Ralph Compton Whiskey River (11 page)

By the start of the second watch, Keithley had already spoken to Long, Sullivan, Clemans, Ursino, and Stackler. They all seemed to share the same doubts, concerning the expected showdown.

“I think we'll be safe enough, until Estrello has eliminated the steamboat crews and has taken the whiskey,” said Keithley. “I expect him to make his move after we reach the landing near here, just east of Fort Smith, on the return journey.”

“Why can't Estrello be satisfied with just taking the whiskey?” Betsy asked. “Why does he have to murder the steamboat crews?”

“To silence them” said Keithley. “A man on foot could reach Fort Smith within maybe two hours, and they'll have the telegraph there. Estrello's afraid of that.”

“I don't know how we can prevent this mass murder Estrello has in mind,” Bill said, “but I'll feel like less of a human being if we don't try.”

“But there's not enough of you,” said Betsy. “They'll just turn their guns on those of you who try to stop them.”

“She's dead right about that,” Keithley said. “We need help.”

“There's the telegraph in Fort Smith,” said Amanda.

“We'd never make it,” Keithley said. “The moment one of us is missed, Estrello will be ready to send killers after him. Besides, unless you have some ideas, there's nobody we can reach by telegraph who might get here in time to help us.”

“No,” said Bill, “and the big question is, can we get help from
anywhere
in time to stop Estrello's conspiracy?”

“We still have to take the steamboats to St. Louis, load the whiskey, and return to this landing near Fort Smith,” Mark said. “That'll take some time. Todd, is there some way I can get pencil and paper for a message?”

“Ed Stackler has a notebook,” said Keithley. “How soon do you need it?”

“Right now,” Mark said, “and I'll need some light. Who's got a lantern?”

“I have,” said Keithley, “but you'll have to be careful. Some of these
hombres
on the second watch are Estrello men to the bone.”

“Let me go with you, Mark,” Amanda said. “If anybody gets curious about the light, I can tell them I'm sick and that Todd sent me to his wagon for some medicine.”

“They'll never believe that,” said Mark, “but we'll have to try. Getting caught with the message I'm about to send will be the death of Bill and me.”

“Go ahead,” Keithley said. “You know where my wagon is. Circle around, comin' in from the north side. Don't light the lantern until you have to. I'll have Stackler get to you with pencil and paper. Good luck.”

Mark and Amanda reached Keithley's wagon without being discovered, and within a few minutes, Stackler was there. Silently, he passed the stub of a pencil and two sheets of paper to Mark. He then vanished into the shadows. The lantern was at the very rear of the wagon box. First Mark helped Amanda into the wagon, and following her, drew the rear pucker, and tied it as securely as he could. He then tightened and tied the front pucker. Then he lit the lantern, keeping it on the floor of the wagon box, well beneath the overhead canvas. Kneeling near the lantern, the paper against the rough boards of the wagon box, he began to write. It took but a few minutes for the lantern to draw attention.

“All right, damn it,” Wilder said, “Who's usin' that lantern, and why? That you, Keithley?”

“It's me—Amanda,” came the reply. “I'm sick and Keithley has a medicine chest. I'm looking for some laudanum.”

“Then find it, and put out that lantern,” Wilder growled.

“Bless you, Amanda,” said Mark softly.

Mark wrote rapidly, of necessity keeping the handwriting small, so that he might get as much into the message as possible. When he was finished, he quickly blew out the lantern.

“I want you to go on back to the wagon,” Mark whispered. “I still have to get this on its way, if I can.”

“But how—?”

“Later,” said Mark. “Now get going.”

Mark waited in the shadow of Keithley's wagon until he believed Amanda had returned to their own wagon. He then walked down near the river, where the horses and mules were grazing. Suddenly, there was the snick of a Colt being cocked, followed by the rough voice of Snider Irvin.

“Stand where you are and identify yourself. What'n hell are you doin' among the stock in the middle of the night?”

“Mark Rogers,” said Mark, “and I have as much business here as you. I'm part of the second watch.”

