At Lasker's Landing

by Hugh Pendexter

A Story of Civil War Spies

AT LASKER'S LANDING

By Hugh Pendexter

When General Halleck, in the fall of 1861, succeeded General Hunter as commander of the new Department of Missouri, there was a tightening of authority. Radical orders were issued to General Curtis, the provost marshal of St. Louis, to prevent the continual flow of information to the Confederate Army, and to allow no more fugitives to enter, or remain inside, the lines. Those detected in furnishing information to the enemy were to be shot. The worthless element, incapable of loyalty to any cause, feared they must seek new haunts.

However, neither the prospect of imprisonment, nor of forced flight, could dull the interest of the waterfront in the recently arranged duel between Jim Bell and Dandy Graham. The meeting place was Gambit's Tavern, by the river, and the weapons consisted of a deck of playing cards and big table stakes. It was a case of dog eat dog, or Greek against Greek.

Those who had lived their lives in the Mississippi valley championed Bell. This was to be expected, as he was a product of the river and famous from Cairo to New Orleans for his supremacy at poker.

Those less sectional in bias—and they were in the minority—looked with favor on Graham. He was a newcomer, having exercised his talents mostly in Kentucky, and Virginia. He had won popular indorsement by issuing the challenge to Bell in the barroom of the St. Charles. This audacity spoke well for him as a sportsman. His nickname had evolved from the elegance of his attire and from his polished manners. It was obvious to the more discerning that he could work his way into the best social circles of the river towns and remain unsuspected, if he so wished, of being a professional gambler. He was a newcomer, and had not had time to create a background.

Bell was a gambler's gambler. His handsome, reckless face was known in every dive up and down the valley. He was a very adroit fellow with lethal weapons. He could win a woman or a jack-pot by finesse, or sheer audacity, or clinch his argument with bowie-knife and pistol. Many of the yarns about him were apocryphal; no man, in three or four years of notoriety, ever could have been in so many places and have countered so many spectacular coups.

Graham was an unknown quantity. He intrigued the imagination, not from what he was known to have done, but because of a belief in his possibilities when put to the supreme test. Instead of several years in the valley, he had been in St. Louis scarcely more than a month. Yet he had flashed brilliantly here and there. He was said to have come from a famous Southern family.

Bell, returned from downriver, had scarcely had time to learn of this new rival, before Graham searched him out and publicly challenged him. Bell had planned to be the challenger; this move of Graham's established another riverfront idol. Bell's adherents were divided in their estimate of Graham. One faction said he was a gentleman who had slipped; the other insisted that he was an upstart who hankered to be a gentleman, but could not climb higher than fine manners and fine clothes.

This encounter at cards vastly interested the lower level of society. Some people are concerned almost wholly with the minutiæ of life. That element was deaf to the big guns, roaring in Virginia, and was more excited about the meeting of the two sharpers than it was in what the new man, Grant, proposed to do as a soldier.

As in any other duel, each man was to have a friend present. These seconds were to stand behind the players. As the contest was to take place in a private room, the public was barred. This had been insisted upon by Graham. Yet the curious crowd in Gambit's big barroom found nerve-tingling dramatic values in waiting to behold the victor come down the wide stairway. What was happening in that closed room, one flight up? The more optimistic expected the quiet of the upper floor to be riddled by shots.

Watching the soldiers drill at Camp Jackson was tame sport compared to this eager listening. The crowd had collected early, and Gambit had profited by a big bar trade, since the two gamblers entered the room, saluted coldly, and went up the stairs, followed by their seconds.

To the old-timers the notion that Graham aspired to be mistaken for a gentleman was against him. A gentleman was born to his station. One could not become a gentleman by any amount of polish. At least, that was the belief on the river, from St. Louis down. Graham's champions insisted that he was born a gentleman; they cited as proofs the elegance of his personal appearance and the easy grace of his deportment.

Bell was less restrained. He was a prodigal. He was a boon companion at times; occasionally he was self-indulgent. He was as handsome as he was reckless, but at no time did he attempt to conceal his tiger stripes. No one could be more open-handed in taking a drink at a public bar; the whole world was welcome to drink with him. Bell gave himself along with his money. He was the host of the ne'er-do-well whom he treated.

