Texas Timber War (6 page)

‘‘I hope we will be.''

‘‘Dirkson didn't want me going to work for you,'' Fargo went on. ‘‘They thought roughing me up might scare me off.''

‘‘Obviously they didn't know who you are, or they wouldn't have tried such a thing.''

The waitress arrived with Fargo's food. He always had a healthy appetite, so he dug in with gusto for a few minutes before resuming the conversation with Kiley.

‘‘I'm curious about this river pirate, McShane,'' Fargo said. ‘‘I'm told he and his men have attacked several of the boats that travel on Big Cypress Bayou. Were those other boats ones that carry your timber to Shreveport for you?''

‘‘As a matter of fact, they were.'' Kiley leaned forward with a frown on his round florid face. ‘‘You think that was a coincidence, Mr. Fargo?''

Fargo responded to that question with another of his own. ‘‘Have any boats carrying logs for Jonas Baxter been hit?''

Kiley shook his head. ‘‘Not even once. And I must say, I'm glad that someone besides me finally finds that a little suspicious.''

‘‘I hear Captain Russell is having trouble keeping a crew because of McShane. What about the other captains?''

‘‘They're having the same problem. I used to ship two or three loads a week down the bayou. Now I'm lucky if I can get one load to the mills every week.''

‘‘Have you talked to the law about McShane?''

Kiley grimaced. ‘‘Sheriff Higgins does a good job of keeping the peace here in Jefferson, but he claims he can't spend his time chasing around the swamps and the sloughs looking for McShane. My feeling is that Baxter got to him and convinced him not to try too hard to find those pirates. I hate to accuse anyone of being corrupt, but . . .'' His face suddenly lit up. ‘‘Say! I know you don't want to work on the riverboat, Mr. Fargo, but what would you say to the job of tracking down McShane and his river rats? If you could stop them from plaguing my shipments, it would be worth a lot to me . . . and I'd make it worth your while, too.''

Fargo turned the proposal over in his mind. He had gone after outlaw gangs in the past, and this was no different. Besides, even though he hadn't met Jonas Baxter, he didn't like the man because of the run-in with Dirkson and the other loggers, and if there was a connection between Baxter and McShane, Fargo wouldn't mind exposing it.

And he couldn't forget the way the river pirates had attacked the
Bayou Princess
the day before, putting Isabel Sterling's life in danger. Even though he hadn't known Isabel at the time, he sure as hell knew her now, and anger smoldered inside him as he thought about how she might easily have died in that attack.

‘‘I don't have any pressing business elsewhere,'' he said after mulling it over for a few moments. ‘‘I reckon I could stay around here for a while and see what I can turn up.''

‘‘That would mean a great deal to me,'' Kiley said. ‘‘I don't mind telling you, Mr. Fargo, things are starting to look a little grim for my operation. I have to get some logs moved, and soon.''

‘‘I'll see what I can do,'' Fargo said with a nod. ‘‘If I can locate McShane's hideout and find proof that Baxter is behind the attacks on the riverboats, the sheriff will have to do something about it.''

‘‘Indeed, he will,'' Kiley agreed. Then he looked past Fargo and smiled. ‘‘Why, hello, my dear.''

Fargo looked around and saw Isabel coming toward the table. He got to his feet.

‘‘Good morning, gentlemen,'' she said. She smiled at the Trailsman. ‘‘You slept well, I hope, Mr. Fargo.''

‘‘Very well,'' Fargo said. ‘‘And yourself?''

‘‘Never better.''

‘‘I have to be going,'' Kiley said, ‘‘but why don't you join Mr. Fargo for breakfast, Miss Sterling? I'm sure he wouldn't mind the company.''

Fargo echoed the invitation and held Isabel's chair for her as she sat down. Kiley put on his beaver hat and said, ‘‘I'll talk to you later about that, ah, arrangement, Mr. Fargo.''

When Kiley was gone and Fargo was sitting across the table from Isabel, she leaned forward and asked, ‘‘What arrangement was he talking about?''

Fargo didn't see any harm in telling her, although he kept his voice low so that no one at any of the other tables would overhear. ‘‘I'm going to try to track down McShane and his gang of river pirates. Kiley and I both think there may be some connection between them and Jonas Baxter.''

