Moontrap - Don Berry (31 page)

"Ain't allus pleasant bein' a ferry hand,
neither, " Billy said defensively.

"
I expect there ain't no way to make a livin'
altogether pleasant," Meek said absently. "On t'other hand,
bein' a ferry hand, y' don't have to bring down a lot o' trouble on
y'r friends."

Suspiciously Billy shifted his eyes from Webb, and
glanced at Meek. "What's that mean?" he asked.

"
Hell, I ain't one t' bore y' with my troubles,"
Meek said. "But, just f'r example, y'take moonshinin', now."

Little Billy unfolded his arms and cleared his
throat.

"Sometimes I find out a real good friend o'
mine's been makin' shine, y' know," Meek told him
confidentially. "Then I got t'crack down on him just like if he
was a stranger. "

"Ah—is that a fact?" Billy said.

"
Yup, fact. Five hundred dollars and ninety
days," he said slowly "Lot o' money, five hundred dollars.
Lot o' time, ninety days. When y' think about it. " He grinned
at Billy.

The ferry hand cleared his throat again and blinked,
trying to smile back at Meek. "You, ah, you have any—trouble?
Lately, like?"

"Matter o' fact . . ." Meek said
discouragedly.

With an emotion something like awe. Monday thought he
saw Little Billy's eyes fill with tears. The stocky man blinked
again, all his concentration fixed on Meek's next words.

"
Matter o' fact," the marshal repeated,
"I've heard one or two things that make me feel real bad, Billy.
Real bad."

"Whatever y' heard it ain't—Listen, Meek, I
got a wife and kids," Billy blurted. "We been good friends
f'r a long time, ain't we? I allus been a good citizen here, ain't
I?" He held his hands out toward Meek.

"Hell, yes, Billy. Why y' think I'm here? I got
t' check on what I heard."

"Listen, Meek. Marshal. It ain't true. Hell,
maybe a little wine—"

"You're right charitable, Billy, but I'm afraid
I just got t' go out t' that sloop an' see for m'self. Me an' m'
deputies, here."

"Sloop?" Little Billy said. "Sloop?"

"Hell yes," Meek said with a puzzled air.
"I heard there was liquor aboard her, an' I got t' check her
out. What'd y' think I was talkin' about?"

Little Billy wheeled around suddenly and stooped
down, beginning to unwind the lashing of a little green and white
skiff with a crudely painted "6" on the bow.

Well," he said, with nervous cheerfulness. "You
wa'n't plannin' to swim, was you?" He laughed a little, and with
a spasmic gesture handed the rope to Meek.

"
Shouldn't that go in the skiff?" Meek
said. "I don't know nothin' about it, but it sort o' seems like
foolishness t' stand here holdin' a rope in m' hand."

"Oh, hell yes," Billy said. "Don't
know what I'm thinkin' about." He threw the free end of the line
into the skiff. "Ain't m'self today, Joe. All the people comin'
an' goin'. You know." He clapped Meek on the shoulder.

"Climb in, deputies," Meek said.

With straight faces the three mountain men stepped
down into the skiff warily and settled themselves. Webb got in last,
stepping too far to one side, and the little boat rocked wildly.

"
This here nutshell ain't seaworthy," he
complained. "Ain't you got somethin' that'll holt still a
little?"

"
Sit down, coon," Monday said. "You're
rockin' the boat."

"Boat's rockin' me, y'iggerant dunghead! That's
what I'm
saying!
"
"Now cut out all that there arguin'," Meek said firmly. "We
got t' put our hands on them lawbreakers. Right, Billy?"

"Right, right," Billy said. "Go get
'em, JJoe. I holt her while you get in."

Meek got in the skiff with great dignity For a moment
they all sat there looking at one another. "Well, for christ's
sake grab an oar," Meek said impatiently.

"There's two of 'em," Monday observed.

"
Me, I got t' save my strength," Meek said,
leaning back contentedly in the stern. "Never c'n tell when a
shine-merchant'll get violent. Can y', Billy?"

