Natchez Read online

  “How much silver?” he asked Wango.

  “Not enough, sir?” Wango told him. “Not enough to feed your hothouse rose,” the henchman added, smiling at his own phrase.

  Blackschuster ignored him. “It must be soon. Soon! We need the silver, Wango. Our new friend must deliver it and soon.”

  “Is it possible he is considering betrayal, sir?”

  “Of course,” Blackschuster replied. “They always consider it when such wealth is involved. The wise ones put such thoughts aside.”

  Wango smiled thinly, the lanternlight on his scarred face, the golden earring he wore. Blackschuster had not mentioned what happened to those foolish enough to persist in their betrayals. There was no need to, Wango had helped bury too many of them.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  It was early morning when the tall black wagon entered Natchez from the south. A big man with massive shoulders, an amiable smile, and a thatch of grayish hair perched in the box, handling the four beautifully matched bays with gentle skill. Behind the wagon, prancing on a tether was a great black stallion, taller than many working-horse breeds by a good hand, yet built with the lines of speed.

  The black had heavily muscled legs, tapering to delicate hoofs, an extremely deep chest and a flashing silver mane and tail unlike any coloration normally seen in the horse world. The flesh of the animal seemed to be chiseled of black obsidian, but as it moved the muscles took on a graceful fluidity.

  Montak’s eyes were heavy, he glanced from one side of the street to the other until he saw a hand-painted sign advertising a livery. Montak guided the bays into the narrow, clean alley and drew up in front of the old brick stable. A small bell hung on the door of the building. Montak pulled the string, the tinkling of the bell dying away. There was no answer so he pulled it once again.

  “He ain’t here!”

  Montak turned to see a huge black man sitting against the wall, straw hat tilted over his eyes.

  “Snookey ain’t here. Scooted down for breakfast, I believe. I’m waitin’ on him myself.”

  The man tipped his hat back when there was no answer. His eyebrows lifted a bit at the sight of the stranger. Thick as a bull, nearly as thick as himself, and much taller. Montak seemed to be nearly seven feet tall from his sitting position.

  “Said he ain’t here.” The black man smiled, screwed up his face a little and puckered his lips. Finally he stood.

  “I’m Big Joseph,” he said, sticking out a hand which Montak shook. “Did you hear what I told you?”

  Montak nodded, smiled and touched his lips, wagging his head.

  “Oh—you cain’t talk. I’m sorry. Thought you didn’t hear me. Snookey, he’ll be back, he just takes his sweet time. Lord,” Big Joseph said with appreciation, “those are some fine bays you got there.” He stretched out a hand and patted the horse nearest him. Then he heard Khamsin stamping, and stepped back to look behind the wagon.

  “Sweet mercy! What is that?”

  Montak smiled and took Joseph by the shoulder, leading him to Khamsin. The big horse tossed its head, yet stretched out his neck to Montak, nuzzling him. The giant gave him a lump of maple sugar.

  Joseph reached out a hand, yet pulled it back as if Khamsin’s flesh might burn him.

  “I never seen the like,” he whispered.

  The stableman came back a minute later. Snookey, as Joseph called him, had a button nose, curious eyes, and a shy smile.

  “I’m comin’,” Snookey said. “A man’s got to eat.”

  He stopped short at the sight of Khamsin, blinked twice, then moved past, a ring of keys in his hand.

  “How was your breakfast?” a new voice asked. Snookey turned to see a man of some age, somewhat stooped, leaning on a cane.

  “Tolerable, sir. Most tolerable.”

  “As you say,” Dr. Spectros commented, “a man has to eat as well as the horses. Perhaps you could direct my friend and myself to a restaurant.”

  Montak smiled broadly, his eyes twinkling. They had eaten on the road from New Orleans, all right, but twice it had been only rabbit stew, and one other time sourdough bread and scant bacon. Hardly enough to keep a man of Montak’s enormous stature going.

  “It’s a poor place for a gentleman,” Snookey answered, talking as he unharnessed the bays. “Called Grandma’s Place. Right around the corner. Ain’t fancy, but they throw the feed on you, sir. Me, this mornin’ I had a few eggs, some side meat, some taters, a spoonful of grits, some fresh baked bread, coffee and a piece of fruit or two—small oranges, they were.”

