The Dawn of Fury (28 page)

“Nobody out here but us,” Nathan said. “Where is all that bunch?”

“The gamblers are in their cabins licking their wounds,” said Silver. “The gambling—if there is any—won't get under way until after supper. The cook and his helper are French, and you can't understand a damn thing they say, but they flat know how to turn out the grub.”

“Do we eat with the crew or with the passengers?”

“With the passengers,” Silver said. “They have to get used to us.”

Supper was announced at five bells, and the passengers who had visited Stumberg's gambling houses were a morose and unenthusiastic bunch. They all looked, Nathan thought, as though they had learned the truth of the old adage that the odds always favor the house. The two house dealers ate alone, while the women chose not to eat at all.

“I'd say there won't be much gambling between here and St. Louis,” said Nathan. “They're all too busy licking their wounds.”

“That's usually the way of it after a week at the gambling tables,” Silver replied. “We'll get plenty of shut-eye.”

“We don't know that some of them won't be in here after some hair of the dog that bit them,” said Nathan. “We can't just hibernate in our cabin, can we?”

“Stevens and Harkness will be here in the lounge,” Silver said, “and they can probably provide any needed action. If it becomes heavy enough, they'll pound on our door.”

“No women, either, I reckon,” said Nathan.

“Not usually,” Silver said. “Trinity and Shekela are two of Stumberg's most dependable girls, and they're along mostly to excite the new crop of gamblers on their way to New Orleans.”

“They're the most dependable,” said Nathan, “meaning there are some who might jump ship if they got the chance.”

“You said that,” Silver replied. “I didn't.”

Nathan said nothing, drawing his own conclusions. As Silver had predicted, Trinity and Shekela were absent from the lounge, as were all the gamblers on their way back to St. Louis. House gamblers Stevens and Harkness sat with hats tipped over their eyes, apparently resolved to a long evening of doing absolutely nothing. Nathan and Silver returned to their cabin.

“At first,” said Nathan, “it seemed like two hundred a month was too much to pay a man for settin' on his hunkers and doing nothing. Now, damn it, I'm startin' to wonder if it's enough.”

Silver laughed. “It's always dull on the way to St. Louis, but you'll see some action when we pick up a new crop of gamblers and head south to New Orleans.”

For the lack of anything better to do, Nathan and Silver shed their boots and hats and tried to sleep. But for Nathan Stone, sleep was long in coming. It seemed the throb of the engines and the throbbing of his head were one and the same. His was a long, restless night, and he was thankful when at last he could see the graying of the dawn through the single porthole. The call to breakfast came at seven bells, and Nathan thought the despondent gamblers looked as washed out as he felt. There was one difference, though. When he and Silver chose a table, they were joined by the house gamblers, Stevens and Harkness, and eventually, by the saloon girls, Shekela and Trinity. The latter was discreetly dressed, smiling, and a far cry from the nearly naked girl Nathan had seen at Stumberg's gambling house. Stevens and Harkness were dressed in almost identical pin-striped suits, and looked exactly like what they were. Silver spoke to the four with easy familiarity, introducing Nathan. It was to Nathan that Harkness spoke.

“Maybe we can get up a friendly four-handed game,” Harkness said.

“Yeah,” Stevens agreed. “Trinity and Shekela won't play with us.”

“You're always wanting us to play strip poker,” said Trinity. “We don't get paid to strip for you.”

“A woman that strips for money shouldn't be so damn particular,” Stevens said.

“That's
all
we do for money,” said Trinity, and she didn't smile.

With that, Shekela and Trinity left the table and returned to their cabin, ignoring the laughter of the leering gamblers. Nathan and Silver said nothing, and conversation lagged. It suited Nathan when nothing more was said about a “friendly” game. The day dragged on. Surprisingly, after supper, three of the gamblers who had visited Stumberg's place gathered around the roulette wheel. Stevens, representing the house, took charge of the contraption. For a while, Nathan and Silver watched, but the bets were small and they soon lost interest. They returned to their quarters and stretched out on their bunks.

