Norton rather regretted his hasty choice of taverns. The "Steuben Arms" had in its day been a fine inn, but its day was done. Located conveniently to Shippingsport, its clientele now consisted largely of rivermen, merchants, and such of the townsmen as found its rates better suited to their purses than those of the new taverns.
Passing through the deserted travellers' room, Ayres led his guest on into the public dining-room, where the long table was already partially filled. At the upper end sat Bower, the host—a feeble old man with tobacco-stained beard. The overhead fans were pulled by a negro girl in the corner.
Ayres settled down in a chair at an unoccupied space, Norton following suit. Then, when the little man had nodded to Bower and signed to a negro waiter, he turned and spoke in a low voice.
"Now, Mr. Norton, had you any definite plan of action? ... Until the table fills up, we will pass unnoticed."
Norton nodded, glancing around. A number of rivermen were talking loudly; two or three merchants were discussing prices—and profanity hung over the long room like a cloud.
"Well," he returned slowly, "I thought that a boat might be well laden here, quietly pick up a force of men farther down the river, and so be used as a lure. With such a spy system as seems to prevail, however, that looks rather hopeless."
Ayres nodded.
"A good plan, sir, a good plan, yet doubtful of success. As you say, the people in question would hear of it and you would be laughed at for your pains. The case, sir, calls for circumspection."
"Quite so," agreed Norton drily, "Have you any suggestions to make, sir?"
"I hope to have some, Captain Norton. Granted that an organization exists, we may presuppose it to be composed of white men. Negroes or Indians would be sure to let out the secret. Given, then, white men: these might be scattered settlers, or they might be a small band of determined men down-river, whose friends and directors work from Louisville or some such point. We may take it, I trust, that one or two members of the gang ship on the designated boats and act as accomplices in the crime."
Ayres paused, in order to absorb a huge pinch of snuff—after which he allowed the waiter to get out of hearing, and prepared to attack his dinner.
"You are aware," he went on calmly, "that the richer cargoes go down in a fleet, under an experienced commodore. Invariably, one or two boats vanish overnight—but never at the same point in the river. It would be easy for a member of the crew to untie the moorings and let the boat slip down the stream. Now, remember these points; and remember also that if there is a down-river band, they must have a hiding-place where the stolen cargoes can be stored away until disposed of."
Concluding his speech with extreme haste, Ayres abruptly began his dinner as the nearer seats were filled up. Gathering that the discussion was ended for the present, Norton applied himself to dinner also. Whisky was circulating freely, and while they ate, the rivermen filled the room with tales of river life, most of which were more spicy than refined.
"Gen'lemen, yew hear me!" broke out one of two men opposite Norton—a big, hairy man of immense build. His companion was bronzed, gloomy-eyed, and stern-faced, and both had been absorbing vast quantities of white whisky. "Gen'lemen," boomed the big fellow, glaring around, "thar's gwine to be war. I'm tellin' yew! War! Yew hear me!"
"We hear ye all right," piped up a shrill voice. "Who's the war with?"
"Gen'lemen, your health!" And the big man emptied his glass. "Thet thar feller they call the Prophet—the one-eyed crazy dog, he's a-stirrin' up the Injuns. Yew hear me, gen'lemen, ol' man Harrison he's gwine to need Kaintuck rifles afore long! Who said ol' Dan'l Boone was in town?"
Whereupon there followed an excited discussion of Boone. In the midst, the gloomy-eyed companion of the big man brought down his fist with a crash on the table.
"This here generation's got to suffer for its sins!" he roared out in a vibrant voice, fastening his eye on Norton. "Friends, read the prophecies of the inspired Richard Brother! There'll ye find set forth about the Injun war, and the cursed Federals ruining the country! That there inspired man, he was a prophet. Damnation to the Federals, say——"
The gloomy-eyed man said no more, for a roar went up at his words.
"Ye drunken Democrat," cried some one, "take that!"
With which a heavy pitcher of molasses struck the gloomy-eyed man above the ear, smashed, and sent him down senseless. His big companion sprang up like a cat, drew back his arm, and a knife flashed across the room in a flame of glittering light. It did no harm, save to precipitate a general fight. Norton was just rising to escape, when a deep cold voice broke in upon the uproar:
"Gentlemen, make way!"
Norton started. He looked up to see the figure of Duval entering the door, against which two fighting cursing men had reeled. Duval took them by the shoulders and tore them apart; one went spinning down the room; the other crashed into the wall, and the lawyer strode forward.
That display of strength was not lost upon John Norton, nor the calm which instantly followed. Instead of being mobbed, Duval seemed to inspire these rivermen with fear—all save the big hairy man opposite Norton. He alone paid no heed; having caught the man who had laid out his companion, he was administering a sound thrashing when Duval caught him by the shoulder and tore him loose.
