Ride the River (1983) s-5 Read online

  Ride the River (1983)

  ( Sacketts - 5 )

  Louis L'amour

  In Ride the River, Louis L’Amour spins the tale of a young woman who has to protect her family fortune from a murderous thief and teach him what it means to be a Sackett. Sixteen-year-old Echo Sackett had never been far from her Tennessee home—until she made the long trek to Philadelphia to collect an inheritance. Echo could take care of herself as well as any Sackett man, but James White, a sharp city lawyer, figured that cheating the money from the young girl would be like taking candy from a baby. If he couldn’t hoodwink Echo out of the cash, he’d just steal it from her outright. And if she put up a fight? There were plenty of accidents that could happen to a country girl on her first trip to the big city.

  Ride The River

  The Sacketts 5

  Louis L'amour

  The Sacketts

  Their story is the story of the American frontier, an unforgettable saga of the men and women who tamed a wilderness and built a nation with their dreams and their courage.

  Created by master storyteller Louis L'Amour, the Sackett saga brings to life the spirit and adventures of generations of pioneers. Fiercely independent and determined to face any and all challenges, they discovered their destiny in settling a great and wild land.

  Each Sackett novel is a complete, exciting historical adventure. Read as a group, they tell the epic tale of a country unlike any the world has ever known. And no one writes more powerfully about the frontier than Louis L'Amour, who has walked and ridden down the same trails as the Sackett family he has immortalized. The Sackett novels represent L'Amour at his very best, a high point in a truly legendary career.

  Chapter 1

  When daylight crested Siler's Bald, I taken up my carpetbag and rifle and followed the Middle Prong toward Tuckalucky Cove.

  "Echo," Ma said, "if you be goin' to the Settlements you better lay down that rifle-gun an' set up a few nights with a needle.

  "You take them Godey's Lady's Books the pack-peddler left with us and give them study. City folks dress a sight different than we-uns and you don't want to shame yourself."

  There was money coming to us and I was to go fetch it home. Pa had wore hisself out scratchin' a livin' from a side-hill farm, and a few months back he give up the fight and "went west," as the sayin' was. We buried him yonder where the big oak stands and marked his place with letterin' on a stone.

  The boys were trappin' beaver in the Shining Mountains far to the westward and there was nobody t' home but Regal an' me, and Regal was laid up. He'd had a mite of a set-to with a cross bear who didn't recognize him for a Sackett. There'd been a sight of jawin' an' clawin' before Regal stretched him out, Regal usin' what he had to hand, a knife and a double-bit ax. Trouble was Regal got himself chawed and clawed in the doin' of it and was in no shape for travel.

  Me, I'd been huntin' meat for the table since I was shorter than the rifle I carried and the last few years I'd killed so much I was sellin' meat to the butcher. No sooner did I get a mite of money more'n what was needed than I began dreamin' over the fancy fixin's in Godey's fashion magazine.

  When a girl gets to be sixteen, it's time she set her cap for a man but I'd yet to see one for whom I'd fetch an' carry. Like any girl, I'd done a sight of dreamin', but not about the boys along Fightin' Creek or the Middle Prong. My dreams were of somethin' far off an' fancy. Part of that was due to Regal.

  Regal was my uncle, a brother to Pa, and when he was a boy he'd gone off a-yonderin' along the mountains to the Settlements. We had kinfolk down to Charleston and he visited there before continuing on his way. He told me of folks he met there, of their clothes, the homes they lived in, the theayters they went to an' the fancy food.

  Regal had been out among 'em in his time an' I suspect he'd cut some fancy didoes wherever he went. Regal was tall, stronger than three bulls, and quick with a smile that made a girl tingle to her toes. Many of them told me that very thing, and although many a girl set her cap for Regal, he was sly to all their ways and wary of traps. Oh, he had a way with him, Regal did!

  "Don't you be in no hurry," he advised me. "You're cute as a button and you've got a nice shape. You're enough to start any man a-wonderin' where his summer wages went.

