Ranger's Quest- The Beginning Page 11

  The captain turned back to the dock worker. “Nope. Not him. Ain’t takin’ no traitor on my boat.”

  “Traitor?” Charlie was shocked. He didn’t know what to say. “Traitor?”

  The dock worker looked at Charlie. Then back to the old man. “What are you talking about, you old sot?”

  The captain looked at Charlie and spat on the ground. “Look at ‘im. That boy’s got a Confederate-issued bag. He used to have a Confederate-issued sidearm. Day after he got here he got rid of his holster and every day after that he went out to the Yankee camp.” He took a few steps toward Charlie. “You deserted, didn’t ya, boy? And now you’re sellin’ out the South to the Yankees.” The captain spat again. “Nope. Deal’s off.” He grabbed his gear and began to walk back toward town.

  The dock worker stared at Charlie, who stared back in shock, too startled to do anything.

  19

  River

  Charlie watched his only means of escape walk away toward town. He knew he had to do something, but he was so stunned by the old man’s charges that he couldn’t move. Finally his senses cleared and he shouted at the captain. “Hey, you! You’re wrong. I’m not a traitor. I’m a civilian and I worked for the army as a blacksmith.” The captain kept walking. “Hold up, there!” Charlie demanded.

  The old man stopped and turned back as Charlie approached him. He was angry, not only for being called a traitor and having his integrity challenged, but mostly for seeing his only chance of departure fade away with this drunken old man. “I’m not a traitor, you bastard!” He pointed his finger in the old man’s face. “I’m not in the army and I’ve never been in the army. I can’t desert from something I’ve never been in. How dare you come to me with your accusations? You, a washed-up, drunken old man, making judgement calls about me!” The captain stepped back away from Charlie. His eyes widened. He seemed startled by Charlie’s outburst. “I went to the army camp and worked as a blacksmith so I could earn money to get to Fort Smith.”

  When Charlie mentioned the word money, the old man’s expression lightened. After a moment he asked, “How much you got?”

  “I have ten dollars gold.” Charlie had other coins, but he knew he would need that in Fort Smith. He wasn’t going to give everything to this old man.

  The old man thought for a moment, never taking eyes from Charlie. “I’ll need more than that to push that boat upstream for fifty miles. No. Ten dollars ain’t enough. Deal’s off.”

  The old man turned to walk away but Charlie pulled the pistol from his haversack. The captain froze in shock. There was a pause.

  “Now that I have your attention,” Charlie began. “You were looking at this gun the first night in the boarding house. How about you take this pistol along with the ten dollars?”

  The old man relaxed. He thought for a moment. “Let’s see the money.” Charlie gave the old man his ten-dollar gold eagle coin. “Now the gun.”

  Charlie shook his head. “No. You’ll get the gun when I get off that boat in Fort Smith.” A slight smile of confidence raised the corners of his mouth.

  The old man nodded slightly. “Deal.” He walked past Charlie and headed for his boat, then stopped and turned back. “What else you got in that sack?”

  “Nothing for you. Unless you want my dirty laundry. You’ll get the caps, powder and shot. Nothing else.” The captain nodded and walked on to the boat.

  Charlie smiled broadly, enjoying his newfound confidence. He turned and walked back to the boat a few paces behind the captain. Did he say fifty miles? “Hey! Did you say fifty miles?” The captain nodded. “Well, how long will it take to get there?”

  “We’ll be there by mornin’.”

  “Morning? You mean we’re going on the river at night?” Charlie asked with trepidation.

  “There’ll be a good moon tonight. Besides, I know every inch of that water. I could run upstream blind if I had to. You’ll get there. Don’t fret none.”

  Fret? I’m scared to death.

  The old man tossed his valise and bag into the boat. “You ever walk a pole or push an oar?”

  Charlie had no idea what this old sot was talking about. Walk a pole? That doesn’t sound good. He shook his head.

  “Well, you’ll learn tonight.” The captain untied the boat from a tree and gave a slight push to set it free from the shore. “Come on, boy. Get on in.”

