on you, but it won't. Out there where I come from, there's folks that want the same things you do and will go just as far to get them, but all of them wind up on the short end of the stick.
'As for me, ma'am, I wouldn't ruin as easy as you might think. There's nothing you could offer me that I'd swap for one afternoon ride through the hills, and I mean it. Once a man has lived with mountains you can't offer him a home with a prairie dog.'
She walked away from me then and I stood and watched her go, a beautiful woman, beautifully gowned. Never did I see a woman walk away from me but I regretted it. I had no woman now. Ange was gone. We'd had something fine there, for a little while. As for Dorset--she'd gone off and I did not know if ever we'd meet again.
Sitting alone, I had another glass of wine and thought about what was to come.
I knew the Absinthe House. It was a popular place in New Orleans, and a lot of the young bloods did their drinking there, and their meeting of each other. It was on a busy corner where two people meeting would not be noticed much.
I paid my bill and went out into the quiet warmth of the street. There were many people there, strolling, talking, laughing. From the cafes and the dance-saloons there was music, but I walked down along the avenue, hearing little of the talk, pausing from time to time to check my back trail.
At the corner where the Absinthe House stood there were many people walking back and forth. I went into the cafe, glanced around at the crowd there and saw no familiar face. As I turned, a short, thickset man appeared close to my side.
'This way, m'sieu.' When we stepped around the corner, the Tinker was standing by a covered carriage.
We got in, the thickset man climbed to the driver's seat, and we rolled away.
'We have found him, I think. And there will be trouble.'
'All right,' I replied, 'just let's get to him in time.'
We turned into darker and darker streets. I recognized a sign here and there, and then at last we drew to a stop I heard somebody singing from a shack close by, a lonely, sad-sounding song.
Leaving our cab we started down a dark alleyway. A cat sprang away from beneath our feet. Somebody threw a bottle from a window and it broke upon other bottles.
We went up a few wooden steps to a small dock by the river.
All was still. No lights shone from this dock. From the neighboring dock, an open window cast a gleam of light upon the dark, swirling waters of the river. A boat was tied there, bumping against the underpinning of the dock, and on the shore a man waited. A dark man in a striped shirt that fit tightly over powerful muscles.
By the sound of his French he was a Cajun. He led the way down to the boat, and then we pushed off. There were three other men in the boat. I balanced myself on a thwart amidships and watched them hoist the small brown sail. There was little wind, but we caught what there was and moved out on the dark water.
We were off to find Orrin. Please God, he'd be alive.
'Quietly,' the Tinker said, 'it must be done quietly. They have more friends close by than we.'
'You have a blade?' The man in the striped shirt asked.
'I do,' I said, and no further words were spoken as we moved out along the river.
The night was still and warm. My mouth felt dry, and I was uneasy in the boat. I was at home in a saddle, but not here. My hand went again to the knife.
Chapter VI
The wind died, lost in the surrounding trees and brush. The only sound was the chunk of the oar at the stern. The water shone a dull black. Overhead a few stars showed themselves faintly in the ribbon of sky the trees permitted us to see.
We passed several boats tied up along shore, all dark and still. Twice we passed cabins where lights still showed, and from one came drunken arguing and shouting. We moved on, ghostlike, along the bayou.
I wondered if Orrin would be alive. There was small chance of it, although the Tinker, who had access to much information, believed he was.
I shucked my coat, wishing I had left it behind, but there had been nowhere to leave it. A man did not appear coatless in the evening at the Saint Charles.
'Not much further,' someone said, and I touched the haft of my knife.
Orrin lay bound in the darkness. Now and then a spider or a daddy longlegs crept over his face. His shirt was soaked with perspiration, even where it had been stiff with blood. He needed a drink desperately, but the men who held him prisoner could not care less about his comfort.
They believed he knew something, believed he was after gold. Not for one minute had they bought the idea that he was only looking for information about his father. Somehow, something he had said had blown the lid off. He had frightened them. He didn't doubt that they intended to kill him when they had their information, so he had stalled, watching for a break.
They did not know his strength or agility. They had no idea of his skill with weapons and he had done nothing to lead them to believe he was anything more than a lawyer, a deskman.
He hadn't been taken in by Fanny Baston. She was beautiful, but there was something else about her, some unhealthy air that disturbed him. He had been careful. Every step of the way he had been sure that no one was behind him, that he was always ready. He had not suspected his drink ... not so soon.
Actually, although wary of trouble, he had not expected it. They were fishing to see what he knew, of that he was sure, and he suspected that when they decided he knew nothing they would bid him good night and that would be the end of it.
From the first, he had known that his mention of Pierre frightened them.
Obviously, something had happened on that western expedition that they did not wish known. That in itself was peculiar because jurisdiction would be hard if not impossible to establish, witnesses impossible to obtain.
From the idle talk over dinner, before things became serious, he had heard Philip mentioned several times. And Philip, he gathered, was well-off. Philip had also been close to Pierre. Whether they were blood brothers he had not grasped, but it was clear that there was a bond of affection between them.
The knockout drops were unexpected. All had been casual. Andre was at the table ... so were Paul and Fanny.
The drug was in the coffee, which was strong enough to cover the taste, and within a few minutes after he drank the coffee he realized he was in trouble.
But by that time his movements were slowed, his coordination affected. He tried to get up, but Andre contemptuously shoved him back into his chair. The last thing he remembered was their faces as they sat around watching him with casual disinterest, almost boredom, as he faded out.
Something was happening. A boat bumped against the side of the houseboat and men came aboard. There was low argument, orders, men running. Suddenly the door to the hatchway descending into the hold where he lay was opened. A lantern held high found him with eyes closed. The hatch closed again, and he heard the bar drop.
He could only guess what was happening. Either they were leaving here or they were expecting someone, and it appeared to he the latter.
In the bilge there was a little black, dirty water slopping about. Several hours before, Orrin had worked loose one of the boards, then another. He had been soaking the rawhide that bound his wrists in this water, and the rawhide was slowly stretching. Already he could detect some looseness ... just a little more.
Now he hooked a slightly loosened cord over a nail projecting from where he had removed the board, and he began to tug.
Sweat broke out on his forehead and his body. The rawhide cut deeply into his wrists, but he continued to work and strain. Nothing happened, but the rawhide did seem a little looser. Again he lay listening, his bound wrists in the water.
He could hear rats rustling somewhere forward. So far they had not come near him. Given time, they would.
Above, all was still. How many men were aboard? There had been two, but now there must be at least four, and they were waiting ... waiting in the darkness, armed and ready.
It had to be Tell, of course.
If anybody was coming to help it had to be his brother, for there was no one else. Tyrel was far away in New
