Chapter 16: THE SWAMP DWELLERS

Four barefoot men disembarked to beach their pirogues. Three remained standing while the fourth stalked across the gangway. Well over six feet tall, he had a tangled shoulder-length gray-streaked mane, a thicket of eyebrows over a scarred face, and an unkempt beard that reached to his sternum. He and his three only slightly less intimidating compadres were clad in ragged cutoffs and sleeveless shirts that bared massive arms roped with sinew. Apparently this was standard apparel for watermen... along with hunting knives depending from rough leather belts.

Whoever the leader was, he wasn't Tony. This man had to be upwards of fifty.

Cap'n Booger and his two crewmen rose to their feet so Jess did likewise. Hooded eyes took in the five men one by one, resting briefly on Jess before returning to the captain with a nod of recognition.

"Booger."

"Painter."

"These sorry specimens all ya got?"

"For the moment," the captain replied evenly. "The rest're huntin' pigs out on the bayou. Your men're welcome to have a look around."

The wild man gestured to his friends without turning his head. Wordlessly they came aboard and ascended the ladder.

"Might as well make ourselves comfortable while we wait." Cap'n Booger indicated the two chairs. Understanding he was expected to give up his seat, Jess made to move off to the side until he was intercepted by an iron grip on his upper arm.

"Don't I know you?" the giant was asking.

"No sir. We ain't never met."

An' I'm wishin' we wasn't meetin' now...

"Hmnnn..." The man turned loose and settled his bulk in the chair next to the captain. Jess went to stand between Etienne and Georges, trying to keep his face from betraying his anxiety. Without being signaled, Alcide squatted on the deck to remove a bottle of brandy and two glasses from the basket.

Painter smacked his lips appreciatively after the first sip. The cook/steward then offered a cedarwood box containing a selection of cigars. The big man made a choice, biting off the tip and leaning forward to the lit match Alcide was holding out.

"As you were, boys," the captain said. Etienne, Georges and Alcide promptly reestablished themselves on the deck. Jess followed suit. Moments later Painter's men descended to report all was clear on the upper decks before going to investigate the cargo hold.

"All clear, Painter," one of them announced as they came back out and assumed parade rest on the opposite side from where Jess and the crew were sitting.

The wild man gave a low whistle that summoned two more pirogues that had been lurking just beyond lamplight range. Those, however, didn't approach the Jolie Rouge but drifted against the bank on the other side of the spit where they held position. A show of force, Jess reckoned.

"Whatcha got for us, Booger?" The man called Painter inquired in a deep rumbling voice that appeared to be emanating from the depths of his bowels.

"The usual—booze an' tobacco, salt an' pepper, sugar, flour, bolts of cloth... pretty much anything you need."

"You're here too early. Trappin' season's just gettin' started good. Doubt we got enough pelts to do much tradin'."

"I'll take whatever ya got, a'course... but tain't necessarily only furs an' hides I'm after."

A mask seemed to settle over Painter's face followed by a long pause.

Too soon, Booger... way too soon! Jess' nerves were jangling.

"That so?"

"We need yer help findin' someone... if that someone's still around to be found."

"Booger... you know the rules. No rattin' on anyone for any reason." The big man shook his head, standing up abruptly. "You'd best collect yer crew an' be on yer way afore I ferget we's friends."

"Now wait a minute... hear me out. This ain't a givmint matter... it's personal. Please… sit back down. I'm askin'... as a friend."

Painter lowered himself back into the chair. "Make it fast, Bruce... and make it good." His mushmouth speech as well as his exaggerated accent disappeared, replaced with one more in keeping with upper class Virginia.

"Jess... come over here if you would," the captain called.

Jess got up off the deck and came around to stand before the two seated men. Painter carefully looked him up and down, unblinking obsidian eyes cold as a snake's.

"Who's this man?"

"His name's Jess Harper an' he's fixin' to explain hisself after I intraduce ya proper. Jess... this here's Painter Billy, head a the Rushin' Branch tribe. They call him that on account he once killed a painter with 'is bare hands. Broke 'is neck."

Artist painter? House painter? What'd he do... use the wrong color?

"Tell Painter why you're here."

Get ahold a yourself. He's just a man what puts his britches on like anyone else... one leg at a time...

"I'm tryin' to find my brother, Captain Carlton J. Harper, 1st Florida Infantry..."

"Eight years afterwards and you're just now getting around to looking for him?" the man interrupted. "Why now?"

