Treasure Mountain s-17 Page 2

  New Orleans wasn't no new place to me, like I said. We Sacketts, along with other hill folks from Kentucky or Tennessee, been floating rafts of logs downstream for a coon's age, but the places I knew best weren't likely to be on Orrin's callin' list. Come to think of it most of those places were joints where I'd gone to roust out our shanty boys to get them started home. Places like Billy Phillip's 101 Ranch, Lulu White's Mahogany Hall, the Five Dollar House, and the Frenchman's. Or maybe Murphy's Dance House on Gallatin Street.

  You had to be a man with the bark on to even go into those places. I never paid 'em much mind, but when you went downriver with a shanty-boat crew you wound up in some mighty rough places. I usually had to lead the fight that got them out, and those fights aren't for the delicate. It was fist, skull, an' batter 'em down, and you stayed on your feet or you got tromped.

  The Saint Charles Hotel was a mighty fine place, the like of which I'd not seen before. In my dusty black suit and boots I didn't shape up to the kind of folks they quartered there.

  The clerk had his barn slicked down like he'd been licked to be swallered, and he looked at me like I was something a dog dragged up on the porch. "Yes?" he said.

  "I am hunting Orrin Sackett," I said. "He's bedded down here."

  The clerk took down a big register and checked the list. "Oh, yes! Mr. Sackett.

  But he is no longer with us. He's been gone--let's see--he left on the twentieth, sir. He's been gone two days."

  Now that just didn't set right. Orrin had said positive that he would meet me at the Saint Charles today. So if he was gone, he'd be back.

  "You sure? He was to meet me here."

  "I am sorry, sir. Mr. Sackett checked out and left no forwarding address."

  "He took his duffle, his bags, an' like that?"

  "Of course, he--" This gent held up suddenly like he'd thought of something.

  "When I think of it, he did leave his saddle here and a rifle, I believe."

  Now I was worried. No Sackett goes off anywhere without a saddle and a Winchester. It just didn't stand to reason Orrin would.

  "I guess you better let me have a room," I said. "The same room he had if it's available."

  He hesitated, evidently not sure if I could stand the traffic, but I took out my poke and shook him out a couple of double eagles. "You set that by," I said, "an" when she's et up, you give me a whistle.

  "Whilst you're about it, send up a tailor. I got to order some Sunday-go-to-meetin' clothes."

  That room was most elegant. Had a big flowered bowl and pitcher, and there was a bathroom right down the hall. I set my gear down and took a quick look around.

  The room had been cleaned so there'd be nothing of Orrin's left, but I knew Orrin real well and had an idea where to look.

  Under a corner of the rug, pasted there neat as could be, were two gold pieces.

  That was a trait of Orrin's--it was getaway money in case he got robbed or whatever. Now I knew for sure something was wrong, wrong as all get-out. If he had reason to leave his saddle and rifle, Orrin would never leave without his getaway money.

  Right then I set down and went to figuring. Gettin' yourself robbed, knocked on the head, or killed in New Orleans in these 1870s was about the easiest thing a body could do, but Orrin was no pilgrim. He'd been where the bear walks an' the buzzard roosts, and he was uncommon shrewd in the ways of men.

  About then I pulled up and set my saddle. Orrin was knowing in the ways of men, but his record was no good when it come to reading sign on women. Tyrel or me, we were more suspicious, maybe because women hadn't paid us so much mind as they had Orrin. He had takin' ways, and kind of expected women to like him, which they usually did. More than that, he was a downright friendly man, and if Orrin was in trouble you can bet there was a woman somewhere around. Of course, you can say that of most men.

  After the tailor had come to measure me for a couple of suits, I talked to the boy who showed him up to the room. "This here room," I said, "was occupied until a couple of days ago by a handsome big man with a nice smile. You recall him?"

  "I do."

  "Now, I am his brother, so you can talk free. Did he have him a woman around?"

  "He did not. He was in his room very little. I remember him, suh. He was most thoughtful, suh."

  "Did you see him with anyone else? I've got to find him." I put a silver dollar in his hand. "You ask around. Come to me as soon as you hear tell of him and I'll have another of those for you."

