"Let's ask in here," I said to Mike, and shoved him in the door of the White Horse Tavern.
It was dark and smoky and smelled strongly of every bit of spilled beer or whiskey that ever soaked into the floor, but not smoky enough to keep us hidden from view. As soon as we stepped in, someone said, "Christ, it's Fink!"
"Goddamn right, it's Fink," roared Mike. "Now give him a drink a-fore he kicks some serious ass!"
"You got any money, Mike?" asked the landlord, fixing a suspicious eye on my companion.
"Hell, yes, I got money," said Mike, sticking out his lower lip. "So set 'em up!"
"Wal, then, Mike," said the landlord, "mebbe you kin pay me back for the damage you done last time you was in my place, drunker'n a skunk!"
Mike was outraged.
"HOLD ME BACK! HOLD ME BACK! I'M A RING-TAILED ROARER AND ABOUT TO DO SOME DAMAGE! OOOOOWEEEEE! I'M A-GONNA CUT EVER ONE IN THIS PLACE A NEW—"
"You ain't gonna cut nothin', Mike," said a voice from the shadows. Into the light steps the hugest man I have ever seen. "'Cause I'm a-gonna toss yer dried-up carcass outta here, right now."
Mike Fink reared back and fixed his eye on this newcomer to the discussion.
"Wal, wal," he said, nodding his head in appreciation of the new situation here. "If it ain't Man Mountain Murphy, the biggest, stupidest, and ugliest man on the frontier. Heard you had a new job, Murphy—"
"Wha's that?" rumbled this mountain of a man.
"Standin' out in front of a doctor's office, makin' people sick." Mike chortled. "Ha! I heard that ugly sits on you like stink on—"
"And I heard," said Man Mountain Murphy in a curiously high, piping voice, "that some little slip of a girl done stole Mikey Fink's boat. Tha's what I heard."
That did it.
Mike brought back his right fist and slammed it straight into Murphy's jaw. Murphy rocked back on his heels, but re-covered quickly and grabbed Mike in a great bear hug, and together they staggered to the door and out into the street, the riotous crowd within following the fracas and egging on the participants.
I, too, went back out into the street, but not to enjoy the spectacle, oh, no—I was thinking this was an excellent time to race up the street, whilst Mike was otherwise engaged, burst into the tavern in which you were playing, be joyously reunited, tell you of Mike Fink's murderous intentions, and then light the hell out.
Such was not to be. As the main combatants fell to wrestling on the ground, other members of the audience chose sides and tempers flared. It seemed that Mike was not without friends in this port, and other fights erupted. I heard whistles blown and curses shouted and knew it would not be long before the police arrived. As I slunk away from the action, a hand fell on my shoulder and I was turned around.
"Friend of that Fink, ain't-cha, farm boy," said a grizzled old cove, and a fist exploded on the side of my jaw. I was dazed and confused. I tried to lift my fists to strike back, but I found I could not. "You like that, boy? Well, here's some more."
I was slammed on the other side of my jaw and I went to my knees, in shock. Then the man who was beating me was hauled back, and I dimly perceived a policeman telling me to get down on the ground, and then when I did not understand what he was saying, he brought his club around and struck me on the back of my head.
My last conscious memory that night was of Clementine shouting, "No! No! Git off him! Leave him alone! Git off my man!"
Chapter 27
Notice
All Persons Desirous of Waterborne Transport to
Louisville, Cincinnati, St. Louis, and Beyond
A Voyage to those Places will be Undertaken by
Belle of the Golden West
A Finely Fitted-out River Cruiser
which will be Departing Shortly
Possessing all of the Amenities including
Fine Wines, Spirits, and Tobacco.
Breakfast, Dinner, and Supper will be
Available for your Pleasure.
Entertainment Nightly
The Fare Being 12 cents a Mile Traveled:
Louisville $38
Cincinnati $57
St. Louis $93
New Orleans $234
The Belle of the Golden West can be viewed at the Publick
Dock, and Reservations can be made at the Sign of the
General Butler. Measures have been taken to ensure
Passenger Safety when under way.
"Now, ain't that fine, Higgins?" I say, holding up one of my new posters. It's morning and they have just been delivered. I am again dressed in my finest clothes, since I will be going to the jail to bail out two miscreants. I want to look my best, responsible citizen and all, so it's the riding habit again. If fortune smiles on me in the future, I mean to get some new clothes. Maybe in New Orleans, as they are sure to have the latest fashions.
"Yes, Miss," says Higgins, pouring the morning tea. "And in the best of taste, too, echoing the refinement of the name of this vessel, painted on its sides. I am especially fond of the curlicues on each of the letters. Serifs, I believe they are called."
I almost snort some tea through my nose. "Now, Higgins, this is not London and we must do as the Romans do. We must not be shy, if we mean to make money." I settle back in my chair. We have got a small table and four chairs, and they are set up on the cabin top when the weather is good, which it is today. "You've met Crow Jane?"
"Yes, actually. We went over our stores yesterday and she was quite useful in pointing out what we lacked. Strange things, like buckwheat, and sourdough starter, beef jerky, and sorghum molasses. She seems to know what she is doing. I gave her some money to go off to buy what we needed."
