Treasure Mountain s-17 Read online

  The rat went scurrying. He hooked the thong over the nail again and jerked and tugged. Suddenly, something gave. The strain on his wrists slackened. He shook his wrists, twisted them, and the thongs came free.

  He brought his hands around in front of him. His wrists were raw and bloody, the cuffs on his shirt were bloodstained. He opened and closed his hands--they worked.

  Swiftly, he went to work on his ankles. Topside all was still ... he must remember that. In this quiet they could hear any unusual movement. He had no weapon, but he stood up slowly, making a noose of the rawhide. The piece from his ankles was all of five feet long. He tucked it into his belt and picked up one of the loose boards.

  Not heavy. About six feet long and one by four inches. Not what he would like, but useful. He stretched his muscles and moved closer to the hatch. There was a door, then four steps to the deck. He moaned ... then again.

  There was a stir topside. He grunted, thumped the deck, and then he heard soft footsteps. He heard fumbling with the hasp on the outside of the door, then a low call. "Hurry, Jake! Here they come!"

  The door opened and the man with the lantern leaned forward and extended the lantern, peering into the dark hold.

  With all the force he could muster, Orrin smashed him in the face with the end of the board, driving it with two hands, like a lance.

  The man screamed and toppled over backward, his lantern falling, breaking, and spilling kerosene all over the steps. Flames sprang up, but Orrin leaped over them and lunged up the steps.

  Somebody out on the water yelled, "Back off! Back off!" There was the roar of a shotgun. Orrin lifted the fallen man from the deck, slammed him against the bulkhead, and ripped a gun and a knife from his belt. He knocked the man sprawling and ran for the rail.

  A huge man rushed around the corner and Orrin struck out with his fist, the fist that gripped the knife. The blow was wild, but it connected solidly, and he cut back and down with the blade. He felt cloth tear, heard a grunt of pain. A teeth-rattling blow caught him on the side of the head.

  Orrin staggered, swung again, and then, knife still in hand, went over the rail into the water. Meanwhile, he was conscious of several gunshots, and a second bellow of the shotgun.

  He came up in the dark water, felt the smack of a bullet on the water near him, then went under, turning at right angles. But he had seen the boat, and he struck out for it, swimming strongly.

  His head came above water, and he said, "Tell!" in a low but carrying voice.

  Instantly, the boat turned toward him. He dove, coming up on the far side. He grasped the gunwale of the boat. He saw the mast, several men, and light reflected on gun barrels. In the houseboat beyond, flames were leaping from the hatch and they could see men running with buckets, trying to put out the fire.

  "Tell?" he whispered again.

  "Orrin, damn you, when you get in be careful where you set. I got a new suit-coat folded on that seat, yonder."

  Hands helped him in, and then the oar began, sculling the boat further away on the dark water. Orrin's head still buzzed with the blow he had received, and the raw flesh on his wrists was stinging with salt from the water.

  "Anybody got anything to drink? I haven't had a swallow since morning time."

  Somebody handed him a bottle. He drank. "Burgundy," he said, "but a poor year."

  "What happened to you?" I said. "You've been missing for days."

  Orrin chuckled, drank again, and said, "Well, you see there was this girl--"

  "I met her."

  "I'll bet. But did you ever see that house she lives in? All white, with pillars yet, and great big oaks all around, and lawns, and--"

  "What happened?" I repeated.

  "We had a nice drink, and then dinner. By that time I wanted to return to the hotel. We had coffee and when I came out of it I was on that houseboat yonder and they were asking me questions about Colorado--about something hidden there.

  "What could I tell them? All we're looking for is pa, but they wouldn't believe that. They beat me around a little, but not near as much as you did a few times back home when we were tussling. They figured on using some red-hot irons next time, so I decided it was time I left."

  He drank again. "I've heard of southern hospitality, but this is going too far."

  A little breeze came in from the sea and we hoisted our sail. I picked up my coat and held it in my lap.

  Setting there in the boat, I listened to the low rumble of talk between the men.

