It was as though his words extinguished a light. Lola’s enthusiasm disappeared, ‘He’s dead. My mother too. There was a raid on the mine by the soldiers of Juaraz and they were both killed.’ Bitterly, she added, ‘I should have died too. Instead, they made me a whore.’
Almost casually, Aaron observed, ‘Juaraz was supported by the United States government. Why come to New Orleans to earn a living in the country responsible for the death of your parents?’
Giving Aaron a direct look, Lola said, ‘When I came to New Orleans, Louisiana was fighting against the United States. I was only fifteen then and knew far less than I do now.’
‘In wartime we all grow up a whole lot quicker than we should,’ Aaron observed, ‘But the war’s been over for quite a while now – yet you’re still here.’
Moved by her story, Wes said, ‘Surely you don’t intend spending the rest of your life working here, in this saloon?’
Lola cast a glance around the saloon and it came to rest upon a woman who was probably twice her own age, but who looked even older, ‘And end up like Mary? No, Señor, I intend getting out of here, and very soon.’
Looking around her once more, to ensure no one was eavesdropping, she dropped her voice and said, ‘You say you are heading upriver … what boat will you be travelling on?’
‘We’re booked on the Missouri Belle, leaving the day after tomorrow,’ Wes said, before Aaron could reply, ‘Have you heard of her? Do you know if she’s a comfortable boat?’
Lola clapped her hands together gleefully, ‘I hope so, I really do. I will be going upriver on the same boat. One of the men who owns her was in here a few days ago. He offered me work on board – as a croupier. I will be sailing with you!’
‘I heard the Missouri Belle had a casino on board,’ Aaron said, casually, ‘That means there’ll be a lot of money changing hands, no doubt.’
‘I hope so,’ Lola said, unaware of the meaningful glances exchanged between Aaron and Wes, ‘I am working on commission. The more money that’s spent at my table, the more I will earn.’
‘You’ll earn far more on board the Missouri Belle than in a New Orleans saloon – one way or another,’ Aaron said, meaningfully.
‘Yes … yes, I will.’ Lola’s chin rose aggressively, ‘But I will be earning my living as a croupier. I will be the one to decide whether or not to earn extra money for myself.’
She looked nervously around the saloon before adding, ‘While I work here I must do as I am told, but see very little of the money I earn.’
‘I’m sure you’ll do well on the Missouri Belle,’ Aaron commented, ‘There’ll be all sorts on board. Talking of which do you know anything of the man sitting over there, beneath the large mirror? He’s giving the impression of having drunk enough to be trouble, but I’m not so sure it isn’t an act.’
‘I don’t like him!’ Lola said, emphatically. ‘His name is Lansdale, Remus Lansdale. He is in here often. He claims his family lost their fortune to the North during the war and is very bitter that the South did not win.’
Aaron sighed, ‘How are we ever going to build a great country when so many men are still fighting the war? Do you know if he carries a gun, Lola?’
The bar girl said quickly, ‘Carrying a gun is not allowed in New Orleans.’
‘That isn’t what I asked. What do you know?’
Lola looked increasingly ill-at-ease, but she answered his question, ‘One of the girls who goes upstairs with him claims that he carries a handgun in a specially made pocket in the lining of his coat.’
‘Did he show it off to her?’ Aaron asked.
‘I doubt it,’ Lola replied, ‘She probably found it by going through his pockets when he was asleep. Ivy has a reputation among the girls for “rolling” her men if they’ve had enough to drink. One day she’ll meet with a client who hasn’t drunk as much as she thinks and take the beating she deserves. Until that happens she’ll carry on. She’s not very bright.’
Aaron was still watching the man who was the subject of their conversation. Without looking at Lola, he said, quietly, ‘Ivy may not be very bright, but her observation might well save a man’s life. I don’t think Lansdale’s as drunk as he’d like everyone to believe. He’s watching the door as though he’s waiting for someone. Does he have any particular friends – or enemies?’
‘As far as I know he has no friends,’ Lola replied, ‘As for enemies….’ She shrugged, ‘You might as well include anyone who doesn’t speak with a Southern accent.’