"I have told her that you are second-in-command of this ship, and that she is to take an order from you the same as if it came from me." I put a slice of buttered toast to the teeth.
"Ah, yes. First Mate on a riverboat on a river in the trackless American wilderness, hip to hip with a red Indian sous-chef. Surely every British butler's dream," replies Higgins, absolutely deadpan.
"Higgins, you kill me," I chortle. "You really do."
"And now you've gone and made a bit of a mess. Here, let me tidy you up."
Higgins applies the napkin to the jelly smears on my face, and then I return to my breakfast.
"Mmm. Good toast. And what is this?"
"Elderberry jelly, locally made. You will find it quite good, I think. And yes, the bread was made by Crow Jane. She was up early and had the stove going nicely."
A head appears at the passenger hatchway up forward. I see who it is and say to myself, Why not?
"Mr. Cantrell. Will you come share tea and toast with me?"
He looks over at me, at my table, removes the hat he had just put on, and says, "That is very kind of you. I will be happy to join you."
He comes up on the cabin top, and Higgins pulls out a chair for him, and he sits down, brushing back the tails of his coat.
"Lovely day, Miss," he says.
Higgins brings another place setting and I pointedly glance down at the Colored girl, who has also come up on deck to sit next to the railing and look out over the water. Higgins nods and goes below.
Higgins reappears, with another cup for Mr. Cantrell, which he fills from the teapot that sits on the table. He has also brought up two baskets of buttered toast, one of which he places on my table and the other of which he places in front of the girl. She looks up, suspicious, but she puts her hand in anyway and takes a slice and eats it.
"Yes, Mr. Cantrell, it is a most lovely day."
We spend breakfast in learning about each other's origins, him being from New York City and me being from Boston, which is as far as I am willing to go in revealing my past. It is most enjoyable, as he is a very amusing and well-spoken guest. Eventually, though, Crow Jane comes up with a stick in her hand and announces that it is time to go get the Hawkes boys out of jail, and I rise and bid him adieu.
As we approach the jail, or calaboose, as Crow Jane would have it, I ask her why people call her Crow Jane.
"Well, y'see, Boss, there's a tribe o' Indians out West called Crows, and a lot of folks think I'm Crow. But I ain't. I'm Shoshone, from up in the high parts of the Snake River. Early on, got me a taste for French trappers, whiskey, and tobaccy, so here I be. Got two sons, François and Jacques, trappin' up on the Missouri, and a daughter married to a trapper named Baptiste who runs the trading post on the Platte. Got some grandbabies by them, too."
We walk on a bit, and then she says, "Could be 'cause I had a tame crow onc't. Named Henri. Had his tongue split so he could say some words. Nobody could understand him but me, but they was words, I know. Died last year. Miss him. Jail's right here, Boss."
Boss Faber looks up at the edifice. It's made of brick and stone, and I'd hate to have to break out of this one, accomplished jailbreaker though I might be.
"The way in is on the other side," says Crow Jane, starting in that direction. I go to follow when I hear a familiar bellow.
"Goddamn! It's her! Right there! The one what stole my boat!"
I freeze for a second—Good God, it's Fink!—then I whip out my shiv and get into a crouch, expecting attack from any side.
But it does not come. Carefully I look around, and then I look up. There I see a very small, barred window about six feet up the side of the wall, and filling the entire window is the enraged face of Mike Fink.
When I see that Mr. Fink is safely confined, I replace my knife in my arm sheath and turn to talk to him.
"Good day to you, Mr. Fink!" I chirp, and drop down into a full curtsy. "How good to see your cheerful countenance again."
He manages to get an arm through the bars and seems to be reaching for my throat. I step forward and keep that throat about two inches beyond his grasp.
What he says is not coherent, but it seems to dwell mainly on a fervent wish for my imminent death by strangling.
"I am so glad you survived your fall into the river, Mr. Fink. We looked for you, you know, but as we were inexperienced, we were swept down the river. I ask you, what could we do?"
Fink gains his voice.
"What can ye do? You can bail us out of here and give me back my boat!"
"Ah, Mr. Fink, I have here next to my heart a Bill of Sale for that boat, signed by you," I reply. "Do you see your signature there? Do you deny that it is yours?"
"I'll kill you! I'll kill you! I'll kill you! Kill you, kill you, kill, kill, kill—"
"And just how long is your sentence, Mr. Fink? Twenty days? Ah, that is a very convenient time, Mr. Fink. I'm afraid I have no connection to the local law, and I and the Belle of the Golden West will be long gone before you get out. But don't despair. You may reclaim your boat in New Orleans, as I shall be done with it then. I shall leave it in good condition, better condition than when I found it. I am not greedy. I will name you a fair price for it."
I know it is evil to taunt him, but it is so much fun. Fink rages and tries to rip out the bars, but it is all to no avail. I think I hear someone else within the jail calling out, too. I think I heard my name shouted, but that's probably 'cause I'm getting so well-known around here.
"Well, Mr. Fink, this has been a most enjoyable conversation, but I must take my leave now, as business calls. My ship needs further outfitting before we embark for points south. Adieu, Mr. Fink. I do hope you'll enjoy your stay as a guest of this fair city," I say as I give him a slight curtsy while turning to leave.