  Disappearing is one of the least easy things to do if a body has any recognizable way of living. We all set patterns, and if we break them somebody is sure to notice, although it may be somebody we don't even know.

  Orrin was a man easy to notice and easy to remember. He never made it a point to be nice to folks ... he just was. It was him. He was polite to everyone, a man folks talked to mighty easy, a man with a pleasant way about him who would sooner avoid trouble than have it. He could put you off guard and turn a conversation from trouble into casual talk better than anybody I ever knew.

  At the same time he was strong, as strong as me, I expect, and I never took hold of anything that it didn't move. He was a fine boxer, a better than average Cornish-style wrestler, and a dead shot with either hand. Peaceful man though he was, I never knew anybody to take more pleasure in a plain or fancy knockdown and drag-out brawl. In spite of his easy-going ways, if you shaped up to tear down his meathouse you'd bought yourself a packet of trouble.

  So I just idled about, listening and talking to a few folks about my brother, but nobody recalled anything helpful. People around the Saint Charles remembered him and so did a boy at the corner who sold newspapers, a man down the street at a secondhand book store, and a girl who served him coffee a couple of times in a restaurant down the street a few blocks. An old Negro who drove a carriage for hire told me about him going there.

  It was a small place under a wrought-iron balcony. There was a table near a wide window looking out on the street. Now I'm a coffee-drinking man and always kind of had an urge for the coffee they brew down Louisiana way, so I took a table by the window and a right pretty girl with dark hair and dark eyes brought me coffee. Right off I asked about Orrin.

  "Oh, yes! I remember him very well, but he has not been in lately. Not for two or three days."

  "Did he come here often?"

  "He surely did. And he always sat right where you're sitting. He said he liked to watch people walking along the street."

  "Was he always alone?"

  "Yes--always. I never even saw him speak to anyone until the last time he was in.

  He spoke to a lady who comes in sometimes."

  "Young?"

  "Oh, no. Mrs. LaCroix is--well, she's past sixty, I'd say."

  "Did they have coffee?"

  "Oh, no. They just spoke. Well, she did talk to him a little. She was thanking him for something. I--I didn't listen, you know, but I couldn't help but hear. It was something that happened in the dining room at the Saint Charles. I have no idea what it was about except that Mr. Sackett avoided trouble for them, somehow."

  Well, that was something.

  Orrin never was much inclined to just sit around and drink coffee, so if he came here more than once he had him a reason. Orrin liked to watch the people pass, did he?

  What people? There was a lot of folks yonder, and somebody was passin' every minute, but I had an idea he wouldn't sit here just on the chance somebody would pass ... he must have known somebody would go by there, or maybe there was somebody he could watch from where he sat.

  I sat there about half an hour when the waitress returned to my table. The other folks who had been drinking coffee were gone.

  "Sit down," I suggested. "My front name is Tell, short for William Tell, a man my pa favored for his arrow shooting and his way of thinking. It's mighty nice, just to set and watch the folks go by. I've seen more people in the last half hour than I see in two months out yonder where I've been, and I've never seen so many people afo
ot."

  She was amused. "Do you ride everywhere?"

  "A man wouldn't be caught dead without a horse, ma'am. Why, when Eb Parley was to be buried out yonder they laid him out in the hearse nice an' proper, an' d'you know what the corpse done? He got right up out of the coffin straddled a horse, an' rode all the way to the bone yard; then he crawled back into the coffin and they buried him peaceful."

  At that moment a man walked out of the saloon across the street. He was a huge man with heavy shoulders, the biggest hands and feet I ever did see, and a wide, flat face. He wore boots, a red sash about his waist, and a nondescript gray coat and pants.

  "Who's that?"

  She looked quickly, then away. "Don't let him see you looking at him. That's Hippo Swan. He's a notorious bully. He used to be overseer at the Baston plantation before they lost their slaves. Now he just hangs around the dance-saloons."

  When I returned to the hotel I went to the desk. "Did my brother leave no message at all when he left?" I asked.

