by Paul Bedford
Keeping my gun trained on the uninjured trader, I barked out, ‘Shuck that gun belt carefully, or I’ll put a ball in your other shoulder!’
With only his left arm functioning, it took the wounded man some considerable effort to comply, but eventually it dropped to the ground at his feet. Only now that we were completely in control of the situation did I turn my full attention to the half-breed. ‘I see now how you’re able to trade with the Sioux,’ I remarked, but that individual’s expression remained completely deadpan. ‘Yet you don’t look like the sort of people who could bankroll an outfit like this,’ I persisted. ‘Which begs the question, who are you working for?’
I might as well have quizzed the man in the moon. His dark eyes didn’t even flicker and his mouth remained closed like a trap. ‘You’d better start talking,’ I snarled. ‘Else we’ll have to get to beating on you.’
Only then did he finally favour me with a response. The edges of his thin lips curled slightly to form the makings of a sneer. ‘You children couldn’t make me talk if you had all year.’
Then, very slowly and deliberately, he hoisted his shirt up over his muscular torso. What he revealed rendered me speechless. A vast expanse of livid scar tissue spread around his back and chest. How anyone could have endured such treatment and have survived was beyond me.
‘I was captured by the Pawnee,’ he explained in a strangely gentle tone. ‘They hate the Sioux more than they do you white men, and they knew who had raised me. Those Pawnee worked on me with their knives for a full day, just for the pleasure of it. There was nothing else that they wanted from me, other than to listen to my screams. When they didn’t hear any, they grew bored and finally left me alone. That night I managed to escape.’ His eyes suddenly settled fully on mine. ‘I don’t reckon you delicate white boys have got the stomach to dish out that kind of treatment.’
We both knew that he had me, but as ever I was reluctant to back down. Consequently it was some time before I finally shrugged and acknowledged recognition of the fact. Yet his baleful resistance didn’t really alter anything, because there was a far easier option available.
‘Sit on your hands,’ I ordered.
The powerfully built half-breed merely continued to stare at me, without making any movement. He had very obviously concluded that I was a soft touch. With great deliberation, I aimed my Sharps directly at his flat stomach. ‘You apparently have a liking for pain,’ I remarked almost conversationally. ‘So let’s see how you handle being gut shot. I’m told it’s an awful way to die, and if you ain’t going to talk anyway then you’re no loss.’
After gazing calculatingly at the gaping muzzle for a few seconds, he slowly lowered himself to the ground, so that a muscular buttock covered each hand. Satisfied, I switched my gaze to the moaning individual on the bench seat. ‘Get yourself down here, pronto. You and me are going to have a parley.’
He was a scrawny runt, with smallpox scars just visible above his beard. Tears filled his eyes, and he appeared close to collapse. ‘Jesus, Mister. All the strength’s gone from my legs,’ he wailed.
Turning to Dan, I winked. ‘Help him!’
‘My pleasure,’ he replied, and strode briskly to the wagon. Vaulting up on to a wooden step, he seized the wounded man by his left arm and heaved. Howling with shock, the pathetic individual tumbled to the ground and hit hard. The wind was knocked out of him, and so for a few moments all we heard was rasping breath.
‘Why don’t you look for that box, Dan?’ I hinted. ‘I’m sure our new acquaintances ain’t gonna give me any trouble.’
As my friend clambered up into the wagon eagerly, I checked the surrounding terrain for unwelcome visitors and then closed in on our injured prisoner. The fall had obviously severely aggravated his shoulder, because his thin features had paled to a chalky whiteness.
‘Can you hear me?’ I demanded harshly.
Still unable to speak, he nodded shakily. From inside the covered wagon, there came shifting sounds as Dan rummaged through the contents.
‘Here’s what’s gonna happen,’ I continued remorselessly. ‘You answer my questions, and then we patch you up, and if you’re lucky you get to live. How’s that sound?’
From off to the side, the half-breed snarled, ‘Don’t let them get to you, Jase, or you’ll answer to me.’
