Moontrap - Don Berry (33 page)

"When y' get to the bottom of it, ever' man
jack's alone in this world. Y' come in alone, an' you'll go out
alone. An' in between times you're alone."

"What you don't see, hoss," Monday said.
"There's times a man got to run with the sheep or go under."

"
I ain't sayin' nothin' about that. I'm just
sayin' it's one or the other."

"
Friends of me," Devaux said slowly. "Me,
I think you are both wrong."

"Rainy," Webb said, "if'n there's
anythin' that riles me, it's a drunk that contradicts his betters."

"I excuse myself," Devaux said politely
"But you are both wrong. Me, I am not alone, and moreover I do
not run with the pack. For me, there is the Conspiration."

"Conspiration?" Webb said suspiciously "I
don't b'lieve that's a real word."

"
Mais si
,
is a real word, conspiration," Devaux said.

"
That's like when y' get together t' plot
somethin', " Meek said.

"Is like a secret society, but the Conspiration
is not secret. Anybody can see it. Me, I go anywhere, an' there are
others like me."

"Where the hell you get a idee like that?"
Webb demanded.

"My
pére
,
he tell me before I leave Montreal, he say, 'René, never forget you
are part of a great conspiration. No matter what happen, there are
other members of the Conspiration, and you will know them.' An' he
was right moreover, him."

"
How d' y' join this here Conspiration?"
Meek asked.

"
You do not join it," Devaux said. "It
exists. You are part of it or not. There is no joining."

"So what d' y' do?" Webb said. "Y'
plot things, like Meek said?"

Devaux shrugged. "Do? You do nothing. Maybe help
each other once in a while. Mostly nothing."

"Ain't a hell of a lot o' point to 'er, then,"
Meek said.

"Ah!" Devaux said. "But friend of me,
when you see the Conspirauon, you know. It is that somewhere in the
world—everywhere—there are others like you. And after that, you
are never alone. There is always the Conspiration."

"
No!" Webb snapped, suddenly angry. "A
man's dead alone, an' the sooner he realizes it the better off he
is."

"Whoa back, boys," Meek said. "Ain't
no use arguin' while there's still serious drinkin' to do."

"
No arguing," Devaux said. "Me, I have
no envy to argue."

"
Drink up, drink up!" Meek said, swishing
his bottle around in the kettle. "Why the hell's ever'body so
serious all of a sudden? Rainy I think what happened is your 'pair'
or whatever y' call 'im dropped y' on y'r head afore y' left
Montreal."

"That," Devaux said, "is very
probable. But it does not change the facts." He shrugged. "The
Conspiration, it exists."

Meek looked at the little Frenchman, who was
completely serious. "Rainy," he said, "y're either a
lunatic or y' got the answer t' one hell of a lot o' problems with
that there Conspiration."

"Me, I am a lunatic," Devaux admitted
cheerfully. "An' moreover, I have no problems, me." He
dipped his bottle in the kettle and pulled it out. "Now I wish
we have not put the tobacco in," he said morosely. "And I
wish we had some violins. Me, I am amorous of the violin."
 

Chapter Fourteen

1

Is 'at dunghead goin' t' sleep? "Webb demanded
after a while. Meek leaned over and nudged Monday. "Jaybird, you
goin' t' sleep? Webb wants t' know."

Monday opened his eyes and raised his head off the
ground. "No, I ain't goin' t' sleep. I'm just restin' my eyes."
He put his head back down.

"
You know," Deyaux said, "he don't
tolerate whisky, that one."

"
This nigger don't tolerate it neither,"
Webb muttered. "He plain likes it."

"Well, you got t' remember," Meek said.
"This here is two, three times stronger'n what we got in the
mountains. Mebbe four. I don't know. How the hell should I know? Y'
shouldn't of ast me!"

