Texas Timber War (14 page)

Fargo nodded, but he drew Thorn aside and said in a low voice to the engineer, ‘‘Let me guess. . . . None of the other riverboat captains will hire those two anymore—is that right?''

Thorn shrugged. ‘‘Stokin' a firebox is normally a job for younger fellas, but I've worked with Rollie and Jasper before. They won't let us down.''

Fargo hoped Thorn was right. At this point, they didn't have any choice. They had to do the best they could with the help that was available.

‘‘Nobody else wanted the job?''

Thorn shook his head. ‘‘Not with Red Mike and his bunch on the rampage.''

‘‘All right. Is Captain Russell already on board?''

‘‘Up in the wheelhouse,'' Thorn replied, jerking a thumb in that direction.

Fargo climbed to the upper deck of the riverboat and entered the wheelhouse. Andy Russell, his wounded arm still in its sling, sat on a stool at the table, studying the charts spread out in front of him. He wore a blue jacket draped over the sling and a black river-man's cap on his head. He greeted Fargo with a curt nod and said, ‘‘We'll have steam up in about fifteen minutes. By then it'll be light enough to see what we're doing.''

Fargo propped the Henry against the wall where it would be within easy reach as he stood at the wheel.

‘‘You reckon you're gonna need that rifle?'' Russell asked.

‘‘I hope not,'' Fargo replied, ‘‘but I'd rather have it and not need it than need it and not have it.''

Russell chuckled. ‘‘Those are words to live by, all right.''

Fargo took the wheel, wrapping his fingers around the handles at the end of a couple of the spokes and getting used to the feel of it. Handling the big stern-wheeler was quite a responsibility, and he would be handling it by himself, without anyone to relieve him, since the
Bayou Princess
was operating with a skeleton crew. They might be able to pick up some more men in Shreveport, though, for the return trip.

Fargo looked through one of the wheelhouse windows toward the stable where he had left the Ovaro. He had gone by there on the way to the waterfront, and the Mexican liveryman had promised to take good care of the big stallion while Fargo was gone. Fargo and the Ovaro had been trail partners for a long time and had pulled each other through many a dangerous scrape. He would miss the big fella while he was gone on this trip down the bayou.

A few minutes later, Thorn reported through the speaking tube that the boilers had been heated up enough. They had steam up. Russell stood up and called back through the tube, giving the order to engage the engines. With the bayou widening out into the Turning Basin next to Jefferson's waterfront, there was no need to reverse the engines. The
Bayou Princess
simply pulled away from the timbered wharf, curving into the basin as the paddle wheel revolved faster and faster. In the wheelhouse, Russell told him how much to turn the big wheel, and the Trailsman followed the orders.

It took several minutes for the riverboat to turn around so that it was headed back down the bayou, and by that time people were gathering on the shore to watch it depart. Normally, the captain of a riverboat would let off a couple of blasts on the steam whistle to signal his intention of pulling out, but Russell hadn't done that. Still, despite the early hour, enough people were out and about so that the
Bayou Princess
had been unable to slip away unnoticed.

As Fargo glanced at the small crowd, he couldn't help but wonder if any of them were spies for Baxter and McShane. Even if none of them were, the word would spread quickly. A man on horseback could probably reach the river pirates' camp on Alligator Slough before the stern-wheeler could steam past it. The likelihood was that trouble would be waiting for them somewhere along the way.

But at least the journey had gotten off to a good start. The air, while still humid, was cooler early in the morning, and the sky was a beautiful shade of pale blue, tinged with rose in the east where the sun was coming up. The steady chugging of the engines had a music of its own.

‘‘Well, we're on our way,'' Captain Russell said.

Fargo nodded. ‘‘Yes. We're on our way.''

And only time would tell what the voyage had in store for them.

The first couple of miles went past without any trouble. It didn't take long for Fargo to get a feel for the way the helm responded. Captain Russell moved his stool up next to the wheel so he could sit there and watch the bayou as it twisted and turned in front of them. His intimate knowledge of the stream made it possible for him to tell Fargo how to turn the wheel well in advance of the sandbars and other obstacles they wanted to avoid. Both men kept a close eye on the surface, watching for any snags. The sluggish current in the bayou meant that a jagged log could be lurking just under the water without causing a telltale ripple to warn the men on the riverboat.

