The Devil's Own Part 24

"I've never worked on a steamboat, if that is what you mean."

"No; well I reckoned not, but the captain he thought maybe yer had. I tol' him yer didn't talk like no steamer hand. Howsumever we're almightly short o' help aboard, an' maybe yer'd like a job ter help pay yer way?"

My fingers involuntarily closed on some loose gold pieces in my pocket, but a sudden thought halted me. Why not? In what better way could I escape discovery? As an employe of the boat I could go about the decks unsuspected, and unnoticed. Kirby would never give me a second thought, or glance, while the opportunity thus afforded of speaking to Rene, and being of service to her, would be immeasurably increased. I withdrew my hand, swiftly deciding my course of action.

"I suppose I might as well earn a bit," I admitted, hesitatingly.

"Only I had about decided I'd enlist, if the war was still going on when we got up there."

"That'll be all right. We'll keep yer busy til' then, enyhow. Go on down below now, an' eat, an' when yer git through, climb up the ladder, an' report ter me. What'll I call yer?"

"Steve."

"Steve--hey; sorter handy man, ain't yer?"

"Well, I've done a little of everything in my time. I'm not afraid to work."

During most of the remaining hours of the morning the mate kept me employed below, in company with a number of others of the crew, in sorting over the miscellaneous cargo, which had evidently been very hastily loaded. I began to think that I had made a wrong choice, and that, in the guise of a pa.s.senger, with the freedom of the upper decks, my chances for observation would have been decidedly better. The work was hard, and dirty, and, after a few hours of it, I must have looked my a.s.sumed part to perfection. However, it was now too late to a.s.sert myself, and I could only trust blindly to Fate to furnish me with the information I needed. Mapes merely glanced in upon us occasionally, leaving the overseeing of the gang to a squatty, red-faced white man, whose profanity never ceased. There were ten of us in the gang, several being negroes, and I was unable to extract any information of value from those I attempted to converse with. One had a.s.sisted in rescuing the party from the wrecked keel-boat, and had seen the two women, as they came aboard under the glare of a torch, but his description of their appearance was far from clear, and as to what had become of them since, he knew nothing.

As we worked in the heat and dirt below, the steamer steadily plowed its way up stream, meeting with no vessel bound down, or even a drifting barge; nor did I perceive the slightest sign of any settlement along the banks. Our course ran zig-zag from sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e in an endeavor to follow the main channel, and progress was slow, the wheelsman evidently not being well acquainted with the stream. The cry of a leadsman forward was almost constant. Once we tied up against the western bank for nearly an hour to remove a bit of driftwood from the wheel, and I heard voices speaking above on the upper deck as though pa.s.sengers were grouped along the rail. I obtained no glimpse of these, however, although one of the negroes informed me that there were several army officers on board. The possibility that some of these might recognize me was not a pleasant thought. I saw nothing of the captain, but heard him shouting orders to the men engaged tinkering at the paddle-wheel. The overseer gave me a hat which added little to my personal appearance, and by the time we were called to knock off for the noon meal, I was thoroughly tired, and disgusted, feeling as much a roustabout as I certainly looked.

The meal was served on an unplaned plank, the ends resting on kegs in front of the boilers. The unwashed gang simply helped themselves, and then retired to any convenient spot where they chose to eat. I discovered a fairly comfortable seat on a cracker box, and was still busily munching away on the coa.r.s.e, poorly-cooked food, when Mapes, prowling about, chanced to spy me among the shadows.

"Hullo; is that you, Steve?" he asked, gruffly. "Well, when yer git done eatin' I got another job fer yer on deck. Yer hear me?"

I signified that I did, and indeed was even then quite ready to go, my heart throbbing at this opportunity to survey other sections of the boat. I followed him eagerly up the ladder, and ten minutes later was busily employed with scrubbing brush, and a bucket of water, in an endeavor to improve the outward appearance of the paint of the upper deck. Nothing occurred about me for some time, the pa.s.sengers being at dinner in the main cabin. I could hear the rattle of dishes, together with a murmur of conversation, and even found a partially opened skylight through which I could look down, and distinguish a small section of the table. Kirby was not within range of my vision, but there were several officers in fatigue uniforms, none of their faces familiar, together with one or two men in civilian dress, I judged there were no women present, as I saw none, or heard any sound of a feminine voice. The princ.i.p.al topic of conversation appeared to be in connection with the war, and was largely monopolized by a red-faced captain, who had once been a visitor in Black Hawk's camp, and who loudly a.s.serted that the gathering volunteers would prove utterly useless in such a campaign, which must eventually be won by the superiority of regular troops. A hot-headed civilian opposite him at the table argued otherwise, claiming that the militia was largely composed of old Indian fighters, who would give a good account of themselves. The discussion became noisy, and apparently endless, interesting me not at all. Once I detected Kirby's voice chime in mockingly, but altogether the talk brought me no information, and possessed little point.