"He disappeared when I was still a pup. I only just found out recently about him bein' in the war... an' that he's still alive... might be alive," Jess amended.

"Who told you that?"

Jess cut his eyes at Cap'n Booger, who indicated with the merest tilt of his head that it was okay to tell.

"Miss Amelia Pettus. She knew 'im before the war, but ain't seen him since."

"Did she now?"

"She's pretty sure the man everybody calls 'Carp' is my brother Tony... an' that he's probably been hiding out here for the past seven years."

The big man didn't react to the name. "You fought in the war?"

"Yes, sir. I did."

"Which side?"

Cap'n Booger cleared his throat in warning, sensing Jess' growing irritation.

Respect for an elder's one thing, but I sure don't care for this swamp rat's high-handed attitude...

Jess strove to keep his voice low and steady. "Like you said, mister... war's been over a long time. Reckon it don't matter anymore what side anyone fought on."

The bushy eyebrows knotted and the man blinked. Once. A grimace that might have been the beginning of a grin twitched one side of his mouth and was just as quickly gone.

"That's where you're wrong, boy. For some folks it'll never be over."

"Meanin' what?" Jess challenged. Cap'n Booger's face was contorting as if he were about to hoick up a massive hairball.

"Meaning just that. So... you want information. What do I get in return?"

"Nothin'. Maybe just the satisfaction a doin' a good deed an' helpin' two brothers find each other. I ain't got nothin' to my name 'cept a horse an' saddle back in Wyomin'."

Why's he keep starin' at me like I done growed a extra head?

Jess resolutely stood his ground, feeling the red creeping up the back of his neck. "Look... Mister Painter or Billy or whatever the hell your name is... don't jerk me around. I come a long way an' this is real important to me. If you can't help or just plain don't wanna, just say so. We'll look somewhere else an' leave y'all in peace."

The look on Painter's face was one of incredulity mixed with amusement. In an aside to the captain, though quite audible to Jess, he said, "Boy's mouthy but he's got sand. I'll give him that. Bruce, have one of your boys bring out another chair... and then they can go on about their business. My men'll keep watch."

Jess stood there fuming while Georges acceded to the wild man's request—which was really more of an order—then he, Etienne and Alcide wasted no time making themselves scarce. Painter's henchmen retreated out of earshot.

"Sit yourself down, Jess Harper. Have some of the captain's fine brandy. I believe there's another glass in that basket."

Getting another nod of agreement from Cap'n Booger, Jess did as told. Slugging back a shot of brandy, he understood they'd reached some critical juncture and it was time to put aggression aside.

"Maybe you'd better tell me some more about yourself... and your brother."

"That's likely to take awhile."

"I've got nothing but time."

So Jess told him... about his sordid childhood, the arson fire that had taken the lives of his parents and siblings, his military service and prisoner-of-war experience, his introduction into the gunfighter's life, his years on the drift... and his inadvertent 'adoption' into the Sherman family. He made no mention of the possible inheritance, only that—because he'd met someone who believed they were related and looked into it—he'd acquired information leading him to believe he might not be the only survivor of his immediate family.

"An' here I am," Jess concluded. "Maybe this's all been for nothin'... but I had to try. You can see that, can't ya?"

Painter stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Tell you what. I'll put out the word starting tomorrow. It'll take a day or two and I can't promise it'll produce the results you're looking for."

"Thank you. Can't ask for better than that." And Jess really meant it.

Painter stood up. "We're heading back to camp, Booger. We'll be back sometime tomorrow morning with our women, if that suits."

"Suits fine," the captain replied. "I laid in some pretties for the young 'uns, too."

"I told you... we don't..."

"On me, Billy... for the children."

The swamp king and his entourage reboarded their pirogues and departed as silently as they'd arrived.

Suddenly Jess felt terribly tired, drained. Must've looked it, too, because Cap'n Booger suggested he head for bed.

"Can't... Jay Dee's still out there somewhere..."

"Don't you worry about him. These hunts sometimes last all night. Them pigs're elusive bastards... not that easy to catch. An' I've no doubt some a Painter's men are watchin' over 'em right now... our boys, not the pigs. Go to bed, Jess... afore you fall down. I do b'lieve ole Painter's took a shine to you."

In his stateroom, Jess stripped off his gamey clothing and pulled the mosquito netting around his bunk. Up until now he'd disregarded it but tonight it seemed a good idea as he intended to sleep in the buff—too warm and humid for a blanket or even a sheet. Though his mind was reeling ninety to nothing, he was out in minutes.

