“No, ma’am, I would not ruin you for what you want because all those things you
want don’t amount to anything. They are just little bits of fluff and window
dressing that you think will make you look better in the eyes of folks.
“You think maybe having a mite more money will build a wall around you to keep
you from what’s creeping up on you, but it won’t. Out there where I come from,
there’s folks that want the same things you do and will go just as far to get
them, but all of them wind up on the short end of the stick.
“As for me, ma’am, I wouldn’t ruin as easy as you might think. There’s nothing
you could offer me that I’d swap for one afternoon ride through the hills, and I
mean it. Once a man has lived with mountains you can’t offer him a home with a
prairie dog.”
She walked away from me then and I stood and watched her go, a beautiful woman,
beautifully gowned. Never did I see a woman walk away from me but I regretted
it. I had no woman now. Ange was gone. We’d had something fine there, for a
little while. As for Dorset—she’d gone off and I did not know if ever we’d meet
again.
Sitting alone, I had another glass of wine and thought about what was to come.
I knew the Absinthe House. It was a popular place in New Orleans, and a lot of
the young bloods did their drinking there, and their meeting of each other. It
was on a busy corner where two people meeting would not be noticed much.
I paid my bill and went out into the quiet warmth of the street. There were many
people there, strolling, talking, laughing. From the cafes and the dance-saloons
there was music, but I walked down along the avenue, hearing little of the talk,
pausing from time to time to check my back trail.
At the corner where the Absinthe House stood there were many people walking back
and forth. I went into the cafe, glanced around at the crowd there and saw no
familiar face. As I turned, a short, thickset man appeared close to my side.
“This way, m’sieu.” When we stepped around the corner, the Tinker was standing
by a covered carriage.
We got in, the thickset man climbed to the driver’s seat, and we rolled away.
“We have found him, I think. And there will be trouble.”
“All right,” I replied, “just let’s get to him in time.”
We turned into darker and darker streets. I recognized a sign here and there,
and then at last we drew to a stop I heard somebody singing from a shack close
by, a lonely, sad-sounding song.
Leaving our cab we started down a dark alleyway. A cat sprang away from beneath
our feet. Somebody threw a bottle from a window and it broke upon other bottles.
We went up a few wooden steps to a small dock by the river.
All was still. No lights shone from this dock. From the neighboring dock, an
open window cast a gleam of light upon the dark, swirling waters of the river. A
boat was tied there, bumping against the underpinning of the dock, and on the
shore a man waited. A dark man in a striped shirt that fit tightly over powerful
muscles.
By the sound of his French he was a Cajun. He led the way down to the boat, and
then we pushed off. There were three other men in the boat. I balanced myself on
a thwart amidships and watched them hoist the small brown sail. There was little
wind, but we caught what there was and moved out on the dark water.
We were off to find Orrin. Please God, he’d be alive.
“Quietly,” the Tinker said, “it must be done quietly. They have more friends
close by than we.”
“You have a blade?” The man in the striped shirt asked.
“I do,” I said, and no further words were spoken as we moved out along the
river.
The night was still and warm. My mouth felt dry, and I was uneasy in the boat. I
was at home in a saddle, but not here. My hand went again to the knife.
CHAPTER VI
The wind died, lost in the surrounding trees and brush. The only sound was the
chunk of the oar at the stern. The water shone a dull black. Overhead a few
stars showed themselves faintly in the ribbon of sky the trees permitted us to
see.
We passed several boats tied up along shore, all dark and still. Twice we passed
cabins where lights still showed, and from one came drunken arguing and
shouting. We moved on, ghostlike, along the bayou.
I wondered if Orrin would be alive. There was small chance of it, although the
Tinker, who had access to much information, believed he was.
I shucked my coat, wishing I had left it behind, but there had been nowhere to
leave it. A man did not appear coatless in the evening at the Saint Charles.
“Not much further,” someone said, and I touched the haft of my knife.
Orrin lay bound in the darkness. Now and then a spider or a daddy longlegs crept
over his face. His shirt was soaked with perspiration, even where it had been
stiff with blood. He needed a drink desperately, but the men who held him
prisoner could not care less about his comfort.
They believed he knew something, believed he was after gold. Not for one minute
had they bought the idea that he was only looking for information about his
father. Somehow, something he had said had blown the lid off. He had frightened
them. He didn’t doubt that they intended to kill him when they had their
information, so he had stalled, watching for a break.
They did not know his strength or agility. They had no idea of his skill with
weapons and he had done nothing to lead them to believe he was anything more
than a lawyer, a deskman.
He hadn’t been taken in by Fanny Baston. She was beautiful, but there was
something else about her, some unhealthy air that disturbed him. He had been
careful. Every step of the way he had been sure that no one was behind him, that
he was always ready. He had not suspected his drink … not so soon.
Actually, although wary of trouble, he had not expected it. They were fishing to
see what he knew, of that he was sure, and he suspected that when they decided
he knew nothing they would bid him good night and that would be the end of it.
From the first, he had known that his mention of Pierre frightened them.
Obviously, something had happened on that western expedition that they did not
wish known. That in itself was peculiar because jurisdiction would be hard if
not impossible to establish, witnesses impossible to obtain.
From the idle talk over dinner, before things became serious, he had heard
Philip mentioned several times. And Philip, he gathered, was well-off. Philip
had also been close to Pierre. Whether they were blood brothers he had not
grasped, but it was clear that there was a bond of affection between them.
The knockout drops were unexpected. All had been casual. Andre was at the table
… so were Paul and Fanny.
The drug was in the coffee, which was strong enough to cover the taste, and
within a few minutes after he drank the coffee he realized he was in trouble.
But by that time his movements were slowed, his coordination affected. He tried
to get up, but Andre contemptuously shoved him back into his chair. The last
thing he remembered was their faces as they sat around watching him with casual
disinterest, almost boredom, as he faded out.
Something was happening. A boat bumped against the side of the houseboat and men
came aboard. There was low argument, orders, men running. Suddenly the door to
the hatchway descending into the hold where he lay was opened. A lantern held
high found him with eyes closed. The hatch closed again, and he heard the bar
drop.
He could only guess what was happening. Either they were leaving here or they
were expecting someone, and it appeared to he the latter.
In the bilge there was a little black, dirty water slopping about. Several hours
before, Orrin had worked loose one of the boards, then another. He had been
soaking the rawhide that bound his wrists in this water, and the rawhide was
slowly stretching. Already he could detect some looseness … just a little
more.
Now he hooked a slightly loosened cord over a nail projecting from where he had
removed the board, and he began to tug.
Sweat broke out on his forehead and his body. The rawhide cut deeply into his