Moontrap - Don Berry (16 page)

Monday sighed. "C'mon hoss. Kick."

Gradually the awkwardness worked out of Webb's
kicking, his natural physical instincts overcoming the tension. He
began to kick powerfully, his jaw set, as though he intended to shove
the log all the way to the source of the river.

"
Now take it easy, coon," Monday said. "Y'
don't want t'—"

Suddenly the top of the log just ahead of them
exploded into shards of flying splinter. Instinctively both men
ducked, and Webb came up spluttering.

Monday dived under and came up on the side of the log
toward the beach, his head down behind the float. "Get around
here," he snapped.

The echo of the shot was still reverberating from the
cliff. Monday hoisted himself suddenly and scanned the opposite bank.
He could just make out the white powder smoke. He ducked his head
just as another ball crashed into the top of the log and whined off
behind them. Webb had gradually worked his way to the side of the
log, beside Monday.

"Get y'r hands off the top," Monday said.

"What the hell'm I going to hang on to?"
Webb snarled at him.

"
Hang on to the bottom or something."

Another crash of an exploding charge came from the
cliff and the water just in front of the log sprayed high. Webb began
to curse.

"The sonsabitches," he muttered. "The
dirty dunghead sonsa-bitches."

"
They's at least two of 'em," Monday said.
"One man couldn't reload that fast."

"They're firin' as fast as they c'n load, if'n
there's two," Webb said.

He had automatically been counting the seconds
between shots.

"
We got t' get out of here," Monday said.
He looked back over his shoulder at the beach, about thirty feet
away.

A flash of white smoke on the cliff, and the solid
thunk as a ball buried itself deep in the log. Both swimming men felt
the impact clearly as the shock was carried from the log to their
hands.

"
Dungheads," Webb muttered. "Whyn't
they shoot under? Get us slick."

"Ball won't carry in water. Get this thing
movin' back t' shore."

"
You'n y'r goddamn swimmin' lessons," Webb
growled. But he began to kick, and very slowly the log began to move
broadside toward the beach. The next shot whizzed just over the top
of the log and sprayed water behind them.

"Where's y'r gun?" Monday said.

"Up by the goddamn clothes, same as y'rs."
What with walking down the beach to find the log, and being carried
farther down by the current, they were a good fifty yards from their
weapons. Two shots came simultaneously one shattering against each
end of the log, spraying splinters.

"Had my druthers," Webb said, "I'd
ruther be up on that cliff a—shootin'."

"
You 'n' me, hoss."

At last their feet touched bottom, and they dragged
the log back until they were crouched behind it in waist-deep water,
not daring to poke their heads over the top. After the two shots at
each end of the log, there had been no more firing.

"Bastards is waitin' for us t' run," Monday
said.

Webb shrugged. "They goin' to wait one hell of a
while for me," he said.

"We can't sit here all day," Monday said.
"My ass is gettin' cold."

"Be a vast lot colder with a half-ounce o'
Galena in it."

Monday looked over his shoulder at the beach again,
where the drift logs were piled. "We best cache ourselves ahind
them logs," he said.

"
Maybe we c'n work up the bank and back o' the
trees to get our guns."

"Y' figger the boys is just going to let us
sashay across? Them logs is a good twenty feet yet."

"
What the hell choice we got?" Monday said.

"
We got t' get one o' the bastards t'
discharge," Webb said. "Then break for it. With only one
ball left, the other'n c'n only get one of us."

"Still one too many, t'my thinkin'."

"Y' got a better idee?"

Monday shook his head.

"Get set," Webb said. He poked his head
over the top of the log and a crash of gunlire sounded across the
river. The ball whined off across the beach, and both men were up and
running in a wild zigzag for the shelter of the logs. The second
blast came, and a huge gout of sand spurted up between them.

Then they dived, tumbling behind the biggest log,
scrambling close into the lee of it. Monday grinned, huddling close
to the wet wood.

"
Made 'er, coon."

Webb snorted. "If it'd been this nigger
a-shootin', one of us'd be lyin' out on that beach."

Monday scanned the bank behind them, looking for a
fast way up into the trees.

"
You 'n' y'r swimmin' lessons," Webb
muttered. "You 'n' y'r tame Injuns."

"
God damn, Webb, it's a fact. Hell, I ain't been
shot at in years, 'cept when I come into y'r camp. I can't under—"

Suddenly he stopped short. "God damn," he
whispered. He leaned forward and grabbed two sticks of driftwood the
size of his wrist and several feet long.

"Gonna beat 'em to death?" Webb asked
curiously.

"Just going t' try somethin'," Monday said.
"Get down."

With one sudden motion he plunged both sticks
vertically into the ground behind the log, so they projected over the
top. Quickly he dropped his head again.

There was a long pause. Then, suddenly, there came
the enormous roar of the guns across the river. Both sticks
splintered and the pieces showered off behind them. Webb's eyes
opened wide in astonishment.

"
Wagh!
"
he said. "That's some—"

But Monday was suddenly standing upright, in full
view, shaking his fist at the cliff on the other side. Webb heard a
deep voice across the river roar with laughter and shout, "Hey,
Rainy! Look who's here!"

"
Enfant de garce!
"
came the echoed reply.

"You bastards!" Monday hollered. "You
sonsabitches!"

Cautiously Webb poked his head over the top of the
log and saw two men standing on the opposite cliff, their rifles
butt-grounded, doubled over with laughter.

"Who the hell's—" Suddenly Webb
recognized the stocky figure of Joe Meek. The other man he did not
know.

"Hey, friend of me!" the slighter man
shouted. "You wish maybe come hunting with Joe and me?"