Graham was something of a renegade to the world that filled his pockets. He could, and did, scatter money lavishly, but there was no fellowship in the gesture. His favors were bestowed much as a man gives alms.

Three times a servant had carried two drinks up the stairs. This was indicative of a stern battle, with only the lookouts imbibing. The waiter was pounced upon and elevated to new importance every time he returned to the bar. How was the game faring? Who was ahead? The fact that the waiter had been turned back at the door did not prevent him from capitalizing the importance of his position.

Bell seemed to be a bit ahead. Bell had ceased to smile. Graham done rake in a mighty big pot. Seemed to be about even. These verbal bulletins kept the betting up to a feverish pitch. It was commonly believed that each man was waiting for an opportunity to clean up on one play. The final show-down might come any minute.

Shortly after this report there was great alarm and excitement. Suddenly, a file of soldiers had entered the big room. Bayonets glittered ominously. A glance at the sergeant's grim visage revealed that these were not thirsty bluecoats, come for liquid rations. They moved with the precision of an inexorable machine. Those nearest the file recalled Halleck's drastic orders and edged backward to efface themselves. But even as the sergeant came through the doorway, Gambit whispered to the colored boy to be ready. The sergeant, who had more than once patronized the bar, eyed the proprietor stonily and announced:

“I'm after two men. Names, Bell and Graham. Are they in this house?”

Before he had finished the question, the boy was vanishing down the dark hall that led through the dining-room to the back of the house.

Gambit fought for precious seconds by simulating stupidity and amazement. With mouth agape he stared at the sergeant. It would require but a moment for his guests to slip through the window and on to the veranda roof. To gain further time he slowly came from behind the bar and slowly made his way through the group. He did not speak until he stood close to the sergeant. Then he dully said:

“Bell and Graham? Jim Bell and Dandy Graham?”

“Yes, I'm waiting.”

“For goodness' sake, what can you want of them, Sergeant?” cried old Gambit.

“Never mind what I want them for! Answer my question!”

The colored boy was fleet of foot in a supreme effort to serve Jim Bell, his idol.

Gambit believed that the word had been delivered. Yet he fenced for another inch of time.

“The two gentlemen, as you may have heard, came here to play a game of cards. I hope, Sergeant, the provost marshal won't have it in for me because they happened to select my house for their game. Every officer in St. Louis—and most of them have been in here—knows I run a clean, orderly place.”

“I'm not after you; I'm after those two men. Where are they?”

“One flight up. They went up alone. I told them to take any empty room.”

The sergeant barked an order, and his file followed him, to clump heavily up the stairs. The crowd began to thin out. Only those who had great confidence in their reputations remained to witness the denouement.

One citizen whispered to Gambit—

“If the provost sent for them, it may be a bad ending to their card-playing.”

“Be an awful blow to the name of my house,” shivered Gambit. “If they'd only played last night! Bell was planning to pull out right after the game was finished.” Then more optimistically he continued, “Well, we'll hope for the best.” He faced the stairs, as the tramping of feet sounded in the hall above.

The file of soldiers, led by the sergeant, came down the stairs. They were bringing two men, and old Gambit raised a hand to hide his smile. The prisoners were the lookouts. The sergeant halted the file and told Gambit:

“I found these men in a room playing cards. And two glasses. You said Graham and Bell were there. What do you mean?”

“I said they went up the stairs to play, sir. That is, they told me they wanted a room to play in. My waiter has served drinks, only two at a time, but he was not allowed to enter the room. I supposed Bell and Graham were there. They haven't passed out the front of the house.”

“They never stopped upstairs. Just cleared out the back way,” said the sergeant. “Well, I'll take these in to the marshal, although I came for wolves, not sheep.” Then the order to march, and the file passed out.

The barroom eagerly discussed which genius was astute enough to leave the lookouts at the table to delay the search. It smacked much of Jim Bell's quick wit. Gambit discovered the colored lad lurking in the darkened hall and called him forward. In answer to questions the boy reported that he had barely thrust his head into the room to give warning before both men rose as one and were slipping through the open window on to the veranda roof. It was Dandy Graham, said the boy, who softly called back for the two seconds to pick up the cards and commence playing.

