When Aaron still said nothing, Heck McKinnon added, ‘Find yourself a good manager and some honest croupiers and you could have your own little gold mine right there in Abilene, Aaron.’
‘You could be right, Heck,’ Aaron said, at last. ‘If you are then I owe you in a big way. As for the honest croupiers … I think I might already have found them. I’ve dropped a hint or two about my plans to them, all I need do now is persuade them it’s what they want.’
CHAPTER 12
The Missouri Belle was a hive of activity when Wes made his way back on board. Freight and passengers leaving the boat were dodging incoming passengers and cargo being taken onboard, bound for St Louis.
It seemed that everyone and everything was on the move and Wes was relieved to reach the comparative calm of the deck where Anabelita had her cabin.
When she opened the door to his knock her thick black hair was glistening wet and it was evident she had just come from the shower room reserved for women passengers and croupiers.
She invited him into the cabin but he was disappointed to find Lola here too. A tray of coffee held only two cups but he was grateful to accept coffee in a glass.
Taking the envelope from his pocket, Wes handed it to Anabelita, explaining that it came from David Connolly and repeating what the Senator’s son had said to him.
Pleasantly surprised, Anabelita said, ‘Well, he’s not the first man to give me trouble on board after drinking too much, but he’s the first to say he’s sorry the following day.’
She tore open the envelope which contained a single sheet of notepaper and, as she removed it, something fluttered to the floor.
Lola stooped to pick it up and, holding it up for the others to see, said, ‘Hey! Why doesn’t anybody ever apologise to me like this?’
She was holding up a hundred dollar note!
Astounded, Anabelita said, ‘I can’t accept that sort of money … he must have made a mistake!’
‘You can’t give it back to him,’ Wes said, ‘He and his father were among the first off the boat. They are long gone by now.’
‘What does he say in the letter?’ Lola asked.
Hurriedly scanning the writing on the single sheet of notepaper, Anabelita dropped her hands to her sides and said, ‘It’s no mistake, that’s what he meant to give me – and there is a handsome apology to go with it.’
‘He apologized to me too,’ Wes said. ‘When he’s sober I think he’s a good youngster – and he admitted he’s not used to strong drink. He’s just celebrated his birthday and his father took him on a trip to “make a man of him”.’
‘I could have introduced him to young women in New Orleans who would have done that without him touching a drop of liquor,’ Lola commented, ‘It wouldn’t have cost him a hundred bucks either, but Senator Connolly’s idea of what makes a man wouldn’t be the same as that of a real man. Aaron despises him … where is he, by the way?’
‘He went ashore to meet an old friend to discuss some business he’s thinking of buying into. I’d better go outside on deck to make sure the boat doesn’t leave without him, we don’t seem to stay anywhere for a minute longer than is absolutely necessary.’
In truth, Wes felt inexplicably discomfited by the presence of Lola in the cabin he had shared with Anabelita the previous night. The feeling was tinged with an unreasonable resentment too. Unused to such intimacy as he had shared with Anabelita, he had wanted to speak to her alone, in order to clarify the relationship between them – if, indeed there was to be a relationship – and he fervently hoped there would be.
When he had left the cabin, Anabelita asked Lola, ‘What sort of business would Marshal Berryman be thinking of going into?’
‘He’d like to have a gaming house – an honest one – probably in Kansas City. A great many new businesses are springing up and a lot of money changing hands there.’
‘I think he’s too late to make money that way – at least, he is in Kansas City, it’s been taken over by businessmen and they are out to make money, not spend it. It’s the cowboys and cattlemen at the end of a long cattle drive from Texas who are in a hurry to get rid of their earnings in saloons, bordellos and gambling houses and they are to be found in the railhead towns, farther west.’
‘Well … wherever, I’ve no doubt this friend will put him in the picture, he’s a United States Marshal, same as Aaron.’
Something in Lola’s manner made Anabelita ask, ‘Has he asked you to go and work there for him?’
