The Dawn of Fury

by Compton, Ralph

  The trembling Harkness stumbled ahead of Silver and practically fell down the hatch to the lower deck. Nathan wasn’t so fortunate. He finally had to take the dead girl by the wrists and, easing her as near the lower deck as he could, drop her the rest of the way. He swallowed hard, sick to his stomach. Reaching the first deck, he shouldered the body of the hapless girl and made his way along the dimly lit corridor, following Silver.

  “That’s far enough,” said Silver. Taking the key Lambert had given him, he unlocked the sixth door on the right, and finally, the barred door. “Now, he said, ”get in there.”

  Harkness stumbled in and fell to the floor, sobbing. Silver slammed the barred door, locking it, and then locking the outside door. Without a word, he unlocked both doors to the fifth cabin and swung them back. Nathan took Shekela inside and eased her down on the lower bunk. For just a moment, he thought Silver was going to slam and lock the barred door. It would have been a treacherous thing to do, and Nathan couldn’t understand why the possibility of it had crossed his mind. Quickly he stepped into the dim corridor, and Silver locked both the doors. Only then did Silver speak.

  “This is one hell of a mess. Stumberg will have Harkness skinned alive, and maybe us with him, just on general principles.”

  “I don’t take kindly to bein’ gunned down in another man’s fight,” said Nathan. “We had nothing to do with this.”

  “Try talking sense to Stumberg when he’s killing mad,” Silver replied. “My God, it can’t get any worse than this.”

  But it could, and did. Nathan and Silver reached the second deck to find Captain Lambert bellowing like a fresh-cut bull, while the entire crew—even the pilots—thundered down the gangplank to the landing. Lambert, red-faced, so angry he couldn’t speak, glared at Nathan and Silver.

  “Now what’s happened?” Silver asked, as mildly as he could.

  “The damn fool I had manning the plank left his post,” Lambert shouted, “and the other girl—Trinity—jumped ship. The two of you get the hell out there and look for her.”

  Again Nathan and Silver left the steamboat, joining the mystified crew in what seemed like a fruitless search. There wouldn’t be a moon until later, and the only light was the little that leaked through the doors and windows of the saloons and eateries, several hundred yards distant.

  “Captain or not,” said Nathan, “he’s not playing with a full deck. Hell, the man left his post to tell Lambert something was wrong. With this old fool, you’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t.”

  “I wouldn’t be too harsh on the captain,” Silver replied. “He’s afraid. Afraid of Stumberg, and like a mortally wounded rattler, he’s striking out at anything and anybody within reach.”

  The desperate crewmen searched until almost midnight, going into every eatery and saloon along the river. Nathan and Silver searched streets leading away from the landing, toward town, to no avail. Wearily they started back to the landing, and found most of the crew waiting there, like dejected, lost sheep.

  “Damn it,” said one of the men, “she ain’t to be found. I say we go on back and tell the old grizzly, and be done with it.”

  “God,” Stevens groaned, “we’re in for it.”

  It was worse than they had expected. Captain Elias Lambert stormed up and down the deck, cursing every man and his ancestors back three generations. Finally his shoulders slumped and the life seemed to go out of him. Quietly he turned to Silver.

  “What would you have us do?”

  “Call off the search, sir,” said Silver. “All the commotion around the landing is starting to attract attention in the saloons and cafes. It won’t take much for somebody to call the law to investigate.”

  “Everybody aboard,” Lambert said. “Hennessy, you raise the plank. The firemen to your posts. The rest of you to your quarters. We depart in the morning at eight bells.”

  Nathan and Silver, back at their bunks, could not sleep. It was Silver who finally spoke.

  “I reckon Harkness deserves whatever Stumberg chooses to do with him, but I can’t help sympathizing with the poor bastard. He’s there in the pitch dark, without even a light.”

  “You still have the key,” said Nathan. “If we slipped down there and lit a lamp for him, would Lambert have us drawn and quartered?”

  “Only if he finds out about it,” Silver said. He got up, opened the door and looked down the corridor. “Come on. It’s clear.”

