Ralph Compton Whiskey River (29 page)

Orr laughed. “I just wanted to see if you got what it takes, Liz.”

“Are you satisfied?”

“Yeah,” said Orr. “For the time being. I might have other plans for you. You're more than just another saloon woman.”

Liz laughed. “Just so we understand each other, my talents don't include sleeping with the owner of the saloon.”

“You could do, and have done, worse, Liz Barton,” Orr said. “I knew Frank. He was a damn fool who was long on ambition and short of temper. He finally got what was coming to him. I've always thought you could have done better.”

“So you knew Frank,” said Liz. “I don't remember you.”

“You wouldn't,” Orr said. “I busted up with Frank before he got his hooks into you. Frank had an eye for the women, and he caught me in . . . shall we say, a bad position ... with a little gal who wasn't nearly as talented as you.”

“If you knew Frank, you know the rest.”

“The outlaw bit?” said Orr. “Frank Barton didn't have the makings of an outlaw. He wasn't smart enough. Had some good men, though.”

“I know,” Liz said, a bit more friendly, “I tried keeping them together, but they didn't like the idea of following a woman. I've been wondering where they went.”

“They're with Sim Bowdre. He's been a mite shorthanded. Now he's got twenty-two men. He's in here regular.”

“No price on his head?” Liz asked.

“None that I know of,” said Orr. “He's too smart for that. He likes town living, warm beds, and warm women.”

“Sounds like my kind of man,” Liz said.

“Don't count on it,” said Orr. “He didn't like Frank either. You got anything to wear besides the shirt and britches you just got out of?”

“No,” Liz said. “Frank thought they were good enough for lying out in the Territory.”

“Well, they ain't good enough for here,” said Orr. “When you get up, go to the mercantile. Get you some decent shoes and a dress or two. Charge 'em to me.”

“Thanks,” Liz said.

Orr closed the door, and Liz smiled to herself. So Sim Bowdre had twenty-two men, including what was left of the Barton gang. There might be enough gunmen to take those wagonloads of whiskey from Wolf Estrello . . .

When the wagons were ready to roll, Estrello sent Hiram to scout ahead for possible Indian sign.

“It took him long enough to see the need for that,” said Amanda as she took her place beside Mark on the wagon box.

“I'm not sure it'll do much good,” Mark said. “Those Indians haven't come off too well with us. I don't expect they'll be leaving any unnecessary sign. Still, we can't afford not to be as careful as we can.”

“I always thought Indians attacked moving wagon trains,” said Amanda. “None of these have, so far.”

“Tribes are most likely to do that,” Mark said. “These within the Territory are mostly renegades, and they're not very predictable. The average Indian likes a good fight, while most of what we encountered seems to prefer stampeding our stock and picking us off one or two at a time.”

“But that hasn't worked for them,” said Amanda. “Do you suppose they've given up?”

“No,” Mark said. “They know what these wagons are hauling, and they're not about to give up on them. God knows what they'll do next. We'll just have to be ready for anything they throw at us.”

Estrello was in a foul mood because of the numerous delays. “Let's get these damn wagons moving,” he shouted, “and you teamsters watch where you're going. We got no time for breakdowns.”

“He has his nerve,” said Betsy. “Breakdowns have been the least of our troubles, and if it hadn't been for you, Mark, and the other teamsters, this whole bunch would have been scalped by now.”

Bill laughed. “I think what we've been through so far will be nothing compared to what we'll face when we reach the Washita. If there are three or four hundred Indians there, and they decide to take these wagons, there won't be a damn thing any of us can do except die.”

“What about those Indians whose horses you ran off last night? Can they catch up to us after they find their horses?”

“Yes,” Bill said. “Trouble is, they may not be the problem. I don't think there were more than fifty in the bunch. That means there may be lesser groups of them somewhere along the way. But the main trial is yet to come—when we reach the Washita.”

Hiram returned after a little more than an hour, reporting no Indian sign.