  Charlie tossed in his haversack and bedroll and pulled himself up into the boat. He was a little surprised to see that the floor in the front of the boat was almost level with the boat’s side. The floor in the back was a step down from the front. The whole boat was wet and stained and stank of old fish and mildew. It tipped from side to side as Charlie moved.

  The old man chuckled watching him. “You ever been on a boat?”

  “Nope. First time.” Charlie steadied himself by holding on to the side of a wood cover that provided some small shelter on the lower deck.

  The old man shook his head and mumbled something that Charlie couldn’t hear. He walked past Charlie to the back of the boat and latched the rudder handle to a post in the center of the floor. “There’s not much of a keel to speak of. If you move to the side, the boat’ll tip that way. So try not to move around too much. You’ll get used to the swaying in a little while. Get on back by that rudder and sit down.” The old man grabbed a long wooden pole and started toward the bow. “Watch what I do, here. Cuz you’ll be doin’ it later on.”

  Charlie watched the old man shove the pole into the water and, holding onto the pole, begin walking back along the raised floor in the front. As he walked, the boat began to move forward. When the old man reached the end of the forward deck he pulled the pole up and returned to the front and repeated the task. Each time, the boat was propelled a little farther.

  When they got close to the Arkansas River, the old man hollered at Charlie. “Unlatch that rudder stick and push it a little to your left.” Charlie did as he was instructed and the boat began to turn right. He moved the rudder back and forth to see how the boat reacted with each movement. He was having fun steering a boat, a new experience for him. “Good. Now steer us close to the shore. Current’s not as bad close in. But not too close where you run us aground.”

  The sun set and it became darker with each minute that passed. Even with his new sack coat, the cool damp air was penetrating. Charlie shivered. The old man set down the pole, lit a candle inside a square iron lantern and hung the lantern on an iron bar on the front of the boat. He then walked back and took the rudder handle and steered the boat into the shore. Once grounded he pulled a small bottle of whiskey from his valise, uncorked it and took a drink. He offered the bottle to Charlie, who declined.

  “So what do I call you?” Charlie asked. “We haven’t really been formally introduced. So far the only thing I called you was drunken bastard, and the only thing you called me was traitor.” Charlie paused and smiled at the old man.

  The old man didn’t smile back. He cast a look of annoyance at Charlie and turned away.

  “You sure aren’t much of a conversationalist. My name’s Charlie, by the way. Charlie Turlock.”

  The old man nodded to Charlie and took another drink. Almost whispering, he said, “Name’s Moorhaus. Gustave Moorhaus.”

  “Gustave?” Charlie repeated.

  “Most people call me Gus.”

  “Gus it is.” Charlie smiled.

  The old man took another sip from his bottle, replaced the cork and stuck it back in his valise. He stood and picked up the pole. “Jump out and shove us off shore.”

  Charlie did as he was told and pulled himself back into the boat.

  “Now steer us a little way off the shore.” Gus began walking the pole and Charlie steered the boat along the shoreline.

  After a while, it was time for Gus to rest again. He pulled the boat into a calm, shallow area and ran the boat aground. Another drink and another rest. Still no conversation. When it was time to go, Gus showed Charlie how to use the pole as a
lever to move the boat. “You keep your hands on that pole and keep pressure on it as you walk. You want the boat to move from under you instead of you moving on top of it.”

  The first time Charlie tried it, he almost fell in the river. “Don’t lean into it, you darn fool. It’ll pull you into the river! Walk straight up.” Charlie nodded. Leaning into the pole was exactly what he did. He tried again. This time he stayed upright, took short steps and hung on for dear life, but the boat didn’t move. He could feel Gus’s stare boring into him. He was determined to move this boat. He tried a third time… and a fourth. Each time he got a little more comfortable and a little steadier and the boat actually moved a bit. Eventually he figured out what Gus meant by feeling the boat move from under him, like a treadmill. Gus never said a thing.

  With each walk along the rail Charlie got the boat moving fairly well. He was getting good at this and proud of his new skill, although keeping the boat moving against a current was a strain on his muscles. He occasionally glanced back at Gus as he moved the boat farther upstream. With each glance, Gus had a smile on his face.