  They stepped into the corridor and Nathan closed the door behind them. Even if Lambert caught them, they might survive his fury as long as they were on the main deck, but they couldn’t remain there. In their sock feet, they practically slid through the hatch and down the steel-runged ladder to the dimly lit first deck. There was nobody to observe them except the two firemen who fed the fireboxes at the forwardmost end of the deck. It took but a moment for Silver to slip the key in the lock and swing back the first door, and that was as far as they needed to go. There had been no light, but Harkness hadn’t needed any, nor would he ever again. Around the gambler’s head was a halo of blood, while the dead fingers of his right hand gripped a .41-caliber sleeve gun. Harkness had shot himself in the temple.

  “God,” said Silver, closing and locking the door.

  “Are you going to tell the captain?”

  “Hell, no,” Silver hissed. “We’re not supposed to be away from quarters. This can wait until morning. Harkness won’t be going anywhere.”

  “Had he been with Stumberg very long?”

  “Long enough to know what lay ahead of him” Silver replied. “Let’s get back to our quarters, if we can.”

  Luck was with them, and Nathan sighed with relief when at last they let themselves into their cabin and quietly closed the door.

  “Why do you suppose Trinity ran away?” Nathan asked.

  “I have no idea,” said Silver, “but I can guess. I’d say she was homesick. I don’t know for sure, but I suspect these girls are mostly runaways, and after a few weeks of walking around in a gambling house mostly naked, they only want to go home.”

  “And Stumberg would never allow that.”

  Silver said nothing, for in the darkness, his hands were busy. From his pocket he had taken the key to the mysterious cells on the first deck and was doing a curious thing. In his hands he warmed a small cube of wax, and when it was soft enough, he pressed the key into it, creating an impression . . .

  Breakfast was at seven bells, and many of the gamblers bound for New Orleans were already aboard. The very first thing Silver did was seek out Captain Lambert and return the key to the cabins with barred doors on the first deck. Silver then made himself scarce before Lambert realized Harkness must be taken breakfast. One of the waiters was soon assigned the task, and when he returned, he was terrified, almost incoherent. Lambert dragged him through the swinging doors and into the kitchen, before he could alarm the newly arrived gamblers who were having breakfast. When Lambert left the kitchen, he headed straight for the table where Nathan and Silver were eating.

  “Here he comes,” said Silver. “Be ready for anything.”

  But Captain Lambert never raised his voice. “Mr. Silver, I am told that the party you took to the first deck last night is dead. I wish you to confirm this immediately, bringing me all the pertinent facts.” He passed Silver the key.

  Without a word, Silver left the dining room. Lambert stood there a moment as though he wanted to speak to Nathan, but did not. He turned away, returning to the kitchen. Silver returned quickly, and Nathan pointed toward the kitchen. Silver was in there for a very short time, and then returned to his breakfast.

  “Well?” Nathan asked quietly.

  “Well, what?”

  “What did he say?”

  “Hell,” said Silver, “what could he say? I told him Harkness was dead, had shot himself with a derringer, and that it was in his hand. He didn’t say anything, and I hauled it out of there before he could think of anything.”

  “Two dead bodies,” Nath
an said, “and we won’t reach New Orleans until Saturday. They’ll be almighty ripe by then.”

  “Not my problem,” Silver replied. “Lambert’s got enough witnesses, so I’m pretty sure he won’t have to prove the deaths by delivering the dead bodies to Stumberg. If you want to offer any advice, go ahead. Me, I got nothing to say unless I’m asked, and then I’m sayin’ damn little.”

  “You take a lot for granted,” said Nathan, “and there’s times when it purely irritates the hell out of me. I know Stumberg won’t be interested in seeing the dead bodies, but I’m equally sure the law will be.”

  Silver laughed, but there was not a hint of humor in it. “Let me see if I’m gettin’ the straight of this,” he said. “Are you suggesting that these dead bodies be turned over to Hargis Gavin and his personal police force? This could trigger a scandal that would rock New Orleans and blow French Stumberg higher than a keg of black powder.”

