'Yes--always. I never even saw him speak to anyone until the last time he was in.
He spoke to a lady who comes in sometimes.'
'Young?'
'Oh, no. Mrs. LaCroix is--well, she's past sixty, I'd say.'
'Did they have coffee?'
'Oh, no. They just spoke. Well, she did talk to him a little. She was thanking him for something. I--I didn't listen, you know, but I couldn't help but hear. It was something that happened in the dining room at the Saint Charles. I have no idea what it was about except that Mr. Sackett avoided trouble for them, somehow.'
Well, that was something.
Orrin never was much inclined to just sit around and drink coffee, so if he came here more than once he had him a reason. Orrin liked to watch the people pass, did he?
What people? There was a lot of folks yonder, and somebody was passin' every minute, but I had an idea he wouldn't sit here just on the chance somebody would pass ... he must have known somebody would go by there, or maybe there was somebody he could watch from where he sat.
I sat there about half an hour when the waitress returned to my table. The other folks who had been drinking coffee were gone.
'Sit down,' I suggested. 'My front name is Tell, short for William Tell, a man my pa favored for his arrow shooting and his way of thinking. It's mighty nice, just to set and watch the folks go by. I've seen more people in the last half hour than I see in two months out yonder where I've been, and I've never seen so many people afoot.'
She was amused. 'Do you ride everywhere?'
'A man wouldn't be caught dead without a horse, ma'am. Why, when Eb Parley was to be buried out yonder they laid him out in the hearse nice an' proper, an' d'you know what the corpse done? He got right up out of the coffin straddled a horse, an' rode all the way to the bone yard; then he crawled back into the coffin and they buried him peaceful.'
At that moment a man walked out of the saloon across the street. He was a huge man with heavy shoulders, the biggest hands and feet I ever did see, and a wide, flat face. He wore boots, a red sash about his waist, and a nondescript gray coat and pants.
'Who's that?'
She looked quickly, then away. 'Don't let him see you looking at him. That's Hippo Swan. He's a notorious bully. He used to be overseer at the Baston plantation before they lost their slaves. Now he just hangs around the dance-saloons.'
When I returned to the hotel I went to the desk. 'Did my brother leave no message at all when he left?' I asked.
'As a matter of fact, Mr. Sackett, I did not see your brother that day. He sent a messenger for his valise.'
'Just that? No written message?'
'Of course. We would never give a guest's baggage to anyone without an order. In fact, we have it on file.' He got out the message. It was written on ordinary tablet paper, and the handwriting was nothing like my brother's excellent script.
Opening the register to my brother's entry I laid the two signatures side by side. There was no resemblance.
The clerk's face grew flushed. 'I am sorry, sir. I think I had better call the manager.'
Chapter III
Up in my room, I sat down to do some figuring. Orrin was surely in trouble, and it was serious trouble by the look of it. He was not a man to seek difficulties, and he had a smooth tongue for them when they came, so what could have happened?
He had not returned to his room. Somebody else had picked up his luggage, using a forged note to do it. Whoever came for the valise hadn't dreamed there'd be a rifle and saddle locked up at the hotel. Folks visiting in New Orleans rarely came equipped like that.
Looked to me like the only lead I had was that woman he'd spoken to in the coffee shop--Mrs. LaCroix--the name was not uncommon.
She had been in the dining room of the Saint Charles, and Orrin had helped her with some difficulty. Now that would be like Orrin. No Sackett ever stood by with a woman needing help. Looked to me like the dining room was the place to start inquiries.
Missing two days ... I was scared.
Orrin could be just one of many to be robbed or killed. The only lead I had was what took place in the dining room and that might be nothing at all. Of course, there was that time, years back, when we came downriver with a raft of logs and had that shindig on the river front, but more than likely nobody remembered that. Still, a look along the dance-saloon route might turn up something.
Come to think of it, I had a friend down yonder. There was a woman down there, a mighty notorious woman now, from what I heard. She'd been a hard case even as a youngster when I helped her out a couple of times. Bricktop Jackson was now figured to be as tough as they come, a mighty handsome woman with a figure like nothing you ever saw, but a woman who could, and would, fight like the dirtiest waterfront brawler you ever did see. Bricktop was a thief, a murderer, and a lot of other things, but she would know what was happening along the mean streets, and maybe she would tell me.
There was a tap on the door. I took up my Colt and shoved it down behind my waistband, then opened the door. It was that Negro bell man that I'd given the dollar to.
'Mr. Sackett?' He stepped in and closed the door behind him. 'I have some information, suh.'
Well, I went down into my pocket for a dollar, but he wasn't hungry. He said, 'Your brother had an altercation, suh. He exchanged a few words with Mr. Baston, suh.'
'Baston?' Where had I heard that name?
'Andre Baston, suh.'
He said it like it was a name I should know. When I looked puzzled he said, 'Andre Baston is thought by some to be the most dangerous man in New Orleans, suh. He has killed twelve men ... in duels, suh; with pistol, knife, or rapier he is considered the best.'
In some places that might not have meant so much, but New Orleans was no ordinary town.
'What happened?'
Briefly, he explained what had happened in the dining room, but it did not come to much. There had been some words, but it was purely a small matter, and, had anybody but this here Baston been involved, nobody would have paid it much mind.
'Those people he was talking to? Was their name LaCroix?'
'Yes, suh. It was. They are fine people, very fine people, suh.'
'And the Bastons?'
This Negro was a fine-looking man of fifty or so, with an inborn dignity and obviously some education. His distaste for gossip was evident, but there was something more here, too. Now I ain't given to second sight, but feelings show through, and it was right plain that this man liked the LaCroix people, but not the Bastons.
'There are many Bastons, suh. Some of them fine people. Most of them, in fact.
Old Mr. Philip, suh ... before the war, suh, I was one of his people. He was a fine man, a fine man.'
'What about Andre?'
He hesitated. 'Mr. Sackett, I would have no dealings with him, suh.'
'You did say he had killed twelve men.'
'I said he had killed twelve men in duels, suh. There have been others, suh, when the arrangements were less formal.'
Well, that didn't get me anywhere. Orrin had exchanged a few words with Baston and they had parted. If I could talk to the LaCroix people they could tell me what was said, but the lead did not look promising. It looked to me like Orrin had just dropped off the world.
Two days more of hunting and inquiring left me exactly where I was when I arrived. Now Orrin had been missing four days. And then I located the LaCroix family.