“God,” said Nathan, “we've been on this damn boat just a day and a night, and I can't rightly remember when I wasn't here.”

“Get used to it,” Silver said. “This is only Monday night. It'll be near sundown on Wednesday before we dock in St. Louis.”

Nathan lay awake in his bunk for what seemed like hours, until he ached all over. Finally he got up, and when Silver's snores continued, he slipped out the door. He was in his sock feet, but it didn't matter. Reaching the lounge, Nathan wasn't surprised to find it empty, and continued on until he reached the open deck. For a while he stood near the rail before the stern, watching the big paddlewheel churn the muddy water to silver in the pale moonlight. He started back the way he had come, and when he reached an open hatch to the lower deck, he paused. Yielding to temptation, he climbed down the steel rungs that formed a ladder. When he reached the lower deck, he was well past the forward portion of the deck where firemen fed the greedy fireboxes beneath the boilers. Ahead there were but two bracket lamps along the corridor. Nathan could see the doors to sixteen cabins—eight on either side—and again he recalled Silver's obvious reluctance to discuss them. They were probably locked, just as Silver had said, but Nathan was determined to see for himself. The first seven doors were locked securely, but Nathan's heart leaped when he tried the eighth. The knob turned easily, and in the flickering light of the single bracket lamp, Nathan Stone found himself looking through heavy iron bars! French Stumberg was indeed involved in white slavery!

The bars were a second door—the door of a jail or dungeon—and it was locked securely. But the bars didn't prevent Nathan from looking into the cell. Against the wall, one above the other, were two narrow bunks. Near the barred door there were two sets of chains, one end of which had been bolted securely to the floor. The other end of each set had sprung manacles, waiting to encircle the legs of the pair of unfortunates who were cast into the tiny cell. Above the throb of the engines, Nathan's danger-sensitive ears heard the snick of a hammer being eared back. Never without his Colts, he tensed.

“Don't try it,” said Byron Silver quietly.

Nathan relaxed, moving his hands carefully away from the butts of his twin Colts. Just as carefully, Silver eased down the hammer of his Colt and then holstered the weapon. Only then did he speak.

“Curiosity killed the cat, my friend. You don't take advice well, do you?”

“Stumberg told me to prowl the boat, and this is part of it. I believe I'm entitled to know how these cells with leg irons fit into Stumberg's plans.”

“I'm sorry you feel that way,” Silver said. “I was beginning to like you.”

“And now you don't?”

“I don't have much feeling, one way or another, for a dead man,” Silver replied, “but I owe you something. I'm going to give you one more piece of advice. Don't trust anybody in Stumberg's pay.”

“Even you?”

“Even me,” said Silver.

Without another word, he walked away. Nathan closed the door on the cold iron bars and followed . . .

During the rest of the trip, Byron Silver said nothing to Nathan about the incident on the lower deck involving the chains and barred doors. Nathan was left to draw his own conclusions, and they were by no means pretty. The
Queen of Diamonds
docked at the landing a few minutes before sundown, while the weary—and probably broke—visitors to Stumberg's gambling houses could hardly wait for the gang plank to be lowered. It would be a while, Nathan thought, before any of the lot again undertook so foolish a journey. Captain Elias Lambert, a man shaped rather like a rum keg, had positioned himself so that he could observe those departing.

Nathan was quick to notice that none of the crew did. “None of Stumberg's bunch is going ashore,” Nathan said. “Do we have to ask permission from the captain?”

“No,” said Silver. “We can go now. The captain will remain aboard, of course, to secure the boat, and several firemen will be needed to keep up steam. We'll be leaving at eight o'clock in the morning.”

“Then we don't have much time,” Nathan said. “I believe I'll just pass up supper. How do we get back aboard tonight?”

“Be here before ten o'clock,” Silver replied. “That's when old Lambert puts everything to bed. After that, he wouldn't lower the plank for Stumberg himself. I reckon I'll go with you. Do you have any destination in mind, or do you just aim to look around?”

