Читать книгу Alder Gulch - Ernest Haycox - Страница 4

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ONE moment he was a cool man who viewed his chances for escape and found them full of risk; and then a night wind moved over the river with its odors of dark soil warmed by summer rain and the resin scent of firs and the acrid taint of brush fires, and when these rank flavors came to him he knew at once he was done with caution. He belonged to the land and the land summoned him. Before midnight came he would go over the ship's side, no longer caring whether it would be as a living man or a dead one. He stood on the foredeck and laid a hand on a capstan's bar, and excitement rushed all through him and sweat made a dry nettle-stinging on his face.

The Bos'n was a short black shadow hard by the foremast pinrail. The Bos'n said: "Pierce, come down from there."

This square-rigged ship, the Panama Chief, wound slowly at midstream anchor, bowsprit pointed on the streaky glow of Portland's waterfront lights two hundred feet removed. One street lay against a ragged backdrop of buildings, beyond which the dark main hulk of town ran back into a mass of firs rising blackly to rear hills. All sounds travelled resonantly over the water—the crack of a teamster's whip, the scrape of feet on the boardwalks, the revel of a near-by saloon.

"Come down," repeated the Bos'n.

The ship's bell struck five short ringing notes. The moon's quarter-full face dimmed behind a bank of clouds and the color of night at once deepened so that the surface of the river became a vague-moving oil surface into which a man might quickly drop and quickly vanish. Pierce bent and unlaced his shoes. He kicked them quietly off, moved to the break of the deck and descended the ladder.

He went by the Bos'n, passed the galley and paused near the mainmast shrouds. Mister Sitgreaves, the First Mate, stood against the starboard rail and Canrinus, the Second Officer, was in the same sentry position on the port side. The Captain was above them on the aft deck, his cigar bright-burning in the shadows. "Mister Sitgreaves," called the Captain, "come here."

There were two named Sitgreaves on this ship, the Mate and his brother the Captain. The Mate retreated and went scuffing up the aft deck's ladder. On the amidships hatch cover the rest of the Panama Chief's crew silently and sullenly waited for a break to come, hating the ship and its master and its officers.

The Captain said in his bold, steady voice: "If any man tries to jump ship, Mister Sitgreaves, knock him down. This crew is signed from San Francisco to Canton and return. I'm no hand to lose my men."

The Captain was afraid of losing his men, as well he might. All of them, excepting the two Mates and the Bos'n, had been shanghaied aboard at San Francisco by force and knockout drops. There had been, Pierce remembered, an amiable man beside him in the Bella Union saloon. The amiable man had suggested a drink and presently he, Pierce, had died on his feet, to awaken on the Panama Chief at sea.

"Bully boy," said a murmuring voice from the amidships hatch cover.

The Captain moved to the head of the ladder and he stared below him and gave the crew his hard, short laugh. "You'd like me down there, no doubt, to start a confusion whereby you could make your escape. I'll not please you till we put to sea. Then, by God, I'll give you confusion."

On the hatch cover men softly and bitterly murmured. The First Mate, Mister Sitgreaves, clanked down the ladder and took his station again at the starboard rail. The Second Officer hadn't moved from the port side, the Bos'n remained deep in the foremast's shadows. All these men were armed, and it was six months to Canton and back, by which time this year of 1863 would be gone. The Panama Chief was no better than the Confederate's prison at Richmond, of which Pierce had his undescribable memories.

He closed his fingers around the rail and his body, lank in the shadows, bent backward until all weight rested on the balls of his feet. Mister Sitgreaves saw this and smoothly said: "I wouldn't do that."

The men on the hatch cover stirred and rose up. Brought aboard by violence, starved and bruised by iron discipline, they caught the clear wild smell of freedom and suddenly all of them were shifting softly along the deck. The Captain issued a sharp call:

"Who's that by the rail, Mister Sitgreaves?"

The Mate said: "Pierce, sir."

"Knock him down, Mister Sitgreaves."

The Mate moved forward, his boots sibilantly chafing the deck. Pierce let his arm drop to the cool round top of a belaying pin, seized it from the bitts and took one quick side step. A sound at his rear warned him that the Bos'n now was moving forward to slug him and a man in the crew called out, "Watch back!"