  Montak was already leaning forward, anticipation lighting his eyes. Spectros smiled and nodded. “It sounds like the place for us, thank you.”

  “I’ll show you the way,” Joseph said.

  Together they walked up State Street, finding the restaurant busy small, but clean. Joseph opened the door for them and said, “I got some errands, Doctor, enjoy your breakfast, sir.”

  A pleasant woman with a harried expression and pink cheeks took their order, serving coffee first. Montak nervously traced patterns with his finger on the blue checked tablecloth until she reappeared with two platters.

  Montak tucked the napkin into his collar and hoisted fork and knife. The waitress set the platters before him, but had not let go, when a voice behind Spectros said,

  “I don’t think that man has the wherewithal to pay for that food, ma’am.”

  Montak’s face fell, then broke into a huge grin Spectros turned his head.

  “Ray!”

  The waitress, slightly put off, hesitantly let go of the plates as Montak got to his feet, warmly took Ray’s hand and slapped his shoulder. Spectros did not get up, his leg still troubling him.

  “Sit, Ray. Good to see you, son,” the doctor said. “Good.”

  Spectros saw the other man hanging back slightly. A dark-haired, hollow-cheeked man with the mark of the West on him. He looked back at Spectros, eyebrows arched with curiosity. Something about this old fellow…

  “New friend of mine,” Ray said. “Name of Will Kesey. Will helped me out of a tough spot, Doctor.”

  “Sit down, Mr. Kesey,” the doctor said, his hand gesturing to an empty chair. “Happy to meet you.”

  Kesey took the seat and accepted a cup of coffee. There was something about this old man. He shook his head, not catching the, fleeting thought he grasped for.

  “How did you find us, Ray?”

  “Saw a crowd at the stable,” Ray said around a sip of hot coffee. “Khamsin seems to draw crowds. Man named Snookey told us you’d be here.”

  “How have you fared, Ray?” Spectros asked. Featherskill’s clothing was dirty, snagged. After the telegram, it was evident that Ray had run into some sort of difficulty. Kesey tried not to seem interested, but he knew something was up.

  “First night in town someone tried to kill me,” Ray said flatly. “Second night I got into a scuffle with two men named Questler.”

  Kesey’s head came up. Featherskill had said nothing of tangling with the Questler Brothers.

  “Third day I went down to Natchez Under Hill and got into what was nearly a shooting affair. That was when Kesey bailed me out.”

  “You always did make friends easily,” Spectros said wryly.

  Montak stopped his eating a moment to look up and smile. Kesey had finished his coffee and he stood up.

  “You folks got some private business. I’ll wait outside, Featherskill.”

  Kesey put a nickel on the table and walked out into the sharp morning light. Through the window they could see him rolling a smoke, lounging against the post.

  “He seems to be a straight man,” Ray said. “Though he’s been in trouble before. He says he’s seen the Kid.”

  “Eleven years ago,” Spectros recalled. “In Laredo.”

  “Yes.” Ray scooted forward, arms on the table. “Had some funny things happen, Doctor. Involving a girl, and a big man in town.”

  “Always a girl,” Spectros smiled.

  “Never like
this,” Ray replied. He told Spectros exactly what had happened and when he was through the doctor could only shake his head.

  “There is something wrong there, Ray. And you say this Melinda Toures is the daughter of the plantation owner where you had the trouble with these Questler brothers?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Very strange. The girl appeared each time you were assaulted. Hardly coincidental, it would seem—yet possibly it was only that, coincidence.”

  “Possible,” Ray agreed. “But what in the world was a debutante like that doing in a hotel in the first place?”

  “It’s puzzling.” Spectros was silent a moment, finishing his coffee. “But you haven’t seen direct evidence that the man is here, Ray?”

  “No, sir. But the feeling is upon me. I surely have got the feeling he’s here. Down my spine to my toes, sir.”

  “I have the feeling too, Ray,” Spectros told him. “I have that very same feeling.”

