The Dawn of Fury (30 page)

“Hell, no,” Silver hissed. “We're not supposed to be away from quarters. This can wait until morning. Harkness won't be going anywhere.”

“Had he been with Stumberg very long?”

“Long enough to know what lay ahead of him” Silver replied. “Let's get back to our quarters, if we can.”

Luck was with them, and Nathan sighed with relief when at last they let themselves into their cabin and quietly closed the door.

“Why do you suppose Trinity ran away?” Nathan asked.

“I have no idea,” said Silver, “but I can guess. I'd say she was homesick. I don't know for sure, but I suspect these girls are mostly runaways, and after a few weeks of walking around in a gambling house mostly naked, they only want to go home.”

“And Stumberg would never allow that.”

Silver said nothing, for in the darkness, his hands were busy. From his pocket he had taken the key to the mysterious cells on the first deck and was doing a curious thing. In his hands he warmed a small cube of wax, and when it was soft enough, he pressed the key into it, creating an impression . . .

Breakfast was at seven bells, and many of the gamblers bound for New Orleans were already aboard. The very first thing Silver did was seek out Captain Lambert and return the key to the cabins with barred doors on the first deck. Silver then made himself scarce before Lambert realized Harkness must be taken breakfast. One of the waiters was soon assigned the task, and when he returned, he was terrified, almost incoherent. Lambert dragged him through the swinging doors and into the kitchen, before he could alarm the newly arrived gamblers who were having breakfast. When Lambert left the kitchen, he headed straight for the table where Nathan and Silver were eating.

“Here he comes,” said Silver. “Be ready for anything.”

But Captain Lambert never raised his voice. “Mr. Silver, I am told that the party you took to the first deck last night is dead. I wish you to confirm this immediately, bringing me all the pertinent facts.” He passed Silver the key.

Without a word, Silver left the dining room. Lambert stood there a moment as though he wanted to speak to Nathan, but did not. He turned away, returning to the kitchen. Silver returned quickly, and Nathan pointed toward the kitchen. Silver was in there for a very short time, and then returned to his breakfast.

“Well?” Nathan asked quietly.

“Well, what?”

“What did he say?”

“Hell,” said Silver, “what
could
he say? I told him Harkness was dead, had shot himself with a derringer, and that it was in his hand. He didn't say anything, and I hauled it out of there before he could
think
of anything.”

“Two dead bodies,” Nathan said, “and we won't reach New Orleans until Saturday. They'll be almighty ripe by then.”

“Not my problem,” Silver replied. “Lambert's got enough witnesses, so I'm pretty sure he won't have to prove the deaths by delivering the dead bodies to Stumberg. If you want to offer any advice, go ahead. Me, I got nothing to say unless I'm asked, and then I'm sayin' damn little.”

“You take a lot for granted,” said Nathan, “and there's times when it purely irritates the hell out of me. I know Stumberg won't be interested in seeing the dead bodies, but I'm equally sure the law
will
be.”

Silver laughed, but there was not a hint of humor in it. “Let me see if I'm gettin' the straight of this,” he said. “Are you suggesting that these dead bodies be turned over to Hargis Gavin and his personal police force? This could trigger a scandal that would rock New Orleans and blow French Stumberg higher than a keg of black powder.”

It was Nathan's turn to be amused. “Thanks,” he said. “I just wanted to be sure I'm on the right track. I think we'll be disposing of the bodies between here and New Orleans. I also believe this will strengthen our position with Stumberg. We'll know where the bodies are buried. Our silence ought to be worth something.”

“Perhaps,” Silver agreed, “but if it becomes too expensive, Stumberg can always lighten the load by having us shot dead.”

Nathan had ample opportunities to deal faro. His was an honest game, and the “house” contributed much to the confidence of the New Orleans-bound gamblers. Nathan had no doubt that the little they won aboard the
Queen of Diamonds
would be quickly lost once they reached Stumberg's gambling houses.

The first day of the return journey was uneventful. Nathan spent much of his time in the combined lounge and saloon, dealing faro and poker. The other house man, Stevens, had nothing to say to Nathan, and he had rarely seen Byron Silver all day. Everybody seemed ready for a break from the gaming tables at five bells, when the call came for supper. While Stevens made it a point to eat alone, Silver joined Nathan.

“I've been wondering about you,” Nathan said. “I reckoned maybe you'd jumped ship.”