Just for a moment Lola hesitated, then, remembering that it was Anabelita who had obtained work for her as a croupier on the Missouri Belle, she decided she owed her the truth.
‘He said he’d like me to go and work for him when he found the right place,’ she admitted, ‘but not as a whore. Aaron doesn’t want any of that going on in any place he owns. He’d like to take on girl croupiers because they attract the men but while they work for him he says they’ll deal cards and nothing else. I’d sort of manage the place for him.’
‘There’s a whole lot more to managing a gambling house than keeping croupiers in line,’ Anabelita pointed out. ‘Would you recognize a “pasteboard pirate” or his “capper” if you saw them working the tables?’
When Lola looked blank, Anabelita said, ‘I am talking of crooked gamblers and their sidekicks. Where there’s money being laid down you’ll find them gathering like dogs around a bitch on heat – and trouble follows them just as surely as night follows day.’
Suddenly looking unhappy, Lola said, ‘I’ve spent enough time in saloons to know when a drinking man is likely to be trouble, but I’m not sure I’d recognize a professional gambler.’
‘You certainly wouldn’t if he didn’t want you to,’ Anabelita agreed, ‘and it’s not something I could teach you in a few days – or even a few months. It comes with experience.’
After a long and thoughtful silence, Lola said hesitantly, ‘Would you consider coming with me to work for Aaron, Anabelita?’
‘I’m happy working on the Missouri Belle,’ Anabelita replied, ‘I have free board and lodging and earn enough cash to be able to put some by. I’m a gambler – and I’m on a winning streak right now. Why should I want to throw it away?’
‘I’m sure Aaron would make it well worth your while,’ Lola replied, ‘Will you at least think about it?’
Anabelita shook her head, ‘There’s nothing to think about. Aaron Berryman is a United States Marshal, first and foremost. Owning a gambling saloon is just something to earn him money while he’s out this way. One day he’ll go back East and sell up. What would I do then? Come to that, what will you do?’
‘I’ll worry about that when it happens,’ Lola replied. ‘In the meantime I will have done something for the first time in many years that I have no need to be ashamed of.’
‘I don’t have very much to be ashamed of in my life,’ Anabelita said, ‘and I’d like it to stay that way.’ A sudden thought struck her and she asked, ‘Is Wes involved in this with Aaron?’
Lola shook her head, ‘No, but I think Aaron would like him to be. Would it make any difference to your decision if he was?’
‘No.’
The answer was far more positive than Anabelita’s thinking on the subject, but she was reassured to know that Wes’s attentions to her had nothing to do with the plans of Marshal Aaron Berryman.
CHAPTER 13
Wes had assumed he would be sharing Anabelita’s cabin with her for the remainder of his nights on board the Missouri Belle. The assumption was dispelled that evening when they were enjoying a pre-dinner drink on the open-sided deck behind the saloon.
They were waiting for Aaron and Lola to join them when Wes broached the subject.
‘Shall I stay in the saloon until gambling ends tonight, Anabelita…? Or would you rather I waited in your cabin for you? Perhaps that would be more discreet.’
Giving him a direct look, she replied, ‘I think you are taking a little too much for granted.’
&nb
sp; ‘But … I thought …’ Floundering, Wes stopped, unable to express in words just what it was he was thinking.
Anabelita’s next words dispelled any doubts he might have on the subject.
‘You thought that because we slept together last night we would do the same until the Missouri Belle reached St Louis, when you would say “goodbye”, walk off the boat wearing a smug smile – then forget all about me?’
‘I wouldn’t put it like that, Anabelita. I don’t think I could forget you, even if I wanted too – and I don’t.’