  "As a matter of fact, Mr. Sackett, I did not see your brother that day. He sent a messenger for his valise."

  "Just that? No written message?"

  "Of course. We would never give a guest's baggage to anyone without an order. In fact, we have it on file." He got out the message. It was written on ordinary tablet paper, and the handwriting was nothing like my brother's excellent script.

  Opening the register to my brother's entry I laid the two signatures side by side. There was no resemblance.

  The clerk's face grew flushed. "I am sorry, sir. I think I had better call the manager."

  Chapter III

  Up in my room, I sat down to do some figuring. Orrin was surely in trouble, and it was serious trouble by the look of it. He was not a man to seek difficulties, and he had a smooth tongue for them when they came, so what could have happened?

  He had not returned to his room. Somebody else had picked up his luggage, using a forged note to do it. Whoever came for the valise hadn't dreamed there'd be a rifle and saddle locked up at the hotel. Folks visiting in New Orleans rarely came equipped like that.

  Looked to me like the only lead I had was that woman he'd spoken to in the coffee shop--Mrs. LaCroix--the name was not uncommon.

  She had been in the dining room of the Saint Charles, and Orrin had helped her with some difficulty. Now that would be like Orrin. No Sackett ever stood by with a woman needing help. Looked to me like the dining room was the place to start inquiries.

  Missing two days ... I was scared.

  Orrin could be just one of many to be robbed or killed. The only lead I had was what took place in the dining room and that might be nothing at all. Of course, there was that time, years back, when we came downriver with a raft of logs and had that shindig on the river front, but more than likely nobody remembered that. Still, a look along the dance-saloon route might turn up something.

  Come to think of it, I had a friend down yonder. There was a woman down there, a mighty notorious woman now, from what I heard. She'd been a hard case even as a youngster when I helped her out a couple of times. Bricktop Jackson was now figured to be as tough as they come, a mighty handsome woman with a figure like nothing you ever saw, but a woman who could, and would, fight like the dirtiest waterfront brawler you ever did see. Bricktop was a thief, a murderer, and a lot of other things, but she would know what was happening along the mean streets, and maybe she would tell me.

  There was a tap on the door. I took up my Colt and shoved it down behind my waistband, then opened the door. It was that Negro bell man that I'd given the dollar to.

  "Mr. Sackett?" He stepped in and closed the door behind him. "I have some information, suh."

  Well, I went down into my pocket for a dollar, but he wasn't hungry. He said, "Your brother had an altercation, suh. He exchanged a few words with Mr. Baston, suh."

  "Baston?" Where had I heard that name?

  "Andre Baston, suh."

  He said it like it was a name I should know. When I looked puzzled he said, "Andre Baston is thought by some to be the most dangerous man in New Orleans, suh. He has killed twelve men ... in duels, suh; with pistol, knife, or rapier he is considered the best."

  In some places that might not have meant so much, but New Orleans was no ordinary town.

  "What happened?"

  Briefly, he explained what had happened in the dining room, but it did not come to much. There had been some words, but it was purely a small matter, and, had anybody but this here Baston been involved, nobody would have paid it much mind.

  "Those people he was talking to? Was their name LaCroix?"

  "Yes, suh. It was. They are fine people, very fine people, suh."

  "And the Bastons?"

  This Negro was a fine-looking man of fifty or so, with an inborn dignity and obviously some education. His distaste for gossip was evident, but there was something more here, too. Now I ain't given to second sight, but feelings show through, and it was right plain that this man liked the LaCroix people, but not the Bastons.

  "There are many Bastons, suh. Some of them fine people. Most of them, in fact.

  Old Mr. Philip, suh ... before the war, suh, I was one of his people. He was a fine man, a fine man."

  "What about Andre?"

  He hesitated. "Mr. Sackett, I would have no dealings with him, suh."

  "You did say he had killed twelve men."

  "I said he had killed twelve men in duels, suh. There have been others, suh, when the arrangements were less formal."

  Well, that didn't get me anywhere. Orrin had exchanged a few words with Baston and they had parted. If I could talk to the LaCroix people they could tell me what was said, but the lead did not look promising. It looked to me like Orrin had just dropped off the world.