  Why he had that feeling, how he could be so certain that Blackschuster was nearby, Spectros could not say; yet he was sure. In passing, perhaps we all leave traces indefinable, indefinite, yet discernible to those sensitive to our presence. As at times we know who knocks at the door, who is thinking of us.

  The man was here. His evil presence hung like a cloud over Natchez. And with him the reason Spectros continued to live, to fight, to pursue—Kirstina.

  Will Kesey finished his smoke and toed it out, puzzled by what he had seen and what he had not seen. Featherskill told him that Soledad might be nearby, and he himself had seen the horse. That horse! Who could forget it? Yet Khamsin must be at least twenty years old!

  Twenty years old? That fire breather appeared no more than six. It should have been a doddering swayback by now.

  And the old man. Those eyes reminded Kesey of someone. Cold gray, they were, with strange depths to them. Yet he had never seen this Dr. Spectros before.

  Oh, there were explanations. Possibilities. Maybe this horse was a son of the original. Maybe this Spectros had been in Laredo with Kid Soledad and Kesey had simply forgotten. There were plenty of possibilities, many explanations. Yet none of them fit together tightly, none felt right.

  “Kesey,” he told himself, “if you had the brains of an iron anvil, you’d head on west.”

  Natchez was trouble now that they had faced down Bangston and Potter, and across the river there was a thousand miles of open country. Yet it is amazing what curiosity can do to a man. And Kesey was curious.

  He fell in with Spectros, Ray and the giant as they walked back to Snookey’s stable. None of them commented on his presence. Big Joseph was there, sitting against the sun warmed plank wall of the dry goods store next to the stable. He smiled and got up.

  “I had to chase some folks off, Doctor,” he said. “They were pawin’ at the big horse, pattin’ and shoutin’… I figured the big man deserved a little hay and rest.”

  “Thank you, Joseph.” Spectros offered the man a silver dollar but Joseph shook his head.

  “Thank you, sir, but I wouldn’t take money.”

  “We do need another sort of help,” Spectros said. “We need a place to stay, Joseph, preferably out of the city itself.”

  Joseph hesitated, then shook his head, his eyes studying Ray and especially Kesey whom he knew by reputation. “I can’t think of a place off hand, sir.”

  “We could stay on the boat, maybe,” Ray said. “But the horses would have to stay up here.”

  “No,” Spectros said softly, “a boat won’t do.” He looked at Kesey, hoping for a suggestion.

  “You wouldn’t want to stay no place I know, Mr. Spectros.”

  It was a problem. They would have to camp out. Spectros did not want to check into a hotel where every passer-by could read their names in the book, where every guest could watch their coming and going.

  Joseph had recognized a figure in a black coat and pants walking swiftly up the street. A slight, older man carrying a black bag.

  “Here comes Dr. Greene, Snookey!” Joseph yelled.

  The stablehand’s face appeared in the doorway. He nodded and went to harness the surrey.

  Doctor Greene looked harried, his tie was askew, his eyes concerned. He came up to them, eyes searching the group.

  “Surrey’ll be out in a moment, Dr. Greene,” Joseph told him.

  “Fine…” his eyes settled on the face of the gentle tall old man leaning on his cane next to Joseph. “You wouldn’t be Dr. Spectros, by any chance?”

  “I am,” Spectros replied, surprised. “May I ask how you know my name?”

  “I’ve just finished treating a friend of yours, sir. He asked me to keep an eye out for you. A man named Inkada.”

  Inkada! Spectros exchanged worried glances with Ray and Montak. It seemed incredible that Inkada had reached Natchez already.

  “What has happened to him?” Spectros asked. “What is his condition?”

  “His condition is fair, sir. Fair. He is simply exhausted and unfortunately he was drinking quantities of swamp water. He suffered several inconsequential lacerations on his hands and feet, but none appears serious; he is simply very uncomfortable just now.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He is on a table in the back room of a gaming house called Bon Fortune on Third Street. He collapsed in the street in front of that establishment.”

  “Ray, Montak, take the wagon,” Spectros said. Already Montak was hitching the bays, and in minutes they were off, the high black wagon rumbling through the streets.