  Something didn’t feel right. All that time at the boardinghouse and all night on this river, Charlie had never seen this old drunk crack a smile. Now he was grinning like a Cheshire cat. Something wasn’t right.

  20

  Ambushed

  The half-moon rose and cast a good bit of light illuminating the shorelines. The rippling waters glistened in the reflected moonlight like blue and white diamonds. Charlie walked the pole for over an hour, while Gus sat at the rudder guiding the vessel and taking sips from his whiskey bottle. Charlie, completely exhausted, finally set the pole down and plopped down on the deck. He rolled on his back to catch his breath and give his aching muscles a chance to relax. He wanted to sleep. Gus steered the boat to the shore and let it hit ground.

  Gus was a bit wobbly from his drinking. He said something to no one in particular but it was slurred and unintelligible. Charlie pulled himself up into a sitting position and leaned against the short rail. He looked back at Gus, who sat smiling at him.

  “So, you’re a happy drunk, I see,” Charlie said sarcastically.

  Gus shook his head and then showed him the pistol that he’d removed from Charlie’s haversack. Charlie was furious. Adrenaline surged through him and reinvigorated him. He stood and started to march toward Gus, who pointed the pistol at him and cocked the hammer. Charlie halted. Gus held up the time belt with the gold and silver cylinders lining the length of the black synthetic strap.

  “I heard about these new-fangled cartridges. Ain’t never seen ones like these, though. What gun do these fit, boy?” Gus said in a slurred tongue.

  Charlie was speechless. He was furious that this old drunk had gotten his hands on the time belt. Gus, holding the cocked pistol in his right hand, stood, set the belt on the bench and stumbled toward him.

  “What are you doing, going through my things? You have no right!” There was a pause. “You’re nothing but a drunken thief.”

  “Aye! That I am,” Gus chuckled. “And I’m a damn good thief, I am.” He stopped laughing and his face became hard as stone as he got right up to Charlie. “Now I asked you a question. What do those things go to?”

  Charlie was frightened. He could feel his insides begin to shake. He needed to get control of this situation. Through his fear, he furrowed his forehead and tried to look mean. “They’re not cartridges, you idiot. They’re atom accelerators and molecular regenerators hooked in a series. Can’t you see that? They’re for time travel. They work together to guarantee accurate genetic mapping of the atoms in and around a body. You see, I’m not from here. I’m from your future, Gus, and I’m here to change your life.”

  Gus frowned and stepped back. He stared at him for a second with a confused look on his face, then burst out into a loud, boisterous laugh. Charlie relaxed and joined in on the laugh. His ruse worked. The situation had been diffused… he thought.

  Suddenly, in a quick motion, Gus threw a left hook that landed on the right side of Charlie’s face. It caught Charlie completely by surprise and he took the brunt of the punch. The pain shot through his head and jolted his entire system. He stumbled backward and fell to the deck. Darkness crept around his field of vision and he felt like he was losing consciousness. Instincts to escape took over and he began to crawl along the deck floor. Gus kicked him in his side. Charlie let out a cry and curled up into a fetal position to ease the pain. It didn’t help.

  “You’re a funny man. A real joker.” Gus then kicked him in the back. Charlie groaned with the impact and arched his back. He rolled over, trying to get away. He looked up as Gus took another step toward him. “Now let’s see what you’re hiding in them pockets.” Gus grabbed Charlie by his lapels and lifted him up from the deck, then slammed him back down.

  Charlie blacked out.

  When Charlie opened his eyes, he was lying face down on the deck. He didn’t move a muscle while he tried to focus his mind. It was hard to think with the pain coursing through his body. The inside of his head pounded. The right side of his face had begun to swell and he tasted the metallic tang of blood. Without moving his head, he looked around. He was facing the front of the boat. He shivered and realized his coat had been removed. He didn’t hear anything. Slowly, and careful not to make a sound, he turned his head to find Gus.

