MONTANA STOOD TENSE, dismay searing through him. Gentleman Johnny was suddenly in full view, looking at them over the barrel of a rifle. Other men emerged, like gophers from their holes, similarly armed. A couple of them Montana remembered, having seen them that day at Helena in the big saloon.
A slight depression, hidden by grass, had served to hide them on what looked like level ground.
“I suppose this trick was old when Caesar was boating on the Rubicon, but sometimes those work best,” Gentleman Johnny observed, and gestured sardonically to the dripping figure who had just been taken aboard. “We knew you’d be along. We picked up one of your crew, who had tumbled overboard when the bees got busy.”
The Molloys were rigid behind Montana, taken equally by surprise. He had been prepared for the possibility of trickery from Indians, but the last thing that he had expected was for Pierre to put in an appearance at such a time and place. He had been almost certain that Gentleman Johnny was doing business as usual in Helena.
Yet here he was, with a considerable crew. Something had made him uneasy; probably some rumor or report concerning the gold, impelling enough to propel him to action.
They were not yet in control, but nearly so. Even if they were not on board, the leveled guns gave them a long reach.
“You’re not liking this, and for that I can’t blame you,” Gentleman Johnny went on conversationally. “Yet you’ll no doubt be reasonable enough to admit, Abbott, that it’s no more than a turning of the tables since last we met.
“Being the man you are, a word of caution. You’re scheming some way to keep us off your craft, and again I can’t blame you. But here the odds are a bit worse than you realize—there are others involved. Let me demonstrate.”
Stepping back a pace, he waved a hand, both in a signal and in a mocking gesture.
“You see, I have hostages—a pair, in fact. I’d hate for anything disagreeable to happen to them, but whether something does or not depends mostly on your good behavior. They are here with me; Peg-Leg Pete and Kate Webberly. Tell him, Pete.”
Impelled by a shove from the rear, Peg-Leg stumbled into sight, blinking in dazed fashion. His hands were tied behind his back, and his jaws moved slowly, as though mechanically seeking a missing chew of tobacco. A smear of dried blood on forehead and cheek gave its mute testimony. His eyes met Montana’s, and his glance was sheepish.
“I guess there’s no point in denyin’ a self-evident fact, Montana. We was poorsooin’ like the vengeance of the Lord—only it was like a fox hound catchin’ up and discoverin’ he’d somehow lobbed onto a skunk instead. Johnny here, he caught us off guard, about the same as he done with you. Makes me feel like a fool.”
Pierre’s smile was sardonic.
“That’s a reasonably accurate description, and I’ll overlook the simile of the skunk. And he did put up a scrap. The point is, when any gold moves out from Last Chance Gulch, it does so with my permission. So when it developed that I was being taken lightly, even disregarded, with a considerable sum in danger of getting past my control, I had to take a hand.”
When it suited him to do so, Gentleman Johnny could live up to his name. But just as Russell and Kimberly were in charge of the outlawry here along the upper river, so was it apparent that Gentleman Johnny was a leading figure among the outlaws of the gold camps.
The fact that he was here, so far from Helena, and in charge of the situation, was a considerable feat in itself. Only prompt action, along with hard riding, could have achieved this.
The secret of the gold which Montana had set out with had not remained one long. Word had probably reached Pierre before the first night was out as to what had happened in the Scratch Gravel Hills. Some of the picture, particularly as regarded the Belle of Orleans and events scheduled for Fort Benton and beyond, might have been unclear. But there had been enough certainties for him to make a good guess.
He would have learned of the shipment sent from Alder Gulch, an added fortune getting to Benton without attack. It added up to a lot of dust and nuggets, a reverse swindle which his fellow thieves had neglected to cut him in on. That pirate crews were working the river boats would be a simple deduction.
Once aroused, Gentleman Johnny had known where to go and whom to question to obtain the whole story. He certainly knew how to loosen reluctant tongues.
