by Tim Champlin
“I knew there was a good reason we shouldn’t go home yet,” Becky said, barely able to contain her excitement.
“Any ideas, Jim?”
“Iffen dat be me, I be fo’ gettin’ far away from heah.”
“They sold the horses, and they didn’t rent or buy a buggy or wagon, which they could’ve done right there,” Zane reasoned. “So they have to be travelin’ by river. It’s easier and quicker than any other way,” he stated, mentally eliminating nonexistent trains.
“Dey be stagecoaches runnin’ heah and dare,” Jim said. “Dat be de onliest other way to go, I reckon.”
“Yes, I’d forgotten about coach travel.” In boom times like this, did stagecoach lines even keep a record of passenger names?
“I have a feeling they didn’t go by coach,” Zane said. “Four of them crowding into a coach with other passengers, it’d be nearly impossible to keep Tom and Huck from giving away the game for any length of time, unless they were asleep or out cold—maybe knocked out with chloroform. Then how could the men explain that to other travelers if they were carrying two unconscious boys? No. It has to be the river.” He turned to Jim. “If you were those men, dragging Tom and Huck along as prisoners, which way would you go if you were traveling by steamboat?”
“Up de river,” he said without hesitation.
“Why?”
“De sickness be downriver at St. Looie, and de police dere gots de telegraph. Most folks after de gold out west, so I do my best to blend in wid de crowd headin’ fo St. Joe.”
“You wouldn’t take a boat back north toward Iowa?”
“Why do dat? Folks all ’round St. Petersburg gots to know ’bout de kidnappin’, so dey be on de lookout.”
“I heard Weir say he would go to New Orleans when this was all over,” Becky said. “He had sort of a drawly talk, like folks I’ve heard who come up from Loosiana.”
“Well, according to the description that liveryman gave us, they’re in disguise—except for the boys, of course.”
“Yes,” Becky said. “Neither of the men had a beard when I was with them. Weir had a black mustache and a thin nose. Smealey, the other one, sort of wavy reddish brown hair—not white.”
“Okay, so how do we check all these upbound steamboats?” Zane wondered aloud. He felt keenly his inexperience in this alien world. At least here, there were no security checks and officials were a lot more lax than in his modern world.
“Do you want to go after them?”
“Yes!” Becky almost shouted.
“Ah reckon ah gots to go if you two goes.”
“Then it’s settled. We’ll buy tickets on an upbound boat. We’ll have to leave the yawl. At least our camping stuff is hid pretty well until we return.” He paused and thought. “If we can’t find any trace of them at St. Joe, we’ll notify whatever lawman we see there, and we’ll have no choice but to go home.”
“We’ll worry about that when the time comes,” Becky said, obviously thinking that time would never come.
“There’s at least a dozen boats at the wharf right now,” Zane said. “Let’s see how many of them are upbound, and then ask for the two men under their real names—Weir and Smealey—and the fake ones—Ordway and Phillips—even though they might be using different names by now. And we’ll ask the pursers for two men who fit those disguises and see if they went aboard with two boys.”
Zane paused and took a long drink from one of the canteens they still carried on straps over their shoulders. The other two also decided they were thirsty, too.
“Okay, let’s start at the lower end. If you notice a boat preparing to cast off, run to it first. I don’t know any other way to do it. I’m sure there are a lot of lost strangers in a town that’s funneling all these gold rushers through, so nobody will question why we’re looking for these people.”
While they were talking, they’d been walking quickly toward the levee.
