A Dangerous Promise (15 page)

"Jim?" Mike asked, but Jim didn't answer. Mike was alone.

Mike made himself sit down and lean against the nearest wall. He could rest this way. He could even sleep.

But sleep gave him little comfort, as flashing lights and the tread of footsteps filled his dream. Worst of all, Jiri held up Todd's watch and laughed wickedly.

Waking with a start and a cry, Mike saw that the flashes of fight were real, not part of a dream. He heard someone say, "Listen. Did you hear that? What was it?"

"I didn't hear anything," a man answered.

Another man laughed. "Probably a rat. You're going to find plenty of rats in these bmldings near the water."

Mike would have recognized that scornful voice and laugh anywhere—^Jiri's.

As quietly as he could, Mike stood and put one eye to the crack in the door. The two men stood a fair distance away, their backs to Mike's hiding place.

Carefully, Mike pulled the door completely shut and leaned against the wall, weak with fear. What if he were discovered? The men with Jiri would never believe that it was Jiri, not Mike, who had really stolen the watch. With Jiri out to get him, Mike knew he wouldn't stand a chance.

The lanterns came near, outlining the edges of the door in thin streaks of light. Close to panic, afraid to breathe, Mike tensed, waiting for the door to burst open and Jiri to appear.

But instead the light faded as the searchers moved on.

Li a short whfie darkness closed in like a smothering blanket, and the storage rooms fell silent.

Mike's knees buckled. He slid down the wall, collapsing

onto the floor. They had gone! They hadn't found him! Exhausted from tension and sudden relief, Mike gradually fell into a deep sleep.

"Mike!" A voice interrupted his sleep. "Wake up, Mike!"

He opened his eyes to see Jim, lantern held high, peering through the open door.

"Jiri was here!" Mike mumbled.

"I know. I saw Jiri and his friends, along with Doyle— one of the ship's crew—heading for the storage rooms. I waited until they left."

"What about Doyle?" Mike asked as he crawled out of the hiding place and stretched, rubbing his stiff and aching arms and legs. "Won't Jiri have him looking for me?"

Jim shook his head. "Doyle's Federal and has no use for Jiri and his like. He'll go through the motions, but he won't help Jiri."

"Jim!" came a call from the front of the storage rooms.

"It's time to get to work," Jim said. "We've got to help load the cargo."

"Do you think I could find a cap anywhere around here?" Mike rubbed his head and tried a smile. "I'm not as sure as you are that Jiri won't still be looking for this red hair of mine."

"I thought the same," Jim said, and pulled a small-billed cap from his pocket.

"Jim? Mike? Where are you?" Seth shouted.

Jim made a face. "Back here!" he called. "We'll be right there!"

The heavy grunt work of loading and storing the cargo was only the beginning. As the sun broke the early gray of the sky, Mike found himself carrying wood to the firemen in the boiler room, polishing the brass on the inside stairways, and giving a final mop to the smudged footprints on the decks of the MaTij Belle,

A half hour before the ten o'clock departure, Mike

headed for the top deck, carrying a rag and a tin of abrasive with which to scrub the brass fittings. But when he stepped close to the railing, he saw Jiri coming up the gangplank.

Mike stumbled back, out of Jiri's line of vision, and raced down the stairs, nearly colliding with strolling passengers who were headed for their cabins or the chairs they had bought on deck.

Stopping to regain his breath and rest his leg once he'd reached the main deck, Mike glanced into the ornate carpeted room where many passengers had gathered and saw Jiri ascending a gilded stairway that curved up to the lounge on the deck above. Good! He'd probably already been below! Trying not to attract attention, Mike ducked down the stairway to the lower deck and into Jim's cabin. Nothing seemed disturbed, and Mike's knapsack was still imder Jim's bunk. Mike squirmed under the bunk and nestled behind the knapsack and Jim's store of possessions, hoping that Jiri wouldn't look there a second time.

The engines started up with such a roar, the entire boat vibrated. Mike heard the boat's huge pistons set up a regular and steady rhythm, then the slap and splash of the pad-dlewheel as it began to turn. As the Mary Belle slowly moved away from the landing, Mike was disappointed that he couldn't be on deck to see the action.

The door to Jim's cabin burst open. "Mike? Are you here?" Jim called.