While Fargo would never want to give up the mountains and the plains for an existence like this, he could understand how a life on the river could get into a man's blood. Even when you were traveling the same route, each bend of the river held the potential for something new. It was the same in a way with him, always wanting to see what was on the other side of every hill he came to. That restless nature was what had led him to the frontier.

‘‘You think they'll be waiting for us at Alligator Slough?'' he asked Russell.

The captain thought about it and said, ‘‘More than likely, they'll let us get past, then try the same sort of ambush they did before, with riflemen on the banks to slow us down and pirates in canoes coming up behind us. If they can get eight or ten men on board, that's enough to take over the boat.''

‘‘They won't be trying to loot the cargo,'' Fargo said. ‘‘This time their goal will be to wipe us out.''

Russell nodded. ‘‘I know it.'' He pulled back the blue jacket he wore and revealed the butt of a revolver that was stuck through his belt. ‘‘There's nothing wrong with my right arm. I can still shoot a gun. Caleb and the other fellas are armed, too. We'll put up a fight—that's for damned sure.''

Fargo knew that, but just putting up a fight wouldn't be enough. They had to win and reach Shreveport and the U.S. marshal, or Baxter would continue to get away with his campaign of murder and terror aimed at Lawrence Kiley.

By the time they neared Alligator Slough, Fargo had begun to recognize a few landmarks that warned him they were closing in on the likely spot of an ambush. Things looked a little different from the bayou than they did ashore, but Fargo's keen eyes took that into account. When he said something about that to Russell, the captain nodded.

‘‘Yeah, the mouth of the slough's not more than half a mile ahead of us. If you need to use that rifle, Fargo, you go right ahead. I'll take the wheel one-handed if I have to.''

‘‘No, you won't,'' a voice said from behind them, in the open door of the wheelhouse.

Fargo had already heard a soft step on the stairs and started to turn. His face hardened into a grim mask as he saw Isabel Sterling standing there in the doorway. She wore man's trousers and a white shirt, and her hair was pulled back into a ponytail behind her head.

‘‘Isabel!'' Russell exclaimed. ‘‘What in blue blazes are you doing here?''

Fargo could have asked the same thing, but he thought he already knew the answer. He said, ‘‘You stowed away, didn't you?''

She smiled. ‘‘I came on board while you were eating breakfast, Skye. I'm sorry I had to pretend to be asleep when you left. But I didn't want you and Cap'n Andy to have to make this trip alone. I thought I could help.'' She took a step into the wheelhouse. ‘‘Besides, I didn't want to stay there in Jefferson by myself. Not when Gideon might show up at any time.''

‘‘You mean Cutler, that no-good husband of yours?'' Russell asked. ‘‘Has that varmint raised his ugly head again?''

Isabel nodded, her smile tinged with sadness and a little fear now. ‘‘Yes, I'm afraid so. I think he sent someone to track me down, and he knows where I am now.''

‘‘We can't be sure of that,'' Fargo pointed out.

‘‘I wanted to be here with the two of you,'' Isabel said. ‘‘I'm sure of
that
.''

‘‘We ought to turn this boat around and head right back to Jefferson,'' Russell said.

‘‘Don't you
dare
! I came to help, too, not just to run away from Gideon . . . again. If there's trouble, Skye can take care of it while you navigate, Cap'n Andy, and I'll take the wheel. That way you won't have to risk reinjuring your arm.''

‘‘Be a lot more to worry about than this ol' arm of mine if those river pirates take us over,'' Russell grumbled.

Isabel rested a hand on Fargo's shoulder. ‘‘That's not going to happen,'' she declared. ‘‘We won't let it. If it comes down to it, I can fight, too, as long as you've got an extra gun for me.''

‘‘Spare pistols and ammunition in the map cabinet.'' Russell shook his head gloomily. ‘‘Let's hope it don't come down to that.''

