Ride the River (1983) s-5 Page 5

  He ordered more coffee and I glanced over at the table where the three young men had been. Other folks sat there now.

  "Echo? What are your plans? You could stay here, you know. There are several very fine schools for young ladies, and from the attention you are attracting from the young men, I cannot imagine you would be lonely."

  "No, sir. I shall head for the hills again when morning comes. The folks back home will wonder how I am faring."

  "You could stay, you know. I have a very large, very empty house, and Mary Brennan - she's my housekeeper - would love to have you to fuss over. I am afraid I demand too little of her time."

  "Thank you, sir. I'm a-longing for the smell of the pines, and I want to see the clouds gatherin' over Clingman's Dome."

  "You should come a-callin' sometime when the leaves are falling and it gets on to storytellin' time. Most of our young-uns learn their history from stories told by the fireside. It isn't the history you folks know, but it's the story of people we know or our grandfolks knew."

  "Wars aren't far-off things to us. Pa fit in the War of 1812. He was with the Kentucky riflemen who stood behind the bales of cotton at New Orleans. When fightin' men were needed, there was always a Sackett to be found."

  Mr. Chantry, I thought, was a lonely man, and when we lingered at table it was because he wished to prolong the time. I knew how he felt, because many a time when we'd set by the fire telling stories or singin' the old ballads like "Greensleeves" or "Barbry Alien," I wished it would never end.

  "I miss my wife, Echo," he said suddenly. "You are so like her, so very feminine." He glanced at me, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Somehow, I cannot imagine you with a rifle."

  "I grew up with one, used a rifle as soon as a needle. I used to walk the woods to school, or canoe on the rivers, and when a girl's much alone, she becomes independent. I've camped out in the woods when caught by storms. It never worried me much."

  "You leave in the morning?"

  "Yes, sir. I have already booked passage on the stage."

  "You must be careful. You will be carrying what is a great deal of money to some people, and that little iron box could buy you a farm in the flatlands, and a big farm at that."

  "Felix Horst is still here, and I do not believe it is an accident. He owes White a favor and he is a dangerous man. I wish you would change your mind and stay with me."

  "If Horst comes after me for the money," I said, "I think it will be for himself. He looks like a meaner man than Mr. White. He'd rob a man quick enough, I think, and kill him, too. Once I get in the woods, I won't be worried about such as him."

  Mr. Chantry smiled, shaking his head. "You Sacketts! You always amaze me!"

  "We live in wild country, sir. I know folks who think all wild things are sweet and cuddly, but they've never come into a henhouse after a weasel has been there. He can drink the blood of only one or two, but often as not he'll kill every one of them. Wolves will do it in a pen of lambs, too. There are savage beasts in the world, Mr. Chantry, and men who are just as savage. We've come upon them now and again."

  Well, I switched the subject to pleasanter things and got him to telling me of his courtship and how he proposed and all. When he stopped the carriage at Mrs. Sulky's, it was mighty late. As the carriage moved away, something stirred in the shadows across the street.

  The trouble was, when I snuggled down in bed, I wasn't thinking of the stage that would take me west to Pittsburgh, but of the back of that young man's head and those broad shoulders. The trouble was, I'd probably never see him again, or get to know him.

  Amy Sulky was in the kitchen when I came down the stairs before daybreak. She was there working with the black woman who did most of the cooking. She was a free woman wedded to a man who was coachman for a wealthy family. They went to the door with me and Amy fretted some. "I don't like it! You going home alone, all that way! And you carrying money!"

  "The less said of it, the better," I cautioned. "But don't you worry none. I've been about the mountains more than a bit."

  We said our good-byes and I taken up my carpetbag, a good bit heavier now, but nothing I couldn't handle. Back in the hills I'd rustled stumps and logs for the fire more than once, and was accustomed to carryin' weight.

  First off, I taken a good look about, but saw nobody watching me.