"Go to your seat," commanded Duval, cold and immobile. The other glared at him.
"Who the devil are yew?" he demanded hoarsely. "Take yer hand off'n me—I'm liable to sculp ye! Yew hear me! I'm gwine to lay out this cussed Federal. I don't care ef he's Blacknose hisself!"
A startled silence fell, while Duval still gazed coldly into the big man's eyes. There was something terrible in the lawyer's immobility; then Norton saw that he was holding a small pistol against the big man's chest.
"Go to your seat," he repeated icily. The other felt the pistol, glanced down at it, and obeyed sullenly. Norton felt a hand on his arm.
"Let us go, sir," murmured Ayres very softly. Norton nodded, rose, and they left the room together.
Five minutes later they were sitting side by side in the chairs before the tavern, pipes out. Norton's thoughts were dwelling on this man Duval, and he wondered afresh if the lawyer had been behind that attempted assassination of the morning. The man hardly seemed of such a nature; he had quieted the rivermen by sheer force of voice and muscle, and was plainly a man known and feared.
"Who is this Duval?" asked Norton, glancing at his friend.
"A lawyer, sir, who speaks of going to the Legislature next fall. He comes of a good Virginia family, settled here some three years since, and has a fair practice. A rising man, sir, a rising man. One of our ablest citizens, and already talks of raising a company in case General Harrison has trouble with the redskins."
Norton thought he detected a faint hint of sarcasm in the precise voice, but Ayres's pinched, red-cheeked face was expressionless.
"Well, have you any sort of plan, Mr. Ayres?"
"An excellent one, sir," came the surprising answer. Ayres knocked out his pipe slowly. "I would suggest that you follow Colonel Boone's advice, and go to see this man Red Hugh, of whom he told you. When you have seen him, you may expect a messenger from me at the Blue River settlement—on the Kentucky side, remember, for there are two. I may find it feasible to put your prior plan into operation and use a rich-laden flatboat for lure."
"Hm!" Norton looked at the other keenly. "Do you seriously believe that Duval had anything to do with the man who shot at me this morning?"
He was amazed, upon meeting the black eyes of his friend, to find them in a terrible earnestness.
"Sir,"—and the dry precise voice quivered the slightest bit—"it is my honest belief that if you remain in this town overnight, you will be murdered."
Startled, Norton gave the other a keen look. Then he smiled slightly.
"Murdered? Man, what do you mean? Is that gang——"
"I cannot say what I mean, sir," returned Ayres, rising. "I hardly know myself. God forgive me if I misjudge Charles Duval! But, sir, this is my sincere advice: go and find Red Hugh, and go within the hour. You are a woodsman; therefore go by the trails and not by boat. Trust no man. Sir, I—I have been doing much quiet investigation of late, and I am appalled. The whole thing is indefinite and terrible. Most of what was said in the dining-room there was lost upon you, but not upon me; and, sir, I will make you this prediction: That big riverman, who only came in from Cincinnati to-day, and who took the name of Blacknose in vain—that man will die."
"Good Heavens, Ayres!" Norton rose, aghast at the solemn earnestness of the little schoolmaster. "Do you know what you're saying? This isn't the Indian border, but——"
"Sir, this is Louisville, State of Kentucky, in the thirty-fourth year of the Independence of the United States of America," responded Ayres gravely. He bowed. "You may count upon hearing from me, Mr. Norton, at Dodd's tavern at the Blue River settlement. Let your task be to scour the woods and settlements, meantime. Sir, your servant, and—and may God keep you!"
Whereupon, with another bow, the little man turned and marched stiffly away, his absurd beaver cocked jauntily over one ear and his fustian greatcoat fluttering behind him. Norton stared after him, then sank into his chair and drew out his tobacco.
"By thunder!" he muttered slowly to himself, the while he stuffed his pipe, watching the lessening figure. "I seem to have set foot in a hornet's nest—and came near to getting stung this morning! Now, I wonder what that little fox of a schoolmaster suspects, and why he imagines I am in danger here in the town itself!"
The very thought was amusing to Norton. He knew very well that in such centres of civilization as New Orleans, St. Louis, and Louisville, men did not condone murder. Even in the newer river settlements, the older generation who had passed through the lawless pioneer days were savagely set upon upholding a rude justice. Boone himself exampled this, for Norton had heard of how the old frontiersman had made himself a terror while acting as magistrate in Missouri.
That he had anything to fear in Louisville, therefore, seemed impossible to Norton. Duval might well have hired the assassin of the morning; yet it was more likely that some hint of his mission had leaked out, thought the Louisianian. There was most certainty a secret organization of river-pirates; so much had been amply proved to him, but he was still inclined to smile at the terror it inspired.