  It was Nathan’s turn to be amused. “Thanks,” he said. “I just wanted to be sure I’m on the right track. I think we’ll be disposing of the bodies between here and New Orleans. I also believe this will strengthen our position with Stumberg. We’ll know where the bodies are buried. Our silence ought to be worth something.”

  “Perhaps,” Silver agreed, “but if it becomes too expensive, Stumberg can always lighten the load by having us shot dead.”

  Nathan had ample opportunities to deal faro. His was an honest game, and the “house” contributed much to the confidence of the New Orleans-bound gamblers. Nathan had no doubt that the little they won aboard the Queen of Diamonds would be quickly lost once they reached Stumberg’s gambling houses.

  The first day of the return journey was uneventful. Nathan spent much of his time in the combined lounge and saloon, dealing faro and poker. The other house man, Stevens, had nothing to say to Nathan, and he had rarely seen Byron Silver all day. Everybody seemed ready for a break from the gaming tables at five bells, when the call came for supper. While Stevens made it a point to eat alone, Silver joined Nathan.

  “I’ve been wondering about you,” Nathan said. “I reckoned maybe you’d jumped ship.”

  “It’s a temptation,” said Silver, “the more I think about it.”

  Nathan wanted to ask about the bodies on the first deck, but changed his mind. While he genuinely liked Silver, he had no idea which way the calf was going to jump once they reached New Orleans. Disposing of the bodies would be Captain Lambert’s problem. Nathan found himself hoping Lambert wouldn’t involve Silver. Silver left the table and Nathan continued dealing faro. Mercifully, the gamblers began thinning out around ten o’clock, and Captain Lambert declared the saloon closed for the night.

  “I see you lucked out,” said Silver, when Nathan entered the cabin. “I have seen die-hard gamblers hang over those tables until well past midnight.”

  “Captain Lambert closed the saloon at ten o’clock,” Nathan said.

  It was the perfect opportunity for Silver to suggest the very thing that Nathan was thinking: that Captain Lambert had devious plans, and sought to clear the decks of possible witnesses. But Silver said nothing. Nathan drew off his boots, hung his hat over them, and stretched out on his bunk. For a change, he was tired enough to appreciate it, and was soon asleep.

  It was the small hours of the morning, when the stars had begun to recede, that Captain Lambert made his move. Quietly, with four trusted crewmen, he made his way along the dim corridor of the first deck. Since he did not know in which of the cabins were the bodies, he went all the way to the eighth cubicle and worked his way back to the sixth.

  “He’s in there,” Lambert said softly.

  Two of the crewmen entered the cabin and swiftly rolled the dead Harkness into a square of canvas, binding it with rope. Captain Lambert swung open the doors to the fifth cabin and the second pair of crewmen quickly wrapped and bound Shekela’s body. When the dead had been moved into the corridor, Lambert closed and locked the cabin doors. He then moved swiftly. The four crewmen followed, each pair bearing a canvas-wrapped burden. To avoid being seen by the firemen on duty, Lambert had the bodies hoisted through the hatch to the second deck. From there, they were carried forward to the rail. When hoisted over the side, they must have time to sink before the wash from the big paddle wheel caught up to them. Lambert had two lengths of heavy pipe ready, and one was tied securely to each of the body bags. The captain made sure the deck was clear and then he gave the order.

  “Over the side, and drop them as far from the vessel as you can.”

  He watched as the canvas-wrapped bodies sank out of sight and then gave his men a final order.

  “You will go to your quarters immediately and you will forget what you have done this night.”

  When they were gone, he leaned against the rail and buried his face in his hands. There had been no means of communicating with French Stumberg, so he had done what he must, but disposing of the bodies was the least of his problems. Stumberg couldn’t abide failure, and Elias Lambert had failed. He had no idea what his punishment would be, but his long association with the evil little man told him Stumberg would think of something . . .