“Bueno,”
said Estrello. “There's nothin' standin' in our way.”

But the left rear wheel of Ed's wagon chunked into an unseen hole, splintering the wagon wheel. Estrello galloped back, reining up before Stackler's wagon.

“By God, didn't you hear me when I said no more breakdowns?”

“Estrello,” Ed said, “a man can't avoid what he can't see. Some of these holes and drop-offs are full of dead leaves, and you ought to have sense enough to know it. If you want somebody to replace me at the reins, then say so. I'm fed up with your hell-raising every time there's trouble with a wagon.”

Bill was off his wagon box and was already coming to help Mark and Ed replace the damaged wheel. Estrello turned away, seething in silence.

The repair cost them the better part of an hour, and the wagons rumbled on toward whatever destiny awaited them at the Washita.

 

Sim Bowdre was speaking to his band of outlaws, but it was mostly for the benefit of what was left of the old Barton gang.

“I don't want any of you in town if there's a price on your head.”

“Damn,” said Hugh Sterns, “that eliminates all of us who was with Barton.”

“So be it,” Bowdre said. “If you get yourself locked in the
calabozo,
don't holler for me, 'cause I won't know you. Them of you as rides in, do it one or two at a time.”

Bowdre was the first to ride in, for it was still early afternoon and the saloons would not be crowded. Bowdre went directly to the Territorial Saloon, for Buckshot Orr had once been a member of Bowdre's band of outlaws. Orr was quick to pass along to the outlaws any useful information and was amply rewarded. The saloon was empty, except for Liz and Orr. Bowdre was a big man, six feet five without his hat, and seeing Liz, he doffed his hat and bowed. Liz repaid him with a smile.

“About time Buckshot added some class to this place,” Bowdre said.

“Yeah,” said Orr. “Now if I could just populate it with a better class of
hombres
. . .”

Bowdre wasted no time making his way to the table where Liz sat. He hooked a chair with his boot and sat down.

“Mind if I set, ma'am?”

“Don't ‘ma' am' me, damn it,” Liz said. “You know who I am.”

Bowdre laughed. “I just took over what was left of Frank's old outfit.”

“They all have prices on their heads,” said Liz.

“That's why you won't see 'em in town,” Bowdre said. “I forbid it. I was right sorry to hear about old Frank. We hated one another's guts and the treacherous varmint got himself shot before I had a chance at him. I reckon you're free now, ain't you?”

“Not free,” Liz snapped, “but reasonable.”

As other patrons entered the saloon, Liz was drawn away from Bowdre, but she felt his eyes on her. Bowdre eventually left, not returning until near closing time. He wasted no time speaking to Liz.

“When Buckshot closes, can we talk?”

“I suppose,” said Liz. “Where?”

“Here,” Bowdre said.

Orr locked the door to the saloon and blew out all the lamps except one, which was turned low.

“I'll be in the kitchen, Sim, when you want out,” said Orr.

They sat down at a table, and Bowdre wasted no time. “Your boys—the rest of Frank's gang—want to go after that shipment Wolf Estrello has brought into the Territory. What can you tell me about it?”

“Why should I tell you anything?”

“Because it'll take somebody like me to take it off his hands. All old Frank got out of it was a piece of lead,” said Bowdre.

“I can't tell you anything you don't already know,” Liz said.

“Oh, but you can,” said Bowdre. “Now that old Frank's out of the picture, what are my chances?”

“That depends on what's in it for me,” Liz replied.

“A hotel room in town, good grub, decent clothes, and money,” said Bowdre.

He dropped five double eagles on the table before her.

Liz laughed. “Is that all?”

“Damn it, woman,” said Bowdre, “with me payin' the hotel and buyin' everything else, a hundred dollars will last you a week, won't it?”

“I suppose,” Liz said.

“I got a room at the hotel. We'll go there. Buckshot, come unlock the door.”