"I'm under the bunk," Mike answered, and squiggled out of his hiding place. "Jiri's on the ship!" he said.

"Not now, he isn't," Jim answered. "Only passengers. Everybody else had to go ashore." He tugged at Mike's arm. "Hurry up on deck. We've got lots of work left to do, and if we're not hard at it, Seth's going to be angry."

Mike grinned. He was free of Jiri, and he could be on deck for departure. He tucked both watches into the bottom of his knapsack and reported to Seth. Before he knew it, he

was coiling heavy twists of rope on the main deck starboard.

Mike had the river side of the ship almost to himself, as most of the passengers crowded to the port side, waving at friends on shore or watching the boat slip slowly past familiar landmarks. Enjoying his peaceful solitary work, Mike didn't realize anyone was approaching until a pair of boots stopped right before his face.

Mike looked up to see Jiri Logan's scowl. He jumped to his feet in terror. "W-what are you doing here?" he stammered. "Only passengers are supposed to be on board."

"So it is you—Corey Blair's friend," Jiri said, smug with satisfaction. "I knew you had to be the thief who stole my watch."

"The watch isn't yours, and I didn't steal it," Mike snapped. ''You stole it! After you killed Todd."

Jiri chuckled. "Corey told me you'd come after the watch and would probably end up with it. 'Stubborn,' he called you, I well remember. Stupid's a better word for you."

"What good is the watch to you?" Mike demanded. "Why should you go to so much trouble to hunt me down?"

Jiri spat out the answer. "Nobody bests Jiri Logan. Especially a half-growed whippersnapper! I'd be a laughingstock to my friends who heard what Corey said. Some even have a good-size bet riding on the outcome." Anger twisted Jiri's face. "Give me the watch," he demanded.

"It's not yours," Mike insisted.

Jiri took a step forward, and Mike backed against the raiL "It is now."

Jiri suddenly lunged, but Mike ducked, the rope whipping out of his hands. To Mike's horror, Jiri's ankle caught in a twist of the rope, and he lost his balance, the force of his lunge carrying him over the railing.

Mike heard a slap as Jiri hit the water. In shock, Mike leaned over the rail.

Jiri surfaced, his pale face breaking through the waves

set up by the paddlewheel. His mouth opened in a desperate shout, but the boat's engines and the splash of the paddlewheel were so noisy, Mike was unable to hear him. Frozen in terror, he watched Jiri go under, then surface again among the flotsam and driftwood, this time farther from the boat.

He's going to drown! Mike realized. / can't let him drown!

"Man overboard!" he screamed. "Help! Man overboard!"

Two of the crew appeared at Mike's side. "Where?" one of them shouted, already preparing a line to throw.

Mike and the two men stared at the muddy water, seeing nothing more than ripples from the paddle.

"He's gone!" Mike whispered. He leaned against the rail, feeling sick. "It's too late. He's gone."

Jim, along with a few passengers and crew members, ran to the deck to see why Mike had shouted. As one of the crew rushed off to inform the captain, Mike drew Jim aside.

"It was Jiri," he whispered. "He tried to attack me. I ducked, and he lost his balance and went overboard. I called for help, but it was too late. He disappeared in the waves."

Jim put an arm around his friend's shoulders and held him firmly. "Get hold of yourself," he said. "And whatever you do, don't tell who it was or how it happened. If you blurt out the whole story of why Jiri was after you, you'll find yourself escorted off the boat and into a Confederate prison for sure."

Mike couldn't help shivering. "I should have acted faster. I should have tried to save him. No matter how much I hated him, I didn't mean to kill him."

"You didn't kill him. You yelled for help, and you can't be blamed for what happened." As the captain and second

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mate came striding across the deck, Jim whispered, "Remember, you can't deliver yom* friend's watch to his sister if you're in prison. First thing off, the guard will snatch it."

Mike gulped. He had two pocket watches to deliver, not just one, and Jim was right. What good would it do Jiri or anyone else if Mike blurted out the entire story?

As the boat's officers arrived, the captain immediately assumed authority. "I understand your name is Michael Kelly, and you were hired in Jefferson City as a deckhand."

"Yes, sir," Mike answered. Out of respect, he pulled off his cap and clutched it to his chest.