I had moved away, and was engaged busily sc.r.a.ping at the dingy paint of the pilot house, when a negro, evidently a cook from his dress, came up from the lower deck, bearing a tray well-laden with food in one hand, and disappeared aft. He did not even notice my presence, or glance about, but I instantly shrank back out Of sight, for I became immediately conscious that someone was closely following him. This second man proved to be one of the fellows in civilian clothing I had previously noticed at the table below, a tall, sallow individual, attired in a suit of brown jeans, his lean, cracker face ornamented by a grizzled bunch of chin-whiskers.

"Yer wait a minute thar, Jim," he called out, "'til I unlock that thar dore. I ain't ther kind thet takes chances with no n.i.g.g.e.r."

I recognized the peculiar voice instantly, for I had listened to that lazy drawl before while hidden in the darkness beneath the Beaucaire veranda--the fellow was Tim, the deputy sheriff from St. Louis. The negro rested his tray on the rail, while the white man fumbled through his pockets for a key, finally locating it, and inserting the instrument into the lock of the second cabin from the stern. It turned hard, causing some delay, and a muttered curse, but finally yielded, and the door was pushed partly ajar. I heard no words exchanged with anyone within, but the negro pushed the tray forward without entering, sliding it along the deck, while Tim, evidently satisfied that his charges were quite safe, promptly reclosed and locked the door, returning the key to the security of his pocket. After staring a moment over the rail at the sh.o.r.e past which we were gliding, he disappeared after the negro down the ladder. I was again alone on the upper deck, except for the wheelsman in the pilot house, yet in that broad daylight I hesitated to act on my first impulse. Eager as I certainly was too make the poor girl aware of my presence on board, the chance of being seen, and my purpose suspected by others, restrained me. Besides, as yet, I had no plan of rescue; nothing to suggest.

Even as I hesitated, industriously scrubbing away at the paint, Kirby and the captain appeared suddenly, pausing a moment at the head of the ladder in friendly conversation. Parting at last, with a hearty laugh over some joke exchanged between them, the latter ascended the steps to the pilot house, while the gambler turned aft, still smiling, a cigar between his lips. I managed to observe that he paused in front of the second cabin, as though listening for some sound within, but made no attempt to enter, pa.s.sing on to the door beyond, which was unlocked.

He must have come to the upper deck on some special mission, for he was out of my sight scarcely a moment, returning immediately to the deck below. This occurrence merely served to make clearer in my mind the probable situation--the after-cabin was undoubtedly occupied by Kirby, perhaps in company with the deputy; while next to them, securely locked away, and helpless to escape, were confined the two slave women. In order to reach them I must operate under the cover of darkness, and my only hope of being free to work, even then, lay in the faith that the gambler might become so involved in a card game below as to forget his caution. So far as Tim was concerned I felt perfectly capable of outwitting him; but Kirby was dangerous.

CHAPTER XX

THE STORY OF ELSIE CLARK

The next two hours dragged dreadfully slow, in spite of my pretense at steady work, and the fact that my thoughts were continuously occupied.

The sh.o.r.es past which we glided were low and monotonous, while the river was but a tawny sweep of unoccupied water. We were already well above the region of white settlements, in a land beautiful, but uncultivated. The upper deck remained practically deserted, and I was encouraged to observe, by glancing through the skylight, that a stubborn game of poker was being indulged in at the cabin table below.

The amount of stakes visible, as well as some of the language reaching me, accounted for the absence of pa.s.sengers outside, even those not playing circling the table in interest. The deputy, however, was not among these, and occasionally he wandered up the ladder, and patrolled the deck, although making no effort to invade the locked stateroom.

