Louis L’Amour – Ride the River

“Indians? What you are talking about isn’t exactly the far west!”

“No, sir, but there’s Indians. The Cherokee mostly know us Sacketts. Some of the others do, by reputation. The ones that know the Sackett name won’t do us harm, but there’s Shawnee around, too, and they aren’t friendly with the Cherokee right now. The Creek, too, sort of go their own way.”

I tried my coffee and it was still hot. “Have you got a rifle, Mr. Chantry?”

“A rifle? No, of course not. Not here.”

“You’ll need one, and so will I. I left mine at a tavern on the way, but it is some little distance. Regal an’ Ma, they convinced me young ladies in Philadelphia do not carry rifles as a reg’lar thing.”

“Can you actually shoot a rifle? You’re serious?”

“Yes, sir, I have shot a rifle.”

He did not take that seriously, I could see. In his world womenfolks danced, rode to hounds, partied around, and wore pretty clothes most of the time. Well, that was all right, but in the mountains things weren’t quite like that.

“Mr. Chantry,” I said after a bit, “we should smile more, like we were enjoying each other’s company. Let Horst and them think something’s going on betwixt us. If we act too serious, they are apt to get suspicious.”

He smiled beautifully.

“There! That’s better! A body would think you’d never courted a girl before.”

“I am not exactly courting you, Miss Sackett. If you wish to deceive them, of course — ”

“We’ve got to. We can’t let them guess we’re going to duck off this boat and head upcountry. I’ve got a map coming to me. A young officer promised he’d find one for me, or draw it.”

“A young officer?” He raised an eyebrow. “You do get acquainted, Miss Sackett.”

“Yes, sir, when it’s necessary. He’s a right handsome lad, too.”

“You’ve talked to him?”

“Of course. Several times. He’s the tall blond officer.”

“I haven’t noticed,” he replied somewhat sharply.

“No reason why you should. You noticed Essie Buchanan, though, didn’t you?”

“She intends to be noticed. She dresses to draw attention.”

“And she gets it.” I swallowed some coffee and then added, “She wanted me to meet some men. One of them, she said was very well-off.”

“You didn’t accept, I hope?”

“Well, no. But a girl has to think of her future, and most of the boys back in the hills are spoke for. You see, I am sixteen, and where I come from, that’s almost an old maid.”

“As I have said, I do not think Essie Buchanan is fit company for a young girl.” He glanced at me in a very professorial manner. “She’s what is known as a shady lady.”

“Well, what do you know? I always wondered what one of them would look like. Regal’s told me a good bit about them.”

“And who is Regal?”

“I thought I told you about him. He’s my uncle, and he goes round and about from time to time and is quite a man with the ladies. Right now he’s laid up. Had him a little go-around with a bear.”

“You mean he shot a bear?”

“Not exactly. This was a notorious bear, a trouble-making bear, and he tackled Regal, not knowin’ he was a Sackett, so Regal had to kill him. Not until they’d disputed the subject, however.”

“Killed him? How?”

“Mostly with a knife. He’s got him one of those Tinker knives and he cut that bear up considerable. Finally did him in with his ax but not until the bear chawed on his leg and arm and clawed his ribs.”

“You mean he killed a full-grown bear with a hunting knife and an ax?”

“Wasn’t no other way. The bear wouldn’t wait for him to fetch his shootin’ iron, so they just had at it, an’ Regal fetched him.”

She looked at him seriously. “You ever eat much bear meat, Mr. Chantry? Grandma Sackett, she says there’s no other way to raise a boy. Got to feed ’em bear meat when they’re young. Ever’ two, three days she’d take down her rifle-gun and fetch home a bear from the woods. Got so we had to move.”

“Move? Why?”

“No more bears. She either killed ’em all or they just got tired of dodging her and taken off out of the country. Grandma, she was a caution.

“If you do come to the mountains with me, we’ll feed you some bear meat. Good for you. Puts hair on your chest, Regal says.”

He looked shocked. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything about hair on his chest. Young ladies didn’t talk that way, I guess. No doubt where he lived young ladies weren’t supposed to know that a man grew hair on his chest.

“I got to go now. I have to meet that young ship’s officer. He should have that map for me.”

He stood up, his features stern with disapproval. “I could have gotten a map for you,” he protested.

“Here? On this boat? A chart of the bends and of the places they will stop?”

Walking forward to the rail which was just above the steps leading down to the cargo deck, I waited, watching the river. Suppose there was no stop? Could we leave the steamboat while it was moving? We would need a boat, of course, or a raft.

Robinson came along shortly. He was good-looking in his uniform coat and cap. He glanced around to see if we were watched, but there was nobody in sight.

“Here’s the Big Sandy, right after we make the bend, after passing the Guyundat. The Indian Guyundat is a creek on the right side.” He gave me a sharp look. “What d’ you want to know all this for?”

“Mr. Robinson, you must tell nobody. Nobody, do you understand? I have to leave the boat and I do not want anyone to know.

“Mrs. Buchanan will certainly be asking. Tell her I’ve gone forward, tell her anything, but try to make her believe I am still aboard.”

“But, ma’am, there’s nothing there at Big Sandy! I mean, there’s a landing. We’ll nose into the bank there and load some freight, but it won’t be more than five minutes.”

“That’s all I need. But please! Don’t tell anyone! Not even the captain!”

“Somebody will see you.”

“Maybe, maybe not. I hope not.”

He had drawn a dark line on paper showing the river and where the various creeks came into it. I studied it for a few minutes after he was gone, and then returned to my cabin. Essie Buchanan was not there, so I looked through the carpetbag to make sure everything was all right. I did not know what they intended, but suspected they planned to rob me when I left the boat in Cincinnati.

Our arrival at Big Sandy would be very late. If I could I would smuggle the carpetbag out of the cabin when Essie had gone to supper, passing it through the outer door to Dorian Chantry.

What did the arrival of Felix Horst mean? Had he received some knowledge that the others had failed? But how could he know that?

No, Horst must have some plan of his own. Perhaps he wanted me to be far enough away from Philadelphia or Pittsburgh and in a place where it would take time for word to get back, if it ever did. People were often lost on the river, and the Cave-in-the-Rock had been a hideout for outlaws for years.

Horst was no fool and he would not want to risk being taken by the law again. He would know how much money I was carrying and he would choose his time very carefully.

The day passed slowly. Green Bottom Ripple, a dangerous place, was negotiated with care. I watched the creeks to check them off in my mind; then I went back to my cabin and lay down on my berth. I wanted to rest before the coming night.

Essie Buchanan came in. “What’s the matter, dearie? Not feeling well?”

“I’ve a headache,” I lied, “Just not feeling well, I guess, or maybe it’s ague. I’ve had fever an’ chills all the morning. I think I’ll just lie here.”

“Want me to bring you something?”

“No, thanks. I’ll just rest.”

At suppertime I went to the main cabin, and as Essie was at another table and could not observe, ate well enough. Dorian Chantry sat across from me.

There were folks sitting close by, so we could not talk of what we planned, nor about ourselves. There was time to look around and see those who traveled with us. One was an Englishman, interested in western America, who wanted to know everything. He asked a sight of questions and it seemed like he was suspicious of answers. He evidently had a different idea in his mind than what he was discovering to be true, and was uneasy about it.

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