“I've only been through here once,” said Nathan, “and I don't know the town. There's some ex-Rebs I promised my Daddy I'd look up, and I've heard that St. Louis is a kind of crossroads where, sooner or later, everybody shows up. Do you know of a particular place that might cater to varmints that's pretty much rough around the edges?”

“Hell,” Silver said, “that could apply to half the joints in town. But if I had to choose just one, I'd pick the Red Rooster Tavern.”

The Red Rooster was within walking distance of the steamboat landing, one of many such establishments along the river. Not only was it a saloon of considerable proportions, it also boasted a lunch counter. There were sandwiches of several kinds, including ham, steak, or bacon and egg. There was cornbread and beans, Polish sausage with sauerkraut, chicken and dumplings, fried fish and roasted sweet potatoes. After the limited fare on the steamboat, it was a veritable feast. There was even fresh butter and plenty of hot coffee.

“It's suppertime,” said Nathan. “Before we do anything else, let's eat.”

The bar was virtually deserted, with two bartenders polishing glasses, while men were lined up at the lunch counter awaiting tables. Nathan and Silver had a table against the wall where they could see the door. The two men who took the table next to Nathan and Silver had the look of frontiersmen; their Colts were thonged down and their range garb was rough and worn. Suddenly Nathan paused, set down his coffee cup, and listened to the conversation.

“. . . already a five-hundred-dollar reward for this Cullen Baker,” one of the pair was saying.
¹⁴

“There's a scar-faced bastard ridin' with him,” his companion replied. “A gent name of Tobe Snider. I hear he's as snake-mean as Baker. Ought to be some bounty on him.”

It was enough for Nathan. He slid back in his chair and stood up, and for the lack of a better approach, he leaned on the back of a chair and spoke to the strangers.

“I wasn't meanin' to listen in, but I heard you gents talking about Tobe Snider. I'm looking for a gent name of Virg Dillard, and he once rode with Snider. I promised my pa I'd look up Virg. Have you heard of him?”

The pair laughed, and the one who had mentioned Snider spoke.

“Your daddy ought to be more careful who he socializes with. A man that's a friend to Baker or Snider is askin' for a bad name. And no, we ain't heard of Virg Dillard.”

“I didn't say he was my pa's friend or mine,” Nathan replied, irritated. “I owe him something. Do you have any idea where Cullen Baker is?”

“Hell,” said the second man, “we don't know
where
he is, else we'd track the varmint down and collect the bounty. He's wore out his welcome in Texas again, and the Federals have chased him back into Arkansas.”

Nathan took his seat at the table and continued eating, but his mind was wrestling with what he had just heard. He now had reason enough to believe Tobe Snider had left New Orleans, but had Virg Dillard gone with him? When there was nobody seated within hearing distance of their table, Silver spoke.

“So that's your game. The vengeance trail. Is this Dillard the only one, or just next on the list?”

“I don't consider that any of your business,” Nathan said.

Silver smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. “You're right. According to frontier custom, I have no right to know any more about you than you want to tell me. Just as you have no right to question me.”

Neither man spoke again. A waiter brought a pot of steaming coffee and refilled their cups. Only then did Silver speak.

“For what it's worth, you'd best hang around New Orleans for a while. I seem to recall that when Cullen Baker gets in trouble in Arkansas, he crosses the line into Louisiana until he can sneak back into Texas.”

Nathan nodded, saying nothing. It was as close as Silver would get to an apology for his breach of Western etiquette.

“I'm not much of a drinking man,” said Nathan.“What are you of a mind to do, short of going back to the
Queen of Diamonds?”

“I'd like to get my back to the wall and play some poker.”

Nathan laughed. “You're a caution. All the way from New Orleans, Stevens and Harkness tried to lure you into a friendly game.”

“Where I come from,” Silver said, “there are no
friendly
games. There's only win or lose. For reasons you can likely figure out for yourself, it's not healthy knowing too much about the habits of Stumberg's house men.”