If anyone had asked him, he would have guessed that Jabez Sampson was so filled with hate that he’d be eager to settle the score with the men who had taken his ship away from him. But from the sound of the information Chimney had received, greed had won out over vengeance, and when fate had presented Sampson with a means of returning to New Orleans and carrying out an audacious plan, he had seized it.
Sampson meant to overthrow Simone LeCarde, just as he had been overthrown on the Calypso. If he could take over all of Simone’s criminal enterprises, he would have plenty of time and money to hunt down Preacher and get his revenge. Preacher nodded slowly as those thoughts arranged themselves in his mind. He could believe that Jabez Sampson had come to the same conclusion.
“You reckon it means what I think it does?” Chimney asked.
“It means Sampson is willin’ to put off torturin’ all of us to death if he’s got a chance to get rich first,” Preacher said.
“So him and Rowland are goin’ after that LeCarde feller?”
“That’s the way I see it.” Preacher didn’t correct him about Simone’s true identity, although after everything that had happened, he had no reason to keep it a secret anymore.
“Well,” Chimney said with a note of hope in his voice, “better him than us, right?”
Preacher shook his head. “That ain’t the way it works. Sampson and Rowland may fail. We don’t know about that. But if they take over like they plan to, they’ll be worse and more powerful enemies than ever. With money and an organization like the one LeCarde has at their command, they’ll find you and me and everybody else involved in that mutiny. In the long run, none of us will be safe” Preacher glanced at Estellita, who was standing to the side with a puzzled expression on her face that said she comprehended only some of what she was hearing. “Neither will any of the folks who helped us. Sampson will take his revenge on them, too.”
“So what in blazes do we do?”
“Only one thing I can think of,” Preacher said. He glanced at Estellita, and a pang of regret went through him. His decision meant leaving her and the other friends he had made in Verdugo. It meant leaving Tyler behind. The young man still hadn’t recovered enough for what would be facing them.
And it would mean helping Simone LeCarde, the woman who had condemned him to death. She was a lesser threat than the other one facing him, and despite everything that had happened, he still remembered the times they had shared.
“We’ve got to get back to New Orleans as fast as we can and stop Sampson and Rowland,” Preacher said.
CHAPTER 39
There was no time to waste. Preacher told Chimney to gather the crew—as many of them as were willing to return to New Orleans, anyway—and start getting the Calypso ready to put to sea again. Preacher had found a stash of gold coins in Sampson’s cabin, and they could be used as an inducement to get the sailors to agree, as well as signing on some new crewmen if possible.
“How soon can we leave?” the mountain man asked.
Chimney scratched at his beard and frowned in thought. “We oughter be able to weigh anchor later today.”
“And how many days to get back to New Orleans?”
“Four or five, if we’ve got a fair wind.”
Sampson and Rowland had roughly a two-day start on them, Preacher thought. A lot could happen in two days. But they couldn’t get back any sooner than was humanly possible, so he just had to hope those two varmints wouldn’t have eliminated Simone and taken control of the town’s criminal underworld by then.
He wasn’t sure how he would feel if they killed Simone. Under the circumstances, he had no real reason to feel any sympathy for her, but he reminded himself that she hadn’t had him killed outright when she had the opportunity. She had given him a chance to save his life, however slim it might have been. Whether or not that counted for anything, Preacher just didn’t know.
When Chimney had hurried off to begin the preparations, Estellita looked at Preacher with a mournful expression and asked, “Do you have to leave?”
“If Sampson and Rowland are successful in what they’re fixin’ to try, it means that sooner or later, hell’s gonna come callin’ here in Verdugo,” he explained. “They’re pirates, just like in the old days. I wouldn’t put it past ’em to raid the town and put the whole place to the torch, once they found out the folks here helped us.”
“The days of pirates are not so old,” she mused. “I remember hearing stories of Jean Lafitte and Dominique You when I was a little girl. The difference is, those men had at least some shred of honor left in them. From what I have seen of Sampson and know of this man Rowland, I believe they do not.”