Angrily I swung the Sharps over to cover him. ‘Don’t press me, ’breed, or I’ll surely drop this hammer on you!’ Then, switching my attention back again, I continued with, ‘What’s it to be, Jase? Greenrod in your shoulder. Stinking, putrid, rotting flesh. That’d be a terrible way for you to shuffle off. Believe me, I’ve seen it many times in the war.’
Dan’s excited voice called out, ‘I’ve found the box, Josiah. It’s full of gold Double Eagles! They sure are mighty pretty.’
‘Well, well, well,’ I crowed, fixing the wounded man with what I hoped was a steely glare. ‘Selling guns to the Sioux. The authorities’ll surely hang you for that . . . if you live. But if you tell me everything, we can maybe do a deal. ’Cause it’s not you that we’re really after. We want whoever’s behind all this. Savvy?’
‘All right, all right,’ Jase almost screamed. ‘What do you want to know?’
The half-breed uttered an almost animal growl, but his suffering crony was too desperate to care.
‘Where’s all this stuff going?’ I demanded.
‘To the Missouri, and then on to a steamboat and up to Omaha.’
Now that was a surprise. Omaha was a railroad town, and the Union Pacific’s base of operations in the west. ‘And then what?’ I pressed.
‘He gets the strongbox, and we get to keep the hides and tallow. This was the second lot of rifles we had to deliver before the goddamn Sioux would hand it over. They ain’t as stupid as white folks like to make out.’
‘Who’s he?’
Jase hesitated nervously for a moment. ‘I. . . .’
Before he could say anymore, the half-breed emitted a great roar of anger. ‘Silence, you cockchafer!’ Twisting sideways, he freed his hands and pulled a knife from his right boot. It wasn’t immediately apparent whom his target was, but I wasn’t taking any chances. Rapidly swinging my buffalo gun onto his now upright figure, I aimed at his torso and fired.
As the gun crashed out, the big man’s body shuddered under the brutal impact of the large calibre ball. We were so close that the embers of the muzzle flash smouldered on his shirt. And yet, despite all that, he somehow remained on his feet. With blood welling up from the wreckage of his chest, he quite unbelievably surged towards me, the knifepoint aimed unerringly at my face.
Instinctively, I swung the butt of my Sharps around so that it smashed solidly into his wrist. There was the distinctive crack of breaking bone, and the blade dropped from his abruptly lifeless fingers. Momentarily off balance, I’m not sure what I would have done next, but thankfully Dan solved my dilemma. A bullet from his Spencer slammed into the huge half-breed’s back. After uttering a great moan, he coughed up a torrent of blood and finally collapsed at my feet. As the massive frame twitched its last, I heaved a vast sigh of relief.
‘By Christ, he was a beast of a man,’ I exclaimed. ‘If they’re all like him, we’ll need a whole regiment to take on that Sioux camp!’
If the sole remaining trader had harboured any intentions of resisting our demands, they disappeared along with the half-breed’s pulse. His next words came in a rush.
‘I don’t know the son of a bitch’s name, but he works for the railroad.’
Dan and I exchanged startled glances, but we were given no chance to comment.
‘He’s a dapper little prick, though. No sweaty, dirty work for him. Real carriage trade. I’ve never afore seen such a dude!’
That description had my pulse racing again. ‘When I met with Dodge,’ I remarked to my friend, ‘There was just such a dude in the railroad car.’ Then to Jase, ‘Does he tote a thin little moustache?’
This time the trader nodded slowly, and with
a great show of reluctance. Although obviously in immense pain, he appeared suddenly wary about where this was leading, and what my knowing this individual might signify. I reloaded my long gun pensively, conscious of having stupidly said too much.
‘What does all this mean?’ Dan asked nervously.
‘Later!’ I responded shortly. ‘First off, you need to help me with this bull turd.’ So saying, I returned my full attention to the trader.
Abject fear leapt into his eyes. ‘What are you about?’ he bleated.
‘We made a deal, remember?’ I replied. ‘We’re going to patch up that shoulder of yourn. Can’t have you bleeding over the deck of a steamboat, can we?’
‘Say what?’ he queried incredulously.
I smiled reassuringly. ‘You’ve got two new partners. Let’s hope for your sake that you don’t go the way of the others!’
Chapter Six
‘What happened to him?’