Apparently he was merely performing a duty a.s.signed him by Kirby, but possessed no fear that his prisoners would escape. The last time he appeared more at ease, and sat down on a stool close to the rail, smoking his pipe, and staring out glumly at the water. His position was within a foot or two of the closed door, and I ventured to work my pa.s.sage along the front of the cabin, hoping to attract his attention.

Perhaps he was lonely, for he finally observed me in my humble capacity, and broke the silence with a question.

"Hav' yer ever bin up this way afore?"

I paused in my work, and straightened up stiffly.

"Onct," making the fault in p.r.o.nunciation prominent.

"Wal', how fur is it then, ter thet d.a.m.n Yellow Banks?"

"I dunno 'sackly in miles," I acknowledged doubtfully. "Everything looks just 'bout alike 'long yere," and I took a squint at the bank, as though endeavoring a guess. "I reckon maybe it'll be 'bout twenty-four hours' steamin' yet--morn'n thet, likely, if we got ter tie up much 'long sh.o.r.e. Are yer goin' fer ter jine the army?"

"Whut, me jine the army?" he laughed as though at a good joke. "h.e.l.l, no; I'm a sorter sheriff down Saint Louee way, an' all I want fer ter do now is just git back thar as fast as G.o.d Almighty'll let me."

"I see, yer a headin' in the wrong direction. I reckon yer mus' be one o' them parties whut we done yanked outer thet keel-boat down river las' night, aint yer?"

"I reckon I wus; whut of it?"

"Nuthin' 'tall; 'tain't no manner o' 'count ter me, fur as thet goes,"

and I got down on my knees again to resume scrubbing. "All I wus goin'

fer ter ask yer wus--wan't thar a couple o' womin 'long with ye?

Whut's becom' o' them? I ain't seed hide ner hair ov either since they c.u.m aboard."

I did not glance around, yet knew that Tim spat over the rail, and stroked his chin-beard reflectively, after looking hard at me.

"They'se both of 'em n.i.g.g.e.rs," he said, evidently persuaded my question was prompted only by curiosity. "They belong ter Joe Kirby, an' we got 'em locked up."

"That's whut yer way up yere fur, hey? Goin' ter take 'em back down river ter Saint Louee, I reckon?"

"Furst boat thet c.u.ms 'long. They skipped out night afore las', but we cotched 'em all right. Yer goin' back on this steamer?"

"Not me; I'm goin' fer ter enlist whin we git ter Yellow Banks. Thar's a heap more fun in thet, then steam-boatin'."

We continued to talk back and forth for some time but to little purpose, although I endeavored to lead the conversation so as to learn more definitely the exact situation of the two prisoners. Whether Tim was naturally cautious, or had been warned against talking with strangers by Kirby, I do not know, but, in spite of all my efforts, he certainly proved extremely close-mouthed, except when we drifted upon other topics in which I felt no interest. He was not suspicious of me, however, and lingered on in his seat beside the rail, expectorating into the running water below, until Mapes suddenly appeared on deck, and compelled me to resume work. The two disappeared together, seeking a friendly drink at the bar, leaving me alone, and industriously employed in brightening up the front of the cabin. I was still engaged at this labor, not sorry to be left alone, when a cautious whisper, sounding almost at my very ear, caused me to glance up quickly, startled at the unexpected sound. I could perceive nothing, although I instantly felt convinced that whispering voice had issued from between the narrow slats defending the small stateroom window. No one was in sight along the deck, and the rag I was wielding hung limp in my hand.

"Who was it that spoke?" I ventured, the words barely audible.

"Ah did; the prisoner in the stateroom. Have both those men gone?"

"Yes; I am here alone. You are a woman? You are Rene Beaucaire?"

"No, Ah am not her; but Ah thought from the way yer questioned thet brute, yer was interested. Ah know whar Rene Beaucaire is."

"You know? Tell me first, who you are?"

"Elsie Clark. Ah am a mulatto, a free negress. Ah bin helpin' Ma.s.sa Shrunk, an' a cookin' fer him. Yer know whut it wus whut happened down thar?"

"I know part of it, at least--that Shrunk has been killed. I am not a steamboatman. I was at Shrunk's cabin, and found the bodies. Tell me exactly what occurred there."

"Whut's yer name?"

"Steven Knox; I am a soldier. Rene must have told you about me."