CHAPTER XII
THOUGH one travels like the wind, word of his coming will precede him down the Mississippi River if he is of interest. The fact that White Collar Dan had left the Hickman Hospital was printed in several newspapers up and down the river, with the result that Junker Frest and José Macrado learned the fact on the evening of the same day—this to make plain what might seem to be a mysterious shantyboat grape-vine telegraph.
"He was accompanied by his friend." the news item declared, "one Charles Urleigh, believed to be from Cincinnati. Urleigh purchased a shantyboat at Hickman bar, and the two floated away down the river together, leaving the mystery of White Collar Dan's shooting as much involved as ever."
"Now what do you make of that?" Macrado demanded, reading the item with pains and determination, in Palura's wine room in Mendova.
"Looks like Dan'd found somebody to fish and cut bait for him," Frest declared. "Dan had nine hundred left in his pockets. I know that, because Whisky Williams told me so. That girl's got his motorboat, though—I don't make nothing of it."
"Who's Urleigh?"
"Oh, probably some grafter—Dan's always picking up that kind."
"Well, maybe he ain't, now—maybe he's a soft-paw, and Dan may be givin' him his lessons."
"You can bet Dan'll look out for hisself. Course, he may be just boardin' with Urleigh."
"Like's not we'll know more about it. They'll be dropping in down here in Mendova d'rectly. I been kinda suspicioning about that Dan. He ain't been on the river in a long time now—'ceptin' just to say howdy. Now he drops down, out'n the Ohio, and when he's shot, he comes back on the river. Course, likely as not he's afteh that gasolene of his'n, if that gal did pirate it off'n him. Gawd help her if he is! Dan's mean when he aims to be. Course, I never knowed of his mussin' up women, but you know, ten-twelve years ago, he was a young feller then mebby twenty, mebby eighteen, but a wise one.
"Well, as I was sayin', they was a little old feller name of Storit run a whisky boat down b'low, round Arkansaw Old Mouth. He always had a lot of money, and he was keerless, besides wearing more diamonds 'an any shantyboater I ever got to hear about before or since. Dan come down into a little blue skift, out'n St. Louis, an' he stopped into that whisky boat. Storit was in Mozart Bend all alone. I know, because I'd just left him that same evenin'. Next day Dan come by in that whisky boat, tellin' me he'd bought it.
"What come of Storit? Well, he never showed up not in two-three months. He was always proud of his looks, wearing diamonds, as I told you. He showed up into a hog pen on a raft, shiftless, dirty, no 'count. I hardly knowed him. He had a long scar from his right ear, which was split, down to his collar. He'd been hit—hard!
"Now ain't it funny how men gets their start? Dan wa'n't nothin' particular up till that time. He took some diamonds down East, after selling the whisky boat som'rs around Vicksburg. Them diamonds brought him good money, all right. But let me tell you: when he sold them diamonds, he learnt somethin'. He got to know about diamonds and that kind. They say he's the slickest sparkler trader anywhere now, just by accident, you might say—happenin' to catch Storit just right to get what he had. Storit was a mighty cyarful man, too, never turnin' his back on no damned customer that come in."
"Yes, sir!" Macrado agreed. "A lot depends on the way a feller gits his start. I 'member Dan. He always wore a wool shirt till he went East. He come back White Collar Dan! Some fellers is jes' lucky. Some says they ain't no luck, but I know! Somebody was jes' bound to git Storit, with all them sparklers—and it were Dan. He knowed 'nough to take 'vantage of what he got to know, tradin' with them down-East fences. Dan's a big gun now. He ain't neveh been caught right out. He was two years in Joliet, an' two-three months on Blackwells, is all. I seen 'im down on the coast three-four years ago. Had a long talk with him.
"'What I'm afteh,' he said, 'is a big stake. Then me for investments. Hit's only a notion, fellers wantin' a lot of money. S'pose a man could git three-four thousand a year? Why, he could live into his gasolene an' eat 'nough, an' live!' That's the way Dan put hit. He 'lowed 'f 'e could get fifty thou', he'd live right, an' square."
"Yas, suh," Frest admitted, thoughtfully, "on'y a damned fool couldn't get to live off'n three-four thousand comfortable. He'd have to have an awful 'stravagant wife to spend more'n that. Course, if a man gambles er she dresses like the devil hit'd take a heap more'n that!"
