Ralph Compton Whiskey River (22 page)

“What about us?” shouted Stackler.

Wilder looked at him like he was sizing up a deer.

“We're gonna'have us a little change.”

“What?!” cried Amanda and Betsy in unison.

“We need to even up the men on the boats,” Wilder said, grinning.

Mark stepped up. “If you're talking about me and Bill, here, the women are stayin' with us.”

Silence fell across the boat as Wilder rubbed his jaw where Mark had hit him earlier. Every heart held still as both men stared at each other, their hands slowly sliding towards their weapons.

Bill groaned. It wasn't loud, but it was enough to break the spell.

“All of you get on over to the Aztec,” growled Wilder.

“And the women?” Demanded Mark.

“I said ‘all of you,' didn't I? And the wounded, too. We want to keep all the casualties in one place.”

“All those they're suspicious of, is more like it,” muttered Sullivan.

“Oh Lord,” said Betsy, “I thought that was gonna be it.”

Stackler helped to lift Bill. “Guess we're all in the same boat now.”

With enough wood to see them the rest of the way to the Fort Smith landing, the four steamboats again moved out. But they were unable to travel at top speed because of the occasional sandbars around which they had to maneuver. In places, the river was shallow, and care had to be taken to keep the steamboats in deep water.

“Time for some whiskey,” said Mark. “Bill's running a fever. Vernon and Todd won't be far behind.”

“I reckon I got off easy, just gettin' my skull creased,” Nick said. “I don't envy the others, having to drink that God-awful whiskey.”

Within the hour, Vernon and Todd were running fevers, and they had to be given large doses of the terrible whiskey. The night wore on, and at dawn there was only jerked beef for those able to eat. Bill, Vernon, and Todd were sick from the whiskey, although it had served its purpose and eliminated the high fever. The other outlaws on the Aztec had fared no better. McLean and McCarty threw up on deck, while the others moaned in fitful, restless sleep.

“What we gonna do when we get to Fort Smith?” Renato asked Wilder. “Men are sick, and there is no room for them in the wagons.”

“I ain't decided yet,” said Wilder. “Maybe we'll get into the Territory a ways and just lay over there until the wounded are healed enough to ride.”

Irvin was awake. “You aim to go lookin' for that stolen gold old Jake had?”

“Damn right I do,” Wilder said. “Them women know where it is.”

“Whiskey running is shot to hell,” said Schorp. “What will we do, once we sell this whiskey and find the missing gold?”

“I'm taking my share of the loot and going where the law can't touch me,” Wilder said. “Maybe Mexico.”

 

“Only three men on this boat to concern us,” said Lee Sullivan. “Ed, when you make your break, we can gun down Wilder, Schorp, and Renato.”

“No,” Stackler said. “Kill them, and the rest of Estrello's outfit will kill you. There's no point in me going for help if the rest of you are dead before it gets here.”

“We'll be reaching the landing at Fort Smith late tonight,” Sullivan said, “but not before moonrise. We can still pull a gun on the good captain and have him run this steamboat aground somewhere shy of the landing.”

“No,” said Stackler. “We'll have to scrap that part of our original plan. Forcing a stop shy of the landing will alert everybody on the other three steamboats that we're up to something, and the moonlight will make me a good target in the water.”

 

As the day wore on, the rest of the wounded outlaws on the Aztec slept off their fevers and awoke.

“Wilder,” said Suggs, “we was supposed to gun down the captains and their crews at the Fort Smith landing. Are we still aimin' to?”

“Not on this steamboat,” Wilder replied. “There's just three of us that ain't been hurt and are trustworthy, and we can't spare anybody to go after the captain. Those on the other boats can do as they please, but this steamboat needs its crewmen.”

“There's Long, Sullivan, Stackler, and Rogers, besides the two women,” said Irvin, “and they're all still armed.”

“They joined us in the fight against the Taylor Laird gang,” Wilder said. “We'll reward them by letting them live until we find that gold them women buried.”

