And tonight the dining room was filled with attractive, beautifully gowned women and handsomely dressed men.
The two tables closest to his were occupied: one of them by a group of people of his own age or younger, the other by a very handsome older couple, a distinguished-looking man with a beautiful woman, her hair almost white, her eyes remarkably youthful.
He ordered his meal when the waiter appeared. 'And the wine, sir?'
'Chateauneuf-du-Pape,' he said quietly. The older gentleman turned his head and glanced at him. Their eyes met, and Orrin smiled. 'An excellent wine, sir,' the man said.
'Thank you. Anything less would not fit the surroundings.'
'You are a stranger here?'
'I have been here more than once. But this is the first opportunity I have had to relax in a long while.' Orrin watched the waiter open his wine, tasted it, then said to the old man, 'I am interested in some mining claims in the San Juan Mountains in Colorado. I have heard rumors to the effect that people from New Orleans located mines in that area.'
The old man smiled, 'I doubt that, sir. There was much talk of gold, of course, and stories of discoveries in the Far West, but nothing came of it, nothing at all.'
'Men did go out there, however?'
'A few. Adventurers or fools. Oh, yes! I believe the French government did send a military detachment to the West at one time, but that was very long ago.'
'Did you know any of those who went west?'
'No ... no, I think not. We were planting sugar then and were much too busy to think of such things. And I believe very few did go.'
'What of Pierre?' His wife suggested.
'Pierre?' he frowned. 'Oh, yes! But that was later. He never came back, so we never did know what he went after, exactly. Some wild-goose chase, I expect. The Bastons were a mixed lot. Not very steady, you know. Chopping about from one thing to another. They still are, for that matter.'
'Charles!'
'Well, it's true, and you know it. That Andre, for example, he is nothing but a--'
Suddenly a man was standing by the table. 'You were saying, LaCroix?'
Orrin glanced up. The man was tall and broad, strongly built with a face that might have been carved from granite. The eyes were cold and blue, the face clean-shaven but for a waxed mustache.
'You were speaking of me, LaCroix?'
Orrin was shocked when he glanced at the old man, for his face had gone white and stiff. He was frightened, but even as Orrin looked, the man's pride asserted itself and he started to rise.
Instantly, Orrin was on his feet. 'I am afraid you have the advantage of me, sir. We were talking of my old neighbors, Andy and Bert Masters. Do you know them, then?'
'Who?'
Andre Baston faced sharply around.
'If you know them,' Orrin said, smiling, 'you'll understand. Andy, he was a moonshiner. Came from Tennessee and settled down here in the bayous and took to makin' whiskey--by the way, what did you say your name was? Mine is Sackett.
Orrin Sackett.'
'I'm Andre Baston. I do not understand you, sir.' Andre's tone was cold. 'I understood this man to say--'
'Sure you did. The Masters were a no-good lot. I never did figure that was even their name. Even the 'shine they made wasn't much, but one thing I'll give ol'
Andy. He had him a couple of the best coon-hounds--'
'I am afraid there is some mistake,' Andre said coldly. He stared into Orrin's eyes. 'You, sir, I do not like.'
Orrin chuckled. 'Now, isn't that a coincidence? I was just about to say the same thing. I don't like you, either, but while we're on the subject, what did happen to Pierre?'
Andre's face went pale with shock, then reddened. Before he could speak, Orrin said, 'Not that I care, but folks ask questions when a man disappears.
Especially a man like Pierre. He wasn't alone, was he? Man should never go into wild country alone. Of course, that always raises the question of what happened to those who were with him? Did any of them get back?'
Orrin thrust out his hand. 'Nice talking to you, Mr. Baston, maybe we can sit down for a real confidential talk one of these times.'
Abruptly, Orrin sat down, and Andre Baston walked away.
The old man was sunken in his chair, his face gray. His wife looked across at Orrin. 'Thank you, oh, thank you! You saved his life, you know. They have never liked us, and Andre Baston is a duelist.'
'He is?' Orrin glanced at Andre. He was seating himself at the adjoining table.
'Was he with Pierre on that trip west?'
For a moment there was no reply, and then the woman spoke softly. 'We must go now, monsieur. It is late and my husband is tired.'
LaCroix got to his feet slowly. For a moment Orrin thought he was about to fall, but he stiffened his shoulders. Then he looked down at Orrin. 'I am not sure. I believe he was.'
Orrin got to his feet. 'I have enjoyed the conversation. If I can be of any assistance--'
'Thank you.'
He sat down again, watching them walk slowly away, two fine, proud people.
Suddenly, a voice spoke. 'Mr. Sackett? I am Fanny Baston, and my uncle is very sorry for the way he acted. He believed it was his name he heard.'
Orrin Sackett looked up into the eyes of one of the most beautiful girls he had ever seen. Quickly, he got to his feet. 'It was a natural mistake,' he said.
'We must make amends. We would not wish you to leave New Orleans thinking us inhospitable.' She put her hand on his. 'Mr. Sackett, would you come to dinner at our home? Thursday night?'
'Of course,' he said. 'I'd be glad to come.' When she seated herself at her own table, she looked at her brother and uncle. 'There!' she said. 'Now it is up to you! What did we come here for, anyway?'
Chapter II
We Sacketts been going down to New Orleans ever since there was a town yonder.
This time I wasn't going to see the lights or dance the fandango, but to help Orrin work out a trail. The trail along which we had to read sign was twenty years cold, and it was the trail of our own father.
Pa was what you'd call a wandering man, a mountain man in his later years, who understood the trapping of fur and how to get along with the red man.
He had been to the shining mountains a time or two, but the last time he never come home. That wasn't so unusual as to raise sweat on a man, for those were perilous times, and many a man went west and nobody saw anything of him after that but maybe his hair at some Indian's belt.
We boys knew the country ways, and we figured pa was thrown from his horse somewhere on the high plains, got caught without water, or run short of powder and lead with the Indians closing in. There was a sight of things could happen to a body in western lands, and betwixt us we'd come up against most of them.
The trouble was with ma.
She was growing old now, and with the passing of years her memories turned more and more to pa, and to wondering what had become of him. She was fearful he might be stove up and helpless somewhere back in the hills, or maybe held hostage by some Indians. Of a night ma didn't sleep very well, and she'd set up in her old rocker and worry about pa.
Now pa was a knowing kind of a man. He could make do with mighty little, and, given time, he could edge himself out of any kind of a fix. We boys figured that if pa was alive he'd come home, one way or t'other.
We were living in New Mexico now. Tyrel was trying to sell his holdings near Mora, figuring on moving west to the new town of Shalako. Orrin was busy with his law practice, but he said he could take some time, and I guess I was actually free to roam. Anyway, no woman, except ma, would worry for me.