“Becky, to cover these quickly, you take the first and third boats, and I’ll take the second and fourth and so on. They won’t give the time o’ day to Jim because everyone will assume he’s a slave, but I have a job for him while we’re doing this.” He pulled a small spiral notebook from his pocket and tore a page from it. “Jim, take this note back and leave it in the yawl where it won’t blow out, but someone can find it.” He addressed the note to Judge Thatcher and Sheriff Reuben Stiles. He wrote that he and Jim and Becky were safe, but were in hot pursuit of the two kidnappers, Gus Weir and Chigger Smealey, who had the gold and were holding Tom and Huck as hostages. They were upbound on a steamboat for St. Joe. He told whoever found the note to send help as fast as possible. He dated and signed it, then folded it once and wrote URGENT on the outside in large letters. “This is written in ballpoint pen so it won’t smear if it should get rained on,” he said, handing Jim the note. “If you see anything in our camp we’ll need, bring it, because we might not get back there again.”
Jim nodded and took off at a trot.
Becky was already at the head of the gangway of the first boat, talking to the lean purser with jug-handle ears. The young man was all smiles and apparent cooperation.
Zane grinned. Most likely the best-looking girl who’s paid him any mind in a long time. He sprinted for the second boat in line.
They alternated boats, sometimes having to wait a couple of minutes to accost the purser. Over a half hour later, Zane hit pay dirt at the eighth packet, the Penrose.
“Yeah, two men and two boys like you describe came aboard,” the purser said. “We were scheduled to cast off this morning with a full passenger list and a loaded cargo hold, but the engineer is ashore now trying to find a replacement for a faulty pressure valve. The other two valves are working all right, so we’ve kept up some steam. But we likely won’t get away until at least four this afternoon. We might even have to lay up overnight.”
“Can you tell me what names they used?”
“False names?” The young purser arched his eyebrows and flipped back the pages of his log book. He ran a finger down the column. “Gus Ordway and John Phillips.”
Zane nodded. “What about the two boys?”
“Sam and Archie—minors. No last names.”
“This lady,” he gestured at Becky who was coming up the gangplank, “and I and our slave, Jim, want to purchase one-way tickets to St. Joe.”
“Half the country does,” the purser said with a resigned air. “We’re loaded to the gun’ls.”
“We’ll take deck passage,” Zane said before he thought.
“If we’d taken on all the requests for deck passage we’ve had today, there wouldn’t be room enough to stack the cordwood to run the steam engine.”
“Any other boats you know of going upriver today?”
“Sure. Four or five, but I expect you’ll hear the same story from them.”
Zane nodded and then turned and escorted Becky back down the gangway to the wharf.
“What did he say? I didn’t hear all of that,” she said, looking her concern at him.
“They’ve taken passage on this boat. The bad news is, they have no room for us.”
“Can’t we take another one? They’re all bound for St. Joe.”
“The purser says they’re likely all as full as this one.”
Zane stood irresolute for a few moments, staring with unseeing eyes at the bustle of draymen and foot passengers around them.
“I’ll try a bribe,” he decided.
“What good will that do, if there’s no room?”
“Sometimes gold will work wonders when it comes to finding space, or room in a hotel—things like that. I hate to do it because I think it’s lowdown and underhanded and gives privilege to the wealthy. But . . . this is Tom and Huck’s money, and I’d be spending it to help them, so I don’t reckon it’s a bad thing to do.”
He was hardly aware that his words and expressions were beginning to conform to those of the locals.
Zane looked back toward the boat where the purse
r was busy chalking a sign in large letters on a piece of wood next to his station at the head of the gangway. It read—FULL.
“Looks like he means it,” Becky said.
“Worth a try, anyway,” Zane said. “Now that we have these men almost in sight, I don’t want to try another boat and take a chance on letting them escape.”
“When is the Penrose leaving?”
“Late this afternoon or in the morning, he said. They busted a pressure valve and have to find another one.”
“Then why not go to the police station and report to Captain Shawnfield? Let him send someone to arrest them and free the boys.”
Zane chewed his lip, weighing his options. “Good idea. You stay here and wait for Jim. Keep an eye on the boat to make sure those kidnappers don’t get off. The police station is about a mile from here, but I should have plenty of time.” He started away, then paused. “Oh, here. I meant to give you this earlier.” He fumbled under his shirt for the money belt, and plucked out two ten-dollar and two-five dollar gold pieces. “Hide these somewhere. Never know what’s gonna happen and I don’t want you to be without money if we should somehow be separated.”
