wrists, but he continued to work and strain. Nothing happened, but the rawhide
did seem a little looser. Again he lay listening, his bound wrists in the water.
He could hear rats rustling somewhere forward. So far they had not come near
him. Given time, they would.
Above, all was still. How many men were aboard? There had been two, but now
there must be at least four, and they were waiting … waiting in the darkness,
armed and ready.
It had to be Tell, of course.
If anybody was coming to help it had to be his brother, for there was no one
else. Tyrel was far away in New Mexico, and none of the others were anywhere
around as far as he knew.
Rousing himself, he strained against the rawhide. Then he hooked it over the
nail again and chafed it against the nailhead. The minutes passed. He worked,
strained, tugged against the nail, and soaked the rawhide. He tried to turn his
wrists inside the thongs, and they turned, ever so slightly.
Something furry brushed near him and he made a violent movement of repulsion.
The rat went scurrying. He hooked the thong over the nail again and jerked and
tugged. Suddenly, something gave. The strain on his wrists slackened. He shook
his wrists, twisted them, and the thongs came free.
He brought his hands around in front of him. His wrists were raw and bloody, the
cuffs on his shirt were bloodstained. He opened and closed his hands—they
worked.
Swiftly, he went to work on his ankles. Topside all was still … he must
remember that. In this quiet they could hear any unusual movement. He had no
weapon, but he stood up slowly, making a noose of the rawhide. The piece from
his ankles was all of five feet long. He tucked it into his belt and picked up
one of the loose boards.
Not heavy. About six feet long and one by four inches. Not what he would like,
but useful. He stretched his muscles and moved closer to the hatch. There was a
door, then four steps to the deck. He moaned … then again.
There was a stir topside. He grunted, thumped the deck, and then he heard soft
footsteps. He heard fumbling with the hasp on the outside of the door, then a
low call. “Hurry, Jake! Here they come!”
The door opened and the man with the lantern leaned forward and extended the
lantern, peering into the dark hold.
With all the force he could muster, Orrin smashed him in the face with the end
of the board, driving it with two hands, like a lance.
The man screamed and toppled over backward, his lantern falling, breaking, and
spilling kerosene all over the steps. Flames sprang up, but Orrin leaped over
them and lunged up the steps.
Somebody out on the water yelled, “Back off! Back off!” There was the roar of a
shotgun. Orrin lifted the fallen man from the deck, slammed him against the
bulkhead, and ripped a gun and a knife from his belt. He knocked the man
sprawling and ran for the rail.
A huge man rushed around the corner and Orrin struck out with his fist, the fist
that gripped the knife. The blow was wild, but it connected solidly, and he cut
back and down with the blade. He felt cloth tear, heard a grunt of pain. A
teeth-rattling blow caught him on the side of the head.
Orrin staggered, swung again, and then, knife still in hand, went over the rail
into the water. Meanwhile, he was conscious of several gunshots, and a second
bellow of the shotgun.
He came up in the dark water, felt the smack of a bullet on the water near him,
then went under, turning at right angles. But he had seen the boat, and he
struck out for it, swimming strongly.
His head came above water, and he said, “Tell!” in a low but carrying voice.
Instantly, the boat turned toward him. He dove, coming up on the far side. He
grasped the gunwale of the boat. He saw the mast, several men, and light
reflected on gun barrels. In the houseboat beyond, flames were leaping from the
hatch and they could see men running with buckets, trying to put out the fire.
“Tell?” he whispered again.
“Orrin, damn you, when you get in be careful where you set. I got a new
suit-coat folded on that seat, yonder.”
Hands helped him in, and then the oar began, sculling the boat further away on
the dark water. Orrin’s head still buzzed with the blow he had received, and the
raw flesh on his wrists was stinging with salt from the water.
“Anybody got anything to drink? I haven’t had a swallow since morning time.”
Somebody handed him a bottle. He drank. “Burgundy,” he said, “but a poor year.”
“What happened to you?” I said. “You’ve been missing for days.”
Orrin chuckled, drank again, and said, “Well, you see there was this girl—”
“I met her.”
“I’ll bet. But did you ever see that house she lives in? All white, with pillars
yet, and great big oaks all around, and lawns, and—”
“What happened?” I repeated.
“We had a nice drink, and then dinner. By that time I wanted to return to the
hotel. We had coffee and when I came out of it I was on that houseboat yonder
and they were asking me questions about Colorado—about something hidden there.
“What could I tell them? All we’re looking for is pa, but they wouldn’t believe
that. They beat me around a little, but not near as much as you did a few times
back home when we were tussling. They figured on using some red-hot irons next
time, so I decided it was time I left.”
He drank again. “I’ve heard of southern hospitality, but this is going too far.”
A little breeze came in from the sea and we hoisted our sail. I picked up my
coat and held it in my lap.
Setting there in the boat, I listened to the low rumble of talk between the men.
Somebody had warned the men on the houseboat and they had been waiting for us.
Only the scream of the man Orrin hit had warned us. As it was, they had shot too
soon when we were still only a shadow on the water, and their old-fashioned guns
had scattered shot too quickly.
Despite our precautions, we had been followed. Somebody had seen us leave, and
they had brought word to the houseboat by some shorter route through the bayous.
Had Orrin made his break an instant later we’d have been within sight and range,
and some of us, perhaps all, would be feeding the fish and the ‘gators.
“Tell,” Orrin edged closer in the boat. “We’ve stirred up more than we know.
There’s been something lying quiet down here ever since pa disappeared, and
we’ve upset the applecart.”
“We’d better leave,” I suggested. “It ain’t worth getting killed over. Not just
to find out what happened twenty years ago.”
“Before we leave we’ll make a call on Philip Baston. I think he could tell us
something.”
Well, we could do that, but I wanted to leave. New Orleans had always been a
favorite town for me, but this time we just weren’t likely to have much fun.
Yet what had happened those long years ago? And what did it have to do with us,
and with pa? Somebody wanted to keep us from stirring muddy waters, but they
also suspected we were here for some other purpose than hunting for pa.
Nobody was around when we tied our boat to the old dark wharf and came ashore.
The Tinker and Tomas, the man in the striped shirt, walked along with us to the
Saint Charles.
It was almost daybreak and there was nobody about, and I was just as pleased.
Neither me nor Orrin looked like anybody you would expect to see at such an
elegant hotel, but nobody saw us as we came in.
We’d slept maybe an hour when there was a discreet tapping on the door. It was
Judas Priest. “I’ve drawn a bath,” he said, “and if you will, gentlemen, take no
more time than you need. Meanwhile, I will brush and press your clothing.”
“What’s up?”
“The law,” he said gently. “The law will wish to talk to you. I suggest you look
and talk as innocently as possible. It is easier to get into prison here than to
get out, and Andre Baston still has friends in town.”
He took out his watch. “At best you have an hour. Probably less.”
An hour later we were seated in the dining room, bathed, shaved, and combed. Our
clothing was pressed, our manner calm. Each of us was reading a newspaper when
the law came in.
CHAPTER VII
The man who approached our table was short, thickset, and dapper, but there was