‘You will,’ Anabelita said, as matter-of-factly as she could manage, then, aware he was both hurt and puzzled, she added, ‘Look, Wes, what happened last night was as much of my making as it was yours. I suppose I was half hoping it would happen anyway, and the drinks did the rest. I don’t regret it, but I am not a Lola, Wes, much as I like her. I can’t continue to do what we did knowing it means nothing and will only last for the few days before we reach St Louis when you’ll go your way and I’ll go mine. We will probably never see each other again.’
Aware that Anabelita was being painfully honest, Wes wanted to tell her she was wrong. That she really did mean something to him – but he could not.
He was certainly fond of her … very fond, but he had come halfway across the world with a specific goal in mind. Something he had thought long and hard about before reaching the decision to leave Cornwall and change his life forever.
Much as he liked Anabelita, he was not ready to abandon all the plans he had made, on the strength of a one night stand.
‘I suppose you’re right,’ he said, lamely.
‘Thank you for understanding, Wes.’
In spite of her words and the fact that it had been her decision not to share her bunk with him for the remainder of the river voyage to St Louis, Anabelita felt deep disappointment that he had accepted the situation so readily. She had been attracted to Wes from the moment she had first seen him in the company of Aaron and the attraction had grown as she came to know him better.
She had nursed a forlorn hope that, somehow, their brief, albeit passionate night together might have developed into something more permanent – but it was too much to hope for. Wes was heading for the mines of Missouri, while she had a comfortable and not too onerous way of life on board the Missouri Belle. It had given her the security she sorely needed after so many years of uncertainty. She would not give it up easily.
‘I hope it won’t mean that you’ll be avoiding my company for the remainder of the journey to St Louis,’ Anabelita said.
Wes made his way from her cabin, murmuring words to the effect that he would enjoy her company as often as she felt in need of it and Anabelita was left alone, trying unsuccessfully to convince herself she had made the right decision about their relationship.
Only three days after her conversation with Wes, an event occurred which threw Anabelita’s plans for an ordered and secure future to the winds.
It happened shortly before dawn, just as the Missouri Belle entered a stretch of river that was less tortuous than that so far encountered during the long voyage from New Orleans.
Stavros, the senior Mississippi river pilot, aware that he had brought the paddle steamer safely through the most dangerous section of the great river, felt confident about handing over his duties to a less experienced pilot.
However, even had he remained in the wheelhouse it was doubtful whether either he or any other pilot on the Mississippi river could have avoided the accident that occurred.
It had long been the practice of lumberjacks working in the vast forests along the banks of the Mississippi, Missouri and Ohio rivers to make gigantic, loosely knit rafts of felled timber and float them downriver.
Crewed by hard-living and hard-drinking river-men who lived in tepees on their undulating wooden platforms, the vast rafts, often an acre or more in area, would be floated down to New Orleans, to be gathered in and the timber shipped to buyers around the world.
It was a system that worked well unless something happened to cause one of the rafts to break up – and they might expect to encounter many hazards on their long journey downriver. Heavy rain in the headwaters of the Mississippi or its many tributaries could seriously affect the speed of the current and cause changes in the river’s course, adding new dangers to those who travelled the river. Conversely, drought would cause a drop in water level, bringing the river’s existing hazards closer to the surface.
Whatever the cause, the break-up of a raft invariably resulted in a loss of life among the raftsmen and added new and unpredictable problems to all who used the river as a watery highway.
It was one such break-up that was met with by the Missouri Belle, when, in a pre-dawn encounter, it suddenly found itself in the midst of thousands of errant logs, some gyrating in the grip of the inconstant current, others passively pursuing their intended course, while a few would suddenly rear from the water like frolicking river monsters.
It was one of the latter that became entangled in the riverboat’s stern wheel while its companions battered the vessel’s hull.
The two ton tree trunk splintered the wooden blades of the paddlewheel into matchwood, twisting the framework into a tangled metal skein.
Within seconds the suddenly paddle-less steamer was as uncontrollable as the lumber with which it was surrounded. Powerless, it was caught by the current and, gyrating slowly was carried towards the Missouri bank of the great river.