“We won’t,” she said, closing her hand over the coins. “Hurry!”
Zane took off at a fast walk. He felt lighter than he had in several days. A great weight had been lifted from him. He and his new friends had accomplished what they set out to do and the kidnappers would not escape. Tom and Huck would be rescued and the gold would be recovered. He and Becky and Jim would be heroes.
But he’d better stay out of the publicity or risk being called crazy if anyone found out he claimed to be from a future century. Did Providence have anything to do with all this? He pondered the inscrutable. When he’d first arrived last week, he would have dismissed the existence of Divine Providence. But now . . . certain happenings that could not be explained except by chance or Providence—like Becky recognizing the blaze-faced horse on the street. That coincidence had led to the discovery of the criminals they sought.
He decided to leave philosophical questions for another time as he quickened his pace, weaving through heavy pedestrian and wagon traffic on the street.
“Zane!”
He stopped and looked around at the milling crowd. Had someone shouted his name or was he hearing things? Nothing. He started again at a fast walk,
“Zane! Wait! Zane!”
He was sure of it this time. A familiar deep voice. He turned and saw Jim laboring toward him at a run, dodging horsemen, shouldering aside pedestrians, then ignoring their glares.
“Mars Zane,” Jim panted coming up and stopping, hands on knees. “Come quick! De boat . . . de Penrose . . . she be leavin’!”
“What?” A chill went up his back.
“Yassah . . . Miss Becky say come fetch you . . . jus dis minute dey be haulin’ up de gangway.”
Zane was still three-quarters of a mile from the police station. Too far.
Jim stood up, wiping his sweaty face with a sleeve. “She say dey hold de boat a few minutes if you hurry.”
“We can’t board the Penrose. There’s no room.”
“Miss Becky, she done bribe de purser. Dey gots one room if you come quick.”
“Let’s go!”
They turned and sprinted toward the waterfront.
CHAPTER 19
* * *
Frustration, panic, desperation—all these feelings flashed through Zane as he outran the winded Jim to the waterfront.
He saw Becky gesturing to him and he put on an extra burst of speed. She turned and waved at the deckhands who were hanging on to the ropes that had levered up the gangway. They lowered it back down to the dock.
Jim came laboring up, hat in hand, sweat pouring off his glistening face.
They staggered up the ramp after Becky, and the trio gathered on the main deck.
Mooring lines were being cast off and up came the gangway again.
Zane was seeing spots before his eyes from his maximum exertion in the hot sun. He’d never felt this bad after a soccer game, so why now? Maybe the muggy, windless air. He labored to fill and expel air from his lungs as he leaned over, sweat dripping from his nose. He should be accustomed to having no air-conditioning by now. He looked up at Becky, who seemed as cool and fresh as ever.
Jim was used to hard work, but he, too, was laboring for breath. Maybe I’m not as wimpy as I first thought. He leaned against a stanchion and looked to Becky for direction. “Where to?”
She pointed. “This way,” and led them toward the forward stairs.
The boat trembled and began to move.
On the second level, they went to the aft end of the boiler deck along the catwalk. She unlocked the last cabin door on the larboard side and they entered.
Zane could hardly wait to find out how she’d accomplished this, but details could wait until they were all safely ensconced.
The room was small, but neat. Fresh white paint on the walls brightened the space. It was furnished with the usual washstand, water pitcher, basin, and one chair.
“My! Dis be fust rate,” Jim commented.
Zane agreed. He flopped down on the lower bunk. “Okay, tell me how you managed it,” he said to Becky, who looked like a cat with feathers in her whiskers.
“As you said, it’s astounding what gold can do.” She smiled. “It cost that whole 630 you handed me awhile ago. Besides,” she added smugly, “it sometimes helps to be a girl.”
And a pretty, flirtatious one, at that, Zane thought.
