KIRBY SHOWS HIS HAND
That scene, with all its surroundings, remains indelibly impressed upon
my memory. It will never fade while I live. The long, narrow, dingy
cabin of the little _Warrior_, its forward end unlighted and in shadow,
the single swinging lamp, suspended to a blackened beam above where the
table had stood, barely revealing through its smoky chimney the after
portion showing a row of stateroom doors on either side, some standing
ajar, and that crowd of excited men surging about the fallen body of
Judge Beaucaire, unable as yet to fully realize the exact nature of
what had occurred, but conscious of impending tragedy. The air was
thick and stifling with tobacco smoke, redolent of the sickening fumes
of alcohol, and noisy with questioning voices, while above every other
sound might be distinguished the sharp pulsations of the laboring
engine just beneath our feet, the deck planks trembling to the
continuous throbbing. The overturned table and chairs, the motionless
body of the fallen man, with Kirby standing erect just beyond, his face
as clear-cut under the glare of light as a cameo, the revolver yet
glistening in his extended hand, all composed a picture not easily
forgotten.
Still, this impression was only that of a brief instant. With the next
I was upon my knees, lifting the fallen head, and seeking eagerly to
discern some lingering evidence of life in the inert, body. There was
none, not so much as the faint flutter of a pulse, or suggestion of a
heart throb. The man was already dead before he fell, dead before he
struck the overturned table. Nothing any human effort might do would
help him now. My eyes lifting from the white, ghastly face encountered
those of McAfee, and, without the utterance of a word, I read the
miner's verdict, and arose again to my feet.
"Judge Beaucaire is dead," I announced gravely. "Nothing more can be
done for him now."
The pressing circle of men hemming us in fell back silently,
reverently, the sound of their voices sinking into a subdued murmur.
It had all occurred so suddenly, so unexpectedly, that even these
witnesses could scarcely grasp the truth. They were dazed, leaderless,
struggling to restrain themselves. As I stood there, almost
unconscious of their presence, still staring down at that upturned
face, now appearing manly and patrician in the strange dignity of its
death mask, a mad burst of anger swept me, a fierce yearning for
revenge--a feeling that this was no less a murder because Nature had
struck the blow. With hot words of reproach upon my lips I gazed
across toward where Kirby had been standing a moment before. The
gambler was no longer there--his place was vacant.
"Where is Kirby?" I asked, incredulous of his sudden disappearance.
For a moment no one answered; then a voice in the crowd croaked
hoarsely:
"He just slipped out through that after door to the deck--him and Bill
Carver."
"And the stakes?"
Another answered in a thin, piping treble.
"I reckon them two cusses took along the most ov it. Enyhow 'tain't
yere, 'cept maybe a few coins that rolled tinder the table. It wasn't
Joe Kirby who picked up the swag, fer I was a watchin' him, an' he
never onct let go ov his gun. Thet damn sneak Carver must a did it,
an' then the two ov 'em just sorter nat'rally faded away through that
door thar."
McAfee swore through his black beard, the full truth swiftly dawning
upon him.
"Hell!" he exploded. "So that's the way of it. Then them two wus in
cahoots frum the beginnin'. That's what I told the Jedge last night,
but he said he didn't give a whoop; thet he knew more poker than both
ov 'em put tergether. I tell yer them fellers stole that money, an'
they killed Beaucaire--"
"Hold on a minute," I broke in, my mind cleared of its first passion,
and realizing the necessity of control. "Let's keep cool, and go slow.
While I believe McAfee is right, we are not going to bring the Judge
back to life by turning into a mob. There is no proof of cheating, and
Kirby has the law behind him. Let me talk to the captain about what
had best be done."
"Who, Thockmorton?"
"Yes; he'll know the better action for us to take. He's level-headed,
and an old friend of Beaucaire's."
"I'm fer swingin' that damn gambler up, without askin' nobody," shouted
a fellow fiercely. "He's bin raisin' hell frum one end o' this river
ter the other fer ten years. A rope is whut he needs."
"What good would that do in this case?" I questioned before anyone else
could chime in, "either to the dead man, or his family? That's what I
am thinking about, men. Suppose you strung him up, that money, the
plantation, and those slaves would still belong to him, or his heirs.