“It's a temptation,” said Silver, “the more I think about it.”

Nathan wanted to ask about the bodies on the first deck, but changed his mind. While he genuinely liked Silver, he had no idea which way the calf was going to jump once they reached New Orleans. Disposing of the bodies would be Captain Lambert's problem. Nathan found himself hoping Lambert wouldn't involve Silver. Silver left the table and Nathan continued dealing faro. Mercifully, the gamblers began thinning out around ten o'clock, and Captain Lambert declared the saloon closed for the night.

“I see you lucked out,” said Silver, when Nathan entered the cabin. “I have seen die-hard gamblers hang over those tables until well past midnight.”

“Captain Lambert closed the saloon at ten o'clock,” Nathan said.

It was the perfect opportunity for Silver to suggest the very thing that Nathan was thinking: that Captain Lambert had devious plans, and sought to clear the decks of possible witnesses. But Silver said nothing. Nathan drew off his boots, hung his hat over them, and stretched out on his bunk. For a change, he was tired enough to appreciate it, and was soon asleep.

It was the small hours of the morning, when the stars had begun to recede, that Captain Lambert made his move. Quietly, with four trusted crewmen, he made his way along the dim corridor of the first deck. Since he did not know in which of the cabins were the bodies, he went all the way to the eighth cubicle and worked his way back to the sixth.

“He's in there,” Lambert said softly.

Two of the crewmen entered the cabin and swiftly rolled the dead Harkness into a square of canvas, binding it with rope. Captain Lambert swung open the doors to the fifth cabin and the second pair of crewmen quickly wrapped and bound Shekela's body. When the dead had been moved into the corridor, Lambert closed and locked the cabin doors. He then moved swiftly. The four crewmen followed, each pair bearing a canvas-wrapped burden. To avoid being seen by the firemen on duty, Lambert had the bodies hoisted through the hatch to the second deck. From there, they were carried forward to the rail. When hoisted over the side, they must have time to sink before the wash from the big paddle wheel caught up to them. Lambert had two lengths of heavy pipe ready, and one was tied securely to each of the body bags. The captain made sure the deck was clear and then he gave the order.

“Over the side, and drop them as far from the vessel as you can.”

He watched as the canvas-wrapped bodies sank out of sight and then gave his men a final order.

“You will go to your quarters immediately and you will forget what you have done this night.”

When they were gone, he leaned against the rail and buried his face in his hands. There had been no means of communicating with French Stumberg, so he had done what he must, but disposing of the bodies was the least of his problems. Stumberg couldn't abide failure, and Elias Lambert had failed. He had no idea what his punishment would be, but his long association with the evil little man told him Stumberg would think of something . . .

Barnabas McQueen could scarcely believe his eyes. The slight cowboy that he knew as Eli Prater had spent almost a week just getting a calming hand on the big black, Diablo. Now Prater approached the horse with a saddle blanket. Diablo shied, ears laid back, and again Prater began talking. Slowly Diablo relaxed, his ears went up, and he sniffed the horse blanket. Once he was sure the blanket was harmless, he snaked his head around and watched as his friend draped it across his broad back. There was more “horse talk” that McQueen didn't understand, but Diablo seemed to relish every word. He didn't flinch when Prater reached both arms across him, arms resting on the saddle blanket. The arms bore down, applying pressure, and still Diablo remained calm. This being acceptable, the mysterious cowboy lifted both feet off the ground, with all the body weight resting on the horse. Prater let up, feet on the ground, and then repeated the procedure. Diablo looked around, curious, but remained calm. Prater removed the blanket, flung an arm around Diablo's neck, and the animal nickered.

“Good boy,” said Prater. “That's enough for today.”

Diablo followed Prater into the stable without even a halter. When the rider stepped out into the warm October sun, McQueen was waiting.

“I've never seen the like,” McQueen said. “He's ready for a saddle.”

“No,” said Prater. “No saddle. Tomorrow I'll ride him with only the saddle blanket. Don't ever burden him with more than that, if you aim to win races.”

“Damn it,” Mcqueen said, “nobody's goin' to ride a bareback race. A man needs a saddle.”

“This one doesn't.”

“I reckon this is a good time to speak my mind,” said McQueen. “I don't have a rider for this comin' race. Will you ride Diablo?”

“Yes. I was counting on it.”

“Bueno,” McQueen said. “Bueno. That takes a load off my mind.”