"
Wagh!
"
Webb tipped his bottle up for a long time. When he brought it down he
said, "Y'know what I say? I say this is one hell of a
Independence Day. I ain't shot off my gun even oncet. Just sittin'
here gettin' stupid drunk with a bunch o' sad-ass dungheads."

"Is not as lively as some," Devaux
admitted, looking at the mouth of his bottle.

"What I mean is, I ain't had any
fun
,"
Webb complained. "That's what makes me mad, I ain't had any
fun
."

"
Me too," Monday muttered, dragging himself
up to a sitting position. "Me, I vote it's a hell of a
Independence Day."

"I ain't votin' on nothin'," Webb said.
"I'm just sayin'. You niggers is all crazy with y'r votin'. I
ain't votin ' it's a hell of a Independence Day, I'm just sayin'. "

"All right," Monday said. "I'rn just
sayin' too, then. The bastards won't let y' have any fun. Makin'
speeches t' come over you, won't let y' on their damn little ship."

"
Hey. regard," Devaux said. "You woke
up."

"
I was just restin' my eyes," Monday
explained.

"That was a bad thing, that captain and all,"
Devaux said musingly.

"An' what's more," Monday said, "I
don't b'lieve they got any right t' keep us off'n that ship. We're
citizens, ain't we? An' that's a government ship, ain't it? It
belongs t' us, sort of. They can't keep us off'n it."

"Not me," Devaux said. "Me, I am not a
citizen."

"Meek," Monday said. "You know all
about law an' things. They got any right t' do that just because we
ain't dressed right?"

"
They done it, didn't they?" Meek said.

"Me, I'd just as soon not be in the United
States if that's the way it's goin' t' be," Monday muttered.

"I'll tell y' what let's do," Meek said.
"Let's sink 'er."

"
Sink who?" Webb said.

"That ship. The
Portsmouth
,"
Meek said. "Let's sink 'er."

"
Wagh!
"
Monday said softly, thinking about it.

"Right t' the bottom o' the river," Meek
said gleefully.

"
Never done nothin' like that, " Webb
admitted. "By god, that sounds like a hell ofa good idee, Meek.
Let's do 'er!"

"
Me, I don't think I can," Devaux said
glumly.

"
Why not?"

"Me, I am not a citizen."

"Y're a deputy, ain't you? That's practically
the same thing," Meek said.

Monday frowned slightly "Y'know, I think you got
this deputy thing wrong, Meek. I think it must be more complicated
than that."

"Mebbe so could be," Meek said cheerfully
"Ain't nobody objected so far, though. Listen, what d' y' say?"

"
Hell, I say fine, but I don't know how to sink
a ship."

"They got McLoughlin's cannon up on the hill,
ain't they?" Meek said. "It's perfect, y' couldn't ask for
anythin' better. We'll just put 'er under slick with that cannon."

"By god, she's worth a try" Monday said,
scrambling to his feet. He wavered a little and put his hand on his
forehead. "Whoo! Di'n't know it got so drunk out this time o'
year. Hooraw, coons, let's go."

"
Hold up, there," Webb said, and the other
three turned to look at him.

"Now don't you go gettin' cranky, hoss,"
Monday said. "Else we'll vote on y'again."

Webb's face was set in a contemptuous grimace. "You
so damn hell-fired eager. Ain't y' forgettin' something?" He
gestured to the whisky kettle.

"
Wagh!
" Monday
said. "Damn near did at that. Best bring 'er along."

"
Me," Devaux said, "I just take a
little bottle. I had enough, almost."

"
It ain't f'r us, altogether," Monday said
reprimandingly.

"Hell it ain't," Webb snapped. "Who's
it f'r if it ain't f'r us?"

"
F'r them poor survivors," Monday said.
"Thats how it is when there's a tragedy at sea. Y'give the
survivors a drink. It's sort of traditional."

"
I s'pose that may be right, though I don't much
give a damn myself about survivors," Webb said dubiously.

"
Y'know," Monday said. "ifn we have t'
vote again. y' may not live through it this time. It's risky stuff
when y'ain't in the majority."