“We're near two weeks' away from the Washita,” said Suggs. “What if we just split the money and the gold we got, and them wantin' to hunt Jake's gold can do it, while the rest of us just go our way?”

“You're crazy as hell,” Irvin shouted. “After all we been through, I aim to get my share when this rotgut whiskey's sold, and I can't do that if we split up now.”

“Nobody's leaving,” said Estrello, who had awakened, “and as for that hidden gold, we leave it be until the whiskey's been sold.”

“Wolf's right about sticking together,” Wilder said. “We may need the guns of every man of us. Suppose them hundreds of whiskey-drinking Indians was to decide to just
take
the whiskey, instead of buyin' it?”

For a change, Estrello and Wilder had agreed on something, and the rest of the outlaws nodded their approval. Vivid in their minds were tales of white men who had gone into Indian Territory without protection and were never seen again.

 

The August sun bore down with a vengeance, and not a breeze stirred. The wounded men, some without shirts and others without trousers, sweated. The bad whiskey had done its job, for nobody had any fever.

“Wolf,” said Brice, “you think this is the end of whiskey running into Indian Territory?”

“As far as I'm concerned it is,” Estrello said. “You saw the
New Orleans
take on the survivors from Laird's steamboat, and there are witnesses to the sinking. All it'll take is for just one man to talk. Taylor Laird built an empire, but without him it's as dead as he is.”

“It was you that gunned him down,” said Wilder. “Maybe you should have given it a little more thought. It'll be hell finding bootleg whiskey now.”

“I gave it some thought,” Estrello said. “Laird had just raised the price on whiskey, and I couldn't see us taking all the risk while he took none, at a higher price. I had no idea there was money in the safe until Laird was dead. What
else
do you do with a gent you don't need anymore, except get rid of him? If I'd left him alive, he'd have followed us all to hell and come in after us.”

“I can't argue with that,” said Wilder, “but there's somethin' you'd better keep in mind where these whiskey-drinking Indians are concerned. One word to any of them about this bein' the last of the whiskey, and they won't need us anymore. There'll be enough of them to just
take
this load of whiskey, along with our scalps.”

“Hell's fire,” Estrello shouted, “how big a fool do you think I am?”

“I'm not sure,” said Wilder with an evil grin. “You continue to amaze me.”

“This whiskey didn't cost us nothin',” Renato said. “We sellin' it to the Indians at the old price, or will we ask for more money?”

“Keepin' in mind what Wilder just said about our scalps,” said Estrello, “I think we'll have to sell to them at the old price.”

“Hell, I don't,” Irvin said. “This is our last haul, and I'm for milkin' it dry. I'm for
doubling
the price.”

There was an uproar as the outlaws agreed or disagreed.

“By God,” Suggs shouted, “let's vote on it.”

“We're not votin' on it because we ain'traisin' the price,” said Estrello.

All eyes turned to Wilder, and his response surprised them. “Wolf and me have had our differences, but this time, we fully agree. I reckon some of you don't value your scalps all that much. Let a bunch of likkered-up Indians get a mad on, and we're all dead men.”

There was some grumbling among several of the outlaws who didn't like the decision to sell the whiskey at the old price, but they soon became silent, for Estrello and Wilder were both looking at them in a way that made them uneasy.

 

Now on board the
Aztec,
Bill, Betsy, Mark, Amanda and their companions waited uneasily as the outlaws argued over raising the price of whiskey.

“The greedy varmints,” said Vernon. “That rotgut didn't cost them a cent, and some of them want to double the price to the Indians.”

“Thank God Estrello and Wilder ain't as stupid as some of the others,” Carl said. “There's a chance we'll be stuck with this bunch until they unload this whiskey, and those Indians won't draw any lines between us and the rest of Estrello's outfit.”

The day wore on, and as they approached the final landing near Fort Smith, the stars had been sprinkled over the purple of the sky. It would be dark soon.

“I'm gettin' a break,” said Ed. “No moon yet.”