"You seem to be the only one who saw the incident take place," the captain said. "I'd like to hear your story."

Mike took a deep breath. "I was coiling rope, sir. Someone passed me, and next I heard the splash of water. I saw a head come up out there"—Mike pointed—"and then again there, when he came up a second time. I realized what was happening so I yelled 'Man overboard,' and two of the crew came running."

One of the crew spoke up. "Dooley and I were on hand, Captain, but we didn't see anything. I wondered at the time if the lad could have heard a fish jump and imagined he saw someone. This old river's full of floating logs and who knows what else."

The captain turned to the second mate. "Do a passenger check. Account for every single person. And have one of your personnel do the same with the crew." To Mike he said, not unkindly, "You did the right thing by calling for help, so there's no need to look troubled. For now, I beheve you have some work assignments to take care of."

His glance rested briefly on each of the other crew members present, so the group around Mike quickly dispersed. Jim paused just long enough to grip Mike's shoulder and whisper, "Good job. Everything's going to work out just fine. You'll see."

Less than an hour after the accident, Mike was back at

work. While polishing the lamp fittings on the top deck, he tried to sort out his thoughts. Jiri was a Confederate soldier. If he'd been killed on the battlefield, would I have cared? Not a whit. So why do I feel guilty that he drowned? If Jiri had gotten his hands on me, I might have been the one to go overboard. It all made sense, yet Mike couldn't ease the heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach. If it weren't for him, Jiri wouldn't be dead.

But as Mike was caught up in the routine of work on the riverboat and soothed by the slow sluggish pace of the giant paddlewheeler, he began to forget his troubles. During the next two days he managed to share a few pleasurable and relaxing moments with Jim. They talked about old times in New York City, friends left behind, and the open spaces of the West—which they'd both come to love.

"I've heard that even farther west there's a range of mountains that reach the sky," Mike said.

Jim grinned. "Better yet, some of those mountains are filled with gold and silver nuggets, just lying there for the taking."

Mike scoffed and poked Jim's shoulder. "If that's so, then why aren't you out there filling bags with nuggets and living like a king?"

Jim laughed. "I'll go there someday," he said, "when my days on the river are over."

"And when will that be?"

"I'll know when it's time."

On the third day, Seth interrupted their talk by hitting the cabin door with his fist and shouting, "We're fixin' to dock soon at Lexington! All hands topside and ready for work."

Mike knew the landing routine by heart, having practiced it when the boat had docked at Booneville and Glasgow. He stood at the prow, port side, clutching a thin line with a monkey ball fastened to one end as a weight. The

other end of the line was firmly attached to one of the heavy ropes used to wrap around the cleats on the dock so the boat could be moored.

As the ship approached the dock, Mike expertly twirled the monkey ball, slinging it across to a waiting dockhand, who caught it and began to reel in the mooring line. At the stem of the ship, Jim stood prepared to do the same as soon as the stem began to swing toward the dock.

Mike ran to his next job, helping to lower the long gangplank down and over to the port side. With a bump the boat docked and was securely moored, and the gangplank dropped into place.

For a moment, Mike enjoyed watching some of the passengers depart, but his attention was caught by the crowd on the landing who'd come to see the steamboat's arrival. Two women rushed, open armed, to greet a friend, and before the crowd closed together again, Mike saw a handful of Confederate soldiers standing alone at the back. Some carefully scrutinized the passengers leaving the ship, while others searched the deck.

Mike quickly stepped back. Using the swarm of passengers on ship as a shield, he cut to the starboard side of the boat, where he knew he'd find Jim. "Tell me—you know the river. Could Jiri have made it to shore?" Mike asked.

"Only if he was a good strong swimmer."

Mike glanced over his shoulder. "There's a half-dozen Confederate soldiers on the landing. It's obvious they're searching for someone, and I have a feeling it's me."

"Is Jiri among them?"

"I don't know."

Jim slowly shook his head. "I don't understand. Why does Jiri care so much about that watch?"

"For one thing, he's got a fierce amount of pride," Mike said. "And to make matters worse, there's a bet involved." He brightened. "Still, I feel better, thinking he might be alive. I didn't like to think I was responsible for his death."

"You're a strange one, Mike," Jim said. "If it was me Jiri was after, I'd feel better knowing he was down at the bottom of the old muddy."