  At the coach house there was a goodly crowd, but it was not until I was seated that I saw that man with the hard gray hat and the houndstooth coat a-settin' in the corner of the mail coach across from me, but in the farthest corner. There were twelve passengers, and the rest seemed what a body would expect. Five were women, aside from me, but only one who was youngish. She was a pert, pretty girl with big eyes and a friendly smile.

  Seated close beside me was a little old lady with gray hair and quick blue eyes.

  We started at a brisk pace, but the road was rough and we bounced around a good deal, which would have been worse but for the bulky sacks of mail crowded in with us. That little old lady was crowded right up to me, and once, glancing down, I noticed that her carpetbag, a new one, was just like mine.

  Several times I sneaked a look at the man in the gray hat and houndstooth coat, but he was looking out the window and paying me no mind. It could be he was on business of his own and I was just too suspicious. Nevertheless, I decided to stay suspicious.

  We passed several wagons with families bound to the westward, the men walking, the women and children inside. Mostly they were Conestoga wagons, big, strongly built, and built to float if need be. Mostly these folks, according to one of the men on the coach, were heading for Illinois or Missouri. A man named Birkbeck had been settling folks on land he had in Illinois.

  We stopped to let off a couple of people in Lancaster, and pick up one more. Regal was forever talking about the fine rifles made at this place by the Pennsylvania Dutch. At least, that's what he called them.

  My thoughts kept straying back to that young man in the dining room that night. Dorian Chantry. It was a nice name. I minded what Regal said, "Don't be in no hurry. You'll meet a hundred men, maybe one or two of them worthwhile and of the right age."

  "What's the right age?" I had asked him.

  "You'll know when you see him," he said, grinning at me.

  It was late, so I didn't see much of Lancaster, but we stopped for more than an hour in Elizabeth Town and I carried my bag with me to the place where we could get coffee, bread, and some slices of beef. The little old lady had come from the stage too, and she sat near me, smiling very pleasantly but keeping to herself and showing no mood for talk.

  We passed through several towns, none of them far apart, and it was not until Chambersburg that we stopped for the night. By that time we were dead beat. I was so tired of being jounced around that I scarcely could move. I saw the man in the houndstooth coat help that little old lady down from the carriage, taking her bag from her in kindly fashion. Maybe I was mistaken about him.

  Picking up my bag, I started for the door to step down, but the bag felt funny. I looked down, and in the dim light it looked all right. Somebody helped me down and I picked up the bag again.

  It was too light. Opening it, I taken one look. It wasn't my bag!

  Horrified, I looked up just in time to see the man in the houndstooth coat and that little old lady vanishing around a corner! He was carrying my bag.

  Chapter 7

  Finian Chantry looked up from his desk as the door opened. Slowly he jostled the papers together until the ends squared, then placed them to one side.

  Dorian Chantry was a tall, athletic young man, not unlike he himself at that age, although, Finian admitted, Dorian was a bit broader in the shoulders and somewhat more muscular than he himself had been.

  "I have a mission for you."

  "A mission? Or do you mean a job?" Dorian revealed even white teeth in a flashing smile.

  "A mission. Did you happen to see the young lady who was with me last night at supper?"

  "Everybody else
was paying attention. It seemed to me she could do without mine."

  "Then you would not recognize her if you saw her?"

  "I would not."

  "She left town this morning carrying something over three thousand dollars and a gem in a small iron box just about three inches by two. I am worried about her."

  Dorian Chantry drew back a chair and sat down. "Uncle," he said, "I have promised Frances that I would - "

  "Send her a note explaining you have been called away on business. She will understand."

  "Me? Called away on business? She will not understand. When have I ever let business interfere with pleasure?"

  Finian Chantry's eyes chilled. "If you do not wish to write the note, then do not do so. But I shall expect you to be riding west within the hour to overtake the stage for Pittsburgh.

  "I wish you to see that the young lady in question, Echo Sackett by name, arrives safely at her home somewhere in the mountains east of Tuckalucky Cove, Tennessee.

  "You are twenty years old, and - "

  "At that age you were master of your own vessel. I know. You have told me the story a number of times since I was a child. Now - "

  "If you are not in the saddle headed for Pittsburgh within the hour, and if the young lady in question does not arrive safely home, you may expect your allowance to be trimmed to six dollars per week."