“They sure don’t,” Preacher agreed. “So you see, me leavin’ and tryin’ to put a stop to their plans is the only thing I can do to protect you and Dr. Flynn and everybody else in Verdugo.”
“Then do what you must, Preacher,” she said as she put her arms around him and held him close, pressing her body to his. “And perhaps someday fate will bring you here again.”
“Could be,” Preacher said, although he considered the possibility that he would ever sail across the seas again to be a mighty slim one.
* * *
Later, he went by Roger Flynn’s house to see how Tyler was doing and explain to the young man what was going on. He arrived to find Tyler struggling to get dressed, while Flynn stood by with an exasperated look on his face.
“What in blazes do you think you’re doin’?” Preacher asked.
“Getting ready to go on the Calypso with you, of course,” Tyler replied. “You didn’t think you could just sail off and leave me here, did you, Preacher? That’s what Chimney said.”
“That’s durned sure what I did think.” Preacher looked at Flynn. “He ain’t in no shape to go gallivantin’ off like this, is he?”
The physician shrugged. “It would be much better if he remained here and rested for another week or so. The fever is gone and his wounds are beginning to heal, but he’s hardly back to normal.”
“It’ll take several days to reach New Orleans,” Tyler argued. “What if I promise to take it easy on board the ship until then?”
Flynn inclined his head and admitted, “That would at least provide more time for recovery. I still feel like it’s a bad idea, though.”
“You heard what the doctor said,” Preacher told the young man. An idea occurred to him. “And another thing, if you stay here, Estellita can keep on lookin’ after you. You’re her prize patient, after all.”
Tyler had been trying to pull on a shirt. He paused in the effort and frowned, obviously intrigued by the idea of having Estellita to himself after Preacher sailed off. If he was going to have any chance with her, it would be much more likely after the mountain man was gone.
But then resolve came over his face again, and he shook his head. “I always tried to be loyal to my captain, even when he was a brutal animal. You’re my captain now, Preacher.”
Preacher let his own exasperation show. “Blast it, I never asked for the job!”
“But it appears to be yours, nonetheless,” Flynn said. “If Tyler wishes to accompany you, I give him my medical blessing . . . reluctantly.”
Preacher could see that he wasn’t going to get anywhere arguing. He glared at Tyler for a second, then jerked his head in a curt nod. “Better be on board when we’re ready to cast off,” he warned. “That’s what they call it, ain’t it? Anyway, we won’t be waitin’ for you.”
“I’ll be there,” Tyler said. Then he looked worried. “I’ll have a chance to thank Estellita and say good-bye to her, won’t I?”
“I’ll tell her to come by here and see you,” Preacher said.
* * *
Days earlier, a crowd had turned out to welcome the Calypso to Verdugo, and the people of the town gathered again at the docks to bid the vessel and its crew farewell. Alcalde Gonzalez made a speech. Estellita put on a brave face, but a tiny tear trickled from the corner of her right eye. Roger Flynn
saw that and patted her consolingly on the shoulder.
Tyler stood at the railing next to Preacher and Chimney. “I’m going to come back here,” he said as he looked at Estellita. “As soon as we’re finished with our business in New Orleans, I’m going to sign on with a real trading ship and get back here. I promised Estellita.”
Preacher didn’t know what else was said between the two young people when they met briefly before the Calypso was ready to sail, and he didn’t want to know. But he hoped Estellita had realized it would be better to turn her attention to someone who might actually return to her, rather than a fella like him who likely never would. Tyler had the makings of a fine man, and the two of them would be good for each other.
Chimney said, “I might just come back here with you, lad. A nice, peaceful place with friendly folks. I can’t think of nowhere better to live out my days.”
“But you have a lot of years left, Chimney,” Tyler said. “I can’t imagine an old sea dog like you ever staying on dry land for very long.”