  “I am sure it is nothing serious, Dr. Spectros,” Greene said, his words thick with the syrup of the magnolias, the summer grace of Mississippi. “A little bed rest, a few days on good water and wholesome food, and he will come around. You are a medical man, Doctor?”

  “No, sir,” Spectros said without further explanation.

  “In that case, I will be happy to look in on Mr. Inkada in a day or so, if you will tell me where you are staying.”

  “That has not yet been decided,” Spectros admitted.

  “Then you must stay with us, sir.” Dr. Greene looked around at Joseph whose expression was glum. “Joseph, you should have invited these good people to stay with us.”

  “I did not wish to presume, sir,” Joseph said. Yet his eyes expressed more than his words. “The circumstances being what they are…”

  “Nonsense! Joseph is a worrier, Dr. Spectros.”

  Something was bothering the big man, Joseph, and he turned and went into the stable. Spectros said in a low voice: “If there is some problem…”

  “Nonsense, sir,” Greene protested. “You are strangers here, with a sick friend. This is still the South. We are still hospitable here, sir. The War did not take that from us…” his voice trailed off.

  Kesey fidgeted nearby, smoking furiously, certain that he was the cause of the problem. He was about ready to step forward and announce that he was leaving then and there for Texas when Spectros spoke again.

  “If you are having problems, sir, perhaps it would not be wise to invite us into your home. My friends are gentlemen. Yet we carry certain burdens with us. Certain problems of our own. It is possible you could be swept up in them. Perhaps Joseph’s advice is to be considered seriously.”

  “I am no stranger to trouble, sir,” Dr. Greene said evenly. “Despite my somewhat limited stature, advanced years. It is not in my blood nor in my upbringing to leave visitors on the streets when my home is so full of empty rooms.”

  Ray halted the wagon in front of the gambling house where a few curiosity-seekers glanced up, Together he and Montak walked to the back room, led by a curly-headed blonde woman with too much rouge. Inkada lay impatiently on a bare plank table.

  “Look at that, Montak,” Ray said seriously, “some folks will sack out anyplace.”

  Inkada’s head came around and a broad white smile split his dark features. “Ray! Montak.” He sat up stiffly and lowered his feet to the floor.

  “What were you doi
n’ playin’ out in the swamps, old-timer?” Ray asked.

  “It showed little intelligence,” Inkada admitted with a grimace. Ray had an arm, Montak the other. “You don’t have to carry me,” he kidded Montak. The giant had made as if to hoist him by a shoulder. “I’m only a little weak. Cramps in my abdomen.”

  They passed through the gambling hall where the wheels spun, chips fell, and glasses clinked together. Heads hardly turned.

  They got Inkada into the back and he sagged into Spectros’ big black leather chair, lifting a hand. “Fine. I’m all right.”

  As they closed the door and clambered back into the box, Ray told Montak, “Inkada’s embarrassed, drinking that bad water like a greenhorn.”

  Ray took the reins and wheeled the bays around. Eyes watched them from the shadows of the alleyway.

  “There he is,” Lou Questler said. But his brother had seen him as well. John Questler stood glaring, thoughts burning in his brain. Thoughts of a violent nature. He took a step forward, out of the alley mouth, watching the high black wagon disappear in a cloud of light dust.

  “He’ll be payin’,” John Questler said slowly.

  “He’s got friends,” his younger brother observed.

  “No matter,” Big John Questler snapped. “No Questler has ever taken a slight and rolled over. We repay our debts.”

  Lou nodded slowly. Repayment. Vengeance had been the way of their family, going back to Virginia, a state they had fled in the days of their grandfather, because of a bloody feud.

  There had been feuds as long as Lou could remember, as long as his daddy could remember. It was the Questler way. Even in the old country they had been fighters, perhaps that was why they had sailed to America. Yet Lou wondered. He had seen fire and the blood of war, the sight of cousins and father lying dead. He was no longer so sure it made any sense at all, this code of the family. He tugged at his suspenders nervously and spit out a wad of tobacco.

  John was sure. You could see it in his eyes. This Ray Featherskill would die. If it took the entire family to kill him, Featherskill would die.