That was Fargo's hope, all right. While they were talking to Isabel, the stern-wheeler had continued to steam on down the bayou. They had to be getting close to Alligator Slough by now, but so far there had been no sign of Red Mike McShane and his gang.

It was more likely, though, as Captain Russell had said, that the pirates wouldn't strike until after the
Bayou Princess
had gone past the slough. A few minutes later, the mouth of the smaller stream came in sight on the left. That was called port, Fargo reminded himself, since he was on a boat. The moss-draped trees sort of screened the entrance to the slough. Fargo watched it closely as the stern-wheeler paddled its way past. No canoes loaded with river pirates lurked in the shadowy tunnel formed by overhanging tree branches.

It was possible they had gotten there before the news of their departure from Jefferson reached McShane. Unlikely, but possible. Or maybe the pirates knew about it but hadn't had time to set up an ambush. Fargo didn't know. Either way, all he and his companions could do was press on.

Alligator Slough fell behind. Russell and Isabel heaved sighs of relief, but Fargo was still tense with worry as he stood at the wheel, his hands clasping it loosely at the moment. His eyes were always moving, scanning the banks along both sides of the bayou, searching for any signs of an ambush. The trees and brush were so thick that a small army could be hidden in them, and the people in the riverboat might not know about it until the bushwhackers opened fire.

Even though they had passed Alligator Slough, Fargo spotted several of the big reptiles sunning themselves on the banks up ahead. The gators could be found all up and down this bayou, as well as in Caddo Lake up ahead, not just in the slough that had been named for them.

‘‘Take a couple of turns to starboard,'' Captain Russell said. ‘‘There's an old snag up here a couple of hundred yards.''

Fargo turned the wheel, shifting his hands from grip to grip as it revolved. The
Bayou Princess
began a ponderous swing to the right.

As it did, Fargo saw the alligators on the near bank suddenly lunge into the water with a swish of their muscular tails. The gators could have spotted a big fish or some other prey in the bayou they were going after. . . .

Or they could have been spooked into moving by the presence of some other predator in the brush near them.

And the most dangerous predator of all was man.

Fargo let go of the wheel and reached for his Henry rifle. ‘‘Take the wheel,'' he snapped at Isabel, grateful now that she was here. ‘‘And keep your head down!''

‘‘Skye, what is it?'' she asked, but even as she was speaking, she grabbed hold of the wheel as Fargo had told her.

‘‘I'm not sure—'' Fargo began as he lifted the rifle.

Then a volley of shots roared out from the near bank. As Fargo crouched, he heard several of the bullets thud into the wall of the wheelhouse. Another slug passed directly through the open windows, coming in from the right and going out to the left without hitting anything. Fargo sensed as much as heard the low-pitched hum as the bullet passed close by his head.

Puffs of smoke from the brush marked the location of the bushwhackers. Fargo opened fire, cranking off four rounds as fast as he could work the Henry's loading lever. The growth was so thick that he couldn't tell if he hit anything, but he would have been willing to bet that he made at least one of the hidden riflemen duck for cover.

That didn't stop the shooting, though. Rifles started barking from the other bank, too. Fargo swiveled in that direction and loosed another three shots. He heard the crackle of pistols from down below and knew that Caleb Thorn, Rollie Burnley, and Jasper Milton were joining in on the fight.

Captain Russell, who was kneeling next to the chart table, turned his head to look out the rear window of the wheelhouse. ‘‘No canoes coming up behind us!'' he reported, and that was one bit of good news, anyway, Fargo thought.

But they still had to run the gauntlet between the bushwhackers hidden in the forest bordering the bayou. Fargo swung around and threw some more lead to starboard.

‘‘Trouble up ahead!'' Isabel called out.

Biting back a curse, Fargo turned to look and saw a couple of canoes slicing toward the center of the stream, one from each bank, about fifty yards ahead. He frowned as he realized that they were empty. The pirates must have shoved the canoes out into the bayou, hoping to block the riverboat with them. But the
Bayou Princess
would just push the canoes aside without any trouble.