Sunday, November 23rd... Waking up, Jess was at first disoriented at finding himself shrouded in unfamiliar white gauze. Where?... What?... oh yeah... skeeter nettin'. Yanking it aside, he lay there for awhile, willing his heart rate to recede from a hard gallop to a trot... no idea what time it was but certainly later than he normally slept—filtered daylight eked past the edges of the window blinds. Other senses started checking in on cue: cooking smells seeping around the closed door to the passageway; arising from belowdecks, voices undeniably belonging to women and children; almost imperceptible movement as Jolie Rouge shuddered gently in the river current; an unpleasant sensation of clamminess and a disagreeable odor wafting off his own body.

There came a tapping at the passageway door accompanied by Alcide's voice.

"Puis-je entrer?" Without waiting for an answer, the steward lugged in a bucket of hot water that he set on the floor. Seeing that Jess was awake, he grinned and proclaimed that breakfast would still be available after 'Monsieur Jess' had washed and dressed. Then he backed out obsequiously, leaving Jess mystified as to the reason for such formality after weeks of being on a first-name basis with the man.

A full-immersion bath would have been preferable, but Jess made do with hot, soapy water in the washstand basin, even managing to remove the itchiness from his scalp. Mostly—but not entirely—scum-free, he loathed having to don the skunky abbreviated shirt and pants. Although his facial hair was entering that annoying prickly stage of growth, he decided to follow Cap'n Booger's advice and let it be. Slipping on the canvas plimsolls, he was ready to face whatever the day had in store.

Entering the saloon, he found the members of the hunting party, including his errant cousin, and a few unknown faces obviously members of Painter's 'tribe.' Jay Dee scooted over to make room for him. A clean plate and cutlery magically appeared in front of him and bowls of grub slid within reach. Jess dug in. Alcide scurried in with his coffee, milk and sugar.

With his initial hunger satisfied, Jess' attention migrated to his surroundings—specifically, the other men sharing the table, whose conversation had dwindled upon his arrival. Why was he feeling so conspicuous... after all that botheration to dress and look just like one of them? He turned to Jay Dee, who was industriously constructing a sandwich out of a hunk of ham, a slab of wheel cheese and a fried egg on a cathead biscuit.

"What's goin' on?"

"Nothin'." Jay Dee attempted biting into the side of his creation, which immediately fell apart.

"Don't gimme that! Why're they actin' like they're afraid a me?"

Jay Dee picked up the cheese slice and nibbled at it. "The word's 'awe,' Jess... not 'afraid'."

"I don't understand."

"Painter's given you his blessing... like a papal dispensation—by extension to the rest of us on Jolie. He hardly ever does that for an outsider, which makes you a VIP—a Very Important Person. He's decreed that they're gonna help locate cousin Tony."

Jess almost dropped his fork in a surge of excitement. "You mean he knows him... knows for sure he's alive?"

"Didn't say that." The kid poked around on his plate, selecting a piece of meat and popping it in his mouth.

"Quite playing with your food and look at me! What've you heard? You weren't even here last night!"

"Dadgum, Jess... gimme a break! Been listening and asking questions all morning while you were sacked out. Look... there're other families out here, other clans or what they call tribes—not only whites but colored folks and Indians. Almost every one of their chiefs is a fugitive from justice. They remain isolated in small groups by choice, so that if one gets caught they won't endanger the others. They respect one another's territories and they all have secrets... but they do maintain a communications network—for all I know by jungle drums. Within twenty-four hours the entire fragmented community will know why you're here.

"Cap'n Booger's down below doing business with their women. Except for Georges and Etienne who're needed to do the fetching and carrying, he's asked that the rest of us keep to the upper decks until they're gone. The ladies're kinda shy around too many strange men and their menfolks'd rather we stayed away from them, too."

"I guess I can get that. Injuns are the same way."

Seeing he was only going to annoy Jay Dee by pressing him on the subject, Jess changed it... at the same time finally noticing the boy's wretched state, not to mention the rest of the hunting party. Their clothes had been ripped and torn to indecency and they all sported numerous scrapes, cuts and bruises. They were also crusted with mud and blood and stank to high heaven. The 'tribal' members present must have assisted as they were in a similar state.

"Looks like the hunt was a success."