The Captain roared, "By God, don't you know who's master on this boat?" and came down the ladder in long jumps.

Pierce gave ground and retreated to the hatch cover, thereby avoiding the Mate and the Bos'n who now joined shoulder to shoulder and moved slowly at him. The crew shifted toward Pierce, making a cover for him; faced with this unexpected resistance, Mate and Bos'n paused.

The Captain said, "I'll show you how to handle mutiny, Mister Sitgreaves," and came on, bold and black in the night. Some man groaned, "You're done in, Pierce!"

Pierce gave ground as Bos'n and Mate moved at him, backing toward the port rail. The Captain wheeled to block Pierce's way. "You're a sea-lawyer," he said. "I am going to make you cry like a dog."

These three, Captain and Mate and Bos'n, were pinching him in against the galley wall. He wheeled and ran around the galley, circling it to the starboard side, and reached the mainmast stays. He had shaken Mate and Bos'n but the Captain had outguessed him; the Captain was before him, softly laughing in his throat. Pierce saw the Captain pluck a pistol out of his pocket and lift it for aim, and all this while the steps of the Mate and Bos'n pounded behind him. Pierce, never wholly stopped, wheeled aside. He caught the flat explosion in his face and felt the violent pain of his eardrums, and brought the belaying pin down on the Captain's head in one sweeping blow. The next instant he took his tumbling dive over the ship's rail, with a second shot from another gun following. Deep under the water he heard its echo.

He stayed under and drifted with the current until his heart began to strike its hammer blows on his ribs, and came up to see the dark hull of the ship slipping by. The water was half warm from spring rain and bore the silt of a hundred valleys and hills far away. He heard Mister Sitgreaves calling: "Lower the boat!"

"There's his head!"

A bullet whacked the near-by water and sent him down. He swam breast stroke until he thought he had cleared the boat completely, and rose again. The stern of the Panama Chief was an edgeless shape upstream. Mister Sitgreaves issued his orders, very cold and very even, and the blocks of the davit falls were squeaking. He heard the bottom of the lifeboat hit the water. Mister Sitgreaves said, "Let go," in a softer and softer voice. This man, Pierce remembered, was the Captain's brother.

The current carried him downstream. Somewhere on the water another rowboat traveled and a lantern bobbed close by the water's surface. Pierce angled shoreward, feeling the down- dragging weight of his clothes. He swam overhand, putting his strength into his long arms, and as he swam he had a very strange recollection of a shallow Virginia creek he had crossed two years before under the fire of Confederate sharpshooters. All around him the creek had run red.

Mister Sitgreaves had lost him. It was so quiet aboard that he heard Mister Sitgreaves say conversationally: "Hold it, while I listen." The pilings of a wharf stood before Pierce and water splashed steadily from it to the river. He had the thick odor of sewage around him as he cleared the wharf's end and put his feet down upon yielding mud. A voice called from wharf to ship. "What's the trouble out there?"

He faced a low crumbling bank and dropped into the wet silt to fight for wind. The Mate's answer rode over the water from the Panama Chief. "Man jumped ship. Where's your police?"

Pierce drew in a mouthful of water and spewed it out. He came against the bank and climbed it, to face the played-out end of a street on the ragged edge of town. Sheds and barns loomed before him. The wharf was to his left and in that direction the main part of Portland seemed to lie; a wagon rolled by, two men idly arguing on the seat.

There was no more sound from Mister Sitgreaves and no further inquiry from the watchman on the wharf. But as he lay flat on the edge of the river bluff with water draining from his clothes, Pierce realized the town was no more safe for him than the ship had been. Sitgreaves would notify the police and the town would be searched. What he needed was dry clothes, a meal and a quick means of leaving Portland.

He moved away from the bluff, past the wharf and through broken piles of lumber; he crossed the pure mud surface of a street entirely dark and empty, pursued an alley not much wider than wagon's length and found himself at a small, triangular square. Across the square a saloon shed light from every window, and beyond this saloon the main part of the town apparently lay, hard by the river, its stores open even at this late hour. Along this street supply wagons steadily moved. The name of the saloon was the Oro Fino.