“Graham, eh?” mused a citizen. “And I'd laid a bet it would 'a' been Jim. Hope they git clear. But the town must be sealed up, if the provost marshal wants 'em bad. Wonder what they're wanted for?”

This phase of the interrupted duel worried old Gambit. Why should the Federal Government want either of the men? Gambit had accepted them as reckless demigods, who had no concern as to the outcome of the terrible strife now ripping the nation from coast to coast. Gambit's sympathies were with the Confederacy. But neither North nor South should expect men like Bell and Graham to adore more than their particular god, that of chance.

The incident stirred a maggot of fear into worrying the old man's mind. The gamblers were about all that were left of the old river life. Regardless as to which side won the war, life would not be worth living. Gambit knew no world outside the Mississippi Valley. When two such prime favorites could be driven from the river by the bayonets of the provost marshal guard, the end of all things was at hand. He did what he seldom did during rush hours. He poured himself a long drink of Bourbon County, Kentucky, whisky and drank it as a sorrowful toast to the departed days.

Lasker's Landing on the Kentucky shore and a dozen miles below Hickman was dreary and desolate. It was one of several inhabited spots in a wide area of sunken lands that not only characterized that part of Kentucky but also the northwestern corner of Tennessee. The overflow from the Ohio and the Mississippi annually flooded long stretches of the forlorn country and left it, in the dry seasons, a land of stagnant lakes, deep morasses and drowned timber.

Canebrake flourished and, in high water, skiffs passed over the tops of the luxuriant growth. When the rivers were down, the brakers used the winding paths made by cattle to pass from one un mapped little community to another. The abundance of game and fish attracted a population peculiar to the monotonous environment. These people, although within a few miles of such towns as Hickman and Union City, were isolated from the outside world.

The inhabitants were underprivileged. They reflected their environment. They were ignorant; some were brutal. The men were tall, loose-jointed and dyspeptic. The women were tall, thin and round-shouldered. The prime requisites for living in the cane were whisky, snuff, hog and hominy. The people might even be considered as lost folks. Excelling in woodcraft and being born marksmen, they spent their lives in hunting and fishing and in looking after their few poor cattle. They could travel seventy or more miles and be out of touch with the world. Sheriffs' writs in corners of two States had small success, once a fugitive escaped into the blind maze of cattle paths and extensive swamps.

Several families living at Lasker's Landing forgot their dyspepsia and fever and ague late one forlorn November afternoon, when a skiff came down the muddy current and landed. Fugitives were not welcome among the brakers. The people were not criminally inclined; and visitors who were outside the law invited the coming of officers.

By the time Graham and Bell had hauled the skiff half-way up the fifteen-foot rise, the men and women on the veranda of the long log house knew that two men must be fugitives from justice. No human beings, wearing such wonderful clothing, could have any legitimate business at the landing. Their arrival presaged a blundering pursuit.

The gamblers surveyed the silent group and then gazed about to get the lay of the land. Their view was foreshortened. Back of the house was a forest of cornstalks, tall and thick; an excellent cover for any one withdrawing from the river in a hurry. Beyond the corn stalks, fifty yards from the house, was a ragged fence. Beyond the fence was the tall and seemingly impenetrable cane.

“Lonely looking enough,” mused Graham.

“Appeals to me a heap more than being the guest of the provost marshal,” said Bell. “Looks worse to you than it does me, as I had expected to come here. I knew about how it would appear. Even if the soldiers hadn't come I should have started for here, as soon as our game was finished. Hey, you folks! Who's got your tongues?”

A sallow-faced woman laughed shrilly. The men stared somberly. A barefoot girl, scarcely sixteen, advanced to the edge of the veranda. She was graceful as any wild creature, and pretty. The cane women were sometimes like that in their adolescence. Premature mating and a frugal mode of living and snuff-dipping, speedily stripped them of youth and left them sallow. The girl boldly challenged:

“Who might you two be, comin' a-trippin' down the river, dressed bent for a marryin'? What sheriff's a-taggin' after you?”