‘He met with an accident.’
‘Uhuh.’ The steamboat captain was unimpressed. He’d obviously seen it all during his time on the river. Nevertheless, his eyes lingered on Jase’s slight figure, as that man lounged disconsolately on the lower deck of the sternwheeler Bertrand. ‘This ain’t the first time he’s made this trip, you know. And the fellas that done travelled with him last time didn’t seem like the sort you’d take issue with. A bit like you, only meaner looking . . . and one of them was a breed. You never can trust them sons of bitches!’
I scrutinized the captain long and hard, and finally decided that I might as well take a chance on him. The two of us stood on the upper deck, home to the luxurious staterooms that generated the real profit for the boat’s owners. Since Dan and I had unexpectedly come into funds, I had treated the two of us to a journey in style. I didn’t consider it thievery, so much as a claim for expenses. ‘They met with accidents as well,’ I eventually replied.
The captain’s eyes twinkled as he chuckled wryly. ‘Theirs must have been a real dangerous line of work.’
‘I’ll cut to the chase, Captain. . . ?’
‘Yore. James Yore.’
‘My name’s Joe Wakefield, Captain Yore. Me and Dan work for the Union Pacific Railroad. You may have heard of it,’ I added teasingly. ‘That fella below is our prisoner. Him and the others were up to something real unpleasant . . . until their bad deeds caught up with them. It might help us if you could recall anything about them. What they did. Who they saw.’
Yore viewed me with interest. ‘Seems to me anyone could say they work for the Union Pacific, but you seem like a decent young fella, so I’ll take you on good faith an’ tell you one thing for sure. They didn’t have no heavy strongbox with them. And I ain’t the only cuss on this boat that’s noticed it. If I was you, I’d be mighty careful with it when you disembark. Else somebody might just try to take it away from you. Which would be kind of a shame, ’cause there’s already too much skulduggery on this river.’
‘What’s mine ain’t easy to take,’ I retorted. ‘But I’m obliged for the warning.’
‘As for those other fellas, well, I didn’t take a right lot of notice of them,’ Yore continued. ‘Although I did buy some tallow off them. It makes good grease for the engines. I’ll do the same deal with you, if you wish.’
Engine grease was the last thing on my mind. ‘When they reached Omaha, did you happen to notice anything unusual?’
The other man grunted. ‘There’s little that’s usual on the Missouri, but yeah, one thing struck me. They were met by some snooty looking bastard in a carriage. Seemed to me like he wouldn’t even piss on the likes of them if they were on fire, and yet they all had plenty to jaw about.’
Before I could comment, the boat’s steam horn blasted out above us, and then the captain was approached by one of the crew. There were matters that needed his attention up in the wheelhouse, and so I was left alone to ponder his words. Glancing past the idlers at the rail, I surveyed the immense brown sweep of river as the Bertrand fought her way up it against the strong current. Proof of the effort required came in the form of great plumes of black smoke billowing from the two high chimneys near the front of the boat. At the rear, the single massive paddlewheel churned relentlessly through the water. Modern steam technology was indeed a wondrous thing.
We would soon be arriving at Omaha’s landing stage, and so I decided to probe our prisoner a little more. If it was indeed Dodge’s mysterious companion who awaited the traders’ arrival, then there could well be some awkward moments ahead, and I had yet to decide on a course of action.
Turning away, I made my way down the steps to the far less salubrious surroundings of the lower deck. Our ‘merchandise’ was still loaded in the wagon. That, along with its team and our horses was all on deck, in company with a great deal of other cargo, which didn’t allow a whole lot of space for the human passengers. With the Bertrand being shallow drafted, there just wasn’t the hold space that one would expect to find in a seagoing vessel. And now, with water lapping over the gunwales, the craft seemed dangerously overloaded. But then what did I know? I was just a landlubber, but still glad that the strongbox was on the upper deck, in our stateroom next to Dan’s bed. He was resting in there with the cocked Spencer in his lap.
The scrawny Indian trader glanced at me sourly when I fetched up next to him. His shoulder wound had not yet shown any signs of infection, but we had been unable to extract the misshapen ball, and he was obviously in a great deal of discomfort. It would be up to a sawbones to see to him, and since we needed the trader’s testimony, we would doubtless have to pay for the treatment.