He left the alley and walked directly over the small square toward the flaring lights of the saloon. A string of freight wagons crawled out of the darkness and passed between him and the saloon and somewhere a river boat whistled. Paused at the edge of the square while the freighters rolled by, he observed a man ride up and come to a halt before the string of wagons. He was in high boots and rough clothes, he wore a shaggy beard and he had the stain and the smell of a miner about him.

Pierce said: "Where's gold country around here?"

The man gave him a look and a moment's study. "Up-river. Away up. In Ideeho."

"Just came from the California diggings myself."

"Hear they're played out. You look damp to me. You could stand a drink."

"I am a little shy of company," said Pierce.

He had judged his man rightly. The miner's lawless spirit instantly arose and prompted him to say: "Stay here and I'll get you a drink." The string of freighters had now gone on; the miner crossed the mud, dismounted before the Oro Fino, and rolled the swinging doors aside with his shoulders.

There seemed to be a sharp dividing line in town. Before him light glowed and warmth moved, regardless of the hour, while behind him in Portland's quieter quarter the solid and respectable citizens slept the sleep of the righteous. At that moment Pierce heard a quick call and turned to find Sitgreaves pointing at him. Behind Sitgreaves was the Bos'n and two citizens who were undoubtedly police.

"That's him," said Sitgreaves.

Pierce wheeled across the square to the alley's mouth. There was perfect darkness here for the length of a full block. Running down the loose mud, he heard the halloo of voices and a command from one of the police, "Hold up or I'll fire!" The alley played out in the middle of the block, dissipating itself into a series of between-building pathways and Pierce took one of these in full flight, to arrive at a street all dark except for a corner house whose lights shimmered on wet pools in the street's mud. He swung close to the face of the buildings with the racket of the pursuing gentlemen steady-continuing to his rear. He cut across the mud to the far side of the street; he ran through the beam of light from the corner house, and curved into another street—and heard a woman's voice say:—

"Wait!"

He came to a dead stop, he whirled half around to face the dark side of the house. The woman was a shadow against the house and he saw only the motion of her shoulders in these shadows. "No," he said impatiently. "No, I'm sorry."

She came nearer. "I had a look at you when you came across the light. You're wet." She put a hand against his chest and drew it away. Back on the other street Sitgreaves' dead calm voice was very distinct: "He went that way."

The woman said: "Come with me."

She went ahead of him at a light run, so that he had to stretch his legs to keep up with her. Half a block onward she darted behind a building and paused to catch his hand. "Careful with your feet," she said, and led him on. Somewhere in the heart of this complete darkness she stopped again, threw open a door and pushed him into a lighted room. She came in after him, closing the door.

It was a bare and worn and unlovely room with a stove in its center, a counter in the corner, a clock on the wall, and a huge man-shaped woman sitting unsurprised in a rocking chair. She had iron gray hair and a tremendous figure and her eyes were thoroughly unsympathetic as she looked at Pierce and read his story. "Jumped ship, didn't you?" she said. Then she turned her attention to the other woman and her expression changed, as though she saw something she didn't understand. "What are you doing in this end of town, Miss Castle?"

Pierce wheeled to have a look at this Miss Castle and met a pair of gray-green eyes dead on. She had black hair covered by a kind of shawl that women sometimes seized on the spur of the moment for both hat and cloak. It sat like a cowl on her head and came down about straight shoulders and a strong, rounded bosom. The night had brought color to her cheeks and her glance made a good job of investigating him. For a common woman she was well gotten out in a maroon dress which came snug to her throat. A cameo pendant hung from a fine gold chain about her neck.

The big woman in the rocker said: "Ladies never come here. What kind of menfolk have you got to let you be such an elegant fool? If you were seen you would be compromised."

Miss Castle shrugged her shoulders. "You have two fugitives instead of one, Madame Bessie."

"How would a lady like you know my name?" demanded Madame Bessie in clear displeasure. "And how did you know my door?"

"From my menfolk, of course. You're talked about over Portland's supper tables."

"Is that what the best part of town talks about?" asked Madame Bessie. "In mixed company?" She got up from the rocker and took a lamp from the counter, and trimmed and lighted it. She was, when she faced Pierce, both taller and heavier than he; she was a formidable creature with a square jowled face and a bit of a mustache. "Your menfolk ought to keep such things out of their houses."