The ferry hand had grabbed a boathook and was pushing
them anxiously away from the dock. "No sir!" he said.
"Can't be too careful with lawbreakers."

With a discouraged shrug Devaux picked up the other
oar and clumsily inserted the pin in the oar lock.

"Don't lose them oars," Billy called over
the widening distance.

"What is wrong with you, Bony One?" Devaux
asked Webb. "You don't take an oar."

"Hell, son," Webb said complacently. "This
nigger's way too old for them kind o' doin's. You pull smart on that,
hear?" He began to fumble in his shirt for his pipe and
tobacco.  Contentedly he assembled stem and bowl and began to
take pinches of stringy tobacco out of the pouch.

After a couple of false starts which set the boat
rocking crazily Devaux and Monday got their rhythms together and
began to pull steadily moving the little skiff out toward the
anchored sloop.

"
Some doin's," Monday muttered. "One
too old an' the other too weak."

Meek winked at Webb. "Both too smart, that's the
ticket."

Webb leaned back against the side, giving the skiff a
permanent heavy list to starboard.

"
Right pretty day, f'r the kind o' day it is."

Meek leaned his head back on the stern, in the pillow
of his clasped fingers. "It is, now," he said. "Just
the day f'r a little boat ride."

3

There was an oddly insect-like air about the little
skiffs approaching the still sloop; like so many stiff-legged beetles
scurrying around the corpse of a dead mouse.
 
A
boat from the sloop itself, manned by sailors, was heading toward the
Linn settlement, on the other side of the river. Meek watched it with
interest; the smooth, straight progress, the tiny wake it left
behind. The skiffs approaching the sloop were, for the most part, in
various degrees of uncontrol, oars manned by hands more accustomed to
reins and plows.

"By god," he said to Monday and Devaux,
"strikes me you boys got one hell of a lot t' learn about
seafarin'."

"
There's a oar available—any time you want—to
teach us," Monday said, grunting. He was on the low side of the
skiff—Webb had refused to settle in the middle—and his oar dug
deep with each stroke, pulling the boat around to port.

"
Listen, friend of me," Devaux said. "Don't
do it so hard, and we go much better."

"I got to pull, don't I?" Monday
complained. "You ain't doin' it hard enough, that's what our
trouble is."

"
Now boys," Meek said tolerantly. "Don't
argue. just pull."

"You bastards—got to—row back," Monday
said.

All in all though, they weren't doing much worse than
the other visitors. The "official" boat, containing
Thurston and the other well-dressed gentlemen, had drifted downstream
steadily under the inept handling of the tame Indians. It was making
up the distance now, approaching the Portsmouth from astern. Glancing
up between strokes, Monday noticed with amusement that two of the
dark-suited white men were now at the oars, and the Indians sat
hulking in the bow. He would have been willing to stake all he owned
that Thurston was not one of the rowers. He could imagine the
hard-faced little man boiling inside and dreaming of what he would do
to the incompetent Indians.

"Hooraw, boys," Meek said encouragingly.
"Now we're runnin', should o' been a sea captain. I got a
natural talent for it. Hey, matey?"

He nudged Webb with the toe of his boot. The old man
opened one eye and examined the admiral carefully. "
Wagh!
" He snorted. He turned his head sharply and spat over the side
to show his opinion of the career Meek was mapping out for himself.
The boat tipped suddenly with the motion and Monday's oar plunged
deep below the surface.

"Cut out that goddamn stuff," he said. "I
almost lost the oar."

Webb turned back and shrugged indifferently, settling
himself comfortably against the thwart. It made no difference to him.
He'd swim if he had to.

They were near enough to the sloop now that they
could hear the voices of the crew and guests. There were not too many
people aboard,but the light flashes of high laughter and the
flickering of brightly colored dresses gave a very cheerful
atmosphere. As they approached, Monday determinedly tried to pull in
rhythm, so they wouldn't careen around so much.