"
Hooraw, boys!" hollered Meek. "Us'n
caught the trail o' some bare-assed ducks! Ain't seen a couple come
flyin' past y'r log, have y'? One of 'em real bony, couldn't miss
'im." Then he doubled over again, holding his rifle for support.

"
God damn y'r eyes, Meek," Webb howled at
him. "I'll bare-ass duck you when I get m' hands on y'!"

"Well, get ready, then," Meek said. "Us'n
comin' to pay a leetle social visit."

Monday set off up the beach to their pile of clothes,
and Webb followed. Meek and René Devaux brought their horses out of
hiding and mounted, starting along the cliff trail to swing down to
Swensen's unofficial ferry. Occasional bursts of laughter came
echoing over the river to Monday and Webb.

Just as they reached the turning point of the trail
and were about to enter the trees, Meek shouted, "Hooraw, Webb!
Di'n't even say g'morning. What d'y'feel like, y'old boneyard?"

"Half froze f'r marshal hair," Webb
shouted. Meek laughed and led his horse out of sight, followed by
Devaux.

"
Bastards," Monday growled as he pulled on
his pants.

"
That Meek always did have a hell of a sense o'
humor," Webb said. "
Wagh!
he did now. I recollect one time up to the Roche Jaime . . ."

3

Devaux and Meek reached the cabin about two hours
later, charging down the trail and whooping. Mary, forewarned, had
put a huge pot on the fire to boil, throwing in chunks of meat
indiscriminately like a camp pot.

"C'mon in 'n' have meat," Monday said,
standing at the door. Meek and Devaux tumbled off their horses and
poured through the door.

When all four men were in the cabin it seemed full to
bursting, with everybody talking at once and laughing and
gesticulating.

Mary moved silently among them, almost invisible,
seeing that there was plenty of meat in the pot and that everything
was comfortable. She had pulled the table out of the center of the
floor and placed it against the opposite wall, leaving a clear space
on the floor before the fire.

Meek leaned over the steaming kettle. "
Wagh!
Half froze f'r meat, this child."

"Hey!" Devaux said excitedly, pointing at
Webb. "Is you!"

Webb looked up calmly. "So."

"
I don' hardly recognize you with you clothes
on!"

"By god, Rainy—" Meek said.

"
Hey, friend of me," Devaux said to Monday,
"you know, I never have the honor of the bony one."

"Hell," Monday said. "I figured
ever'body— Rainy, this here's Webb. Webb, Rainy Devaux, he's a old
Hudson's Bay freeman."

"What we used t' call Nor'west company in the
mountains," Meek said.

Devaux leaned forward from the waist in a stiff bow,
extending his hand. "
Enchanté
"

Webb took his hand suspiciously, squinting at him out
of one eye.

"By god, y're a queer one, y'are now. What's
this here 'onshontay'?"

"
Means 'I'm glad to meet y',' " Monday
said.

"Then why'n hell don't he just say so?"
Webb demanded. "Who you run with?" he asked Devaux.

"
Me, I was with Ogden sometimes. Sometimes out
of Fort Vancouver. "

"
Wagh!
Was you, now!" Webb said. "You wa'n't with Ogden up to the
Snake, winter of 'twenty-four, 'twenty-live, now?"

"
Enfant de garce!
I
remember him well, that winter!"

"
Damn
y'r
eyes, now," Webb said with delight. "Listen here, coon,
this nigger was with that American brigade come aplunderin' into your
camp."

"No!
Incroyable!
"
Devaux said, his eyes wide in astonishment.

"By god, there was doin's, sure god," Webb
said, chuckling. "I recollect was ol' Johnson Gardner was
booshway that trip . . ."

Webb and Devaux squatted on the floor, turning to
face each other, and started a long gesticulatory conversation,
completely forgetting the others.

Monday was calculating rapidly in his head. He turned
to Meek.

"Well, what're y' feelin' like, coon? Y'know,
that Rainy, he's a turrible liar. He couldn't of been more'n four,
five years old that winter."

Meek shrugged. "Man wants t' talk, he wants t'
talk. Rainy ain't going t' stop 'im just 'cause he was born a few
years too late. Rainy ain't so much a liar as he is polite. That's
cause he's French, y' know."

"Hell, he is." Monday laughed. "Listen,
hoss. How's y'r stick come to float out here?"

"Well," Meek said, rubbing his chin
thoughtfully. "I'll tell y', now."

He glanced slyly up at Monday, and his dark eyes
crinkled slightly at the corners.

"There's trouble," Monday said
apprehensively. "Ever' time you get a look like that a man like
to run cache hisself."

"Figured as how y' might like t' see the trial
o' them Cayuse," Meek said. "We'll try 'em t'morrow, an'
if'n there's still light, we'll hang 'em afore dinner. Otherwise
we'll hang 'em the day after."

"They got the courthouse finished yet?"

"
Wagh!
'
They's still workin' on 'er," Meek said. "Didn't figure t'
have no business so soon, I expect."

"
Wouldn't mind seein' that," Monday said.
"I got to go into Oregon City anyways, sooner or later." He
grimaced at the thought of it, then put it out of his mind.

Meek dug into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out
his marshal's badge. Ostentatiously he pinned it to the front of his
shirt. Monday watched him suspiciously.

"
Well, Marshal," he said tentatively "What
c'n I do f'r y'?"

Meek leaned forward intently. "Gimme two dollars
and a half."

"
Ah, Meek," Monday said. "You know I
ain't got a half-dime t' my name. Now what kind o' thing is that?
What for?"

Meek pulled a rumpled piece of paper out of his
pocket and spread it out on the floor, studying it intently.

"Says here you owe the United States Government
two dollars and fifty cents."

"
God damn, hoss. I said from the beginning I
wasn't going to pay no taxes, an' it still goes. They got no right t'
take a man's money away from 'im."