She led them down a dismal hall scarcely wider than her shoulders and flung open a room's door. She put the lamp on a marble-topped dresser and stepped back, again watching Miss Castle with resentment. "I don't understand this. I shouldn't permit it. You're a fool for being something you shouldn't be. Usually it is money or a man that turns a girl. Your people have got money enough. So it must be a man."

"We won't be spending the whole night here," said the girl.

"That makes no difference," said Madame Bessie. "You are compromised now. But I suppose it is the same falling from a high place as from a low place." Thus far ignoring Pierce, she now turned to him. "Be quiet if you hear trouble outside. Get out of those clothes and I'll find some dry ones. All these ship jumpers land here wet to the skin. You'll be getting the last one's clothes. The next one will get yours. I'll take four dollars now."

"Two," said Pierce, "is my stake."

"You think I do this for the fun of it?" asked Madame Bessie sharply. "You can get out now. I won't be cheated."

"It's all right," said the girl. She produced a little purse from somewhere and laid a half-eagle into Madame Bessie's waiting palm. Madame Bessie gave the girl one look of scorn. "To go with him is bad enough. To pay his way is worse. He'll use you and lay you aside. Don't you know you can't buy a man for very long?" She closed the door behind her with a harsh jar; her heavy body went audibly down the narrow hall.

"Fugitives," murmured the girl, "can't be particular."

"Don't spend your money on me," said Pierce. "I have no way of paying you back."

"Perhaps," she answered, "a way will present itself. What is your name?"

"Jeff Pierce."

"Mine is Diana Castle. You were shanghaied aboard ship at San Francisco, I suppose, and made a break tonight."

"That's it," he said. "How would you know?"

"I saw the Panama Chief drop anchor in the middle of the river. When a boat stays out from the dock it usually means she's got a shanghaied crew. Men escape frequently from these boats. It is an old story to us. You can hide here until your ship sails and then walk abroad a free man. Our authorities are not much interested in recapturing seamen for bully shipmasters."

"For a lady," he said, "you have uncommon knowledge of the hard side."

"I told you I was a fugitive also, didn't I?" Then she lifted her hand to keep him silent; for there was the sound of men suddenly arrived in Madame Bessie's office, and uncivil talk. Pierce looked carefully around the room, saw a window and went to it. He raised the window and put his head and shoulders through the opening. There was an alley black as a tunnel running beside this building; he drew back but left the window open. Out in Madame Bessie's office a first class quarrel raged with Madame Bessie laying her voice around like a club. "If they come down the hall," said Pierce, "we go out this way."

It was her lack of excitement that puzzled him more than anything else. She was, as Madame Bessie had said, a lady from the proper quarter of town and had no business being here; this cheap lodging house was for the other kind of woman. There were only two kinds. This was the thing that unsettled his judgment of her and made him resent her steadiness, as Madame Bessie had resented it. Either she was too ignorant of this muddy side of life to feel shame or she was a woman turning bad. He could not really tell. She was a strong shapely girl with full red lips firmly controlled and with a cool expression in her eyes. She was sober, yet he had the idea there was a laughter in her which she deliberately hid from him. On her left hand a diamond burned its single spot of white fire.

The sound of bitter brawling died and the searchers apparently departed. The girl said as an idle thought: "Madame is outraged by my conduct. I have noticed that her kind of woman always has the strictest sense of propriety. Why is that?"

"She knows what good and bad is."

"What is good and bad?" asked the girl. "Do you know?" She gave him a sharp glance, she shook her head. "You do not approve of me," she murmured and shrugged her shoulders. "I'm afraid it will do you no good."

Madame Bessie came into the room. She closed the door behind her and stood with her great shoulders against it, more formidable than before. "They're gone," she said. "Now you both get out of here."

"How about that change of clothes?" asked Pierce.

"No," retorted Madame Bessie. "I'll call no trouble down on myself." She put both large arms across her bosom and locked them together, and a clever thought came gray and sly to her eyes. She turned on Diana Castle. "You're paying for this man's trouble, ain't you? It will just cost you a hundred dollars to keep my mouth shut. I could always call the police back."

Diana Castle said: "What has happened?"

"This man," said Madame Bessie, nodding at Pierce, "killed the Captain in the fracas."