"
Moreover," Devaux; said, "is you and
Meek got to carry it, because we rowed."

After a little arguing for the sake of appearances
Webb gave in and agreed to carry the kettle at least halfway. But he
insisted that the question be reopened at the halfway point. When
this was agreed, Webb squatted down in front of the kettle and put
his arms around it. His hands did not come together on the opposite
side. With an enormous tug he got it off the ground and stood
wavering for a moment, just his face showing above the rim. His eyes
had a wild glare as he stared at the others from behind his load.
Monday turned away so as not to laugh and make him mad.

"It's too damn heayy," Webb said angrily.
Slowly he stooped back down, gently resting the kettle on the ground
again. "No man living or dead that could carry that thing."

"So much the better," Monday said. "That
means we got plenty of drinkin' to do."

"That damn kettle's solid cast iron, y'iggerant
dunghead. That's whats
heavy."

 
"Listen," said Meek. "One of us
take each side an' it'll go fine, all right?" He lifted up the
bail and gestured for Webb to take the other side.

"See? That does 'er slick. We're off!"

They made their way through the brush at the edge of
the clearing and started down the bank, Devaux and Monday holding
bushes aside for the kettle-bearers. When they reached the very edge
of the stream, the kettle was gently lowered by all four.

"
You're doin' fine," Monday encouraged,
"you're doin' real good."

Webb scowled at him, but took the kettle bail again.
With Monday and Devaux cheerfully leading the way they waded
downstream. Behind came Meek and Webb, their free arms outstretched
for balance, the kettle swinging precariously between them and
occasionally banging against their legs.

"God damn it, Meek!" Webb complained.
"You're doin' that a-purpose. Holt on t' that thing."

"Here's a slippery rock," Monday said.
"Watch the moss, now."

"Watch y'r own damn moss," Meek said. "You
want t' carry this thing?"

Monday shrugged. "Just lookin' out f'r y', coon.
'Cause, if anythin' happens t' that whisky we'll have t' kill y'."

With the overbalancing weight of the kettle and the
slipperiness of the bottom, the going was uncertain and tended to be
spasmodic. But in reasonably short time they had reached the mouth of
the Twality, where it emptied into the broad flood of the Willamette.

"This is halfway,"Webb said firmly. He sat
down on the bank and took off his moccasins, pouring the water out of
them.

"No, it isn't nearly halfway," Monday said.

"I ain't carryin' this damn thing a step farther
than halfway," Webb said.

"Listen," Meek said in an injured tone,
"I'm doin' half the work."

"
Wagh!
"

"Now don't worry, hoss, we'll let y' know. Y'
ready t' go again?"

Monday considerately helped Webb up, but the old man
brusquely shook him off.

They started downriver toward the falls, keeping to
the flat edge of the water where they could, occasionally detouring
up the bank a little when there was no path at all. Webb was
unrelentingly suspicious of Monday's estimate of distance, and
insisted every thirty or forty yards that they'd passed the halfway
point.

"Now, listen, hoss. It just seems like that
because it's farther goin' back than it was comin'."

"
Farther! just exactly the same, y'dunghead. How
c'n it be farther?"

"F'r one thing account of y'r judgment's got a
bit cloudy," Monday explained. "Anyways, it ain't very far
from Christmas t' New Year's, but she's one hell of a stretch from
New Year's t' Christmas. Now ain't that right?"

Webb closed one eye and peered at him, his teeth
clenched. But Meek interrupted just as the old man was about to
speak, saying, "C'mon, boys. We'll never get there if we stop
an' argue ever' ten feet." .

"Oh, we got lots o' light, yet," Monday
said, feeling cheerful.

2

Still, the sun was behind the hill when they reached
the cannon emplacement. There was a road of sorts high on the hill
above the river, and the cannon was about twenty yards below that
level, perched on the edge of a narrow rock outcropping that dropped
fifty feet into the river.