I'm for getting all these back, if there is any way of accomplishing
it. See here, men," I pleaded earnestly, "this affair doesn't
necessarily end here on board the _Warrior_, and if you were to kill
Kirby it wouldn't benefit matters any."
"It would get rid ov a skunk."
"Yes, but he is only one of a hundred between here and New Orleans.
Look at the other side a minute. Beaucaire bet everything he
possessed--everything, land, niggers, and money. Kirby sneered him on
to it, and saw that he had the kind of a hand that would do the
business right. When the Judge died he didn't own enough to pay his
funeral expenses. Now see here; I happen to know that he left two
young daughters. Just stop, and think of them. We saw this game
played, and there isn't a man here who believes it was played on the
square--that two such hands were ever dealt, or drawn, in poker. We
can't prove that Kirby manipulated things to that end; not one of us
saw how he worked the trick. There is no chance to get him that way.
Then what is it we ought to do? Why I say, make the thief
disgorge--and hanging won't do the business."
"Well then, what will?"
"I confess I do not yet know. I want to talk with Thockmorton first.
He may know something."
There was a moment's silence, then a suspicious voice, "Who the hell
are you? How do we know you ain't in on this yerself?"
"Listen, men," and I fronted them, looking straight into their eyes.
"You have a right to ask that question, and I'll tell you who I am. I
am not here in uniform, but I am an officer of the United States Army.
Captain Thockmorton will vouch for that. I pledge you my word that
this affair does not end here. I never met any of these men until I
came on board the boat at Fort Armstrong, but I have letters with me
for Governor Clark of Missouri, and Governor Reynolds of Illinois.
Either man will accept my statement regarding this matter, and I
promise you that either Kirby and Carver will return the papers and
money before we reach St. Louis, or I'll swear out a warrant for their
arrest. If you boys will stay with me we'll scare it out of them for
the sake of those girls. What do you say?"
No one spoke immediately, although there was a muttering of voices,
sounding antagonistic, and sprinkled with oaths. It was, indeed, a
poor time and place in which to appeal to the law, nor were these men
accustomed to the pleadings of mercy. I glanced across Beaucaire's
extended body, and caught the eyes of McAfee. The man lifted his hand.
"The leftenant has got this thing sized up about proper," he said
gruffly. "He's an army officer all right, fer I saw him back thar on
the island, when we wus tied up at the dock. Now look yere, boys, I'm
fer hangin' both ov them cusses just as much as eny ov the rest ov
yer--a bit more, I reckon, fer they stripped me ov my pile; along with
Beaucaire, only I was easier ter strip--but, as the leftenant says,
that ain't the p'int now. What we want ter do is get back them bills
o' sale, so them two young women won't be left with nuthin' ter live
on. Let's make the fellers cough up furst, an' then, if we think best,
we kin hang 'em afterwards. It's my vote we let the leftenant tackle
the job--what do yer say?"
The rise and fall of voices, although punctuated by oaths, and
indistinct in expression, seemed generally to signify assent. The
faces of the men, as they pushed and crowded about us, remained angry
and resentful. Clearly enough prompt action alone would carry the day.
"Very well then, boys," I broke in sharply. "You agree to leave this
settlement with me. Then I'll go at it. Two or three of you pick up
the body, and carry it to Beaucaire's stateroom--forward there. The
rest of you better straighten up the cabin, while I go up and talk with
Thockmorton a moment. After that I may want a few of you to go along
when I hunt up Kirby. If he proves ugly we'll know how to handle him.
McAfee!"
"I'm over here."
"I was just going to say that you better stay here, and keep the
fellows all quiet in the cabin. We don't want our plan to leak out,
and it will be best to let Kirby and Carver think that everything is
all right; that nothing is going to be done."
I waited while several of them gently picked up the body, and bore it
forward into the shadows. Others busied themselves in straightening
the overturned furniture, and gathered into a small pile those few
scattered coins which had fallen to the deck, and been overlooked by
the two gamblers in their eagerness to escape. No one attempted to
appropriate any of these. McAfee apparently knew most of the fellows
intimately, calling them by name, and seemed to be recognized as a
leader among them. This fact was encouraging, as to all appearance
they were a rough set, unaccustomed to law of any kind, and to be
controlled only by physical strength, and some one of their own sort.
