According to Hoyle (13 page)

“If you helped him,” Wash continued pointedly, “then I’m going to have to charge you with the offense. Helping a prisoner escape is a Federal crime, son. Do you understand?”

Cage nodded, his eyes not leaving Wash’s.

“Now,” the marshal said, “did he threaten you?” He obviously didn’t want to charge Cage with the crime. Cage could read Wash easily enough. But Gabriel had said to tell them the truth, and Cage had always tried to be an honest man anyway. It was easier than keeping track of your lies.

Cage turned his head to the side, meeting the man’s eyes apologetically, and then once more he very slowly shook his head from side to side in answer.

Wash closed his eyes and sighed heavily, then he looked back down at Gabriel.

Soon Marshal Flynn had returned, breathless and very angry about being made to run all over Creation for no good reason. He glared down at Gabriel, who still lay where he had fallen in a crumpled heap, and then kicked him for good measure.

“Eli!” Wash barked.

“I say we kill the little son of a whore now and save the government the trouble,” Flynn huffed.

“We’ve had worse attempts,” Wash reminded him, then looked over at Cage almost sadly. “And it would appear that Cage is going to be traveling with us to New Orleans now.”

“He threatened you,” Marshal Flynn said to Cage forcefully as he looked over at him. “Just say he threatened you and forced you to help him, son, and you won’t be charged.”

Cage looked at both men expressionlessly, and then shook his head yet again.

Flynn looked at him incredulously for a beat before turning away in exasperation. “The first goddamn honest outlaw I ever seen. Ain’t got sense enough to lie,” Cage heard him grumble as he stalked back down the narrow hallway.

Chapter 7

“
T
HAT
man is property of the United States Army, mister,” one of the irate soldiers informed Wash.

Flynn stood back with Cage, watching the confrontation tensely. Rose was still unconscious and trussed up in the back of the wagon with a blanket covering him. Cage stood stock still and watched the two soldiers with a scowl. Flynn couldn’t help but be struck by how different he looked with a little help from some soap and water. He looked like someone Flynn would nod to in passing on the street now, even wearing the homemade oilskins.

Cage huffed loudly at the soldier’s words as Flynn pondered him. Flynn glanced back at the soldiers and frowned worriedly. They didn’t need trouble with the Army, and Wash would surely give them some if he had a mind to.

“Property?” Wash asked incredulously.

“That’s right,” the soldier replied with a confident nod.

“That’s right,” Wash echoed with a slow grin.

The soldier recognized the look in Wash’s eyes as a dangerous one, and Flynn looked on in something close to amusement as the two uniformed men shifted restlessly in front of his partner. Even with one good arm, Wash was capable of so many things most men could never manage.

Suddenly, Wash’s gun was in his hand and he had shoved it in the soldier’s face. Flynn tensed and just barely stopped himself from lunging forward to interfere.

“This was property of the Army too,” Wash growled dangerously, cocking the Colt Old Model Army .44 and placing the barrel between the young soldier’s eyes. “I got it when I was younger’n you and fighting against my brothers in gray. I think I have the right to say
no
man is property,” he continued coldly.

Flynn took a slow step forward, watching warily. It was never easy to guess which way Wash would go when he was riled. They had known each other since they had fought together in the 19th Indiana, part of the infamous Iron Brigade, and they had been together ever since. But Wash was anything but predictable, even for Flynn. Usually he managed to keep his temper and he was cool and even-keeled. But the one time every blue moon that he went off, there wasn’t much that could stop him.

“How’s about we settle this without the iron, Wash?” Flynn murmured carefully. Behind him, he felt Cage shift restlessly, his hand irons clanging intrusively in the overwrought silence. Flynn didn’t know which way Cage would go, either. If violence broke out, would he try to get away now, after nearly a fortnight of being the perfect prisoner? Flynn didn’t suppose so, not when Rose was still safely in custody. Rose may have been ready to skip off into the sunset without Cage, but Flynn had a gut feeling that Cage wouldn’t leave Rose behind.

Wash narrowed his eyes at the soldier and then lowered the gun. Both of the soldiers released pent up breaths and looked from Wash to Flynn carefully.

“Now,” Wash said calmly. “Let’s start over, why don’t we? I am US Marshal William Henry Washington and I am charging this man with aiding in the attempted escape of a prisoner. I
am
going to be taking him to New Orleans for a federal trial. Do we have a problem with that arrangement?”

“No, sir,” the two soldiers grumbled in unison, their tone decidedly unfriendly and resentful.

“Good then,” Wash drawled happily with a congenial grin as he holstered his weapon. “On with you,” he said to them as he ushered them away daintily with his fingers.

The two men backed away from them and then turned and walked quickly to their waiting horses. Flynn stood and watched them mount up with a growing sense of apprehension. It didn’t do to embarrass men publicly, especially young men who still thought they had something to prove in life. He hoped the encounter didn’t come back to haunt them.

Cage stepped forward to stand beside him. George Hudson sat astride a third Army horse with his hands tied to the pommel of the saddle, glaring at them evilly. His escorts had just taken one hell of a pistol whipping to their pride. They would probably take it out on their prisoner, if Flynn was to guess.

Cage raised his hands and waved at the man mockingly, smirking. Flynn fought hard not to laugh at the silent parting shot.

“Well. I feel like a man again,” Wash told them with a laugh as soon as the soldiers were out of earshot.

Flynn glared at him briefly. Finally, he shook his head and smiled fondly. “Was that something that really needed doing?” he asked with a smirk.

“Probably not. But it amused me, nonetheless,” Wash crooned back at him. “Now, let’s see to the rest of our problems,” he added as he glanced at Cage and looked him up and down. “Looks like all of us is gonna be going downriver,” he murmured almost to himself. “I’ll have to find the telegraph office and wire the change of plans so’s they’re not expecting me in Natchez.”