Jay Dee grinned. "Can't remember when I've had so much fun. We had to track 'em onto higher ground and run like hell. Never would've caught 'em if the Rushing men hadn't shown up with their dogs."

"Dogs? Don't you need dry land for dogs?"

"Oh... it's not all water like this. Back away from the river there's hummocks high and dry enough to build a house and plant a little garden, keep a cow or some goats and hunting dogs. You could paddle a boat or walk within a hundred yards and not even know it's there.

"Anyway... these dogs... they're called Catahoula curs... are specially trained to hunt razorbacks. Two of 'em get in front of it... just like a cutting horse... and 'bay' it. Then, while it's busy facing those two, two more rush up on either side and latch onto its ears, so that it can't turn around and try to gore 'em. That's when you spear 'im. We don't have feral pigs in California. Guess you don't have any in Wyoming, either."

"None that I heard of. The ones I grew up with in Texas we call javelinas."

"We're having a pig roast tonight and tomorrow. After the families leave, our guys'll start digging the pit."

Another thought occurred to Jess. "You happen to hear how Painter got 'is name? Why'd he wanna kill a painter, anyway?"

Jay Dee looked puzzled for a moment, then started laughing. " 'Painter' is a corruption of the word 'panther'... what you'd call a 'cougar' or 'mountain lion'. In California we call 'em 'puma'. They say he killed one with his bare hands and a knife."

Alligators was bad enough... they got cougars, too? What next? Elephants an' bears?

"Uh... what about bears? They got bears around here, too?"

"Yeah... black bears."

That's it! I ain't settin' foot off this boat.

One by one the other diners had drifted away—crewmen up the ladder and tribal members down below, presumably to rejoin their families. Jay Dee stood up yawning.

"Where ya goin'?"

"Afterdeck. Alcide rigged up a hose from the river to a cistern so we can have showers. Then sleep. We field dressed those piggies where they dropped so didn't get back until dawn. Since we're all banished anyway, we might as well take advantage of the break."

"Mind if I join you?"

"C'mon."

The shaded afterdeck behind the wheelhouse had been turned into a micro resort community. Men were showering, splayed out on pallets or swinging in hammocks. Two were sitting cross-legged, playing checkers. A few were casting lines into the water far, far below. Every single one was in his birthday suit, including Alcide. The old man was skinning out the first of a row of piglets strung up by their hocks from nails pounded into the overhang of the wheelhouse.

"The sow's down on the main deck, wrapped up in a tarp. Too big to haul up here," Jay Dee advised. "She's going into the pit tonight for lunch tomorrow. The small ones'll be roasted on a spit over a fire on the beach. We got a big boar, too—too old and gamey to eat. The Rushing boys took the carcass downriver about a quarter mile and chained it to a tree to keep the alligators out of our hair."

Jess shuddered at being reminded of Florida's apex predators. Just because he hadn't seen one since they came upriver didn't mean they weren't there. Jay Dee casually shed his clothes and strolled over to the shower area. Jess looked around self-consciously before doing the same. Apparently they were far enough back from the edge of the upper deck that they couldn't be seen by anyone below. He hoped. Alcide assured him that the gangways to the second and third tiers were secured so that no females or children would be making their way upstairs.

Within the hour, everyone besides Jess and Alcide was dozing. Jess offered to help skin the little beasties. Without comment Alcide handed him a second knife. Grinning like a mule eating briars, the old man pulled up a rope that had been depending from the side of the boat. Jess was happily surprised when up came a crab net with bottles that'd been cooling in the river. Uncorking one, Alcide handed it over before serving himself.

"A vôtre santé !" he exclaimed as they clinked bottles. It was beer. Good beer... and cold. From below came the shrieking laughter of children having fun.

"What're them kids so happy about?" Jess inquired.

"Dey swimmin'."

Jess was horrified. "In there? What about the alligators?"

"No worries 'bout gator. Dey got net out."

Net?

Jess stealthily crept over just far enough to peer over the side. A log boom had been deployed in a semicircle about twenty feet out from the tip of the sand spit. Each terminus was secured by stakes around which were wired the ends of rusted metal mesh that'd been laced to the boom—leftover naval defenses that'd been used by both sides to prevent unauthorized entry into harbors by adversarial ships. In the predator-safe enclosure, two dozen naked children were cavorting in the water, overseen by several women in rags that might have been dresses in a former lifetime. The women were armed with rifles. Just in case. So they did have guns, after all. He had no doubt these gun-totin' gals were dead shots.

I'll just be damned!