  Somebody had warned the men on the houseboat and they had been waiting for us.

  Only the scream of the man Orrin hit had warned us. As it was, they had shot too soon when we were still only a shadow on the water, and their old-fashioned guns had scattered shot too quickly.

  Despite our precautions, we had been followed. Somebody had seen us leave, and they had brought word to the houseboat by some shorter route through the bayous.

  Had Orrin made his break an instant later we'd have been within sight and range, and some of us, perhaps all, would be feeding the fish and the 'gators.

  "Tell," Orrin edged closer in the boat. "We've stirred up more than we know.

  There's been something lying quiet down here ever since pa disappeared, and we've upset the applecart."

  "We'd better leave," I suggested. "It ain't worth getting killed over. Not just to find out what happened twenty years ago."

  "Before we leave we'll make a call on Philip Baston. I think he could tell us something."

  Well, we could do that, but I wanted to leave. New Orleans had always been a favorite town for me, but this time we just weren't likely to have much fun.

  Yet what had happened those long years ago? And what did it have to do with us, and with pa? Somebody wanted to keep us from stirring muddy waters, but they also suspected we were here for some other purpose than hunting for pa.

  Nobody was around when we tied our boat to the old dark wharf and came ashore.

  The Tinker and Tomas, the man in the striped shirt, walked along with us to the Saint Charles.

  It was almost daybreak and there was nobody about, and I was just as pleased.

  Neither me nor Orrin looked like anybody you would expect to see at such an elegant hotel, but nobody saw us as we came in.

  We'd slept maybe an hour when there was a discreet tapping on the door. It was Judas Priest. "I've drawn a bath," he said, "and if you will, gentlemen, take no more time than you need. Meanwhile, I will brush and press your clothing."

  "What's up?"

  "The law," he said gently. "The law will wish to talk to you. I suggest you look and talk as innocently as possible. It is easier to get into prison here than to get out, and Andre Baston still has friends in town."

  He took out his watch. "At best you have an hour. Probably less."

  An hour later we were seated in the dining room, bathed, shaved, and combed. Our clothing was pressed, our manner calm. Each of us was reading a newspaper when the law came in.

  Chapter VII

  The man who approached our table was short, thickset, and dapper, but there was about him an air of competence, as Orrin said. He looked to me like a tough man to handle in a brawl.

  He glanced at a paper in his hand. "Orrin and William T. Sackett?"

  "That is correct, sir," Orrin said, folding his paper. "What can I do for you?"

  "My name is Barres. I am a police officer."

  Orrin smiled. "It is always a pleasure to meet another officer of the law."

  Barres was surprised. "You're an officer?"

  "An attorney, if you will. However, both my brother and myself have been marshals or deputy sheriffs out west."

  "I was not aware of that. You are in town on business?"

  "Legal business, actually." Orrin took a coffee cup from the next table and filled it from our coffeepot. "We are looking into the question of our father's death. It was some years ago, but there is an estate involved and we are doing our best to ascertain the facts."

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bsp; "I see." Barres seemed to be searching for an approach. He looked at the cuts and bruises on Orrin's face. "What happened to you?"

  "Let us put it this way, Mr. Barres, we do not intend to prefer charges unless charges are preferred against us."

  Barres sipped some coffee. "There was some sort of a shooting on the river last night. Can you tell me anything about it?"

  "Off the record, Mr. Barres, I was kidnapped, held in a houseboat on a bayou for several days, threatened often, and beaten several times. I escaped, and while I was escaping shots were fired."

  "Could you identify any of those involved?"

  "Certainly. I can identify almost all of them. And, if it comes to a matter of a trial, I can produce evidence as well as witnesses."

  Barres was disturbed. He had come here under orders to make an inquiry and probably an arrest. Certain powers in the parish would prefer to have both Sacketts behind bars, and at once. They would also prefer to keep them there.

  Barres was not in favor of such tactics, but in the New Orleans of the seventies such things had been known to occur.