  Dorian started to speak, then looked again at his uncle. Finian Chantry, in this mood, was no one to argue with. "Six dollars a week? I would starve!"

  "Many a good job pays no more than that. No, you would not starve, but you would have to find a job. You would have to go to work, which would be the best thing in the world for you."

  Dorian Chantry studied the backs of his hands. Echo Sackett ... He had heard the Sackett story often enough to know what it meant to Uncle Finian, and what it had meant to his father as well.

  "Where is she going from Pittsburgh? I mean, how will she go? By steamboat? By stage? How? And where is Tuckalucky Cove? Is there such a place?"

  "The Sacketts are backwoods people, mountain people. They have always preferred wild country. There's a town called Knoxville - "

  "I've heard of it."

  "Tuckalucky Cove is somewhere east of there, but whatever happens will probably happen before she reaches her mountains."

  "Happens? You expect trouble?"

  "Why else would I send you? And you had best take a brace of pistols and your rifle." Before Dorian could interrupt, he added, "Have you ever heard of Felix Horst?"

  "His was one of the trials I attended when I first began studying for the law. Of course I remember him."

  "I have reason to believe he is one of those who will attempt to rob Miss Sackett." Briefly then he explained about White and Horst, the will and the visit to White's office. Then he added, "Do not take this lightly. Horst is a first-class fighting man and he will kill without a qualm. I suspect others are involved."

  Finian Chantry reached into his desk drawer and drew out a small sack of coins and tossed them on the desk. "Take that, for expenses. And you will find Archie waiting in the outer office."

  "Archie? You mean the waiter from the club?"

  "The same, Archie will go with you, but not as a servant, as a companion. He is a good horseman, and he's not a man to trifle with. I'd rather have him ride with you than anyone else I know. He went with me to the Dutchman's the other night."

  Dorian stared. "You? At the Dutchman's? At your age?"

  Finian Chantry smiled. "At my age. And I discovered I am still not as old as you might believe. In fact, I feel ten years younger for the experience." He stood up. "Go now, Dorian, and be careful. This is a deadly serious business."

  Dorian pocketed the sack of money and after a quick handclasp went out. The powerful black man, Archie, awaited him. "I have our horses at your quarters, sir, and I've packed what is necessary except for your weapons."

  "You are armed?"

  "Oh, yes, sir! I know Mr. Horst, and White as well, but unless I am mistaken, there will be others involved. White has a man working for him named Tim Oats, a very rough man, sir."

  Dorian Chantry listened to the clop-clop of the carriage horse's hooves, his meeting with Frances only a dim memory. His uncle, Finian Chantry, was sending him out to protect a young lady from such as Felix Horst! Suddenly he was very proud. Uncle Finian must think well of him, after all, for this was no job for a child.

  His thoughts skipped back a few years. He remembered the coolness of Felix Horst in the courtroom. Once their eyes had met across the crowded room. He still remembered the contempt in Horst's eyes, and flushed at the memory.

  "If we ride hard, sir, we can overtake them at Chambersburg. It is a night stop for the stage, and they will start late the next morning."

  "If nothing happens until then."

  "There's a brief stop at Elizabeth Town, and then they cross the Susquehanna a bit later."

  "What will Horst do?"

  "I don't know, sir, but he will be careful. He is known to the law now and would get no sympathy from the courts. He will choose his time."

  "Would he kill her?"

  "Yes, sir. He would. He has killed before ... and, sir? He knows the country we are going into. He used to operate along the Natchez Trace."

  "What about Oats?"

  "A thug, sir. A very strong man. He was a pugilist for a time. He's been a gambler, a shoulder striker, a thoroughly bad man, sir."

  "I've boxed some myself."

  Archie glanced at him, then asked, "Have you ever fought, sir? I mean really fought?"

  "I could handle them all at school. Don't worry. I can take care of myself."

  "No doubt, sir, but the kind of fighting Tim Oats has done is not like you would do at college. It is quite different, sir."