“I know what you mean, but even when it’s somethin’ in your blood, somethin’ you love doin’ no matter what it is, sooner or later a feller gets tired and wants to just sit in the shade and put his feet up and watch the beauty of the world go by.” Chimney puffed in his pipe and sent a cloud of smoke into the air. “I’m gettin’ to that time in my life, and like I said, I can’t think of no better place to do it than here.”
“Worry about all that later,” Preacher advised the old-timer. “Right now, we still got work to do.”
He lifted a hand in farewell to Estellita, Flynn, Gonzalez, and the rest of the Cubanos gathered on the dock. Then he went up the steps to the rear deck, strode over to the tiller, and called the order to cast off.
Funny how this business of being a captain sort of rubbed off on a man, he mused as the oarsmen maneuvered the sloop away from the dock and into the open water of the cove.
Tyler remained at the rail, watching Verdugo dwindle in the distance. Chimney, acting as sailing master, ordered the sails unfurled.
As the big sweeps of canvas filled with wind and popped against the lines holding them in place, Preacher called to Tyler, “Come on up here and take over the tiller.”
The youngster needed a job to do, to take his mind off what he was leaving behind.
Tyler sighed and turned away from the railing. He climbed to the rear deck and told Preacher, “I was never the steersman before.”
“Think you can handle the job?”
“I know what to do, if that’s what you mean.”
“Good, because you’re still recoverin’ and you don’t need to be climbin’ around in the sails like a monkey or holystonin’ the deck. Not that it needs it right now. The fellas cleaned it up pretty good while we were in port.”
Tyler took the tiller and said, “I appreciate the trust you’re putting in me, Preacher.”
“You’ve earned it.”
* * *
The next four days passed without any trouble. Now that the crewmen weren’t being bullied and mistreated all the time, as they had been under Jabez Sampson’s command, they worked eagerly, without complaint. The Calypso didn’t encounter any storms on the voyage, and Preacher was grateful for that stroke of good fortune. In the waterfront taverns of Verdugo, Chimney had been able to recruit a few more men for the crew, but they were still shorthanded and a big blow might have been too much for them to handle.
The only thing that didn’t go exactly as Preacher might have wished was the fact that the wind was inconsistent. They were never becalmed, but from time to time their progress slowed, and that delay chafed at him. He ordered the oars brought out and the men put their backs into it willingly enough, but he would have preferred to be moving along at a better clip.
By the evening of the fourth day at sea, Chimney came to him and said, “We ought to be in sight of the mainland by midday tomorrow, Cap’n. Do you plan on us sailin’ into N’ Orleans, bold as brass?”
“What else can we do?” Preacher asked.
“Well”—a sly look came over Chimney’s bewhiskered face—“I ain’t sayin’ that I have firsthand knowledge o’ such things, mind you, but down below there, along the delta, there be a number of places where the old-time pirates used to lie up. Jean Lafitte was fond of a place called Barataria Bay and even had a settlement there. There are others like that. We could put into one of those little coves, get our hands on some horses, and ride into town. Sampson and Rowland might not be as likely to see us comin’ that-a-way.”
Preacher thought about the suggestion and nodded slowly. It was a shrewd plan and had a good chance of working.
“We can leave a few men on the Calypso,” Chimney continued. “The ones who signed on in Verdugo ain’t got no personal grudge agin those two varmints, but the fellers who served under ’em sure do. Most of ’em, maybe the whole bunch, will want to come with you for the showdown.”
“And I’ll be glad to have ’em,” Preacher said with a nod. All the men who had come back to New Orleans with Sampson and Rowland might not have joined in their scheme to overthrow Simone LeCarde and take over the city’s underworld, but most probably had, and Sampson and Rowland wouldn’t have had any trouble recruiting others from among the dregs of the waterfront.