  Furthermore, he had been told the Sacketts were a pair of thugs from Tennessee.

  For years most of the trouble along the river front had been caused by Kentucky or Tennessee boatmen, so arresting such men was quite in the usual order of business.

  That they stayed at the Saint Charles was the first surprise, the second was their opulent appearance, the third that one of them was an attorney. Under the conditions, Barres being no fool, he chose to proceed cautiously.

  "Might I ask where you make your home?"

  "Santa Fe. Until recently I was a member of the legislature from New Mexico."

  Worse and worse. Such men were not apt to be bluffing if they said they had evidence.

  "Mr. Barres," Orrin suggested, "I came here to discover, if I could, who went west with my father. Almost at once I found difficulties arising that suggested to me that much more might be involved than simply locating the place of his death and burial.

  "Now if this case goes to court it is going to create a scandal. It is going to cause considerable embarrassment to many people. We have one more call to make in New Orleans and then we expect to leave. To avoid trouble I suggest we be allowed to do just that.

  "I have been in politics and I know that no political figure likes to be embarrassed or found supporting the wrong side. If such a thing occurs, he would have no kind thoughts about the officer who opened the whole Pandora's box."

  "You're suggesting I drop the whole affair?"

  "Yes. Within forty-eight hours we will be gone, and it is unlikely we will return to New Orleans for some time."

  "Off the record, will you tell me about it?"

  "Off the record, yes." Refilling his own cup, Orrin proceeded to outline the events of the past few days, beginning with his arrival in the city.

  He named names, and he pulled no punches. "I suspect, Mr. Barres, that you are aware of the situation. These people are criminal of mind and intent; they are extremely dangerous because they believe themselves untouchable, but they are also amateurs.

  "We wanted only information. We suspected nothing criminal. We wished to involve no one. All we wanted was the time of departure from New Orleans and the probable destination. I suspect that information could have been given to us by any of the Baston family."

  "And suppose I were to arrest you now? This minute?"

  Orrin smiled pleasantly. "Mr. Barres, I am sure you have no such intention. I believe you to be an honest man and a capable one. You are also intelligent enough to know that I am prepared for that eventuality.

  "Two letters have been mailed. One before the arrival of my brother, another since the events of last night. If we do not contact my brother Tyrel in Mora within the next few days, he will initiate an investigation at the highest state level."

  Barres chuckled. "Well, you don't forget much, do you? Also, off the record, Mr.

  Sackett, Andre Baston is a scalp-hunter. He's got a bloody record. Dueling is an old custom here. Usually, a little blood is drawn and that's the end of it ... but not with Andre. He kills. I think he likes to kill."

  "I've met the kind."

  "What I am saying is, be careful. He may try to pick a quarrel now."

  Orrin smiled. "Mr. Barres, my folks were feudal stock. We youngsters cut our teeth on gun butts. Tyrel and me, we crossed the plains in '66 and '67. If Andre Baston wants a fight, he has come to the right place to get it."

  Barres shrugged. As I set there watching and listening, I knew that he, like many another man, was fooled by Orrin's easy-going manner. Orrin was an agreeable man, hard to annoy or offend, but hell on wheels in action.

  "And the one man you wish to see?"

  "Philip Baston. You may come with us, if you like."

  "Me?" Barres was startled. "Mr. Sackett, you just don't understand. The only way I could get into Philip Baston's house is through the servants' entrance. If we had to arrest him for murder it would have to be done by the chief himself, along with the chief prosecuting officer. Philip Baston owns half a dozen sugar plantations, at least four ships sailing out of New Orleans, and a lot of buildings here in town. He's worth millions, but he's a gentleman, sir, a gentleman.

  "He rarely leaves his home except to visit with an old friend or two or to supervise his properties. He contributes to charity, and he's ready to help with anything for the betterment of the city." Barres paused. "You may have trouble getting to see him."

