four bottles high, all of them reaching their apex at about the same time. Jake lifted his gun and fired, shattering the first bottle as it paused. The next shot caught one of the bottles that had just started to fall, and the third shattered one a few feet above head level. His last shot took the final bottle just before it hit the ground.

  “By gum!” Harrod exclaimed, his eyes wide. “You must be a trick shot for a circus!”

  “Just had lots of practice,” Jake said with a shrug. “Let’s get started on that jug.”

  When the two men got back on board the Lightning, Vince handed Jake a wad of bills. “Here’s your share. About thirty dollars.” He considered Jake curiously. “Where’d you learn to shoot like that?” he asked.

  “Like I said, lots of practice. Always been pretty fair with a handgun. Can’t do as good with a rifle.”

  “Guess if that fellow Max Longley had seen you shoot, he wouldn’t have tried to take you.”

  “I wish he hadn’t,” Jake said quietly.

  “Bothers you, does it, Jake?” Vince asked curiously.

  “Sure. Wouldn’t it bother you?”

  “Not a bit! He was trying to snuff your light, so he got what he asked for.”

/>   Jake didn’t answer. Sometimes he wasn’t sure that he really liked—or trusted—Vince Franklin. The two men went down to supper, and, as they ate, Vince began to talk about himself. “Got a big place outside of Richmond,” he said expansively, then went on to describe Lindwood.

  “Sounds like a fine place, Vince,” Jake commented. “You got a family?” Jake noted with interest that the question obviously disturbed Vince.

  “Well, I’m not married. My mother died when I was young. My father married again.” He sipped from his wineglass, his brow knitted as he added, “My father and I don’t get along too well. Matter of fact, none of the family likes me much.”

  “Too bad,” Jake said. “Never had much of a family myself. Always envied fellows who sat around a big table with their folks. I’ve always wanted that.”

  Vince stared at him, then began to relate how little he was a part of the family. He finished by saying bitterly, “They’ve always shut me out, but they’ll sing a different tune pretty soon! All of them!”

  “How’s that?”

  “Why, in a few months, I’ll be sitting at the head of the table!” Vince’s eyes gleamed and he drank frequently of the wine as he began to speak of his future. “My grandfather Hiram made a pile of money, but my father never got along with him. So when Grandpa made his will, he left the plantation to my pa, but most of his money he put into a trust fund. Then he told my father he’d have to learn to get along with his son. And to make sure, he put it in his will that the oldest son—and that’s me!—would inherit the whole fund on his twenty-fifth birthday. ’Course, it hasn’t worked out quite the way Grandpa thought it would.”

  Jake stared at the man sitting across from him, then asked, “What went wrong, Vince?”

  “My father went wrong!” Vince broke out angrily, a hardness in his eyes. “He never gave me a chance. All the time it was the others he favored—Grant and Les and Rachel! Maybe I been a little wild, but it was him that drove me to it! Well, that’ll change when I get Grandpa’s money.”