In spite of my position and rank, I was far too young in appearance to
exercise much weight of authority over such border men, but fortunately
I possessed sufficient good sense to rely now in this emergency upon
the black-bearded McAfee, who served well. His voice, strongly
resembling a foghorn, arose in threat and expostulation unceasingly,
and the miners, who evidently knew him well, and perhaps had previously
tested the weight of his fist, were lamb-like and obedient to his
control.
"They'll be quiet enough fer a while, leftenant," he managed to whisper
hoarsely to me. "But they is jest boys growed up, an' if eny one o'
them should really take a notion ter raise hell, all the cussin' I
might do wouldn't make no diffrance. Whatever yer aim at, better be
done right off, while I kin sorter keep 'em busy down yere; onct they
git loose on the deck the devil himself couldn't stop 'em frum startin'
a row."
This advice was so good that I slipped instantly away, silently gained
the door, and, unobserved, emerged on to the deserted deck without.
The sudden change in environment sobered me, and caused me to pause and
seriously consider the importance of my mission. Through the thin
walls of the cabin the murmuring voices of those within became
indistinct, except as an occasional loudly spoken oath, or call, might
be distinguished. The struggling _Warrior_ was close within the
looming shadows of the western shore, and seemed to be moving downward
more swiftly with the current, as though the controlling mind in the
darkened wheelhouse felt confident of clear water ahead. The decks
throbbed to the increased pulsation of the engine, and I could plainly
hear the continuous splash of the great stern wheel as it flung spray
high into the air.
I paused a moment, hand gripping the rail, and eyes seeking vainly to
peer across the wide expanse of river, really fronting the situation
for the first time, and endeavoring to think out calmly some definite
course of action. Thus far, spurred only by necessity, and a sense of
obligation, I had merely been blindly grasping at the first suggestion
which had occurred to mind. The emergency had demanded action, rather
than reflection. But now, on cooler consideration, and alone, the
result I sought did not appear so apparent, nor so easily attained.
Hitherto, in the midst of the excitement occasioned by Beaucaire's
tragic death, my mind had grasped but one idea clearly--if I permitted
Kirby to be mobbed and killed by those enraged men, his death would
benefit no one; would remedy no wrong. That mad mob spirit must be
fought down, conquered. Yet now, when I had actually accomplished
this, what must be my next step? Nothing less potent than either fear,
or force, would ever make Kirby disgorge. Quite evidently the gambler
had deliberately set out to ruin the planter, to rob him of every
dollar. Even at the last moment he had coldly insisted on receiving a
bill of sale so worded as to leave no possible loophole. He demanded
all. The death of the Judge, of course, had not been contemplated, but
this in no way changed the result. That was an accident, yet, I
imagined, might not be altogether unwelcome, and I could not rid my
memory of that shining weapon in Kirby's hand, or the thought that he
would have used it had the need arose. Would he not then fight just as
fiercely to keep, as he had, to gain? Indeed, I had but one fact upon
which I might hope to base action--every watcher believed those cards
had been stacked, and that Beaucaire was robbed by means of a trick.
Yet, could this be proven? Would any one of those men actually swear
that he had seen a suspicious move? If not, then what was there left
me except a mere bluff? Absolutely nothing.
Gambling was a recognized institution, with which even the law did not
interfere. Of course there were statutes in both Missouri and
Illinois, but no enforcement. Indeed the gambling fraternity was so
firmly intrenched, through wealth and influence, that no steamer
captain even, autocratic as he often was, would dare encroach on their
prerogatives. Interested as Thockmorton would be in serving
Beaucaire's dependents, and as much as he cordially disliked Kirby, all
I could rely upon from him in this emergency would be a certain moral
support, and possibly some valuable advice. He would never dare ally
himself openly, for the cost of such action would be too high. On the
other hand, from my knowledge of Kirby's desperate character, and
previous exploits, I seriously doubted the efficacy of threatening him
with lynch law. He would be far more liable to defy a mob than yield
to its demands. Yet memory of those two helpless girls--more
particularly that one over whose unconsciousness there hung the
possibility of slavery--urged me strongly to attempt even the
apparently impossible. I had it in my mind to fight the man personally
if, in no other way, I could attain my end; at least I would face him
with every power and authority I could bring to bear.
