MONTANA SAT ON the single chair. His blood quickened, as always when faced with an acute challenge, but there was a certain sharp pleasure in a situation which required the matching of wits rather than mere brute force. And here was an antagonist worthy of any man’s steel.
Fane Kimberly had been raised a gentleman, and a man never quite outgrew his early training. There were few absolutes of white and black. A man might cut a throat, or even betray his country, and still cling to a code, however warped and twisted. And a gentleman could slip, then continue to slide ever farther from the trail, in a process which he probably found secretly appalling.
“It’s rather too bad,” Kimberly added soberly, “fate throwing us together in such fashion, at this particular time. We do seem to get in each other’s way.” Montana inclined his head.
“I regret the necessity,” Kimberly pursued. “But as you must understand, I am left with no recourse. This is not merely a matter of self-preservation. Others are involved; a great deal is at stake. Despite the troubles which you have caused me, I have always admired you, Captain. In spite of what I must do now, there is no personal animosity.”
“You’re telling me that I’ll be quietly chucked over the side, well weighted, with no one to see?”
The long fingers made a quick tattoo, then slowed again.
“Nothing quite so crude as that, I hope. It may even be that we can work something out, arrive at a compromise. I would prefer to have it so. That, of course, will be up to you, and you have a reputation for being stubborn. So for the present, certain precautions are necessary. You will understand why.”
He stood, backing carefully to the door. Four crew members entered as he went out, men obviously chosen for physical prowess as well as trustworthiness. The leader was a blond giant, who flexed bulging biceps hopefully.
“Come along,” he instructed. “New quarters. It’s up to you,” he added, still hopefully, “whether you prefer to go quietly, or some other way.”
Montana shrugged. “Under the circumstances, I’ll come quietly,” he promised.
No one was in sight as they descended to another room. This, not intended for passengers or even convenience, had only a small window, high up, for ventilation. With dusk creeping across the river, it was already in darkness.
Montana sensed that it was already occupied; then he saw more clearly as one of his guards lit a lantern, which cast a yellowish glow. There were two bunks, one on either side of the room. Lying in one, blinking in the sudden light, was a bearded man, his face wan and haggard. Something clinked and rattled as he stirred; then Montana saw the chain, attached to a ring in the wall, fastened in turn to the prisoner’s left ankle.
A similar chain was hooked to the opposite wall, falling in a little pile below. He had no difficulty in guessing its purpose, or for whom it was intended. The guards filed out and closed the door, and a bolt was shot home on the opposite side.
The shackled man, eyes now accustomed to the light, surveyed him with interest. He was younger than Montana had thought at first glance, a prison pallor giving an illusion of age. His tone was faintly sardonic.
“So I’m to have company,” he observed. “Are you here to try your luck at persuading me—or as a fellow victim?”
“A fellow prisoner, I’m afraid,” Montana admitted. “Due as much to a fortuitous chain of events as to my own activities, I seem to have incurred the displeasure of the captain and his friends.”
“I happen to be this ship’s captain, sir.” Quick testiness was in the assertion. Then, noting the incredulity in Montana’s eyes, he shrugged and smiled. “Is that incredible? Like you, I was in the way of their piracy. I assure you that it’s the truth. I am Captain Pritchett, of the Belle of Orleans—a prisoner on my own boat.”
Pritchett! Molly had expected to find him in command of the Belle when they had arrived at Fort Benton. The explanation had been that he had been taken seriously ill months before, forced on that account to relinquish command. Only this was not the Bette.
“I can readily believe you, except on one count, Captain,” Montana admitted. “This craft happens to be the Star of the West, not the Belle of Orleans.”
“Star of the West?” Pritchett was dumbfounded. “Certain things seemed strange about her—but I was brought back on board by night, blindfolded, and I’ve been confined in this room ever since. And it is almost a replica of one on the Bette.”
His explanation was reasonable. It suggested how the Belle had been pirated, and what had become of her real captain. Had there been any doubt before, that was dispelled. The operators of both boats were desperate, and his knowledge of Fane Kimberly was an additional reason to fear him.
“I was slugged while asleep, made a prisoner before I suspected that any danger threatened,” Pritchett went on bitterly. “I’ve been chained here for months, kept alive, I suppose, on the chance that I might prove useful. It’s a most unedifying position to be in, sir.”
