“I’m sorry,” I said. “I have an excellent offer to build a steamboat here. It is what I came west to do.”
He was silent for a few moments. “You are a Canadian?” he asked suddenly. “From Quebec?”
“I am.”
He hesitated again, as if uncertain how to proceed. “We need a man of your skills,” he said. “On such a trip there is much danger and often a need for repairs. Miss Majoribanks wishes to go up some of the unknown rivers, and there will be no boat yards there, nor any skilled workmen.”
“I would have thought,” I said, “that the men you have with you there would have various skills.”
“There’s also the matter of companionship,” he suggested. “You are obviously a man of intelligence, of breeding. You work with your hands, but you’re cut from a higher class.”
“What do you know of my class?”
He waved a hand. “It is obvious. You are a gentleman, a man of culture and background. It is in your bearing, your style, your manner of speech. You are most certainly of French ancestry, but not completely so.”
“Not completely so,” I agreed. “And you, Colonel Macklem? What is your ancestry? Your breeding? I do not find it so obvious.”
He looked up suddenly, and the glance he shot at me was not pleasant. I had touched a nerve, a point of extreme sensitivity. It was a thing to remember.
“Does it matter?” He stood up suddenly, so suddenly that I took an involuntary step backward. It irritated me, for he noticed and was amused. “What matters is that we must have you with us. What inducement can I offer? A chance to trade for furs? To look for gold? To become suddenly rich in some other way? You seem to be a fighting man—”
“I?”
“You.” He looked across the table at me. “We understand each other, you and I. We are both men of the world. To the west there are vast lands, free for the taking. There are estates to be had more vast than anything the feudal lords of Europe could dream of.”
He looked at me.
“To build a boat is all very well, but to own a thousand square miles … every inch of it yours … that is something! Fortunes await the strong, and land is there for the taking.”
“One day I shall go west but when I go it will be to trade, not to conquer.”
He shrugged. “As you will.”
His face was half in shadow now. “I think you are a fool,” he said abruptly.
For the first time, I thought him a little uneasy.
“Goodbye then.” He held out his hand. I almost took it, but I should have had to shift the gun to my left hand.
“Goodbye, and my best wishes to Miss Majoribanks. By the way,” I said casually, “did you know that Simon Tate rode east with a message from her?”
He froze. “Tate? Who is Simon Tate?”
“He owns the inn where we met. He is quite influential in a political way. He rode off in great haste.”
Macklem left and closed the door behind him. I barred the door and went back to bed. Yet for several hours, I remained awake.
I dozed.
There was a quick rap on the door. I got up and unbarred it.
Jambe-de-Bois was there in his greasy cloak, his long hair straggling about his face, his eyes wild.
“They’ve gone! You let them go!”
Swiftly, I turned to the window. It was dawn. Where the steamboat had been, there was nothing. The dockside was empty, and on the river there was no trail of smoke.
Something sank within me. They were gone. She was gone.
CHAPTER 13
“You do not know him! He is a devil, that Macklem! A devil!”
I had never seen him so disturbed.
“What could I do? I went to her, and she would not listen. He was here last night, and—”
“Macklem was here? To see you? Oh, my friend!” When I told him what Macklem had wanted, he nodded his head. “Of course! He has her, her boat, and he has Macaire. Once he gets you, the slate will be clean.”
“What slate? What are you talking about?”
“Who can connect him with Foulsham? You. Who is going west after Charles Majoribanks? His sister. If Charles does not escape, the sister does not get back. Macaire, in whom she has confided, does not get back. And then if Macklem gets you—”
Irritably, I brushed it off. “You assume too much. We suspect much, but we know nothing at all. I cannot for certain connect him with the murder of Foulsham. He was in the vicinity, but so was I. And so were you.”
Jambe turned abruptly. “He did not remember me,” he muttered. “Or if he remembered, he didn’t care! What could I do? Of what could I accuse him without in turn accusing myself?”
“Let’s have some food,” I said, “some coffee, at least.”
We went downstairs and sat at a table in the corner from which both the doors to the street and the kitchen were visible.
Jambe placed his scarred fingers on the edge of the table, and I looked searchingly into his eyes. “You know this man, Jambe-de-Bois. What is it you know?”
“Too much!” he said. “He is a fiend! I am a bad man, mon ami, but I am not an evil one!”
“There is a difference?” I asked ironically.
He nodded seriously. “Much difference! Much! Sometimes one is bad. One steals, one kills when fighting, one takes a ship here and there, but what one does is done in heat, it is done sword in hand against other swords, pistol against pistol, fist against fist. You are a fighting man. You understand this?”
I nodded.
“I am bad, mon ami, but I am not evil! I am a thief. But never have I killed just to be killing! Never have I held in contempt a human life! Never have I tortured, never have I abused the helpless!
“I am not evil as Macklem is evil! He is cold, vicious, without heart or scruple. He kills to be killing, with no anger but only contempt. He despises men, and despises women even more. The girl … Miss Majoribanks. He hates her most of all!
“Yes, I know him. But I do not think he now knows me. At first … well, I was afraid. I, who have feared nothing, fear him.
“But I was younger then, without this beard and this gold ring in my ear, with two strong legs.
“He has been what he is from a very young child. He was so in the slums, yet his beauty of body won him attention. He was given a chance. He was taken into a wealthy home and educated, yet when the time came he tortured and killed his benefactors. He escaped to sea. He betrayed his ship, stole the money, went ashore, and took a new name.
“He has betrayed, defiled, ruined, and always with an easy smile—with laughter even. And many times he has been on the verge of great wealth, but always something defeated him.
“We came ashore on an island in the eastern waters, came ashore with treasure for each of us to share. Four of us to bury it, and Macklem brought a lunch and several bottles of wine.
“We drank the wine. I drank little because it was food I wanted. I stole meat from the basket, and when I thought I’d been seen, I threw it quickly down. Later, where the basket had been, I saw a rat … a dying rat, kicking its life out … poisoned.
“Turning, I ran back down the beach. All were drinking, most were drunk. When I shouted at them, Macklem turned deliberately and lifted a pistol to shoot me.
“Oh, I was young then. I had two strong legs, and I turned and dove into the brush. The bullet cut a leaf above my head.
“I ran and ran … he did not follow. Behind me I could hear the screams of the other two men, dying. He had poisoned them both.
“For three days, guarding our boat for himself, he hunted me. Twice, knowing I would be hungry, he left poisoned food upon the beach. Traps. The rats and gulls died, but not I. Finally, he left.”
“And the treasure?”
“He was no fool. He took it with him.”
It was a terrible story.
“After seven long months I was picked up. Since then I have heard of him often. Several times I have seen him, though he does not recognize me. I have searched for him, followed him, waiting for the moment when I might see him die.”
“Yes, Jambe, I understand,” I said.
“But he does not die. With any weapon he is a master. I have never seen his equal. Believe me, mon ami, do not provoke him. He will fell you.”