  Barnabas McQueen could scarcely believe his eyes. The slight cowboy that he knew as Eli Prater had spent almost a week just getting a calming hand on the big black, Diablo. Now Prater approached the horse with a saddle blanket. Diablo shied, ears laid back, and again Prater began talking. Slowly Diablo relaxed, his ears went up, and he sniffed the horse blanket. Once he was sure the blanket was harmless, he snaked his head around and watched as his friend draped it across his broad back. There was more “horse talk” that McQueen didn’t understand, but Diablo seemed to relish every word. He didn’t flinch when Prater reached both arms across him, arms resting on the saddle blanket. The arms bore down, applying pressure, and still Diablo remained calm. This being acceptable, the mysterious cowboy lifted both feet off the ground, with all the body weight resting on the horse. Prater let up, feet on the ground, and then repeated the procedure. Diablo looked around, curious, but remained calm. Prater removed the blanket, flung an arm around Diablo’s neck, and the animal nickered.

  “Good boy,” said Prater. “That’s enough for today.”

  Diablo followed Prater into the stable without even a halter. When the rider stepped out into the warm October sun, McQueen was waiting.

  “I’ve never seen the like,” McQueen said. “He’s ready for a saddle.”

  “No,” said Prater. “No saddle. Tomorrow I’ll ride him with only the saddle blanket. Don’t ever burden him with more than that, if you aim to win races.”

  “Damn it,” Mcqueen said, “nobody’s goin’ to ride a bareback race. A man needs a saddle.”

  “This one doesn’t.”

  “I reckon this is a good time to speak my mind,” said McQueen. “I don’t have a rider for this comin’ race. Will you ride Diablo?”

  “Yes. I was counting on it.”

  “Bueno,” McQueen said. “Bueno. That takes a load off my mind.”

  Eulie Prater returned to the little cabin to await the call to supper. Cotton Blossom lay beneath an oak that shaded the cabin. He got up, walked a few paces toward the McQueen house, looking expectantly toward the road beyond.

  Eulie sighed. “Not today, Cotton Blossom.” Maybe not ever . .

  Nathan was awakened by a seven-bells call to breakfast. Silver had not left the cabin, apparently, for he seemed as though he’d just awakened from a sound sleep. It now seemed probable that Captain Lambert would not depend on Silver for the disposition of the bodies. Whatever was done with them, it would have to be done soon. Unless, Nathan conceded, it had been done during the night. He said nothing to Silver as they prepared for breakfast.

  “You looked like you’d been rode hard and hung out to dry when you turned in last night,” Silver observed. “I reckon you got a workout at the tables.”

  “I got all I wanted and some to spare,” said Nathan. “I won’t really care if this bunch plays o
n the run back to St. Louis or not. It’s been a while since I worked as a house dealer, and I’d forgotten just how damn boring it can get.”

  “I wouldn’t give too much thought to the ride back to St. Louis until we test the water in New Orleans. When Stumberg gets a report on what happened in St. Louis, we could end up emptying spittoons at some of his gambling houses.”

  “Or worse,” Nathan said. “He made it a point to tell me that when he’s laid his money down, he expects to win. I’d say he lost big time. We didn’t shuffles the cards, but we were there. If I understand him, then he won’t be satisfied without a dog to kick.”

  “You understand him perfectly,” said Silver. “I reckon we’ll have to do some tall talking if we’re to go on bein’ part of his string.”

  “That’ll be my decision,” Nathan replied. “Not his.”

  “You’d best make up your mind,” said Silver. “Far as Hargis Gavin’s concerned, you’re in Stumberg’s camp. If you decide that ain’t where you want to be, the next hunk of lead won’t ventilate your hat. They’ll be shootin’ a mite lower.”

  Nathan said nothing. One of the things he thoroughly disliked about Byron Silver was the man’s virtual certainty that Nathan Stone was a dead man without the protection of French Stumberg. What was Silver’s game? Despite the unusually good pay and a life of comparative ease, Nathan couldn’t escape the feeling there was some underlying motive for Silver’s remaining with Stumberg. By the time he and Silver reached the dining room, everybody else was already there except Captain Lambert. Nathan hadn’t seen the captain since their last night in St. Louis. The days and nights wore on, and eventually the on-board gambling all but ceased. Stumberg’s “guests” were saving it all for the big time.

  New Orleans. October 27, 1866.