‘But there’s no one in particular?’ Aaron persisted, ‘I’ve been watching him for some minutes. He’s very much on edge, as though he’s waiting for something or for someone.’
‘What business is it of yours?’ Lola demanded, suddenly curious. ‘You’re only passing through New Orleans. What happens here shouldn’t concern you.’
Aware that Lola was brighter than the average saloon girl Aaron said, ‘That’s perfectly true, but I’ve fought in the war, seen a lot of men killed and met with a whole lot of killers. That man has something on his mind – and he’s carrying a gun. If a gunfight was to start in here, lots of folk would likely be hurt – you, me and Wes among them.’
Lola was obviously frightened and, somewhat incredulously, Wes asked, ‘You don’t really think he’s waiting to shoot someone, Aaron?’
‘I don’t know the man well enough to say for certain,’ Aaron admitted, ‘But he’s made that drink in front of him last for a hell of a long time. I’ll repeat my question, Lola. Is there anyone in particular he might be waiting for?’
After only a brief few moments of thought, Lola nodded. ‘There’s been a man in here a couple of times lately. He goes upstairs with Sadie – she’s the tall, dark-skinned girl sitting at the far end of the bar. When a man’s in bed with a girl he usually ends up talking for longer than he’s doing anything else. This stranger boasted to Sadie that he’s an ex-Union officer and has helped free more slaves, and thrown more landowners off their plantations than anyone else in the whole of the Union army. It’s probably a lot of hot air, but it’s possible Lansdale thinks he might have had something to do with his family losing their land. I believe Sadie’s mother was a pampered slave-girl on Lansdale’s family plantation and she and Lansdale talk a lot together….’
At that moment a tall dark-haired man with an immaculately trimmed beard entered the saloon and Lola said, excitedly, ‘That’s the ex-Union officer now.’
Pausing in the doorway, the new arrival looked about the room until he spotted Sadie. Smiling, he advanced towards her.
Suddenly nervous, the woman switched her glance to Lansdale, and nodded almost imperceptibly. From that moment events moved quickly.
Before the self-styled ex-Union army officer reached the bar, Lansdale reached inside his coat and his hand came out clutching a heavy revolver.
As the gun rose to point at the newcomer, Wes saw with a start that Aaron was also holding a revolver and the US Marshal called loudly, ‘Hold it, Lansdale … hold it right there, or you’re a dead man.’
The Southerner’s body jerked as though he had already been shot, then he spun around to look at Aaron.
Wes expected him to size up the situation and lower the gun. Instead, Lansdale raised the revolver to point at the US Marshal!
‘Don’t be foolish, Lansdale,’ Aaron warned the other man, but instead of lowering the revolver, Lansdale thumbed back the hammer, the sound loud in the silence that had fallen upon the saloon.
Before Lansdale could pull the trigger of his gun, Aaron fanned the hammer of his own gun with the heel of his left hand and fired – then fired again.
The impact of the first bullet threw Lansdale back in his seat. The second sent the Southerner and his chair crashing backwards to the floor.
There was a sudden, disbelieving pause in the saloon, then men were rushing to where Lansdale lay sprawled on his back on the saloon floor.
Someone shouted for a doctor to be called, but Aaron said, laconicall
y, ‘You’re wasting your time. Send for an undertaker instead.’
Wes found the next minutes utterly confusing. Lansdale was lifted from the ground and laid upon three tables that were hastily placed together. Then a hush fell upon the saloon as a deputy sheriff entered from the street.
It took him only a few minutes to make sense of the dozen different stories that were given to him by witnesses of the shooting. When he was satisfied he had some semblance of the truth, he said to Aaron, ‘You’re the man who shot him?’
When Aaron nodded agreement, the deputy sheriff asked, ‘Are you aware there’s an ordinance against carrying guns in public in New Orleans.’
‘I am.’
Looking mildly apologetic, the deputy sheriff said, ‘Then you’ll know I have no alternative but to arrest you and take you into custody.’