“Then mind what you do after dark,” Irvin growled. “Cat-footin' up on a man when he can't see you is a damn good way of gettin' your hide ventilated.”

“Thanks,” said Mark. “I'll try to remember that.”

Mark walked on toward the river, seeking the roan horse he had ridden to the outlaw camp from Fort Worth. The difficult portion of his task still lay ahead. When at last he could see the roan, he quickly found his saddle. From the boot he removed the Winchester. In one of the saddlebags he placed the written plea for help. Very slowly, he led the horse so that it might appear the animal was grazing, should anybody notice. Holding his breath, expecting a challenge at any time, he went on. He led the saddled horse for more than a mile westward. There he tied the reins securely to the saddle horn and slapped the roan on the flank. The horse trotted a few yards and looked back, clearly undecided as to what was expected. Again Mark swatted the roan on the flank, and this time the animal neither paused nor turned back.

“Old son,” said Mark softly, “I hope you still think of Captain Ferguson's post as home. If you show up in the morning here in Estrello's camp, I've ridden my last trail.”

Keithley and Bill stood in the shadow of one of the wagons. Quickly, Mark explained the desperate move he had just made.

When he had finished, Bill spoke. “It ain't often I disagree with you,
amigo,
but I'm goin' to this time. I just wish you'd taken the time to talk about this. We're at least three hundred miles from Fort Worth. A drifting, riderless horse could take a month getting there.”

“One other thing you should have considered,” Keithley said. “Give a horse two weeks on a particular range, and he considers it home. The critter might return to our old camp on the Washita.”

“I reckon I'll have to agree with both of you, as much as I hate to,” said Mark. “Come daylight, if that saddled roan is grazing along the river. I'll have to come up with answers to some mighty hard questions.”

“Oh, God,” Betsy said, “the horse might follow us then.”

“Yes,” said Mark, “and I should have considered that. It was just a desperate move to try to get a message to Fort Worth.”

“That's the second time the two of you have mentioned Fort Worth,” Keithley said. “Is that your federal contact?”

“Yes,” said Mark. “You might as well know, and you can tell the others who are with us. The post commander is Captain Ferguson. We don't know if there'll be any lawmen who can get here in time to help us. We may all have to run for our lives, and I want all of you, should you have the chance, to be prepared to telegraph Ferguson at Fort Worth. Mention Bill and me, and I promise you that will get Ferguson's attention.”

Keithley laughed softly. “I knew there was more to you
hombres
than a pair of outlaws on the run. Now that I can tell the others, it'll pull us all closer together.”

“See that they know tonight,” said Bill. “If that saddled roan's here at daylight, Mark may be needin' us all.”

“The boats still must go to St. Louis, pick up the whiskey, and then return to Fort Smith,” Bill said. “How long does that take?”

“Figure eleven days,” said Keithley. “Whenever they're loaded, the steamboats won't leave St. Louis until after dark. Dangerous as hell, travelin' the Mississippi without running lights, but they're doin' it.”

“Seems to me that's doin' it the hard way, taking the Arkansas to Memphis and then the Mississippi from there,” Mark said. “The stuff could have been freighted overland from St. Louis without involving steamboats.”

“Sure it could,” said Keithley, “but how do you cross that much territory with loaded wagons on a regular basis without raising some hard questions? The steamboats are Wolf Estrello's idea, and I'll have to give the murderous bastard credit. It's worked for almost two years. Steamboats have become so common, nobody stops to think that some of them are involved in illegal activities.”

“This outfit doing the freighting is as guilty as Estrello and his bunch,” Bill said.

“They are, and they know it,” said Keithley. “That's why this arrangement with Wolf Estrello has worked so well. If anybody talks, there's evidence enough on both sides to hang the whole damn bunch from the same limb.”

“What bothers me is the possibility that we may have to risk our necks trying to save theirs,” Bill said. “From what Estrello's said, he won't waste any time, once his need of the steamboats is past. Whatever we aim to do, we'll have to do it before those steamboats dock near Fort Smith with the whiskey. Once the wagons are off the boats, they can be well into Indian Territory in an hour or two.”