After Orr had let them out, Liz turned back and spoke to him. “Sorry, Buckshot, I got a better deal.”

For the time and place, the hotel was fancy. There was a dining room with solid oak tables and chairs. There was plush carpet, even in the hall. Bowdre's room was on the second floor. When they entered the room and Bowdre turned around, Liz had skinned out of the dress, and she had worn nothing else.

“Well?” said Liz.

“Well, I think it's bedtime,” Bowdre said.

The Indian attack came as a total surprise. It came from the rear, and the only warning any of them had was gunfire from the three outriders trailing the last wagon. Teams were reined up, and teamsters grabbed their Winchesters. The rest of the outriders had dismounted and had let loose with a hail of lead, forcing the attackers to turn and ride for their lives. By some miracle, none of the teamsters had been hit.

“Anybody that's wounded,” Estrello shouted, “come to the first wagon.”

Hiram, Odell, and Hamby showed up. All had arrow wounds. Hamby was wounded in the side, but the barb had gone on through. Hiram and Odell each had an arrow in the thigh.

“Hell, we can't take the time for any doctorin' here,” said Wilder. “That bunch may hit us again.”

“We'll see to our wounded before goin' any farther,” Estrello said. “Keithley, bring the medicine chest from your wagon. One of you see how many of the varmints we accounted for.”

Vernon and Nick had already gone to take a body count.

“Vernon and me counted seventeen of 'em,” said Nick.

“That's enough to bring the others back for revenge,” Wilder said.

“Not necessarily,” said Ed. “There weren't more than fifty of them, and that being the case, we cut down a third of them. That's bad medicine for Indians.”

“Ed's right,” said Todd. “They won't try another direct attack. At least, this bunch won't. They'll come at us in camp, where we all don't have our Winchesters in hand and expecting them.”

Ed cleaned and bandaged the wound in Hamby's side, while Estrello himself drove out the arrows in the thighs of Hiram and Odell.

“Them of you that's wounded have to make it on to the next camp,” Estrello said. “Then you can take enough whiskey to sleep off the pain and fever.”

The wounded were hurting before Estrello judged it was time to end the drive for the day. The three wounded men were dosed with whiskey and were stretched out on some of their blankets.

“My God,” said Betsy, “suppose two hundred of them came after us like that?”

“We'd get some of them,” Bill said, “but some of them would get us. We'll just have to hope that if Broken Nose aims to take this whiskey, he'll wait until we get it to the Washita River. If he's got two hundred renegades, or even a hundred, we've had it.”

“Tonight,” said Estrello, “the first and second watches will be cut in half. One half of each watch will watch camp, while the second half circles our horses and mules. We're not taking a chance on that bunch coming back. If they do, we'll be ready.”

Estrello himself got up far in the night, and finding his three wounded men feverish, dosed them with more whiskey. By morning, they were much improved, except for massive hangovers. The trio was unable to ride, and despite Estrello's impatience, the caravan was forced to sacrifice another day.

“Damn it,” said Estrello, “this is the perfect time for that bunch to come after us.”

But despite their increased watchfulness, they were not disturbed during the night, and by the next morning, the wounded men were able to ride. The wagons again took the trail, the outriders keeping a careful watch in front and behind.

Liz Barton found her alliance with Sim Bowdre entirely to her liking. She knew that sometimes he would be in town twice a week, and sometimes not at all. He was by no means critical and would never demand to know what she did while he was away. Her room was in the nicest hotel in town, and nobody questioned her presence when Bowdre wasn't there. The second night he spent with her, he had some questions.

“Liz, I keep hearing about eight wagonloads of whiskey bound for the Washita. I hear that Estrello has done this before, avoiding trouble with the Indians because they want the whiskey. What can you tell me about that?”

“Not much,” said Liz. “I know they're on their way to the Washita now. Frank's idea at first was to waylay them on the return trip and take the whiskey. Then he changed his mind, and before the wagons reached Fort Smith, he attacked them.”