  "You hold your horses. No need to marry up with somebody just because the other girls are doin' it. I've been yonder where folks live different and there's a better way than to spend your years churnin' milk an' hoeing corn. But one word of caution: don't you be lettin' the boys know how good you can shoot. Not many men would like to be bested by a spit of a girl not five feet tall!"

  "I'm five-feet-two!" I protested.

  "You mind what I say. When you get down to the Settlements, you mind your P's an' Q's. When a man talks to a girl, he's not as honest as he might be, although at the time he half-believes it all himself. There's times a man will promise a girl anything an' forget his promises before the hour's up."

  "Did you make promises like that, Regal?"

  "No, I never. When a woman sees a man she wants, there's no need to promise or even say very much. A woman will come up with better answers than any poor mountain boy could think up. I was kind of shy there at first, then I found it was workin' for me so I just kept on bein' shy.

  "Womenfolks have powerful imaginations when it comes to a man, an' she can read things into him he never knew was there, and like as not, they ain't!"

  Turning to look back, I could still see Blanket and Thunderhead Mountains and the end of Davis Ridge. It was clouding up and coming on to rain.

  Philadelphia had more folks in it than I reckoned there was in the world. When I stepped down from the stage I made query of the driver as to where I was wishful of goin' and he stepped out into the street and pointed the way.

  The place I was heading for was a rooming-and-boarding house kept by a woman who had kinfolk in the mountains. It was reckoned a safe place for a young girl to stay. Not that I was much worried. I had me an Arkansas toothpick slung in its scabbard inside my dress and a little slit pocket where I could reach through the folds to fetch it. In my carpetbag I carried a pistol.

  Most unmarried folks and others who were married ate in boardinghouses, them days. Restaurants were for folks with money or for an evening on the town. Folks who worked in shops and the like hunted places where there was room an' board, although some roomed in one place and boarded elsewhere.

  Amy Sulky had twelve rooms to let but she set table for twenty-four. She had two setups for breakfast, one for noontime, as most carried lunches to their work or caught a snack nearby or from a street vendor. At suppertime she had two settin's again.

  I'd writ Amy so she knew I was comin' and had kept a place for me. A nice room it was, too, mighty luxurious for the likes of me, with curtains to the windows, a rag rug on the floor, a bed, a chair, and a washstand with a white china bowl and pitcher on it.

  First thing when I got to my room was take a peek past the curtain, and sure enough, the man who followed me from the stage was outside, makin' like he was readin' a newspaper.

  When a girl grows up in Injun country hunting all her born days, she becomes watchful. Gettin' down from the stage, I saw that man see me like I was somebody expected. Making a point of not seemin' to notice, I started off up the street, but when I stopped at a crossing, I noticed him fold his newspaper and start after me.

  Back in the high country folks said I was a right pretty girl, but that cut no figure here. Any girl knows when a man notices her because she's pretty, but this man had no such ideas in mind. I'd hunted too much game not to know when I am hunted myself.

  If he wasn't followin' because he liked my looks, then why? Anybody could see I wasn't well-off. My cl
othes were pretty because I'd made them myself, but they weren't fancy city clothes. As I didn't look to be carryin' money, why should he follow me?

  My reason for coming to Philadelphia was to meet up with a lawyer and collect money that was due me. By all accounts it was a goodly sum, but who could know that?

  Somebody might have talked too much. The lawyer himself or his clerk, if he had such a thing. Most folks like to talk and seem important. Given special knowledge, they can't wait to speak of it.

  The only reason I could think of for someone to follow me was because he knew what I'd come for and meant to have it.

  Back yonder, folks warned of traps laid for young girls in the cities, but none of that worried me. I was coming to get money, and once I had it in hand, I was going right back where I came from. In my short years I'd had some going round and about with varmints, and although I hadn't my rifle with me, I did have a pistol and my Arkansas toothpick. It was two-edged, razor-sharp, with a point like a needle. If a body so much as fell against that point, it would go in to the hilt, it was that sharp.