* * *
As Chimney had predicted, the low, dark line that represented the Louisiana mainland came into view late the next morning. It didn’t change much as they approached it. Unlike Cuba with its wooded hills, the Mississippi River delta was flat as it could be. Stretches of open water twisted between low, grassy hummocks. Here and there a larger piece of dry land could be found, some dotted with scrubby trees. The landscape reminded Preacher a little of that found around the Platte River, which men sometimes said was a mile wide and an inch deep. These winding waterways were a lot deeper than that and also were wider than a mile, starting out, although the channels narrowed as the sloop penetrated farther into the delta.
Preacher saw men fishing from small, flat-bottomed boats, and shanties made of scrap wood daubed together with mud began to appear on the shores. Smoke curled into the sky from cooking fires.
Chimney took over the tiller. The sloop had a fairly shallow draft, but even so, the delta country could be tricky, according to the old-timer. Despite what he’d said about not having firsthand knowledge of the old pirate lairs, he steered the Calypso with an expert touch and finally took the vessel into a channel that ran past a small settlement with a dock sticking out into the water. As Preacher and Tyler watched with admiration from the bow, Chimney put the Calypso alongside the dock and men leaped ashore to tie it up.
Preacher felt good to be stepping on American soil again. At last he could get on with the long-delayed quest that had brought him from his home in the mountains.
CHAPTER 40
The settlement was called Abelard. The money Preacher had left from what he’d found in Sampson’s cabin paid for the loan of half a dozen saddle horses, as well as a wagon and a team of mules to pull it. The rest of the men who were going with Preacher would ride to New Orleans in the wagon.
The city was far enough away that it would be night before Preacher and his companions reached it, but that was all right. It was easier to move around in the dark.
Preacher hoped that they weren’t already too late. If his enemies had overthrown Simone, possibly even killed her, getting his revenge on Sampson and Rowland and finding Edmund Cornelius and Lucy Tarleton would be that much more difficult.
Even if things turned out that way, he still didn’t intend to let it stop him.
Preacher tried to talk Tyler into staying with the men who would remain aboard the Calypso, but as he expected, the young man was having none of that.
“I haven’t come this far and suffered as much as I have, only to miss out on justice being done,” he insisted. “I have a score to settle with those two as well, you know.”
“All right, just be careful,” Preacher told him.
The mountain man’s grin was the only answer he gave.
After all that time at sea, it felt mighty good to have a horse and saddle underneath him again instead of a ship’s deck. Chimney was just the opposite, though. He bounced and complained all the way into New Orleans as he guided the group through the delta, but Preacher was glad to have the old-timer along. Despite his own uncanny sense of direction, Preacher had a hunch he would have gotten hopelessly lost trying to find his way through the marshland.
As evening set in, the lights of the city became visible. Preacher’s pulse quickened as he saw their destination spread out before them. And he picked up the pace they were traveling, as well.
As they moved through the outskirts of town, he began to recognize some of the buildings and have a general idea where they were and where they were going. Full dark had almost fallen when he saw the livery stable and blacksmith shop belonging to Jean Paul Dufresne. He led the other riders and the wagon to the pair of adjoining stone buildings where a lantern still burned in the blacksmith shop. Inside, hammer rang against anvil.
Preacher reined his mount to a halt. Beside him, Chimney did likewise and the other riders and the wagon came to a stop behind them. They were still a short distance from the French Quarter and the Catamount’s Den, but more than likely Simone had spying eyes scattered all throughout New Orleans. If Dufresne agreed, they would wait at the livery until the darkness was thicker before approaching the tavern.
The blacksmith looked up from the anvil when Preacher walked in. Recognition made his eyes widen. “Preacher!” he exclaimed. “I thought it likely I would never see you again.”
“It came mighty close to that a few times,” the mountain man said, “but I’m back now and ready to take up where I left off. You haven’t had any more trouble around here, have you?”
A grim smile tugged at Dufresne’s mouth. “You mean since I came in to find bodies littering my shop that morning? No, it has been quiet.”
“How about over in the French Quarter?”
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