Rivers West Read Free Page B

thing I recalled was firelight flickering on the ceiling; then, shocked awake, I saw a dim red glow with a black figure looming above me and my blanket drawn back. A hand reached for the inside of my shirt. My knife thrust sharply upward.
    Lying on my side with the knife in my right hand, I had to roll to my back to thrust. The thief, whoever he was, jerked away and vanished.
    Vanished!
    I sat up quickly, then came to my feet, knife in hand.
    All was dark and still. Nothing moved. There was a faint glow from the fire, a reddish glow that flickered on some of the faces, threw others into deeper shadow.
    Stepping across the sleeping men, I sheathed my blade and, taking the poker, stirred the fire, then added some smaller sticks. The fire blazed up, and the room grew lighter.
    Six men lay on the floor; all seemed to be sleeping. I looked around the room. Nothing seemed amiss.
    One of the six men was faking. At least one, and possibly more. One of those men would have robbed, perhaps murdered me.
    Which one?
    For a moment I looked at them, then I went back to my bed and lay down.
    It was unlikely there’d be another attempt, but a man never knew. It might have been a simple attempt at robbery. I lay awake, staring up at the roof and listening. Light was breaking before I dozed off again—but only for a few minutes, and then they were all getting up.
    After pulling on my boots, I stood up and started to shove the pistol behind my belt.
    Macklem extended a hand. “That’s an interesting weapon. May I see it?”
    I tucked the pistol behind my belt and let my coat fall into place, concealing it. “You like to make jokes,” I said, coolly, “I lend weapons to no man.” And then I added, “It is just a pistol, like any other.”
    Over the table Watson told us the swamp lasted for only a few more miles, and the road would lead through forest.
    Inside my shirt I could feel the oilskin packet, and my curiosity was a burning thing. Yet I must be alone when the packet was opened. The other papers had dried from the heat of my body, and they, too, might be revealing.
    Jambe-de-Bois came to sit beside me at the table. “It would be a good thing,” he suggested, “if we traveled together.”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œIt would be safer, I think.”
    â€œFor you or for me?”
    â€œFor both. I do not like the look of some of these,” his gesture took in the others in the room, and he kept his voice low, “But I believe you already agree.”
    Why would he think me suspicious? Had he been awake during the night? Or was he, himself, the man who had loomed over me and then vanished so swiftly?
    Yet, why not let him come along? If he was the man, he could be watched better when close at hand, and if he was not, then his presence might be an added protection.
    â€œIf you are going my way,” I said, “why not?”
    Not until the others had gone did we gather our possessions to leave. When my pack was firmly settled and I had taken up my tools and rifle, I turned to Watson.
    â€œBack up the trail four or five miles, there is a dead man. He was a British officer, and someone will be looking for him.
    â€œTake this,” I handed him a coin from the dead man’s small store, “and see that the body is properly buried on dry land. His name was Captain Robert Foulsham, and it was yesterday he died. Put his name and date of death upon the marker.”
    Bett was staring at me, her eyes level and hard. Watson took the coin, then said, “How did he die?”
    â€œHe was murdered,” I replied. “Stabbed. And he either fell or was thrown into the swamp. He lived long enough to get out and to tell me these things.”
    â€œMurdered? But who—?”
    â€œI think one of those who slept the night. That’s why I said nothing. Had I told you before there might well have been another killing.”
    â€œHis possessions?”
    â€œHe had