  Amy Sulky set a good table. She seated me on her left and told folks I was a friend from Tennessee. The city folks at the table bowed, smiled, and said their howdy-dos.

  There was a tall, straight woman with her hair parted down the middle who looked like she'd been weaned on a sour pickle, and there was a plump gentleman with muttonchop whiskers who gave me the merest nod and went back to serious eating.

  Seemed to me he figured he'd paid for his board and was going to be sure he got his money's worth, and maybe his neighbor's, too. Opposite me sat a quiet, serious-looking man with a bald head and a pointed beard. He was neat, attractive, and friendly. He asked if I intended to stay in the city and I told him I was leaving as soon as I'd done what I came for.

  One thing led to another and I told him about us seeing that item about property left to the "youngest descendant of Kin Sackett." I told him we'd found the notice in the Penny Advocate . It had come wrapped around some goods sold us by the pack peddler.

  "That strikes me as odd, Mrs. Sulky," he said, turning to her. "The Advocate has but a small circulation here in Pennsylvania. I imagine few copies get beyond the borders of the state. It must have been sheer chance that Miss Sackett saw the item at all."

  He glanced at me. "Have you inquired at the address?"

  "No, sir, I have just come to town. We wrote to them and they said I must come to Philadelphia to establish my relationship."

  "Odd," he said again. "It is none of my business, of course, but the procedure seems peculiar. I know nothing of the legalities. Perhaps they were required to advertise for heirs, but if so, they used an unlikely method. No doubt they were surprised when they heard from you."

  The talk turned to other things, but he'd put a bee in my bonnet. I said nothing about being followed, as more than likely they would think it was my imagination, but more and more I was wondering if there mightn't be some crookedness afoot. If any money was coming to us, we wanted it and our family hadn't had any cash money to speak of for longer than I wished to remember.

  It was a puzzler that we'd been left money by kinfolk of Kin Sackett, because Kin had been dead for nigh onto two hundred years. Kin was the first of our blood born on American soil. His pappy had been old Barnabas Sackett, who settled on Shooting Creek, in North Carolina. He and some of his ship's crew had done well, finding some gem sapphires east of where Barnabas settled.

  Barnabas was killed by Injuns near what was called Crab Orchard, and Kin became the old man of the family. His younger brother Yance settled in the Clinch Mountains, where he raised a brood of wild boys who would fight at the drop of a hat and drop it themselves. Those boys grew up back at the forks of the creek and were raised on bear meat and sourwood honey, but now I was the youngest of Kin's line.

  At breakfast Amy Sulky advised me to have a care. "This town is full of sharpers trying to take money from honest folk."

  "I've no money for bait," I said. "When I pay you, and my fare on the stage, I'll have nothing left but eating money. The little I have was earned a-hunting."

  "Hunting?" The fat man stared at me.

  "Yes, sir. My brothers went west, so if there was meat on the table it was up to me. We ate real good, but I shot so much I commenced selling to the butcher."

  "Powder and ball cost money!"

  "Yes, sir, but I don't miss very often. Nor do I shoot unless my chances are good."

  "Even so, one does miss."

  "Yes, sir. I missed one time last August. Mistook a stub of a branch for a squirrel. That squirrel ducked from sight and I seen that stub of branch. I hit what I shot at, but it was no squirrel."

  "You mean to say you haven't missed a shot since last August?"

  "You come from the mountains, Mrs. Sulky. You can tell him how folks are about wastin' powder an' shot. Pappy taught us to hit what we shot at. Mostly we do, and that includes Regal."

  "Ah, that Regal!" Amy Sulky said wistfully. "Did he ever marry?"

  "Not so's you'd notice. He says he will when the right girl comes along."

  When I started to leave the house, the man with the bald head was leaving too. "Miss Sackett? I know nothing of your affairs, but be careful. Don't offer any information you don't have to, and above all, don't sign any papers."

  "Yes, sir, thank you, sir."

  The man with the newspaper was standing near a rig tied across the street. He was a thickset man wearing a gray hard hat and a houndstooth coat. If he was wishful of not being seen, he was a stupid man. I walked away up the street, and after a moment, he followed.