"Still," he reflected sagely, "men like Taylor and Boone aren't exactly fools. And I rather believe Elisha Ayres is no fool, either. So, my assailant is black-bearded, wears a brushed fox-skin cap, and has a red-streaked powder-horn! Something gained, at all events. Mr. Ayres, I believe I will heed your warning."
Having plenty of money, Norton called one of the negroes loafing in the sun and ordered his horse saddled, then went down the street to the store of Audubon & Rosier, where he found the junior partner and purchased a few supplies. As he was leaving, Rosier leaned over the counter with a cautious glance at the door.
"Your pardon, sir I believe your name is Norton?"
"It is, sir," returned the surprised Louisianian.
"Colonel Taylor spoke to me of you," went on the other rapidly. "You may rely upon us absolutely, sir. If by chance you meet my partner somewhere in the woods, do not fear to trust him. He is slightly touched in the head, but save for his long wanderings is—" A man passed outside, and without a change in his low tone Rosier continued. "As I was saying, sir, General Harrison can control the Indians excellently——"
Norton took the hint and passed out with a nod, storing away in his mind the name of the senior partner, Audubon. It occurred to him that if he was joining forces with a hermit Indian-slayer and a schoolmaster, a half-crazed merchant who evidently spent his time wandering in the woods would make a good third.
Returning to the tavern, he found it deserted in front, though a murmur of loud voices came from the dining-room. It seemed slightly odd that dinner was not yet over, but he went to his room, got his things, and after some search located Bower's daughter in the kitchens. He paid her his bill, then went around to the front for his horse.
Now John Norton was no fool, as may have been previously inferred. Despite his respect for the law, Ayres's words had set his nerves on edge, in conjunction with what had happened that day. Like all woodsmen, he much preferred danger in the woods to danger in the town; as he tied his purchases and rifle to his saddle, he found himself glancing nervously over his shoulder. And even as he set foot in the stirrup, he paused.
There was a horrible shuffling step from the doorway behind, and he whirled, hand on knife, to see the big hairy riverman clutching the door-post. The giant's face was terribly convulsed, and one hand gripped at a knife-haft whose blade was buried in his side. Barely had Norton comprehended, when the man pulled the knife free, coughed, and fell dead. With the same instant there rose a shrill yell from the doorway behind, and men came crowding out.
"There he is! Thar's the murderer!" went up the shout. "Git him, boys!"
A pistol flashed, and the ball sang past Norton's ear. Dodging behind his horse, he realized everything in a flash; Ayres's prediction had proved terribly true, and what was worse, the murderers were trying to fasten the crime on him. More, they were trying to kill him before he had a chance to deny his guilt. Whether Duval's work or not——
Sensing all this as he dodged, Norton wasted neither time nor movement. Before the first of the crowd poured out across the dead man, he made a flying leap for the saddle, gained it, and sent his horse ahead on the jump. He knew his one chance lay in getting out of town within the hour—as Ayres had predicted.
Another pistol cracked behind him, and another. The balls whistled harmlessly past, but served to draw attention. Several men leaped into the road, shouting; Norton drove his horse at them with a yell, and they fell away. Without thought, he had headed up-town and now had no choice but to continue his way along the south road.
The last of the fine brick houses was almost past, and the uproar behind him was being swelled by voices and bells. The final house was a splendid mansion—Norton knew it for that of a Doctor Gault. As he pounded past the terraced gardens, he glanced up to the doorway and caught sight of a group of figures—Colonel Taylor, Zach, Boone and others. A wave of the hand came to him, a shouted farewell, and Louisville fell behind.
"And now for the chase," thought Norton grimly, pulling in his steed a trifle. "They'll fasten that murder on me and get me—if they can. It's a neat manner to be rid of an enemy—the second attempt in one morning, the day after my arrival in town! Now I would call that quick work, brainy work, but desperate work. Whoever he is, Blacknose fears me—good! If I can match his villainy with honest woodcraft, he shall fear me more."
Twisting in the saddle, Norton looked back, having caught a sudden thud of hoofs. He thundered past a cross-roads, and although the town was shut out behind, the horseman who followed was plainly visible. He wore a crushed beaver-hat, scarlet breeches, and a fluttering greatcoat; as Norton gazed in amazement, the other waved him onward. Ayres, for it was no other, drew up at the cross-roads, carefully spattered mud over the road from a puddle, then departed at a gallop by the eastern track and was lost to sight.
"Covering my trail—the old fox!" exclaimed Norton. "Mr. Ayres, my compliments. You may be a schoolmaster, but John Norton owes you his life this day!"
And he rode on to the south.