him for something. I—I didn’t listen, you know, but I couldn’t help but hear. It
was something that happened in the dining room at the Saint Charles. I have no
idea what it was about except that Mr. Sackett avoided trouble for them,
somehow.”
Well, that was something.
Orrin never was much inclined to just sit around and drink coffee, so if he came
here more than once he had him a reason. Orrin liked to watch the people pass,
did he?
What people? There was a lot of folks yonder, and somebody was passin’ every
minute, but I had an idea he wouldn’t sit here just on the chance somebody would
pass … he must have known somebody would go by there, or maybe there was
somebody he could watch from where he sat.
I sat there about half an hour when the waitress returned to my table. The other
folks who had been drinking coffee were gone.
“Sit down,” I suggested. “My front name is Tell, short for William Tell, a man
my pa favored for his arrow shooting and his way of thinking. It’s mighty nice,
just to set and watch the folks go by. I’ve seen more people in the last half
hour than I see in two months out yonder where I’ve been, and I’ve never seen so
many people afoot.”
She was amused. “Do you ride everywhere?”
“A man wouldn’t be caught dead without a horse, ma’am. Why, when Eb Parley was
to be buried out yonder they laid him out in the hearse nice an’ proper, an’
d’you know what the corpse done? He got right up out of the coffin straddled a
horse, an’ rode all the way to the bone yard; then he crawled back into the
coffin and they buried him peaceful.”
At that moment a man walked out of the saloon across the street. He was a huge
man with heavy shoulders, the biggest hands and feet I ever did see, and a wide,
flat face. He wore boots, a red sash about his waist, and a nondescript gray
coat and pants.
“Who’s that?”
She looked quickly, then away. “Don’t let him see you looking at him. That’s
Hippo Swan. He’s a notorious bully. He used to be overseer at the Baston
plantation before they lost their slaves. Now he just hangs around the
dance-saloons.”
When I returned to the hotel I went to the desk. “Did my brother leave no
message at all when he left?” I asked.
“As a matter of fact, Mr. Sackett, I did not see your brother that day. He sent
a messenger for his valise.”
“Just that? No written message?”
“Of course. We would never give a guest’s baggage to anyone without an order. In
fact, we have it on file.” He got out the message. It was written on ordinary
tablet paper, and the handwriting was nothing like my brother’s excellent
script.
Opening the register to my brother’s entry I laid the two signatures side by
side. There was no resemblance.
The clerk’s face grew flushed. “I am sorry, sir. I think I had better call the
manager.”
CHAPTER III
Up in my room, I sat down to do some figuring. Orrin was surely in trouble, and
it was serious trouble by the look of it. He was not a man to seek difficulties,
and he had a smooth tongue for them when they came, so what could have happened?
He had not returned to his room. Somebody else had picked up his luggage, using
a forged note to do it. Whoever came for the valise hadn’t dreamed there’d be a
rifle and saddle locked up at the hotel. Folks visiting in New Orleans rarely
came equipped like that.
Looked to me like the only lead I had was that woman he’d spoken to in the
coffee shop—Mrs. LaCroix—the name was not uncommon.
She had been in the dining room of the Saint Charles, and Orrin had helped her
with some difficulty. Now that would be like Orrin. No Sackett ever stood by
with a woman needing help. Looked to me like the dining room was the place to
start inquiries.
Missing two days … I was scared.
Orrin could be just one of many to be robbed or killed. The only lead I had was
what took place in the dining room and that might be nothing at all. Of course,
there was that time, years back, when we came downriver with a raft of logs and
had that shindig on the river front, but more than likely nobody remembered
that. Still, a look along the dance-saloon route might turn up something.
Come to think of it, I had a friend down yonder. There was a woman down there, a
mighty notorious woman now, from what I heard. She’d been a hard case even as a
youngster when I helped her out a couple of times. Bricktop Jackson was now
figured to be as tough as they come, a mighty handsome woman with a figure like
nothing you ever saw, but a woman who could, and would, fight like the dirtiest
waterfront brawler you ever did see. Bricktop was a thief, a murderer, and a lot
of other things, but she would know what was happening along the mean streets,
and maybe she would tell me.
There was a tap on the door. I took up my Colt and shoved it down behind my
waistband, then opened the door. It was that Negro bell man that I’d given the
dollar to.
“Mr. Sackett?” He stepped in and closed the door behind him. “I have some
information, suh.”
Well, I went down into my pocket for a dollar, but he wasn’t hungry. He said,
“Your brother had an altercation, suh. He exchanged a few words with Mr. Baston,
suh.”
“Baston?” Where had I heard that name?
“Andre Baston, suh.”
He said it like it was a name I should know. When I looked puzzled he said,
“Andre Baston is thought by some to be the most dangerous man in New Orleans,
suh. He has killed twelve men … in duels, suh; with pistol, knife, or rapier
he is considered the best.”
In some places that might not have meant so much, but New Orleans was no
ordinary town.
“What happened?”
Briefly, he explained what had happened in the dining room, but it did not come
to much. There had been some words, but it was purely a small matter, and, had
anybody but this here Baston been involved, nobody would have paid it much mind.
“Those people he was talking to? Was their name LaCroix?”
“Yes, suh. It was. They are fine people, very fine people, suh.”
“And the Bastons?”
This Negro was a fine-looking man of fifty or so, with an inborn dignity and
obviously some education. His distaste for gossip was evident, but there was
something more here, too. Now I ain’t given to second sight, but feelings show
through, and it was right plain that this man liked the LaCroix people, but not
the Bastons.
“There are many Bastons, suh. Some of them fine people. Most of them, in fact.
Old Mr. Philip, suh … before the war, suh, I was one of his people. He was a
fine man, a fine man.”
“What about Andre?”
He hesitated. “Mr. Sackett, I would have no dealings with him, suh.”
“You did say he had killed twelve men.”
“I said he had killed twelve men in duels, suh. There have been others, suh,
when the arrangements were less formal.”
Well, that didn’t get me anywhere. Orrin had exchanged a few words with Baston
and they had parted. If I could talk to the LaCroix people they could tell me
what was said, but the lead did not look promising. It looked to me like Orrin
had just dropped off the world.
Two days more of hunting and inquiring left me exactly where I was when I
arrived. Now Orrin had been missing four days. And then I located the LaCroix
family.
When I was shown into the library where they were sitting they seemed surprised.
Mr. LaCroix got up quickly, but he was a mite stiff, I could see. He was a
fine-looking man, well up in years. “Mr. Sackett? I am sorry. I was expecting—”
“My brother, I guess. Orrin’s a sight better looking than me.”
“You are—”
“William Tell Sackett, ma’am. Fact is, I came to see if you had seen my
brother?”
“Seen him? Of course. He sat beside us at dinner one night, and I believe Mrs.
LaCroix saw him at the coffee shop one day.”
“Yes, I did. It was.a chance meeting but a fortunate one as I wished to thank
him again.”
“Sir? What happened that night? I mean, if you don’t mind. You see, Orrin’s been
missing for four days.”
Well, they exchanged a look, and it was a scared look.
“If you could tell me just what happened, it might help,” I suggested. “I’ve