  Two days more of hunting and inquiring left me exactly where I was when I arrived. Now Orrin had been missing four days. And then I located the LaCroix family.

  When I was shown into the library where they were sitting they seemed surprised.

  Mr. LaCroix got up quickly, but he was a mite stiff, I could see. He was a fine-looking man, well up in years. "Mr. Sackett? I am sorry. I was expecting--"

  "My brother, I guess. Orrin's a sight better looking than me."

  "You are--"

  "William Tell Sackett, ma'am. Fact is, I came to see if you had seen my brother?"

  "Seen him? Of course. He sat beside us at dinner one night, and I believe Mrs.

  LaCroix saw him at the coffee shop one day."

  "Yes, I did. It was. A chance meeting but a fortunate one as I wished to thank him again."

  "Sir? What happened that night? I mean, if you don't mind. You see, Orrin's been missing for four days."

  Well, they exchanged a look, and it was a scared look.

  "If you could tell me just what happened, it might help," I suggested. "I've heard a good deal as far as Baston is concerned, but what happened there in the dining room?"

  Betwixt them, they laid it out for me, and all of it made sense except that last question about what happened to Pierre. When I brought that up they told me Orrin said he was interested in some mining claims out in the San Juans, which is about what Orrin would say to cover his reasons for asking questions. It might give him a lead on somebody who left New Orleans for the wild lands to the west, as it seemed likely to have done.

  It began to look like Orrin had thrown that Pierre question in there on chance.

  It was one of his lawyer's tricks, and it had taken Andre Baston off guard ... but it might have gotten Orrin killed, too. A body just didn't play games with a man like Baston.

  "This Andre Baston now? Was he alone?"

  "He was joining his niece, Fanny, and nephew at a table near your brother."

  "And this Pierre they spoke of?"

  "Pierre Bontemps. He was Andre's brother-in-law. He went west on some wild venture. Pierre was that way, always going off somewhere at the least excuse. He was killed out there, by Indians, it was said. A
ndre got back."

  It still didn't shape up to much. Orrin had exchanged a few words with a man with a reputation as a duelist, and he had said something to which I gathered Baston's reaction was mighty strong.

  A few more questions, and it began to look like when pa went west it was with Pierre Bontemps, Andre Baston, and some others. I had no idea how many others and who they were.

  After a little more talk I got into a carriage and returned to the Saint Charles. When I stepped down from the carriage, Hippo Swan was standing on the curb opposite the hotel. And when I saw him I remembered where I'd heard the name Baston before. The girl in the coffee shop had said he had once worked for someone named Baston.

  When I reached the door, I glanced back. Hippo Swan was lighting a cigar, but he was holding the match up higher than necessary, or so it seemed to me.

  A signal? If so, to whom?

  Well, now. Chances were I was just seeing shadows where none existed, but it costs nothing to play if safe. Nobody had left any messages at the desk for me so I started on up to my room.

  The window, I recalled, looked over the street out front. A body standing in that window could easily see a match struck down there on the street. Turning around on the stairs I went back down to the desk. The clerk was gone, but the Negro I'd talked to earlier was standing there.

  "Is there anyone in the room adjoining mine? The one with the door opening into mine?"

  He consulted the register. "Not at present, suh."

  I put a silver dollar on the desk. "Could you let me have it for a few minutes?"

  He looked straight into my eyes. "What seems to be the trouble, Mr. Sackett?"

  "Well, now. I'm kind of a cautious man. It seems to me that one Sackett disappearing is enough, and if somebody was inside my room now, somebody who was waiting for me, he'd be likely to be waiting beside the hall door."

  "It is likely, suh." He pushed the key toward me and my dollar as well. "Would you like me to call the hotel officer, suh?"

  "Thank you ... no."

  Turning away I started for the steps. He spoke after me. "Good hunting, suh."

  I walked softly down the carpeted hall and opened the room next to mine, then ever so gently I put the key into the lock, careful to make no sound. I ran quickly around to my own door, fumbled with the knob, then swore softly, muttering something about the key.