River Queen (23 page)

“I sure hope so, Dallas. I feel for the Ashbys. I wasn’t acquainted with them, but I heard what happened to that family when Mr. Ashby died. Big scandal, I’m sorry to say. Anyway, you remember the terms, right? I’m paying you half the money. You collect the other half from Pike at the other end when you deliver.” He took an envelope from his breast pocket and said, “It’s cash. Easier for you and the Ashbys. You can count it if you want.”

“No, sir,” Dallas said, tucking it into his trouser pocket. “Thank you.”

Fender hesitated and said, “Be sure you get the money before you let Pike have the livestock, Dallas. And if I were you, I wouldn’t take a bank draw.”

Dallas nodded. “That way, is it?”

“I don’t know anything for sure against him; as far as I know he’s always paid his freight. You just hear things. If I were you I’d get cash.”

“I’ll make sure of that. Thanks again, Mr. Fender.”

Dallas went back to the boat. The animals made a horrendous racket. The cows were bawling now and the pigs sounded like an undulating screech. The boat shook as they herded them on board.

Pushing pigs aside, Dallas made his way along with the animals up the gangplank and saw that the men were having trouble driving the cows into the wooden pen they’d built overnight for them. He took off his hat and started whacking them, calling, “Hup, hup, git along, little dogies! Git on in there, c’mon, git!”

Finally the pigs were happy and already wallowing in the hay covering the cargo deck, and the cows were happily snorting and snuffling from a trough filled with mash. The crew brought in the landing stages, and men on the docks and on the nearby steamboats called out to them.

One squat river man with his mouth covered by a fierce black beard and mustache yelled, “Hey, Dallas, I got a load of snakes I got to ship down river. You want to take them? I can get you a good price.”

Dallas said, “You bring ’em right on board. We’ll take anything that flies, crawls, swims, or hops.”

When they finished he told Ring, Willem, and Jesse, “Let’s blow outta this joint. We got a date in New Orleans.” Grinning, they went back toward the firebox and the engine room. Dallas climbed the stairs and saw the family lining the rail on the Texas deck, watching. He gave them a quick wave and called, “We’re on our way! Miss Carley, blow me a kiss for good luck!”

With enthusiasm Carley kissed her hand and threw the kiss at him.

He hurried to the pilothouse, relieved because Carley hadn’t followed him to insist on ringing all the bells. It had been fun, when they had been just trying out the
River Queen
, but this was serious business and it would have been very inconvenient for him to have Carley—or anyone else for that matter—in the wheelhouse while he was pulling out of the crowded docks. It was still early morning, and dozens of steamers, flatboats, barges, and rafts were crowding the waters at the busy port.

And also, Dallas admitted to himself, it was the first time in over a year that he had stood in a wheelhouse, the pilot, taking a valuable load of freight on a good tough steamer. He was elated, and it was not something he wanted to share right at that moment.

Ring’s voice sounded up through the listening tube. “She’s ready to go when you are, Dallas!”

Grinning like a little boy, he reached up and rang the backing bell.

At about ten that night Dallas heard a timid knock on the pilothouse door behind him. “Am I disturbing you?” he heard Julienne ask.

“Not at all, come on in.”

She came in and stood beside him, but not too closely, giving him room. A perfect half moon shown down on the old river, and it lit her face with a gentle ghostly light. “Beautiful,” she whispered.

“It’s a good night on the river,” he said quietly.

The water-moon bobbled along the smooth black water, always before them, teasing them along. The
thunk-thunk-thunk
of the paddle wheel was a comforting background timpani. They were traveling along a stretch where the river blossomed out to over a mile wide, and the dark blur of the woods along the shore seemed to be floating fast past them.

They were, it seemed to Julienne, far on the right side of the stream. Even as she reflected on this, Dallas eased the wheel over slightly, and the
Queen
obediently slid over, closer to the center of the river. They slid along, then soon he turned back and they hugged the starboard shore again. “Why are we kind of jiggling along all on one side?” she asked curiously.

“Because along this stretch, on the port side, the river is shallow for a little over a mile, and then there’s a sandbar. You have to stay on this side until we get past the sandbar.”

“So you know the river that well? Even how deep it is over there and about that little sandbar?” she asked with interest.

He never took his eyes from watching alertly straight ahead. “Miss Ashby, I know every sandbar, every snag, every current, every hole, and every bend and loop of this old man. Every pilot does. We have to.”

“Are you telling me that you actually
memorize
this river?” she said in amazement.

“Four times,” he said evenly. “Upriver, downriver, day, and night.”

She digested this for awhile. Ahead she saw a soft yellow light, and as it grew closer she could see a little river shanty, with two windows in the front. “Do you know the people that live there?” she asked curiously.

“No, but we call it Jameson’s point. It’s a landmark for a pilot. I see that shack, and I know that just about a mile ahead is the big landing for the Jameson plantation, so I have to be ready to pull out around it.”

“But does that mean you know exactly how many miles per hour we’re traveling? And you calculate one mile, and then you know when you’re coming up on the landing?”

“No, not really. You just know, you just feel it. It’s kind of hard to explain. But anyway, I do know that we’re going about thirteen miles an hour, under easy steam. That’s fast, Miss Ashby. That’s real fast. I’m proud of the
Queen.
”

“Me too,” she said. “She’s giving us a lovely ride. Except for the scent, of course. But I’m not complaining,” she said hastily. “I—I just wanted to tell you that I’ve changed, Dal—Mr. Bronte. I’m determined to be grateful for all the wonderful things that you’re doing for us, and the good things that we have to look forward to, now that the
River Queen
is giving us some hope for the future. And—and in spite of—everything, I like the river. I can see the day when I might even love it.”