“My hat’s off to you!” He saluted her by removing his new straw hat and tossing it down beside him.
Jim had taken the chair and his breathing was steadying down.
“The purser—name of Farley Nicholson, by the way—told me the captain of this boat always reserves one small stateroom for visiting dignitaries, so he won’t be caught short, especially if one of the directors of the line shows up. The crew is supposed to keep mum about this cabin, but Farley, er . . . Mister Nicholson said since there were no bigwigs aboard this trip, he could take my 630 in gold, in addition to our regular fares, of course, and then he’d split the gold with the captain. He was sure the captain wouldn’t mind the extra cash. Mister Nicholson will come ’round directly to collect the money for our tickets.”
“Did you tell Farley how old you are?” Zane asked.
“Not exactly.”
“He’s a grown man in his twenties.”
“Well, I might have let it slip that I was almost sixteen.”
“In about two more years, maybe.” Zane shook his head. “You did great work finding this cabin. Just be careful about leading him on,” he warned.
Jim offered no comment.
“I thought Farley said the boat wouldn’t leave until late today or in the morning,” Zane said.
“Right after I started talking to Mister Nicholson, one of the crewmen came up and told him the valve had been replaced. The engineer borrowed an extra one from a nearby boat, and we’d be casting off right away.”
“Well, here we are.” Zane stood up, stretching his leg muscles, which were beginning to stiffen from the hard sprint. “Maybe we shouldn’t have wished so hard to make it aboard with these kidnappers. Woulda been a sight better if I’d reached the police in time to come arrest these two.” He thought of a quote he’d read somewhere, Of all sad words of tongue and pen, the saddest are these: It might have been. “With a telegraph or telephone, Captain Shawnfield might’ve called ahead to have the law arrest these men upriver somewhere.” He sighed. “But we don’t have none o’ them modern marvels,” he finished, falling into the local vernacular again.
“Dat be Providence dippin’ an oar in,” Jim said with a resigned air.
“Maybe so,” Zane said. “But it ain’t Providence that’s faced with dealing with these two; it’s us. We have to come up with a plan. First off, we must make sure Becky stays in this cabin so Weir and Smealey don’t somehow have a peek at her, because she’s the
only one of us they’ve seen before.”
“You mean I have to stay cooped up in this little cabin in the heat?” she groaned. “Once we’re sure they are aboard, why not go to the captain and have them arrested and chained up until we reach a town with a sheriff?” Becky suggested.
“No. Let’s lie low and keep mum for a while first,” Zane said. “We’ll scout around and figure out where their cabin is located. I’d guess they have the boys hid away somewhere.”
“Best not tell de captain,” Jim said.
Zane agreed. Adult white authority was not to be trusted, and Jim knew this better than most. “If we go to the captain, and he questions Weir and Smealey, they could claim to be Ordway and Phillips and completely innocent,” Zane said, playing devil’s advocate. “Even if we found Tom and Huck and they swear they’re hostages, where’s the proof? Our word against theirs. Becky could testify against them, too, but this boat is not a court of law. The captain would likely say we can prefer charges against them at the next town, but he ain’t likely to chain ’em up on our say-so. As they say where I come from, we would have blown our cover. Our identity would be known, and we’d be at their mercy. We might disappear overboard some dark night with knives in our backs.”
Becky gave a slight shudder at this. “And to think men would do such things for gold.”
“I reckon most people are subject to ‘gold fever,’ ” Zane said.
“It be like horses eatin’ loco weed,” Jim added. “Sho to make ’em crazy.”
“Becky, you’ve done more than anyone to put us on the trail of these criminals. Tom would be proud of your skills as a detective,” Zane said. “If you’ll agree to stay in the cabin for a while until we can take a look around, I’ll be grateful and will fetch your meals to you,” he added, hoping to placate her. “Maybe after dark, whether the boat is running or tied up, you can put on your wide straw hat and we can walk around outside without being recognized.”
“Oh, all right, if it’ll help rescue the boys.”