The men grinned a bit dourly at this. Libbie Jinks was a smart talker. She could make towners sit up and take notice. Bell, always interested in pretty women, quickly advanced to act the spokesman. His handsome face was wreathed in smiles. He stood close to the veranda, took the girl's hands in his and beamed into her bold young eyes. He explained:

“No sheriff chases Jim Bell. I have the freedom of the whole river. This other man is Dandy Graham. We want to look this country over a bit. We'll be here only for a day or two. We pay well. Tell us, little one, where we can sleep and be fed.”

Libbie Jinks made no move to remove her brown hands. The gambler's smooth, white hands, unstained by tan, were entirely different from the calloused, sun burned hands of the brakers. Bell released her, as Graham came forward and with awesome grace removed his stove pipe hat and bowed ceremoniously. She found him as pleasing in externals as his companion, but she sensed a reserve in his bearing which she resented. She pointed at him, bowing before her, and called out to the silent group on the veranda:

“Lor'! Look at that now!”

A tall, lanky youth dropped from the veranda and seized the girl by the shoulder and roughly yanked her back from the men; and glowering at Bell, he said:

“You folks git to be knowin' us folks too quick. We don't know you. We don't want to know you.”

An older man called out:

“Don't git brash, Toss. If that feller's name's Bell, he's the critter t'other feller talked about as likely to come here.”

“I'm Jim Bell. I expect to meet a man here. Where is he?” quickly asked the gambler.

“Hidin' in back, stranger. Reckon he's lookin' for a law-officer to come after him.”

“No, no. The law doesn't want him, nor me. He's waiting to meet me. Some of you take word to him to come here. Tell him Jim Bell's waiting for him.”

He tossed a silver dollar on the veranda; it was quickly pocketed. The lucky man started at once around the house and disappeared in the cornstalks. As Bell made for the veranda, Graham detained him and turned aside with him to whisper:

“Didn't know you had any one planted down here, Bell. You didn't mention it when you suggested this place.”

“Man I've known for some time. He had to skip out from St. Louis. Said he was coming here. I knew I'd be coming here mighty soon. Told him to wait for me.”

“Sure he's a friend?”

“Think I'm a fool? Now we're here, where do you plan to go?”

“Up north if I can get behind the army. I'm at home in big cities. Can't go back to Virginia. New York's a likely place to hide in. I'd die in a hell of this kind.” And he grimaced in disgust, as he stared about the ugly opening.

“I can make myself at home and be comfortable almost anywhere,” said Bell, as his gaze wandered to pick out Libbie Jinks, “but it should be easy for you to work north. Hickman's near. From there you can reach the Ohio without being picked up. A month later it may be more of a job. But easy now. Once on the Ohio, you can lose yourself. To hell with the army! You can go through it like flies through an open door.”

“I was getting to like St. Louis,” mused Graham, “but that town's too risky now.”

Bell smiled, and assured:

“If you'll stick around this landing for a week or so, I reckon you can return to St. Louis without sweating a hair. I could pick you up here as I plan to go back. Then we can finish that game.”

“You'll come back here and return with me if it's safe?”

“Oh, it'll be safe when I go back. The Yankees will have something else to think about. I've got to run down into southern Tennessee on business. Then I'll return.”

“Well, if that's the case, maybe I'll try to hang on. First thing is a place to sleep and something to eat. These people don't seem to fancy us.”

“That's because we're different. They're ignorant and suspicious. I'll try them again.”

He turned and started for the veranda steps, but the young man who seemed to have a proprietary interest in the Jinks girl, jumped from the platform, barred his advance and fiercely declared:

“You folks ain't wanted here. Git into that skiff 'n' go down or up. Go to hell! Only start your boots now.”

Bell ignored him and asked of the onlookers—

“Who lives in this house?”

“Three famblies live in it,” some one replied.

“What family lives nearest the door?”

“My ma 'n' me, mister,” spoke up Libbie Jinks.

A sallow woman listlessly added:

“That's right, mister. Me 'n' the gal have the door end of this shack. My old man's off moonin' round some'r's.”