“We seem to be in a similar state,” Montana admitted. “Since you have told me your name, I am Montana Abbott—”
“Montana?” Pritchett’s eyes lighted. Confinement had not crushed his spirit. “I’ve heard of you, sir. It’s no pleasure to welcome you under these circumstances, but it is a pleasure to know you, Mr. Abbott. I would like to shake your hand.”
Montana met his hand-clasp warmly. The vitality in it was strong and vibrant.
“Perhaps you can give me some news of what is going on, what has been happening in the outside world,” Pritchett suggested eagerly. “I’ve had little enough for all these months. Physical captivity is bad enough. To be mentally chained is worse.”
There came an interruption before Montana could comply. The same men who had escorted him to the room returned, this time with the necessary tools to shackle him, too. An open, hinged iron ring and a stout padlock, attached to the end of the loose chain, were snapped about his ankle. Montana submitted, clearly to the disappointment of the blond man. The odds at the moment were too great to buck.
“We seem to be in the same boat in more ways than one,” Pritchett observed, once they were alone again. “I’m glad of your company, since the loneliness has been the worst part. But I’m sorry to make your acquaintance under these circumstances.”
“Apparently they have some use for us, alive—at least for the present.” Montana shrugged. He was reassessing the situation in the light of this new knowledge, and finding little to like in it. The two captains, with a picked crew, were in complete control of the situation, which from their point of view must be better than they had really expected.
Their chief objective had been to obtain a rich haul of gold from the camps at Helena and Virginia City, and that had been shrewdly planned and executed. That the accomplices who had worked with them would be cheated of any share in the steal was apparent, the double-cross clearly having been a part of the plan from the beginning.
Such double-dealing made it necessary to put a lot of distance between themselves and all those whom they had victimized, and that was being done. The story would become known, along with their piracy and the destruction of the Belle of Orleans, so the rivers, too, would soon be untenable territory. They had sacrificed Captain Pritchett’s craft, and if necessary would do the same with the Star of the West.
Montana was reminded what a good share of the gold now on board was what had been entrusted to him—gold which had been intended to serve a better purpose.
He explained the situation, beginning with the gold camps and his own part as agent for the Webberlys and others. Captain Pritchett was not much surprised.
“I knew from the start that something big was in the wind,” he conceded. “I’ll have to give them credit for imagination and resourcefulness. Stealing gold from both the owners and the outlaws, along with river boats to transport it and themselves—certainly there’s nothing small in their thinking!”
“I can understand their needing your boat, but in view of the risks, I’m surprised that they’ve kept you alive,” Montana said frankly. “Your testimony, if you ever had a chance to give it, could be most damaging.”
“They don’t intend that I should give any,” Pritchett pointed out. “But they’ve kept me alive more or less on that account. To exonerate them from charges of piracy and perhaps robbery, my testimonial would go a lot farther than that of most witnesses, because of my position. In gambling terms, they like to copper their bets, so they’ve held me against that possible need.”
“And they figure that in such a case, you would testify favorably, to save your life and regain your freedom.”
“Something like that, I presume. They’ve made me propositions more or less along those lines. I’ve refused. But they seem to think that in the long run I’ll crack.”
Unscrupulous men could find powerful means of persuasion. They might have additional reasons for such confidence, and keeping Pritchett alive against possible need was certainly one more part of a careful plan. While as for himself—
He would be more readily expendable. For the short range, being confined here with Pritchett, talking matters over with him, furnishing a broader background of their operation and their successes, might have some effect on Pritchett. And of course they preferred to let him live, if such a course proved feasible. His testimony, added to Pritchett’s could be very useful. On the other hand, his refusal would not seriously discommode them. A weighted body at the bottom of the river would never be found.
As for the Molloys … they, too, were a part of the problem, not only his but the pirates. Mike Molloy was still far from strong, though he had endured and survived hardship better than they’d had a right to expect. Like his sister, he was inclined to be stubborn, not liking to be pushed around. At the moment they were safe. The long term was less promising.
The Star was rocking gently to the motion of the current, outwardly an honest craft. With daylight they would proceed on downstream, and they could probably keep well ahead of any who might be after them. It would take a lot of time for the real facts to become known, for the carefully contrived tangle to be sorted out; more than enough for them to reach a down-river destination, tie up, and vanish with the gold.
That lessened the immediate risk. But if he and the others were to go on living, the time for action was while the pirates accounted themselves safe.