Some eighty-five miles west of Fort Smith, a Kiowa, returning from an unsuccessful hunt, had stopped to rest his horse. He would lead the animal to water at the great lake.
¹

The Kiowa stared at the distant expanse of water, and at first believed his eyes were deceiving him. A roan horse, wearing a white man's saddle, grazed along the lake shore. First, the Kiowa led his thirsty horse to drink. Then he turned his attention to the roan. The reins had been knotted about the saddle horn, suggesting that the horse, for some unknown reason, had been set free.

As the Kiowa went closer, the roan nickered, perking up its ears. The Kiowa spoke to the horse until he was close enough. He then took his knife and slashed the double rigging, and removed the saddle he neither needed or wanted. Gratefully, the roan lay down and rolled in the grass. The Kiowa laughed, waiting for the horse to get to its feet. When it did, the Kiowa had a long rawhide lead for use as a bridle. It was then that he saw the brand on the roan's left hip. While the Kiowa didn't know what “U.S.” meant, he had seen it on many
soldado
horses, and that made his good fortune all the sweeter. He had taken a blue coat's horse without endangering himself. Leading the roan, he rode west, deeper into Indian Territory.

During the night, the four steamboats arrived. They were stern-wheelers, allowing them easy access to the prepared dock. The firemen fed just enough wood into the fireboxes to keep up steam. Dawn came, and Mark stood looking at the horses and mules. His roan wasn't among them, and he sighed with relief.

“You've just done yourself out of a horse and saddle,” Bill said.

“I reckon I'm a mite selfish,” said Mark, “but I like to think my hide's worth more than a horse and saddle.”

“Now we go to St. Louis for the whiskey,” Betsy said. “Maybe one of us can escape to a telegraph office and ask for help.”

“The boats will be loaded a considerable distance south of St. Louis,” said Keithley. “I doubt any one of us would make it to St. Louis alive.”

“Mark,” Amanda asked, “where's your Winchester?”

“In the wagon,” said Mark. “If everything just goes to hell and we have to run for it, I'll have to take me a horse and saddle from one of these owlhoots.”

“We'd better split up,” Keithley said. “Wilder keeps lookin' over here. If I don't do anything else, I'd like to ventilate his ugly carcass before I split the blanket with this bunch.”

Two wagons and their teams were to be taken aboard each of the four steamboats. To make them harder to track, no names appeared on the boats; but everyone in the gang was familiar with the
Aztec, Goose, Midnight, and Star
. Then came the horses belonging to Estrello's outriders, and the many horses and mules Estrello had taken in trade for whiskey. Counting himself, Estrello had thirty-four men. When it came time for them to board the steamboats, Estrello had a list of names.

“On the fourth boat, the
Star
,” said Estrello, “I want Long, Sullivan, Clemans, Keithley, Ursino, Stackler, Rogers, Harder, and their women. Irvin and Suggs will see there is no problems aboard that particular boat. On the
Midnight
, boat three, I want Hiram, Odell, Hamby, Kendrick, Hedgepith, Shadley, Patton, and Tilden. Shadley, you and Tilden are in charge. On the
Goose
, boat two, I want Worsham, Bideno, Jackman, Cordier, Haddock, DeWitt, Graves, and Wilder. Wilder, you and Bideno are in charge. On the Aztec with me, I want Brice, McCarty, Schorp, McLean, Renato, and Jabez. I'll be in charge. Graves, you will be my second in command.”

“Of all the rotten luck,” said Betsy. “We get Suggs and Irvin in charge of our fourth boat.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it,” Mark said. “Estrello's not about to take any chances with us. He planned it this way. We have Irvin and Suggs in charge, but we can take them if we have to. I'm surprised we're not in the first steamboat, where old Wolf can keep a close watch on us.”

“He has an ego nine feet tall and a yard wide,” said Carl Long, who had just joined them. “Even if we salted down Suggs and Irvin and took possession of the
Star
, we would still be stuck behind the others, with no place to go except farther west.”