“There soon will be,” Mark said, “if they decide to go after you.”

“Oh, they'll go after him,” said Betsy. “Even though this may be his last whiskey run, Wolf Estrello don't like to lose. He's the cause of all this trouble.”

“Let's don't forget Wilder,” Bill said. “He's done his share.”

The outlaws seemed to have forsaken their vow to gun down the steamboat captains and their crews, for the first three steamboats were guided in close to the crude landing. The
Aztec
eased in behind them.

“Get those ramps down,” Estrello shouted.

“That's my cue,” said Ed quietly. “Wish me luck.”

Amanda and Betsy kissed him quickly, and Ed shook the hands of the rest of his friends. He then went to the side of the deck opposite where the unloading ramps had to be let down. His companions watched him disappear over the side and into the darkness. But other eyes had witnessed Stackler's escape.

“Wolf,” an outlaw shouted, “somebody went over the side.”

“He won't get far afoot,” said Estrello. “Wilder, take half a dozen men from boats one, two, and three, and go after him.”

“Hell, I ain't stompin' around in the brush and thickets afoot,” Wilder said. “I aim to take my horse.”

“Then
take
your horse and have the others take theirs,” said Estrello, “but don't come back without the varmint who ran out.”

It was Renato who took the time to see who was missing. “It was Stackler that went over the side.”

“When you run him down,” said Estrello, “don't be gentle. Let's make him an example to the rest of them.”

Stackler swam upstream far enough that he judged the outlaws couldn't see him in the dark waters of the Arkansas. Reaching a shallows, he waded out on the Fort Smith side of the river. His teeth chattered, for his sodden clothing made the evening wind seem cold. The moon had risen and appeared to be balanced in the tops of the trees, adding its light to that of millions of glittering stars. After climbing out of the river, Stackler rested just long enough to catch his breath. He then set out for Fort Smith, somewhere to the north.

Aboard the
Aztec,
Stackler's friends watched in anger and dismay as Wilder and six other outlaws unloaded horses and saddles for use in the search for Stackler.

“It's so unfair,” Betsy cried. “He won't have a chance, being afoot.”

“They're off to a slow start, taking time to saddle their horses,” said Bill, “and it'll be darker in the woods, where the moonlight can't get through.”

“The trouble is,” Mark said, “they'll know he's bound for Fort Smith. There's nowhere else to go from here.”

The others said nothing. They fully expected the outlaws to ride Stackler down and doubted they'd see their friend alive. The outlaws finally got their horses saddled and clattered down the ramp.

“Now,” Estrello shouted, “eight of you that ain't been hurt, harness the teams and get them wagons off the boats.”

Long, Sullivan, and Rogers started for their wagons.

“Hold it,” said Estrello. “That order don't include Stackler's friends. The rest of you stay where you are. Take your Colts and Winchesters and lay 'em on the deck, and when you've done that, walk away from them.”

“I was afraid of that,” Carl said. “Now we're depending entirely on Ed.”

They were covered by three of the outlaws, including Estrello, their Colts steady in their hands. The men—even the wounded—had no choice. All their weapons were piled on the steamboat's deck. Leaving two men to cover the captives, Estrello began carrying the weapons down the ramp and off the steamboat.

“I can't see what he'd doing with our guns,” said Carl.

“We can't see any of the wagons from here,” Lee said. “Maybe he'll leave them in one of the wagons.”

But Estrello had thought of a better hiding place. Beneath each wagon's bed there was a stretched, firmly attached cowhide, useful for hauling dry wood for cook fires. Estrello piled the weapons into the “possum belly” of the very wagon that had been Ed Stackler's.

“Without our guns, I feel like we're a step closer to the grave,” said Betsy.

“We still have Jake's Colt,” Amanda said. “Estrello forgot about that.”

“Where is Jake's Colt?” Mark asked.

“Beneath my shirt, tucked under my waistband,” said Amanda. “Do you want it?”