Wes was about to protest that Aaron was a United States Marshal, but Aaron caught his eye. His expression was sufficient to ensure Wes’s silence.
Aaron stood up. Handing his revolver butt first to the deputy sheriff, he said, ‘Then I guess you’d better do your duty, Deputy.’
There were a great many murmurings of dissent when Aaron was led outside by the deputy sheriff. It erupted into noisy outrage when the door closed behind the lawman and his prisoner.
Lola was being particularly vocal in her indignation when the man who had been Lansdale’s intended victim came to the table where she sat with Wes.
Addressing Wes, he said, ‘Are you a friend of the man who just saved my life, sir?’
Wes nodded, not certain yet whether or not he liked this man, ‘I don’t think he would dispute that. I certainly wouldn’t.’
‘Then I’m honoured to meet you, sir. My name is Ira Gottland and I owe my life to your friend. I’d like to know his name so I can go to the New Orleans authorities and explain what happened. Hopefully it will be sufficient to obtain his release.’
Remembering Aaron’s glance when the deputy sheriff had arrested him and aware that he did not want his identity known to too many people, Wes said, ‘I’ve no doubt he’ll be able to satisfy the New Orleans authorities that he acted to save your life, Mister Gottland. If he still hasn’t been released by tomorrow morning I’ll be happy to come with you to the sheriff’s office and see if we can’t arrange his release.’
‘I’m grateful to you, sir…. But you still haven’t told me his name.’
Aware that Aaron’s name would not remain a secret for long, Wes said, ‘It’s Aaron Berryman.’
It was immediately apparent that Ira Gottland recognized the name. ‘Aaron Berryman? Not General Berryman of the Union army?’
‘I believe that was his rank during the war,’ Wes agreed, ‘A brigadier general, but he doesn’t use it now.’
‘Jesus!’ Gottland struggled to find words, ‘… I was under his command in more than one battle and I’d have been happy to fight for whatever cause he supported, anywhere in the world – as would any other soldier who served with him. I’m going along to the sheriff’s office right now. If they don’t release him immediately I know damned well where I can find a hundred men right here in New Orleans who’ll march to the gaol and take it apart if they don’t release General Berryman right away. You coming with me, Mister?’
It was Aaron himself who made it unnecessary for Wes to give Ira Gottland an answer. While Ira was threatening to raise an army to take on the New Orleans sheriff’s office, Aaron walked through the door of the saloon.
As he took his place at the table where he had been seated before, Wes said, ‘I didn’t think they would be able to keep you for very long, Aaron – and it’s just as well …’
Nodding in Ira’s direction, he said, ‘This is Ira Gottland. I believe he served under your command during the Civil War. He was about to organise an army of ex-Union soldiers to come and break you out of gaol.’
‘We’d have done it too, General,’ Ira said, earnestly, seemingly scarcely able to contain his feelings at being in the presence of a man he had declared to be a hero, ‘I’m speaking for a whole lot of men when I say you were the best commanding officer in the whole of the Union army. Whenever we went into battle we all knew where to find you. You’d be right up front, where the fighting was fiercest.’
‘I’m pleased to say there’ll be no need to start a new Battle of New Orleans,’ Aaron said. ‘We met the sheriff at the end of the street. When he was told what had happened, he had me released.’
Wes realized that Aaron must have revealed to the sheriff that he was a United States marshal, but he remained silent.
Not so Ira, ‘Hell, General, anyone who knew you would have done the same, but they’re pretty strict about carrying guns in New Orleans, you were lucky the sheriff decided to overlook that.’
‘I told him I was just passing through and would be gone by this time tomorrow. He told me to come down to his office in the morning and make a statement, then he released me.’
Aaron lied without batting an eyelid and Gottland accepted his explanation without question, ‘Well, General, now you’re back I hope you’ll let me buy you a drink. You do that and I’ll be the proudest man in New Orleans tonight.’
‘Since you put it that way, Ira, I’m happy to oblige you. I could murder a beer.’
When a flustered Ira had hurried away to the bar, Lola said to Aaron, ‘Were you really a general in the Union army? In Mexico a general is almost as important as the president.’