Flynn sighed heavily. He was glad that Wash would be accompanying him downriver, though. That was the only good turn this trip had taken so far.

T
HEY
secured two private cabins on the packet
James Howard
, a side-wheeler steamboat that was called Oil Cake Jim by the men who worked her, though Flynn had no idea as to why. He wasn’t really interested in finding out, either. She was a large boat, not lavish like the newer ones, but nicer accommodations than Flynn was used to.

The most prominent features of the steamer were not the two large paddlewheels inside their wheelhouses on either side of the ship, but rather the two 30 foot tall smokestacks near the bow of the vessel. A carved wooden anchor hung between them just over the pilot house, the trademark of an Anchor Line ship.

Flynn stamped his foot to bring some warmth into his toes. St. Louis was one of the few cities on the St. Louis to New Orleans trade route that had actual wooden docks by the river. Flynn certainly appreciated the planks under his feet this morning. River mud was something that stuck with a man after slogging through it. The swinging landing stage at the bow of the large boat had been fixed to the dock. It was wide enough for two people to walk up it side-by-side, and it had shaky rails on either side to prevent passengers from falling over the side as they boarded.

When the ship set off, the landing stage would be swung back toward the ship, and it would stick straight out from the bow as the ship made its way downriver. It didn’t always have a nice solid dock to moor to, though. Flynn had seen landing stages of these huge riverboats attached to trees, rocks, and even a pair of oxen one time at the smaller stops along the route.

The ship wasn’t loading passengers just yet, though. The cargo took priority, and official business such as what Wash and Flynn were discussing with the ship’s captain. Even so, many people had gathered at the waterfront already, and the calliope on the hurricane deck of the boat played a lively tune; the incredibly loud steam-powered organ gave the scene a circus-like feeling. Families with small children swarmed the landing and picnicked not far away, men led skittish horses away from the noise and commotion, and loved ones bid excited farewells as they prepared to board for a luxurious trip downriver.

As they stood on the dock in front of the landing stage speaking with the captain, Flynn noticed that Cage had turned away from the chaos of activity and was staring off down the river. The marshal’s attention was split between the conversation Wash and the captain were having, and watching Cage to make certain he didn’t dive off the docks into the water. Rose had roused not long before, and he was tied securely to the end of the wagon, sitting with his dog and watching them blankly from the muddy area full of carriages, wagons, and horses. He hadn’t said a word since waking back up. Flynn wondered if maybe he’d had his brain rattled just a bit too much.

“We’re certainly no strangers to having lawmen aboard, Marshal Washington,” the captain was saying to Wash with an amiable smile as Flynn turned his attention back to them. “As long as your prisoners are escorted at all times, we feel quite confident in your abilities to keep them under control.” He cleared his throat and looked around the dock warily, then stepped closer to Wash and lowered his head. “All that we ask is that you remain discreet,” he requested in a low voice. After considering his words carefully, he continued, “We sometimes have some rough types on board, but our passengers are generally of a… gentler breed. They like to feel safe. Seeing a man come to dinner in hand irons would cause a bit of a stir.”

“Understood, Captain,” Wash responded with his customary easy smile.

“That’s good,” the captain replied with a relieved nod. Then he frowned. “I’m sorry we couldn’t find two unoccupied cabins that were next to each other.”

“As long as we have four beds, we’ll make do,” Wash assured the captain, nodding in understanding. Marshals escorted prisoners amidst the general public all the time; sometimes on boats, often on trains, and on the rare occasion, stagecoaches. They were used to it.

Flynn glanced over at Cage again and found the man looking at him with a frown. As soon as Flynn met his eyes, Cage gestured for him to come closer and look.

Flynn took a wary step toward him and asked, “What is it?”

Cage turned and pointed down the dock, past the huge paddlewheel on the side of the boat to where several wagons of cargo had been delivered for loading onto the boat. Soldiers were wheeling crate upon crate of what appeared to be something very heavy toward the landing stage. Further down, a man in uniform sat astride a horse with a shotgun over his lap as he watched the proceedings, and several more armed, uniformed men stood along the loading gangplanks that led to the wooden dock. It was obvious to Flynn’s well-trained eyes what they were doing. They scanned the rooftops of the buildings surrounding the waterfront, and their eyes peered into the darkness of the alleyways between the buildings.

The soldiers weren’t supervising the loading of the crates. They were keeping a lookout as they were loaded.

Flynn squinted and examined the crates curiously, trying to read what was written on them. All he could make out, though, was that the words stenciled on the crates indicated the contents were property of the United States Government.

“What in the hell?” he murmured to himself.

Cage tapped him tentatively on his elbow and Flynn looked back at the silent man. He tensed instinctively as Cage reached out for his lapel pocket, but he warily allowed the movement. Cage’s fingers gently plucked at the gold chain that held Flynn’s pocket watch, and then pointed again at the crates.

Flynn watched Cage’s fingers, then he looked back down at the crates in confusion. It dawned on him suddenly and he glanced back at Cage.

“You think it’s gold?”

Cage nodded.

Flynn looked back at the crates and frowned. “Well,” he finally said with a small huff of air. “Ain’t none of our concern.” He placed a hand on Cage’s shoulder and urged him to turn away. If he knew anything about soldiers on guard duty, it was that they didn’t like overly nosy onlookers. The milling crowd around the busy docks was enough to make those soldiers tense already.

They headed back over to the wagon as Wash continued to deal with their lodgings. Rose still sat on the end of the wagon, his coat held over his hand irons and swinging his legs freely. He either didn’t know or didn’t care that the right side of his head was covered in dried blood. Flynn suspected that he knew what a stir his appearance was causing and enjoyed the looks passersby were giving him.