With no other object in mind, and unarmed, never once dreaming of
attack, I advanced alone along the dark, narrow strip of deck, leading
toward the ladder which mounted to the wheelhouse. There were no
lights, and I was practically compelled to feel my way by keeping one
hand upon the rail. The steamer was sweeping around a great bend, and
a leadsman forward was calling the depth of water, his monotonous voice
chanting out strange river terms of guidance. I had reached the foot
of the ladder, my fingers blindly seeking the iron rungs in the gloom,
when a figure, vague, indistinct, suddenly emerged from some denser
shadow and confronted me. Indeed the earliest realization I had of any
other presence was a sharp pressure against my breast, and a low voice
breathing a menacing threat in my ear.
"I advise you not to move, you young fool. This is a cocked pistol
tickling your ribs. Where were you going?"
The black night veiled his face, but language and voice, an spite of
its low grumble, told me the speaker was Kirby. The very coldness of
his tone served to send a chill through me.
"To have a word with Thockmorton," I answered, angered at my own fear,
and rendered reckless by that burst of passion. "What do you mean by
your threat? Haven't you robbed enough men already with cards without
resorting to a gun?"
"This is no robbery," and I knew by the sharpness of his reply my words
had stung, "and it might be well for you to keep a civil tongue in your
head. I overheard what you said to those men in the cabin. So you are
going to take care of me, are you?" There was a touch of steel in the
low voice. "Now listen, you brainless meddler. Joe Kirby knows
exactly what he is doing when he plays any game. I had nothing to do
with Beaucaire's death, but those stakes are mine. I hold them, and I
will kill any man who dares to interfere with me."
"You mean you refuse to return any of this property?"
"Every cent, every nigger, every acre--that's my business. Beaucaire
was no child; he knew what he was betting, and he lost."
"But," I insisted almost hopelessly, "perhaps you do not wholly
understand this matter--the entire situation. Judge Beaucaire risked
every penny he possessed in the world."
"I suppose he did, but he expected to gain it all back again, with as
much more of mine."
"That may be true, Kirby. I am not defending his action, but surely
this is no reason, now that he is dead, why you should not show some
degree of mercy to others totally innocent of any wrong. The man left
two daughters, both young girls, who will now be homeless and
penniless."
He laughed, and the sound of that laugh was more cruel than the
accompanying words.
"Two daughters!" he sneered. "According to my information that strains
the relationship a trifle, friend Knox--at least the late Judge never
took the trouble to acknowledge the fact. Permit me to correct your
statement. I happen to know more about Beaucaire's private affairs
than you do. He leaves one daughter only. I have never met the young
lady, but I understand from excellent authority that she possesses
independent means through the death some years ago of her mother. I
shall therefore not worry about her loss--and, indeed, she need meet
with none, for if she only prove equal to all I have heard I may yet be
induced to make her a proposition."
"A proposition?"
"To remain on the plantation as its mistress--plainly an offer of
marriage, if you please. Not such a bad idea, is it?"
I stood speechless, held motionless only by the pressing muzzle of his
pistol, the cold-blooded villainy of the man striking me dumb. This
then had probably been his real purpose from the start. He had
followed Beaucaire deliberately with this final end in view--of ruining
him, and thus compelling the daughter to yield herself. He had egged
the man on, playing on the weakness of his nature, baiting him to
finally risk all on a game of chance, the real stake not the money on
the table, but the future of this young girl.
"You--you have never seen her?"
"No, but I have met those who have. She is reported to be beautiful,
and, better still, worth fifty thousand dollars."
"And you actually mean that you propose now to force Judge Beaucaire's
daughter to marry you?"
"Well hardly that, although I shall use whatever means I possess. I
intend to win her if I can, fair means, or foul."
I drew a deep breath, comprehending now the full iniquity of his plot,
and bracing myself to fight it.
"And what about the other girl, Kirby? for there is another girl."
"Yes," rather indifferently, "there is another."
"Of course you know who she is?"
"Certainly--a nigger, a white nigger; the supposed illegitimate
daughter of Adelbert Beaucaire, and a slave woman. There is no reason
why I should fret about her, is there? She is my property already by
law." He laughed again, the same ugly sneering laugh of triumph, "That
was why I was so particular about the wording of that bill of sale--I
would rather have her than the whole bunch of field hands."
"You believe then the girl has never been freed--either she, or her
mother?"
"Believe? I know. I tell you I never play any game with my eyes shut."
"And you actually intend to--to hold her as a slave?"
"Well, I'll look her over first before I decide--she would be worth a
pot full of money down the river."