‘What the hell kind of name is Jase, anyhu?’ I asked this more as an opener than out of any real fascination.
He hawked up some yellow phlegm onto the deck. ‘My given name is Jason, but never mind that shit because for sure you ain’t interested. I’ve been doing me some thinking while I’ve been sitting here rotting. Look at all these people. How are you gonna stop me just walking off this damn boat in Omaha? You can’t just gun down a wounded, unarmed man like a dog!’
I shrugged. ‘Maybe, maybe not. But if I told all these good folks how you’ve been selling guns and whiskey to the Sioux, d’you reckon anyone’ll try to stop me? Or will they be queuing up to put a bullet in your worthless hide?’
For the first time that day his brow furrowed with anger rather than pain. ‘You miserable goddamned cockroach. . . .’
The jarring crash was so sudden and so extreme that it literally threw me off my feet. All around me fellow passengers were tossed to the deck like rag dolls. Others who weren’t so lucky struck the rail and were pitched over it into the Missouri. Animals struggled to free themselves, and Jase howled with agony as he tumbled down on his injured shoulder.
For an awful moment I thought that there had been a boiler explosion. Such an occurrence was common on riverboats; they usually resulted in horrendous burns and scalds for those lucky enough to survive. Then I realized that to have stopped so suddenly, the Bertrand had to have struck a hidden obstruction, maybe one of the many dead trees that I had seen in the river. As I got shakily to my feet, I peered over the side. Sweet Jesus, the boat was not only stopped, it was sinking, and with the weight on board it wouldn’t take long!
From the wheelhouse, Captain Yore bellowed out, ‘She’s going down. Swim for your lives!’
‘That’s easy for him to say,’ Jase protested. His pain-filled eyes were like saucers as he took in the pandemonium around him. Since passengers on the lower deck were mostly poor, they had few possessions to worry about and so were quick to make for the side rails. It was likely to be a different story on the level above, especially as much of the deck cargo belonged to the stateroom passengers as well.
‘I’ll help you,’ I replied. ‘But first I’ve got to find Dan.’ Without waiting for a response, I was off at a run.
After fighting through the throng, I bounded up the steps to the upper deck. Anxiously approaching our stateroom door, I still had the
presence of mind to knock on it first and call out. I had no intention of bursting in without warning and taking a bullet. As the door opened, I was greatly relieved to find my friend standing before me. He had an ugly bruise on his forehead, but otherwise appeared to be unhurt.
‘I only went and fell against the goddamned strongbox,’ he complained.
‘The boat’s sinking,’ I announced. ‘The animals’ll have to fend for themselves. And there’s nothing we can do about the hides and tallow, but we have to save the Double Eagles.’
‘How?’ Dan retorted. ‘We can’t swim with the box, and that’s for sure.’
I’d already arrived at that conclusion, but I had also already thought of the saddles and gear in our stateroom.
‘We’ll use the lariats on the saddles to fasten a line to the box and then carry it outside. All we have to do is swim ashore, and then drag it off the boat and over to the bank.’
‘Don’t you ever worry you might run out of ideas?’ Dan snapped, but nevertheless he was smiling broadly.
With the boat visibly settling in the water, there was apparently not a moment to lose. By tying both lengths of rope together, we soon had a line long enough to easily reach the Missouri’s west bank, which was the side that Omaha was situated on. Although the Sioux had smashed the strongbox’s lock, lengths of rawhide that were easily up to the job had replaced it.
With our long guns slung over our shoulders, we each seized a handle and carried the heavy box down to the lower deck. With water beginning to lap on to it, and many passengers already in the river and desperately swimming for safety, nobody paid us any mind . . . except for Jase.
‘What about me?’ he whined. The little runt was already shivering, as though in anticipation of a cold dip. ‘I can’t swim with this shoulder. You shot me, now you’ll have to save me.’
‘Aw, stop bellyaching,’ I replied. ‘Happen you need a bath, and I’ll stay with you. You’ll be fine. Dan, get going. We’ll follow on.’