Isabel's perfectly curved eyebrows arched in surprise. ‘‘You're going after McShane? That could be dangerous, Skye.''

‘‘I plan on being careful,'' he said with a smile.

‘‘You'd better be. Now that we've met, I don't want anything happening to you.'' She paused, then said, ‘‘I have to admit, even though I'll worry about you trying to find those pirates, I'm glad to know you're going to be staying around here for a while.''

‘‘You won't be leaving right away, either,'' Fargo pointed out. ‘‘Kiley told me that it's going to be at least a week before Captain Russell can assume command of that riverboat again, and even then, he's going to need a good helmsman.''

‘‘Well, I can think of worse places to spend some time than Jefferson. It's a nice town. There are several decent saloons where I can find a game.''

‘‘You plan to gamble?''

‘‘It's how I make my living, Skye, remember?''

Fargo hadn't forgotten. And as pleasant as it had been spending time with Isabel in bed, he had a feeling he would enjoy sitting across a poker table from her, too. She would be a good competitor.

After breakfast, she wanted to go see Andy Russell, so Fargo volunteered to walk with her over to Dr. Fearn's house. He wanted to talk to Russell about the river pirates. Since the captain steamed up and down the bayou on a regular basis, he ought to know the country around here pretty well. Maybe he could give Fargo an idea of where to start looking for Red Mike McShane.

They left the Excelsior House and started strolling toward the doctor's place. As they made their way, Fargo's instincts warned him that he was being watched. He turned his head quickly and caught a glimpse of a man ducking around a corner into an alley between Austin and Lafayette Streets. Fargo didn't recognize the man and didn't really see anything except a shock of black hair under a battered old hat and a black patch over one eye.

He would know the fella if he ever saw him again, though, and if it became obvious that the one-eyed man was trailing him . . .

Well, in that case, Fargo thought, he would just have to find out
why.

Dr. John Fearn was a gaunt man with white hair, deep-set eyes, and a slight British accent. The accent didn't surprise Fargo. Folks from all over the world wound up on the American frontier.

‘‘Try not to tire him out,'' Fearn cautioned as he led Fargo and Isabel into a room where Captain Andy Russell sat up in a bed. ‘‘He lost a great deal of blood, you know.''

Russell grunted and said, ‘‘They ought to know. They were right there in the middle of it.'' He lifted his good arm and held out the hand toward Fargo. ‘‘You must be the fella who saved my life. Isabel told me all about it.''

Fargo shook hands with the captain. ‘‘Skye Fargo,'' he introduced himself. ‘‘And I reckon I just came along at the right time to pitch in and give you a hand.''

‘‘If you hadn't, I likely would've bled to death and McShane would've looted all the cargo on my boat. No telling what would have happened to poor Isabel here.''

She lifted her chin defiantly. ‘‘If those river rats had tried to lay a finger on me, they would've had a fight on their hands.''

Russell laughed. ‘‘I'll just bet they would have!''

Fargo pulled up chairs for him and Isabel, and they sat down beside the bed. Russell went on, ‘‘I remember a little about what happened after I got hit, but not much. Where'd you come from, Mr. Fargo?''

For the next few minutes, Fargo told the captain about how he had heard the shots as he was riding through the forest and had gone to investigate.

‘‘That was lucky for me and everybody on the
Bayou Princess
,'' Russell said.

‘‘It certainly was,'' Isabel agreed, and Fargo thought he saw a faint blush on her face for a moment. She was probably thinking about what had happened between them the night before.

‘‘Skye has agreed to try to track down Red Mike,'' she said.

Russell turned a surprised gaze toward the Trailsman. ‘‘Really? Somebody needs to, because the sheriff they've got here damned sure isn't gonna do it. Excuse my language, Isabel.''

‘‘You ought to know by now it doesn't bother me, Captain Andy.''

‘‘Yeah, well, that don't give me any excuse not to be a gentleman.'' Russell turned his attention back to Fargo. ‘‘McShane's been making life on the bayou miserable for me and some of the other captains. Anything you can do to stop him will be more than welcome, Mr. Fargo.''