“Then, Mrs. Jinks, my friend and I want a place to sleep and something to eat for a day or two. We'll make it worth your while.” He rattled some coins in his pocket.”

The woman snuffed and stared doubtfully at young Toss, who continued blocking the gambler's path.

“I dunno, mister,” she began. “Toss there is settin' up with my gal, Libbie. He gets mighty pestiferous if 'nother as much as looks at her.”

Toss hugged in his chin and dropped a hand on a butcherknife, worn without a sheath on his hip. He told Bell:

“Ma Jinks said a true word. I'm pestiferous as hell, mister! If you ain't afloat inside a minute, I'll see the color of your blood.”

Bell's left hand darted forward, knocking off the ragged skin hat and grabbing stoutly into the light yellow hair. At the same instant his right hand whipped out a bowie-knife; and, with the point at the young man's throat, he growled:

“How much longer are you going to bother me?”

Toss did not move, except to drop his hand to his side. He said nothing, but a great fear filled his pale blue eyes. Bell correctly diagnosed his perturbation and, smiling slightly, he said:

“That's better, much better. Don't get in my way again.” And he spun him about and gave him a push.

Toss hurried around the end of the house. The group on the veranda quickly melted away; and Mrs. Jinks, retiring indoors, dragged her daughter after her. With a light laugh Bell told his companion:

“They're cattle. That's the way you must treat them. But the girl's likely looking.”

"Scarcely more than a child,” mused Graham.

“You must catch 'em young in this hole, or you'll find a hag,” murmured Bell.

Then he stared at the house, whence came the sound of Mrs. Toss' monotonous voice and the shrill tones of her daughter. The latter was in rebellion.

“Old lady's keeping the girl a prisoner,” remarked Bell.

“But she is so young,” Graham reminded.

Bell sensed indirect criticism this time. He sharply demanded—

“Are you her guardian?”

Graham shrugged his shoulders and, without speaking, ascended the steps to the veranda. Frowning heavily, Bell followed him. Mrs. Jinks appeared in the doorway and told them—

“If you can put up with what we have, I reckon you can stop a bit—that is, if young Toss don't go to cuttin' up capers.”

“He'll behave,” quietly assured Bell.

He pushed the woman aside and entered the house. Graham followed him. The place was not inviting. Blankets and hides were stretched across the long room to divide it into three sections. The tenants must pass through the Jinks section, as there was but the one door. One could enter through the windows, however, as the windows were but square holes, without glass or sashes. A rude bed and box-bunk and three chairs made from barrels and the fireplace comprised the furnishings of bedroom, living room and kitchen. Mrs. Jinks raked the ashes from the fireplace coals and set on a skillet of pork to fry.

Unnoticed by Bell the girl stepped through a window. Bell turned from surveying the supper preparations and did not see her. He stepped outside, followed by Graham and glanced about.

“That young baggage invites me to give chase, but where is she?” he said.

“Forget about that youngster, Bell,” urged Graham. “The men I've seen are just the kind to pot you from behind a tree. Can't be any law down here.”

“We don't want any law down here,” roughly replied Bell. “People here are sheep. Are you concerned because you're afraid of being potted, or from fear that innocence will be injured?”

“Well, I'd be ashamed to be wiped out by any of these louts.”

The girl came around the house and up the veranda steps, a deep color staining her plump cheeks, as she halted and stared oddly at Bell. He passed his and around her slim waist and inquired—

“Where's the young fire-eater?”

“Dunno. Don't care.”

“Bell, you make me blush. You cover me with confusion,” sighed Graham. “When do you pull out?”

“When my friend, hiding in back, shows up. Probably tomorrow.”

As he spoke, he continued staring down into the girl's face. She whispered something. His gaze brightened and he nodded in acquiescence. Then he gave the girl a squeeze and a push and dismissed her. He faced Graham and said—

“Quite sure I shall go tomorrow.”

Graham paced to the end of the veranda and motioned for Bell to follow him. Bell did so, his dark eyes questioning. Graham bluntly told him:

“That girl's mind hasn't formed. It's on par with the mind of a child of eight.”