His face became alert when she almost called him by his first name. Now he said intently, “You know, Miss Ashby, this river has tried to kill me four times, but I still love it. I’m glad that that wreck didn’t ruin everything for you, forever.”

It was the first time they had ever spoken one word about the wreck. Julienne swallowed hard and said with difficulty, “Mr. Bronte, about that night—that night, in the barn—”

“Please stop,” he said harshly. “That was not you, Julienne. I know you now. That was a woman that was in shock, that had lost her best friend in an awful death, that was frightened, and was already half dead. And I don’t want to talk about it any more, except to tell you that I’m so sorry for everything. I would not hurt you for all the money on this earth,” he finished vehemently.

She dropped her head and furtively wiped tears from her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it any more either, except for this: Thank you for saving my life. Thank you for bringing me home safe. And thank you for your care of me and my family.”

“You’re welcome, ma’am,” he said.

She turned again to watch the river. He rested his hands on the wheel, as the
River Queen
glided sweetly along. After awhile Julienne said, “If you’ll let me call you Dallas, I’d like for you to call me Julienne.”

“I’d like that,” he said. Staring straight ahead, he smiled.

THE WHARVES AT NEW Orleans were not a place that Julienne wanted to linger. Always before she had landed there and had immediately been whisked quickly away in fine carriages to where rich people ate and drank and lived. She stood on the Texas deck, watching the teeming masses of people, carts, horses, and herded livestock below. It was, of course, no better than Natchez-Under-the-Hill, but somehow Julienne felt more vulnerable, even frightened, by the crowds of riverboat men.
I suppose Natchez-Under-the-Hill is the devil I know, she thought glumly. Who would have thought that I’d feel some bizarre sort of security there?

They made the turn into the docks. She saw a big man with a bright red waistcoat strained over a large belly, smoking a stub of a cigar, watching them as they nosed into Slip Number 86, which was on their shipping orders. She felt the paddle wheels stop and the engines slow to silence. Soon Dallas came down the stairs to help lower the landing stages. To Ring he said, “Keep ’em in until I say so.”

“You bet, Dallas,” Ring said. “But hurry up, would ya? I won’t be sad to see these critters go.”

Dallas shrugged. “I’ve had human beings that gave more trouble. Some of ’em even smelled this bad.” He walked out onto the dock, and the big man wearing the scarlet vest came at once to see him. “You Bronte?”

“Yes, sir, pilot of the
River Queen
.
Are you Mr. Pike?”

“That’s me, here’s my bill of sale from Fender, you can take a gander at it. I brought my drovers, they’ll help you unload.”

“Sure, Mr. Pike. Here’s the bill of lading. As soon as you pay your freight, we’ll get to it.”

“I’ll get you paid after they’re offloaded,” Pike said impatiently. “I know my cows are thirsty, and those pigs are losing weight every minute. I’m in a hurry.”

Dallas pulled himself up to his full six foot, two inches. “That livestock has been well-tended. They can wait until I’ve got my money, sir.”

Pike’s face grew flushed. “You don’t trust me?”

“It’s not a matter of trust. It’s business. I’ve got your cattle. You got my money. You give me the money. I’ll give you the cattle. Simple business transaction.”

Pike stuck the dead chewed cigar in his mouth and growled, “Maybe I’ll just leave them with you.”

“Fine with me. I got half pay for this trip from Mr. Fender. I’ll just sell them myself, which will cover the rest of the freight, and make me a nice little profit on the side.”

“You can’t do that,” he said, but now with much less bravado.

“You just watch me, Mr. Pike.”

He stared at Dallas and for a moment, it seemed, he would argue more. Then he muttered a curse under his breath, reached into his pocket and pulled out a bankbook. Quickly Dallas said, “We’re not going to be here long enough to go to town and get your draft cashed, Mr. Pike. But I need fuel money for the trip home. It’s going to have to be cash.”

“Cash!” he cried, his face reddening again. “My draft is perfectly good! I could just leave that bunch of pigs on that boat, you know!”

“You already said that, and then we decided that you’re not going to do that,” Dallas said with elaborate patience. “Cash, Mr. Pike.”

Muttering darkly, he pulled a rolled wad of cash out of an inside jacket pocket, licked his thumb, and started flipping bills out of the wad. Dallas watched him closely. He started to gather them up, and Dallas said politely, “Twenty more dollars, Mr. Pike, I see you’ve miscounted. Must have been an accident. Yes, I see that twenty right there, that’ll do it.” As soon as it had been added to the pile, Dallas yanked it out of his hand. “Thank you so much, Mr. Pike, it’s been a pleasure doing business with you. You can have your pigs now.”

“That would be ever so kind of you, Mr. Bronte,” Pike said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Dallas turned and walked back up the gangplank, followed by two of Pike’s four drovers. The other two stayed on shore, for Pike had a long line of wagons with high sides to carry the livestock.

On the Texas deck above him, he saw the Ashby family lining the rail, watching the goings-on. He noticed that Darcy Ashby was dressed to the nines, with a blue cutaway frock coat, silver satin waistcoat with a gold watch chain, iron-creased black trousers, and a black silk top hat. He and Julienne were arguing; at least, he looked angry, and she seemed to be pleading with him. But he had much more important things to attend to, as he came to the main doors of the cargo deck he shouted, “Let ’er rip, Jesse! All the little piggies are going home!”