Once possessed of the facts, he had lost no time in setting out with a picked crew, heading to catch up by the most direct route. Realizing that the Belle and the gold would be well past Fort Benton before he could interfere, they had probably cut as straight to the east as the terrain permitted. He had taken a gamble, but the several delays which had beset Montana, first by land, then along the river, had made it pay.
“One other point,” Gentleman Johnny added in courteous explanation. “Kate Webberly somehow got wind of what was going on, including my own movements. Guessing what J was up to, she and Peg-Leg set out after us in turn with a crew of their own. Can you wonder that I admire such a woman!”
That would have been no mean accomplishment, and they had succeeded. But, overhauling him, it was they who had suffered the surprise. Having them as hostages strengthened his hand for the present confrontation.
Coming upon the crew member who had leaped overboard to escape the onset of the wasps, then had been left behind, had been an added stroke of luck. From him, Gentleman Johnny had obtained an accurate picture of the situation. Taking advantage of the stop made by the boat, along with the delaying bends of the river, he had gotten ahead.
Leveled guns were a convincing argument, but hostages could be even better.
Montana had the face of a poker player, but he was forced to the reluctant conclusion that Gentleman Johnny seemed to hold all the high cards. They not only had the drop, as well as the hostages, but most of those on board the Star would side, if given a chance, with their fellow bandits. There might be recriminations as regarded the workings of the double-cross, but there was more to link them in a common cause than to divide them. He could not depend on any help, or hope to play one group against the other.
“Well, my friend?” Gentleman Johnny was faintly impatient. “I have been at pains to make the situation clear to you. Now we are coming aboard. Nothing disagreeable will ensue, I hope.”
“I hope not, either,” Montana agreed. “You seem to be calling the shots.”
This was the time and place for a hard-won philosophy. Having endured defeat and captivity as a soldier, and with the breaks going against him now and again in the years which had followed, he should have been accustomed to losing. You took the downs with the ups.
Only somehow it didn’t work out that way, and especially now, where others were so vitally concerned. He had always had a great deal of respect for a leveled gun, but even with twice two pairs of such round cold eyes aimed unblinkingly, it was a bitter dose, all but beyond acceptance. That luck had played a big part in tying his hands against a last desperate try made it no better.
Peg-Leg, and others in whose cause he had worked as well as he could, would now be finally robbed. Probably they would suffer nothing worse. But there would be exceptions.
He was one of those, and at best he’d probably be left on the shore to take his chances against the Indians. If Gentleman Johnny was in a really expansive mood, he might even be given one of the horses, since those who had ridden them would probably all go aboard the packet.
It would be voyage’s end for Jason Pritchett, whose hopes had been rekindled. Dick Webberly would be finally stranded, beyond hope. It would be worst of all for Kate, because she had promised to pay her debts.
Pierre liked to call himself a gentleman, because he never would be one. He would make her pay.
Gentleman Johnny’s crew had gathered, showing themselves a tough and competent group who had long since put small niceties behind them. They might prefer facing a man with a gun to helping a gambler collect his pay, but they were paid not to think but to act.
Overhead it was a perfect day, the sun putting a pale golden gleam along the river. A breath of wind stirred the trees back from the shore, and a lark poured liquid notes whose melody was like mockery. Some guns wavered or lowered as the crew came wading and started to clamber aboard, but always a few weapons menaced. Once on the Star, they would disarm himself and the Molloys, then be in total control—
Until now, those on board had remained in a state of suspended animation, no one moving or attempting to interfere. What was happening had caught them by surprise, but it was between Montana and Gentleman Johnny.
Montana clutched at a last faint hope, readying himself should an opportunity be presented. The Molloys were not in sight. If they should make a last desperate play—
Now even that hope was gone, as they appeared, moving like sleep-walkers. In a mixture of gallantry and caution, Gentleman Johnny had delayed, rather than be the first on board. He came wading now, holding Kate Webberly in his arms, well above the water, setting her dry-shod on the deck before grasping the rail to swing up after her. But his moment was marred by her sudden gasping cry:
“Dick!”