‘‘Those other riverboat captains you mentioned . . . they all have contracts with Kiley, don't they?''

‘‘Yeah, come to think of it, they do.'' Russell frowned. ‘‘What are you getting at? You think McShane and his bunch are going after particular boats and leaving the others alone?''

‘‘That's exactly what they're doing, according to what you and Kiley have told me. The question now is why.''

‘‘Baxter,'' the captain breathed with a hostile scowl on his face.

Fargo nodded. ‘‘It's a possibility. That's one of the things I intend to find out, along with where McShane and his men are holed up when they're not attacking riverboats. Would you have any ideas about that, Captain?''

Russell frowned in thought for a moment and then said, ‘‘We'd just passed Alligator Slough when their canoes showed up behind us yesterday. Chances are they were waiting up in the slough until we'd gone past. But that wouldn't have to mean their hideout's up there somewhere.'' He shrugged. ‘‘Doesn't mean it's not, either.''

Fargo nodded. ‘‘It's a place to start looking, anyway.''

‘‘Be careful,'' Russell warned. ‘‘Red Mike's tricky, and he's meaner'n a snake. That little brother of his isn't much better. They remind me of stories I've heard about Big Harpe and Little Harpe.''

Fargo knew what Russell was talking about. The Harpe brothers, Micajah, called Big, and Wiley, known as Little, were before his time, but they were famous—or infamous—for being brutal pirates on the Ohio River some sixty years earlier. Vicious and bloodthirsty by nature, they and their gang had preyed on flatboats traveling up and down the river, looting cargo and murdering the boatmen.

‘‘If the McShanes are like the Harpes, they've got a bloody reputation to live up to,'' Fargo commented. ‘‘Where do I find this Alligator Slough?''

Russell gave Fargo directions to the small, creeklike stream that wound north into the woods from Big Cypress Bayou about five miles east of Jefferson.

Fargo and Isabel chatted for a few more minutes with Russell before Dr. Fearn came into the room and hinted strongly that it would be best for them to let the captain get his rest.

‘‘I'm sorry about stranding you here, Isabel,'' Russell said as he took her hand with his good hand and squeezed it. ‘‘As soon as I'm up and about again, we'll head back to Shreveport.''

‘‘Don't worry about anything except getting better, Captain Andy,'' she told him. She glanced at Fargo, then smiled and added, ‘‘I'm fine staying here in Jefferson for a while.''

‘‘Oh,'' Russell said in understanding, with a smile of his own. ‘‘All right, then.''

As they left the doctor's house, Fargo looked around for the one-eyed man who had seemed to be watching him earlier. He didn't see the man anywhere, but he intended to keep an eye out for him—so to speak.

‘‘Are you really going out to Alligator Slough?'' Isabel asked.

‘‘I promised Kiley I'd try to track down Red Mike and his gang,'' Fargo said.

‘‘And you're a man of your word.''

Fargo chuckled. ‘‘Seems to be one of my failings.''

‘‘All right.'' She paused and put a hand on his arm. ‘‘Be careful, Skye. I know when the time comes you'll be riding on, but I want to make as much of our time together as we can.''

Fargo nodded and leaned forward to brush a kiss against her soft cheek. ‘‘Me, too,'' he told her.

With that he headed for the stable to saddle up the Ovaro. He could tell that the stallion was eager to get out on the trail again.

So was Fargo. Settlements had their attractions— whiskey, cards, beautiful women—but at heart, what he really liked best was traveling through an untamed land.

Although there were quite a few towns that had sprung up in East Texas, many sections of it still qualified. As he followed the bayou out of Jefferson, he glanced at the thick woods bordering the stream and knew that in their depths lurked all sorts of natural dangers, such as bears, panthers, and wolves. Venomous snakes, such as the rattler, copperhead, and cottonmouth, were common. The coral snake, whose bite was the most lethal of all, could also be found in the forest. Briars and other spiny plants would rip a man's flesh if he wasn't careful.

And of course, there were the
unnatural
dangers, too, like Red Mike McShane and his gang of river pirates. Fargo had heard it said that man was the most vicious predator on the planet, and considering some of the two-legged varmints he had run into, he didn't doubt that for a second.