"Oh, if you goin' to count a woman in." Macrado tossed his head.
"Well, you wouldn't want a man to be washin' dishes an' sweepin' around, an' so on, would you? He'd navigate the boat!"
"I bet you got to stop to see Delia," grinned Macrado, slyly, and Frest grimaced with embarrassment.
"Well, she's a swell looker!" Frest defended himself.
"And Mrs. Mahna's a swell talker! She said three cents extry on a pound of copper would coax some fellers away from the prettiest gal on Old Mississip'"
"That old—that old woman," Frest choked, "she tricked me thataway."
Both laughed lightly.
"If luck'd only break right for a man," Macrado mused; "some men is lucky. They was a feller over on White River who found one of those pearlers down a green Stillwater, and all he done was he'p himself. Just like that! No trouble—nothing. Six thousand dollars' worth of pearls."
"And somewheres around—the papers is be'n full of it. There's a hundred, two hundred thousand worth of sparklers."
"That's right. Up to Cincinnaty; I come by Warsaw, three-four times. I know right where that old Wrest lives jes' as well as I know I'm settin' here. Sho! He had a hundred thou' into his house, all sparklers. Lawse! Somebody jes' got onto hit, an' they was jes' pickin's, yas, suh!"
"White Collar Dan come out the Ohio," Frest suggested, thoughtfully.
"Sho'!" Macrado turned and stared at the junker. "He was always lookin' around for di'monds."
"I see somebody took back half what was missin'—Goles, was hit?"
"Theh's on'y a hundred thousand worth aroun' now." Frest shook his head as though the outstanding gems were a meagre lot.
"Think what even a hundred thou'd do for a feller—two fellers!" Macrado protested. "Nobody knows how Dan got shot. That gal's got his boat! You s'pect he was working with someone?"
"I always hearn say—he told me so hisse'f, that he worked alone." Frest recalled: "I make a fair livin',' he said, right down in Arkansaw Old Mouth, I'm layin' off to make a big haul, an' then jes' live. That's what he said."
"Who's that looking for a big haul to live on?" a low voice demanded, and the two river men started from their chairs. In their absorbed interest they had not watched closely. Palura himself had sauntered near on his rubber soles.
"We was jes' talkin' about White Collar Dan. He's out the hospital!" Macrado showed Palura the item.
"I seen that," Palura said, sitting down. "About those diamond drummer sparklers—heard anything about 'em on the river?"
"No," Macrado shook his head. "We seen about 'em in the papers."
"What'd Dan get shot for?"
"He neveh told!"
"And he's comin' on down hisse'f? Know that feller Urleigh?"
"No."
"Probably that ain't his right name. Dan always worked alone?"
"Seems like he said so," Frest declared.
"And some skirt's got his gasolene boat?"
"Yas, suh," Frest nodded. "I seen hit in b'low Yankee Bar. Mrs. Mahna 'n her fambly boat's on one side an' the boat of a girl out'n the Ohio was on t'other side. Delia's her name. I seen her, up above, on her bow deck, reading. I 'lowed there was a man inside, an' I was jes' drappin' down. Awful nice looker! She beat me down, some way. I 'lowed to be friendly, but that old Mrs. Mahna's broodin' her, an' she sent me down to git my copper sold on a bull market. There wasn't no bull market. That old woman jes' lied to me. Looks like she jes' done hit to keep me way from Delia, that's her name."
"They's talkin' about Delia!" Palura nodded. "If she's what they say, she's some girl. How you expect she got that gasolene?"
"Well, Dan was shot an' up the long bar above Slough Neck, an' she dropped down with the gasolene 'side of her boat."
"Looks damn funny, don't hit?" Palura shook his head. "They say she made an eddy at the head, an' crabbed her strokes, too, like she was a soft-paw."
"She could shoot straight, though!" Macrado added.
"If she done the shootin'," Palura shook his head. "I don't always bet women does the shootin' they gets the credit for. Course, there's some women that does shoot, and shoot like h—l, but generally they ain't had the practice or the nature to do hit. You got to want to shoot to hit anything, and women don't run to that deviltry, much."
Palura strolled on, cat-footed. The two river men sat in silence. The dance-hall keeper had said nothing direct, but they knew what was on his mind. He was watching for any drift loot that might float down the river. If they could think of something, he would stand in with them, to their mutual advantage. He kept in touch with river people, and he knew the river gossip.