  He saw him sitting at the rudder examining the time belt. An empty whiskey bottle lay on the deck by his feet. Charlie’s pistol sat on the bench next to Gus. Charlie took a deep breath, which caused a streak of pain in his side. He needed to get the time belt and his pistol away from Gus. But he didn’t know what to do. Other than a few childhood wrestling scrapes at school, Charlie had never been in a fight. When he was younger his father had sent him to a number of self-defense training sessions, but he was never any good at it and forgot more than he retained. None of those techniques came to mind.

  Hearing Gus move around, Charlie played possum. Gus stumbled a bit and mumbled something incoherent under his breath. The man’s drunk. That’ll be my advantage.

  Gus moved next to Charlie, who lay perfectly still. Charlie tensed his muscles like a cat ready to pounce. His anger lifted him past the fear and the pain. “’Bout time for you to take a swim, boy.” Gus reached down and grabbed Charlie’s shirt and began to lift. Charlie quickly rolled over, pulling away from Gus’s grasp. His sudden movement startled Gus, who stumbled backwards against the wooden cover over the lower deck. In his inebriated state he braced himself against it. Charlie quickly got to his feet and the world began to spin. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady himself, hoping the spinning would stop. He had the advantage for a moment, but it wouldn’t last long. He had to move now.

  As Gus was trying to stabilize himself, Charlie moved forward and threw both hands into the old man’s chest with as much force as he could muster. Gus crumbled from Charlie’s shove and fell full force to the deck. Charlie walked past Gus to the back of the boat. He picked up the pistol, cocked the hammer and pointed it at Gus. The hammer slipped and the gun discharged, sending a lead ball into the deck inches from Gus’s head. The sound of the gunshot echoed up and down the river. Gus stared wide-eyed at Charlie. The shot startled Charlie as much as it had Gus, but he kept a deadpan expression and acted as if he had meant to fire the gun.

  “Don’t move.”

  Charlie sat down next to the rudder, leaned back against the rail and took a deep breath, all the while keeping the pistol pointed at Gus. The adrenaline rush ceased and the pain returned. He spat out the blood in his mouth. “You just relax. If you move a muscle I’ll blow your damn head off. Got it?” The captain lay on his back and closed his eyes. Charlie scooted along the rail and slipped his coat on. He checked his pockets and found them empty. All his money was gone. Charlie opened Gus’s valise and pulled out two other whiskey bottles; one was empty and the other half drained. An empty third bottle lay on the deck.

  Charlie tossed all three bottle
s into the river. “What were you going to do, Gustave? Steal all my belongings and then throw me in the river? You are obviously not that good of a thief.”

  “You son of a bitch,” Gus growled.

  “Maybe you’d be a better thief if you didn’t drink so damn much.”

  Charlie looked at the contents of his haversack sprawled across the bench and the floor, enraged that someone would go through his things. But, then again, this was a different time with a different set of rules… or no rules at all. Survival of the fittest. Charlie dumped the contents of Gus’s valise on the floor and sorted through it. Nothing of value to him.

  “We’re switching bags. You can have my Confederate-issued haversack.” Charlie said. Gus looked away. Charlie stuffed his time belt and all his belongings into the valise. “How far you think we’ve come?” Gus didn’t answer. “Hey! I asked you how far we’ve come!”

  Gus turned his head and looked at Charlie. “A little better ‘n halfway, I suppose.”

  “Well, get up and grab that pole. You got a lot of work ahead of you to make Fort Smith by morning.”

  “You go to hell,” Gus said. “I ain’t taking you nowhere.”

  Charlie stood and cocked his pistol. “Then get off.” He took a few steps toward the old man.

  “What?” Gus sat up and looked down the barrel of Charlie’s gun.

  “I said, get off. If you’re not taking me to Fort Smith, I’ll take myself.” Gus appeared shocked. There was a long silence before Charlie continued. “And thanks for the lesson on how to pilot this craft.” He smiled.

  Gus didn’t say anything. Finally, he smiled back. “You’re bluffing. You can’t take this ship. You’ll never make it by yourself. You don’t know the first thing about this river. It’ll take you down.”