A light sleeper, Wes was awakened by the hammering of floating tree trunks against the riverboats hull. When the log destroyed the stern-wheel it sent violent vibrations through the length of the vessel and, leaping from his bunk Wes hastily pulled on some clothes, observing as he did so that Aaron was not in his bunk.
By the time Wes flung open the cabin door and staggered outside many other passengers were also awake, frightened and bewildered.
For a while the crew of the Missouri Belle were equally confused as those in authority, still befuddled by sleep, shouted and countermanded orders.
Wes’s immediate thoughts were of Anabelita. She had been working in the gambling saloon and after a tiring night would have been in a deep sleep when the paddle-steamer went out of control. She was likely to be even more confused and disorientated than others on board.
He made his way to her cabin, forcing his way through an increasing number of passengers who had abandoned their own cabins and were demanding to know what was happening.
Before Wes reached Anabelita’s cabin the boat came to a sudden halt, sending passengers tumbling in all directions, only to begin moving again almost immediately, with a movement resembling that of a wagon traversing slowly over the surface of a pot-holed road. At the same time the sound of splintering wood emanated from somewhere deep in the hold of the shallow-draught vessel and the cry went up that the boat had struck underwater rocks.
Anabelita was emerging from her cabin when Wes reached her and in the uncertain light from a wildly swinging lantern he could see she was hopelessly bemused. Still half-asleep, she attempted unsuccessfully to tie a bow in the cord about the waist of her dressing-gown.
Recognizing Wes in the uncertain light, she demanded, ‘What’s happening…? What’s all the noise … and the boat…?’
‘We seem to have lost power … I think we have struck something.’
In confirmation of his last observation, the cry went up that the boat was holed and taking in water. The result was general panic and screams were added to the general hubbub on board.
‘Are we really sinking?’ Although not screaming, Anabelita was quite obviously frightened.
‘It’s possible,’ Wes replied, with a calm he did not feel, ‘but if the bottom of the boat is close enough to the river bed to be holed, we aren’t going to go down very far. We’ll be high and dry up here. Go inside and dress properly. I’ll wait and come to fetch you if it looks as though there’s any immediate danger.’
Wes’s calm reassurance had its effect.
Anabelita turned and went back inside her cabin, leaving him feeling far less confident than he had succeeded in sounding to her. While he was talking the thought had come to him that the Missouri Belle might have struck a pinnacle of rock rearing to a great height from the river bed. If this were so the boat’s fate – and that of its passengers – might be very different to the one he had suggested.
Fortunately, the senior pilot with his vast knowledge of the Mississippi River had emerged from his cabin to take control of the situation and by the time Anabelita re-emerged from her cabin a boat had been lowered from the stricken paddle-steamer and was heading for the shore, carrying with it an anchor chain linked via a hawse-pipe to a steam winch on board the Missouri Belle.
It was growing lighter now and those on board the sternwheeler were able to watch the activity of the men on the small boat. Once on shore they struggled to carry the weighty chain to a stout oak tree standing a short distance back from the river bank.
When they reached the tree the anchor chain was passed around it and secured. Then the men stood back as the steam winch started up and the chain clattered noisily, slowing as the slack was taken up and the chain tautened.
Suddenly the steam-winch took on a different sound and it was clear to those watching that it was labouring. For some minutes it seemed that the valiant efforts of the small boat’s crew would be in vain. Then, with a suddenness that took everyone on board by surprise, part of the rock piercing the riverboat’s hull broke away. With a horrendous sound of splintering wood the boat began to move, a combination of current and anchor chain swinging it closer to the Missouri riverbank.
There was a great deal of water in the hold of the Missouri Belle by now and the deck of the hull was almost level with the surface of the river but, when some of the watchers were beginning to fear it would sink even deeper, the stricken steamboat grounded and for a few moments was drawn over a comparatively flat bed of mud and gravel.
No Less Than the Journey Page 8