"As long's she's with Mrs. Mahna, they ain' no use trying to get acquainted with her!" Frest mused, half to himself.
"And when Mrs. Mahna gets through with her, she'll be plumb careless how she treats anybody," Macrado added; "I don't understand how she got the best of Dan."
They left Palura's and returned to their shantyboats on Poplar Slough. They went into the cleaner, neater boat belonging to Macrado, there to sit, thinking. "Luck neveh breaks the same way twict," Frest suggested. "You reckon them di'monds are on Old Mississip'?"
It was a blunt question to put there in the river night which had lately fallen. Macrado, though the question had been in his own mind unspoken, was startled by it. He looked over his shoulder and then at his fellow river man.
"I be'n wonderin'!" he admitted, "if they be! Lawse! Lawse! Theh's a hundred thousan' of them! Hit'd keep a man—three-four fellers all their borned days. No work. Neveh hongry. Livin' comfy! I worked hard for all I got to eat. I got to go to work now. I ain' shif'less—I work in log camps an' saw-mills and steamboats. Seems like I work all the time, an' all I got's this shantyboat."
"Same with me," Frest shook his head, glancing at Macrado sidelong, for Frest had sold three tons of copper this trip, and he had made many profitable trips down the river.
"If a man could make a stake—five-ten thousand, he'd get along!"
"Hit ain' enough," Frest protested, angrily, "hit ain' enough!"
Macrado glanced up quickly, but let his gaze go on past the junker to the blank wall.
"I be'n thinkin' we mout—we mout get to look that gasolene boat over," Macrado suggested, with a cunning leer. "I'd like to git to hit 'fore Dan comes clear down. He had money to carry him around—but I been figuring some, and hit don't look right to me."
"Mrs. Mahna," Frest brought up.
"What's her? What's Mahna an' that boy an' the whole damned bunch of them if theh's a hundred thousand into diamonds theh?" Macrado demanded with sudden vehemence. "I'm desp'rit!"
"So'm I!" mumbled Frest. "Money'd do me as much good as any man."
"I'll sell this yeah shanty; a feller 'lowed he'd give me one hundred and twenty-five for hit, an' get his answer in the mornin'. You could sell your boat to Carl—hit's a big boat"
"Then?"
"I got my eye onto a gasolene half-deck boat up the Slough—all hit needs is paint to make hit good's any boat. Make ten mile an hour, an' she was new, last year, but ain't be'n took care of right. Three hundred."
"She! You expect we—we could do hit?"
"Ain' you a man? Ain' I a man?" Macrado demanded. "Cayn't you shoot, an cayn't I shoot? No questions asted on Old Mississip'"
Frest's eyes gleamed with hopeful avarice. This thing that Macrado suggested stirred him to his soul. It reminded him of his own thought that luck breaks right to a man sometimes. Wasn't it likely to break right this time?
"Diamonds is hard to get away with," Macrado admitted, "but we can go around; if White Collar Dan could get to learn, we could. We'll get a little money for the gasolene boat—get our money back, so's we could go East. Maybe the detectives would chase afteh us if they heard we had them. We could just slide around from place to place. Nobody'd know."
"Yassuh, hit's so!" Frest approved. "I could git a httle ready money an' we could keep a goin' circlin' around, kinda livin' nowheres in particular."
Macrado looked keenly at the junker, but dropped his eyes. They whispered their scheme over; they would purchase a gasolene boat and go hunting the girl, Delia. Watching White Collar Dan, and taking in any strangers who might appear, and who might have something to do with the diamonds, which they now had convinced themselves were on the river. Some instinct, developed by years in the shantyboat world, dealing with and watching fugitives, now assured Frest that he was at last venturing forth upon a great stroke of business.
Macrado's suggestions were opportune. Macrado sold his shantyboat in the morning; Frest went uptown, and Macrado shadowed him till he saw the junker go into the bank.
That night the two started up stream in the weather-beaten but well-found gasolene semi-cruiser. They carried two rifles, a shot gun, two heavy revolvers, and two heavy automatic pistols.
Frest the junker thought that he had turned pirate, but Jose Macrado knew better—or worse. His keen eyes had seen a ridge around Frest's body outlined against the shirt. Macrado knew that this was a money-belt, and the height of the ridge indicated the thickness of the contents of the belt.
"A man neveh knows when his chanct is comin'!" Macrado thought to himself.