  Dorian was irritated. Of course it was different, but at school there had been some good fighters, and their training had been of the best. What chance would a common pugilist have against one of them? He said it aloud.

  "Begging your pardon, sir, a man such as Oats would whip them all in one evening and never work up a sweat. There is no comparison between an amateur and a professional. And Oats is pretty good. I have seen him fight. I saw him go forty-two rounds with the Yorkshire Swiper."

  " Forty-two rounds?"

  The most he had ever done was five rounds - sparring sessions, at that. Sometimes they got pretty heated, but forty-two rounds? By London prize-ring rules a knockdown ended a round, although a fighter could be thrown down or could slip. Even so, forty-two rounds was a lot. It could scarcely be less than an hour, probably more.

  Of course, there had been that fight he had with the hostler who was abusing a horse. How long did they fight? It must have been at least thirty minutes, and he had given the hostler, supposedly a tough man, a good beating.

  They rode swiftly, clattering down lanes, thundering over bridges. At Elizabeth Town, only a few miles out, they made inquiries. Yes, such a girl had been aboard the stage. Five-feet-two, reddish hair, cute as a button.

  The description irritated him. "Cute" by whose standards? Harry Standish had raved about her when he came back to the table. "If they grow them like that in the mountains," he had said, "I've been living in the wrong place!" But then, Harry was easily impressed.

  They changed horses in Middletown and rode swiftly on. Chambersburg was not far ahead. At Chambersburg they arrived as the stage was loading. "No, sir," the driver said, "I ain't seen her since we pulled in. Seemed like somebody picked up her bag by mistake, and she went chasin' after them." He turned and pointed a finger. "Right up thataway. They turned the corner, and she after them."

  "Who were they?"

  "Little ol' lady and a burly, thickset man in a kind of checked coat. I remember he helped the ol' lady off the stage. I hadn't figured they were together until then. They rode separate."

  Archie swore softly and glanced at Dorian. "They didn't wait no time at all, Mr. Chantry. They got her bag. They got her mone
y, and maybe they've got her!"

  "How long ago?" Dorian asked.

  "Three, four hours. I called after her, but she kept a-goin'." He pointed. "She left that bag. She opened it, saw what was in it. Nothin' but some ol' carpet. Then she taken out like her skirts was afire!"

  Angry and frightened for her, Dorian started up the street. Bounding the corner, he stopped, staring around. It was a long, narrow street with store buildings and barns empty of people. Dust swirled, then lay still.

  "Let's move along slow," Archie suggested. "Maybe we'll find some clue. Maybe they ducked in somewhere, maybe they kept a-goin'."

  Dorian Chantry pulled up and sat his saddle, surveying the street. "No use running after shadows," he suggested. "We have to think. Where were they going? Suppose they had it planned all along. By the time they got here, Miss Sackett would be tired. That's a long ride and she'd be bounced around a good deal, not much chance for rest. So she would be sleepy. I think they planned it that way.

  "The old lady sitting beside Echo Sackett must have been a confederate. Oats was close to the door. He helped the old lady off the stage, taking the carpetbag from her. No doubt they hoped the switch would not be discovered.

  "Suppose they figured it all out, Archie. If so, they would have to have a place to go, a place they could reach quickly and where they could stay out of sight until the stage was gone.

  "Also, they may have planned what to do in the event the switch was discovered. In any case, they would need a place to hide. If she followed them, and we know she did, they knew it within a few minutes. She has not returned, so two possibilities are left. She is either still following them or she is their prisoner."

  "Or she's been killed," Archie said. "It would be that or go to prison. Or maybe knock her on the head and leave her somewhere."

  They walked their horses along the street. "She might leave some sign," Archie suggested.

  "Why do that? She was alone."

  "She's a Sackett. I've heard your uncle speak of them, and how they always hang together. Seems to me if a Sackett disappeared, somebody would come to find out how. She's got that uncle she spoke of to Mr. Finian, the one named Regal. She'd leave some sign for him. From what Mr. Finian said, those folks needed that money mighty bad. So I think she would leave some sign."