‘I think most Mexican generals have a shot at becoming president,’ Aaron agreed, ‘But I was only a brigadier general, I guess that’s on a par with a Mexican vice president.’
After studying his face seriously for a few moments, Lola smiled, ‘I think you are having a joke with me, Señor General, but it seems you are important enough for the sheriff to have you set free, even though you killed a man. I have not met with a man so important before.’
‘You just keep your thoughts to yourself, Lola. It looks as though my drink is on the way. When it arrives, I’d be obliged if we talked about ex-Captain Gottland, and not about me. I’d like to learn a little of what he’s been doing since he left the Union army – if he ever served in it.’
CHAPTER 3
It was the early hours of the morning before Wes and Aaron made their way back to their hotel which was close to the riverboat terminal, but there was still a great deal of activity going on in the riverside area.
When Wes commented on this, Aaron replied, ‘There’s always something happening on the river, Wes, the Mississippi must be one of the most exciting rivers in the whole world. When you travel on it you can never really predict how long it is going to be before you arrive at your destination, whether you’re going up, or downriver. Sometimes there’s so much water a pilot hardly knows whether he’s still on the river, or steaming across plantation land. Other times it’s so shallow he’s likely to be stranded on a sandbank where a week before he’d have been steaming at full speed. The river’s forever changing course, too. A town where a steamboat called in on its way downriver might be a mile distant by the time it heads back to St Louis. It’s what makes a river pilot’s life so interesting.’
‘Wasn’t Ira Gottland saying something about that, back in the saloon.’
‘Gottland was saying a whole lot about a great many things,’ Aaron said, tight-lipped.
Glancing at his companion, Wes said, ‘You don’t like him, do you?’
‘I don’t know him well enough to say whether I like, or dislike him,’ Aaron replied, tersely, ‘I suppose you could say that’s much the same.’
‘Yet he served with you during the war,’ Wes pointed out.
‘So he says,’ Aaron replied, ‘but I’m damned if I can remember him – not by sight anyway, although I fancy I’ve heard the name mentioned.’
‘It’s hardly surprising you don’t remember him,’ Wes commented, ‘There must have been hundreds of officers – thousands, even – who served under your command at one time or another. You can�
�t be expected to remember them all.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ Aaron said, ‘I pride myself on never forgetting a single one of the good officers who served with me during the war – and not a few of the bad ones. Gottland’s name rings a bell with me, but it’s a warning bell, not a celebratory one.’
‘Is that why you said nothing when he said he was going upriver on the same boat as us?’
‘You’ve got it in one. I was impressed with Lola too. When he mentioned he was going upriver on the Missouri Belle she never batted an eyelid. It’s a great pity she’s a whore, she’d have made a good wife for an ambitious man.’
‘Do you think Gottland is up to no good?’ Wes asked.
‘I wish I knew,’ Aaron replied. ‘When we meet up with the others who are travelling with us we must make it clear that we don’t acknowledge each other on board the Missouri Belle until – and unless – I need to call for their help.’
The quay where the riverboat had its berth was the scene of great activity when Aaron and Wes boarded the stern-wheeled steamer. Bales of raw cotton, brought down the Mississippi river by boats during the night, were heaped in piles as tall as a mansion, waiting to be shipped across the city to the docks, for transportation to the continents of the world.
Meanwhile, wagon-loads of trade goods were waiting at the riverside to be loaded on the Missouri Belle for carriage upriver to a rapidly advancing frontier.
It was a scene of activity that was both exciting and confusing.
The previous evening Aaron had called a meeting of the men from the Northern Star who would be travelling upriver with them on the Missouri Belle and told them of his suspicions of Ira.
Earlier, at Aaron’s expense, each man had armed himself with a rifle or a handgun, together with an impressive amount of ammunition for both. As a result, Wes was now the proud possessor of a Winchester repeating rifle, purchased under Aaron’s guidance, and a heavy Colt revolver, the latest addition to the company’s range, loaned to him by the US Marshal.
No Less Than the Journey Page 2