Rivers West Read Online Free

little. I shall write to his family and his superiors, and they will come to be sure he is buried well.” I paused. “See to it.”
    We stepped off at a good pace, for I no longer worried about the peg-legged man keeping up; he was as good a walker as me. During my talk with Watson, he had said nothing.
    Alone upon the trail he said, “You take risks, my friend. There are some things better left alone.”
    â€œPerhaps. But I am not one to let things lie. I shall inform those who should be informed, and then I shall go about my business.”
    â€œIt may not be so easy. Once a thing like this begins, who knows when it will end? Or where?”
    How dark was the swamp! How dank and dark! We walked under the perpetual gloom of interlaced boughs that shut out all but scattered bits of daylight. The earth beneath was black, a mass of rotting vegetation. Old leaves lay upon stagnant pools, old logs thrust ugly heads tangled with a Medusa’s weaving of twisted roots, old trees lay in mud around which the black water gathered.
    The trail was barely passable, and every step was a risk of life and limb. Yet at last we reached firm ground, higher ground. The cold wind started up again, chilling us as it blew down the long dark trail.
    Once we passed the ruin of a cabin, a worn fence close by, the bark falling from the poles, rank grass growing up to cover all that lay upon the ground and to make the cabin seem even more lost and lonely.
    We walked the lonely road, and as we walked, we talked of many things—of ships and men and storms at sea, of wrecks and ship’s timbers and the building of strong craft, and of the feel of a well-made ship in a heavy sea. I was no seafaring man, although I’d been out on the gulf many a time, had sailed to Newfoundland, to Nova Scotia, and to Labrador. When no more than ten, I had sailed alone to Bonaventure Island, which lay within sight of my home. But these were things many a lad from Gaspé had done, and although I was no deep-water sailor, I knew how to build a ship and what it took to make it seaworthy.
    Jambe-de-Bois was more. He was a deep-sea sailorman, and no flying-fish sailor. He had sailed as bos’n, as sailmaker and as ship’s carpenter. He spoke of Marseilles, La Rochelle, and Dieppe, of St. Malo, Bristol, and Genoa. He knew the Malabar Coast and the Irrawaddy. All of what he talked about I’d heard from childhood, for many a Talon had returned to the sea, and the old man of the family was not the only one who’d been a privateer.
    Suddenly, I stopped. We had rounded a turn in what passed for a road, and there, a few hundred yards away, was Macklem. He and others.
    Jambe-de-Bois swore, but it was too late, for he had seen us and stopped to wait.
    â€œBe careful, lad,” Jambe-de-Bois said. “Yon’s an evil man, a sinful man, and one without morality or mercy. Give him the slightest chance, and he’ll have your heart out and bleeding.”
    â€œYou know him then?”
    He was silent, as if he had said too much, and then he replied bitterly. “Aye, know him I do…or of him, and an ugly thing it was when first he crossed my bows.
    â€œWatch him, lad, and trust him not for one minute. For some reason, you’ve attracted his interest, and those who interest him die. I’ve seen it happen.”
    Colonel Rodney Macklem waited for us on the trail, a bold and handsome man.
    Chapter 3
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    Q UICK, LAD, BEFORE we come up to him—and speak low, for sound carries. Where are you bound?”
    Hesitate I did. Who was he to ask me this? Could I trust him more than Macklem, who seemed the more complete gentleman?
    When I hestitated, Jambe said, “We’ve more in common than you think, much more. He wants you dead, lad, and me also. Together we’re no match for him, but we might last longer. What say you?”
    â€œI’m going to Pittsburgh.”
    He scowled. “Pittsburgh? What is that?