  Chapter 2

  James White had an office on a small avenue that ran into Broad Street. The nice gentleman with the bald head and beard had directed me. On this day I carried a knitting bag and I had some knitting in it. I also had my pistol. The Arkansas toothpick was in its usual place and ready to hand.

  Womenfolks did not go armed in Philadelphia, Ma said, unless they carried a hatpin, but nobody needed hatpins with the poke bonnets everybody was wearing. I let mine sort of hang back on my neck by its ribbon because I could see better from the corners of my eyes, and I'd spent too much time in the woods to want my vision blocked to the sides.

  There were handsome buildings to right and left, with marble steps. The streets were of brick. Passing by a building with a beautiful marble front to it and marble steps, all the marble with blue veins, I glimpsed some brass plates with the names of the occupants on them.

  One I noticed in particular because it had a familiar sound.

  CHANTRY & CHANTRY, LAWYERS

  Seemed to me it was a name I'd heard at storytelling time back in the mountains. We'd set around with the fire crackling, sometimes popping corn or having a taffy pull, and there would be stories told.

  Sure enough, I found James White's office on a side street. Opening the door, I entered and found it was a small room with a couple of hard chairs, a sofa, and a small desk with a young man settin' behind it. Yet just as I entered, the door across the room was closing and I caught a glimpse of a boot heel and some pants leg before the door closed. Looked like that man who followed me, but how he could have gotten ahead without me seeing him, I did not know. Maybe it was somebody else.

  The young man behind the desk had rumpled hair and a sly look to him. He looked kind of unwashed and slept-in. He looked at me impudent-like and said, "What's for you?"

  "I would like to see Mr. White. Tell him Miss Sackett is here."

  He sat there for a minute like he had no idea of moving, and then he stood up. "Sackett, is it? You that hillbilly girl?"

  "If you will tell Mr. White that I am here ..."

  "Little thing, ain't you?"

  "I am as big as I need to be."

  He leered. "Reckon that's so. Yes, sir! I reckon you're right, at that!"

  "Mr. White, please."

  He turned lazily and went to the door, opened it, and said, "Girl to see you. Name of Sackett."

>   There was the sound of a chair moving and then the young man drew back and an older man, short and heavyset, pushed by him. His black hair was slicked down over a round skull. As he came through the door he was shrugging into a coat, and he wore a bushy mustache.

  His wide smile revealed more teeth than I'd seen in a long time and he said, "Miss Sackett? I am James White. Will you come in, please?"

  He let me go past him and then he followed, waving me to a chair and sitting down behind his desk. "Is this your first trip to Philadelphia, Miss Sackett?"

  "Yes, sir. We don't have much occasion to come down to the Settlements."

  "Settlements?" He looked surprised, then chuckled. "Of course! Settlements. I suspect it has been a long time since Philadelphia has been referred to as a Settlement."

  "I came about the money."

  "Ah, yes. Of course. You can prove who you are, Miss Sackett? I mean, that you are a descendant of Kin Sackett?"

  "Yes, I can."

  "A considerable sum is involved. Of course, there will be charges against it. My fees, the advertising ..."

  He waved a hand, smiling and showing all those teeth. "But what am I doing? Talking business with a lovely young lady on her first trip to Philadelphia! We should be planning to go out upon the town! Business can come later."

  "I'd as soon tend to it now. I don't aim ... I mean, I don't intend to stay longer than necessary. I'd like to get this over with."

  "Of course you would! But I cannot be lacking in hospitality! You must let me take you to one of our restaurants, where we can discuss business at leisure."

  "No."

  Startled, White stared at me with cold eyes. "You refuse? I assure you - "

  "Not to be impolite, sir, but I think we should discuss business first. I must return to the mountains. If you will just tell me how much is coming to me and what remains to be done, we can get along with it."

  White was irritated, and he concealed it poorly. What he had in mind, I had no idea, but obviously getting down to business was not part of it.