There was an opening in the ship's rail, from which
depended a rope ladder. On deck stood a tall, thin man Monday judged
to be the captain. The boat of Thurston and the missionary party
pulled up to the ladder about twenty yards in advance of their own. A
rope was thrown to a waiting sailor on the
Portsmouth's
deck, and the dignitaries climbed up the ladder. The captain bowed
courteously and shook hands, gesturing at the length of his ship and
smiling broadly to make them welcome. A smiling, handshaking knot of
men formed at the top of the ladder as the rest of the guests
mounted.

The captain saw the boat of the mountain men
approaching and shouted down to the Indians in the missionary boat,
"Cast off there, cast off." The rope was thrown down and
the skiff drifted back along the hull of the
Portsmouth
,
bumping once in a while as the Indians ineffectually tried to shove
themselves away. Finally it cleared the stern, and the Indians took
up their oars discouragedly and plunged them in the water, drifting
off with no clear idea of where they were supposed to go or how to
get there.

Meek waved and shouted, "Ahoy the
Portsmouth
."
in his best admiralty fashion.

The captain grinned and waved back. Thurston came up
to his shoulder, and the captain leaned over to hear what the small
man was saying. Slowly the smile faded and his face hardened as he
watched the skiff approach.

The little boat bumped heavily against the hull of
the sloop. "Sorry, gentlemen," the captain called down.
"All full up for the moment. Come back later." He turned
back to Thurston.

"Let me show you—"

"
Hey, Captain," Meek said, smiling.

The uniformed man turned. "I said come back
later. Put ashore."

Meek stood in the stern, starting to protest again.
The captain leaned forward on the rail, his face angry.

"
Put ashore, I say! Put ashore! There's no room
for your kind on this vessel!" He wheeled and called, "Mr.
Cole, Mr. Cole!" Another uniform came running up. The captain
looked down at the mountain men and said, "Mr. Cole, see that
these men go ashore. Under no circumstances permit them aboard.
They're troublemakers." He turned back to Thurston and the
others, now smiling again. "Come along," he said. "I
think you'll be interested . . ."

Without a glance back the missionary group moved away
from the rail and out of sight. At the top of the rope ladder the
mate stood blocking the opening, his legs spread and his face hard.
"Shove off, you," he said viciously.

Meek was still standing, looking up at the mate. He
licked his lips, thinking, and then suddenly sat down again, rocking
the skiff.

Devaux finally shrugged, put his oar against the hull
of the sloop and shoved away. When they were a few yards out, Webb
said, "Well, admiral?"

"
That son of a bitch," Monday growled. He
shoved his oar into the water and let it dangle there.
After
a moment Meek said, "Y'know what I'm going t'do?"

"No," Devaux said, without interest.

"I'm going to get me a black suit one o' these
days," Meek said. "
Wagh!
I am, now." Suddenly he grinned. "But F'r right now, I got
a turrible dry."

"
Th'ow y'in the water," Webb said absently
He had been little moved by the goings on, simply watching it all
from beneath the floppy brim of his hat.

"Head over t' the west bank," Meek said.

"What the hell's that goin' to do?" Monday
said.

"This nigger's goin' to have a drink f'r the
Fourth, government or no government," Meek said. "C'mon,
deputies. Pull."

"
Just a goddamn minute," Monday said. "You
was supposed t' row back."

"We ain't goin' back," Meek explained.
"We're still goin' across. Ain't we?"

"Well, yes, but—"

"
So," Meek said decisively. "Haul
away, boys. We're bound for Australia."

"All I say is, I hope there's a drink in
Australia," Monday said gloomily.

"There is boys, there is," Meek said
contentedly. "Pu1l, now."

4

Just north of Peter's Mountain the Twality River
emptied into the Willamette, coming from the west. It went by various
names—Twality, Quality, Tualatin—and at this time of year was so
shallow it scarcely merited one. As it neared the Willamette it
coursed over a rock-strewn bottom, not more than a few yards wide. In
winter it was a dirty brown flood, but by the middle of summer the
water was clear and fresh.