  After Barres took his leave, we finished our breakfast. It was nearly midday, and I couldn't recall a time in my life when I was still setting about the table at such an hour. Orrin, he done a part of his work that way, and usually had a book propped alongside him. Me, I was out yonder with a rope and a saddle and a bronc.

  "Speaking of duels," Orrin said, "as the challenged party I would have the choice of weapons. A few years ago there was a member of the legislature down here who was seven feet tall--he'd been a blacksmith or something. He was challenged by a famous duelist who was much shorter. The big man did not want to fight, thought it useless, so he accepted the challenge and suggested sledgehammers, in six feet of water."

  "What happened?"

  "It amused the duelist so much he withdrew his challenge and the two became friends."

  A carriage took us up the circular drive to the door. The house was a story and a half in height with six Doric columns across the front, the windows barred with wrought iron. Stretching out in front of the house as far as the bayou was a lawn scattered with huge old oaks trailing Spanish moss. There were azaleas and camellias wherever we looked. It was a right fine place, and old.

  Orrin sent in his card and we waited, seated in high-backed chairs the like of which I'd never seen. For my taste, there was kind of too much furniture in the room, me being used to Spanish ranch-house styles which were spacious, roomy, and cool.

  We waited a few moments and then Philip Baston came in. He was a tall man, although not as tall as Orrin or me, and slender. He glanced at both of us. "I am Philip Baston. You wished to see me?"

  "Sir," Orrin spoke quietly, "we do not wish to take more of your time than need be, although I confess there's a restfulness in this house that makes me wish to prolong my stay.

  "My brother, William Tell Sackett, and I are trying to locate our father's grave. We understand he left here with your brother-in-law, Pierre Bontemps, and we thought you might be able to provide us with the date and destination."

  Philip Baston considered that, and then said briefly, "Your father was known to Pierre through an acquaintance who was killed. It was known that your father was familiar with the San Juan Mountains in Colorado, and Pierre asked him to act as a guide and to share in the results, if any.

  "They left here twenty years ago, almost to the day. My brother-in-law and I were very close, gentlemen, closer I might add, than I and my brother. He wrote to me from Natchez, and another letter came from the mouth of the Arkansas.<
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  "I believe they went up the Arkansas from there to Webber's Falls, but that is pure guesswork. From there it was overland, but at that point they were together."

  "Pierre Bontemps, my father, and--"

  Philip Baston hesitated, and then said. "There were four more at the time. My brother Andre, then a very young man, a man named Pettigrew, and another named Swan."

  "Hippo Swan?" I asked.

  Baston glanced at me. "Do you know the man?"

  "He was pointed out to me."

  He seemed about to say something further, then turned back to Orrin. "There was one other ... a slave."

  "His name?"

  Again there was a moment of hesitation. "Priest. Angus Priest."

  Orrin got to his feet. "One thing more, sir, and then we shall be on our way.

  What were they after?"

  Baston looked disgusted. "They were hunting gold buried by a French army detachment that mined it earlier. Supposedly this detachment was sent in there around 1790, and I believe there is some record of it.

  "The reports vary, of course, but the consensus is that they dug some five million dollars in gold. The figure increases with each retelling of the story.

  I think Pierre and Andre believed the figure was closer to thirty million. In any event, from one cause or another the strength of the detachment was cut until a final Indian attack left only five of them to escape.

  "Pierre had a map. Your father told him he could take him to the location. So they started out."

  "Thanks very much." Orrin thrust out his hand, and Philip took it. If he knew anything of our difficulties with his brother, he said nothing about it.

  In the carriage we set quiet for a time, and then I said, "The gold could be there. There was many a place, them years, where a party of men could mine that much."

  "Do you know the country?"

  "Uh-huh. No city man's goin' to find anything up there, Orrin. That's almighty rough country, and she's high up. You've got a few months each year when a body can work, and then you have to hightail it out of there or get snowed in.

  "Landmarks don't last in that high country, Orrin. There's heavy snow, wind, lightnin', an' rain. There's snowslides, landslides, and the passage of men and animals. Only the rocks last ... for a while."