“Is this a lecture or a sermon?” coldly asked Bell. “Just what are you driving at?”

“Well, I know you're planning to take that child with you,” hesitatingly replied Graham.

Bell stared at him steadily and softly replied:

“If she lives to be a hundred she won't know any more than she knows now. She wants me to take her along, and I'm going to do it. Anything more to say?”

“Only that it's disgusting.”

“Damn! See here, Graham, we don't like each other. In St. Louis we felt the river was too small for us. If the provost marshal hadn't been after the two of us, I should have traveled here alone. I don't know what old Curtis wants you for, but the fact he does want you made me forget that we crowd each other. But we don't like each other. You challenged me to that game, because you didn't like me. I don't like you. I don't like the talk you've been making.”

“Well, well. Let's not quarrel,” murmured Graham in a conciliatory voice. “You'll go tomorrow, and I'll hunt for a path out of this hell-hole that leads to some settlement.”

Bell stared in amazement at what he believed to be a confession of cowardice. Then his thin lips slowly parted in a grin, and a feral light blazed in his eyes. But despite the grin, his face was hard with a sudden fixed purpose. He told Graham:

“If I find you on the river when I get back, we'll be bumping into each other. We'll take a walk up that path back of the house.”

Graham drew back a step and whispered—

“What do you mean—take a walk?”

“Plain English,” gritted Bell. “Two men go walking; one man comes back.”

“Why, Bell! What mad nonsense!”

“Hell! Everything I say or do seems to strike you as being nonsense!” hoarsely exclaimed Bell. “I won't stand for it. The river isn't big enough for the two of us. You got on my nerves, when you blew into St. Louis and let on you were cock of the walk. You had the gall to challenge me to that poker game. Perhaps you'd rather walk down by the skiff. None of these sheep will interfere.”

Graham sat down on the edge of the veranda and with a spotless handkerchief began rubbing mud from what had been highly polished boots. Bell stared down at him and the fierce grin returned. He dropped to the ground and stared into Graham's face. Graham did not meet his gaze, but continued rubbing his boots. Yet he felt the impact of the steady gaze and at last muttered:

“Oh, forget it. Let's eat and sleep. As for this river, I have no love for it. I prefer cities farther east. Plenty of room for the two of us. Take the river and welcome.”

“You damn coward!” whispered Bell. “To think you was that, and yet ran that bluff on me in St. Louis! I think I will slap your face.”

He waited. Graham would not look at him, but kept on rubbing his boots. But he did say:

“I won't fight, no matter what you do. In town, with white men looking on, maybe yes. But not down here, where, as you say, they're only cattle.”

“You'd run a bluff on Jim Bell!” hissed the gambler, and his open hand smacked the clean-shaven cheek.

Graham gave a convulsive start, then went limp. Bell looked closer and laughed in derision.

“Shedding tears! You miserable imitation of a man! I'll give five thousand dollars to find you in the St. Charles or old Gambit's, when I return to town. With a crowd looking on!”

Graham would not meet his gaze, nor did he speak. Bell hopped up on the veranda and, still laughing, swaggered toward the door. The girl met him in the doorway, and her shrill voice carried far over the marsh as she admiringly cried:

“You're a master hand at having your own way. But I didn't reckon that feller'd be 'fraid of you.”

“All sheep are afraid of me, little girl.”

Mrs. Jinks soon came out and stood behind Graham and advised—

“You skin out, stranger.” He was quick to notice that she had dropped the “mister.” She continued, “You ain't got 'nough guts, even for Lasker's Landing. An' the Lawd knows we're sort o' onery in these parts. Take the boat 'n' go. I can't take you in. I'll fetch your pork 'n' pone out here. I'd do that for a dawg.”

She left him, and he ceased his polishing long enough to shift to the end of the veranda to get away from the laughing girl now at the window. Several men came down the path and noticed him sitting on the edge of the platform, his arms resting on his knees. One asked—

“Fever or ager, mister?”

“Just tired,” said Graham.

“He's had his face slapped!” cried the girl from the window. “My new man slapped his face.”

The men turned and stared at the disconsolate figure. One of them yelled—

“Kick him into the river!”

This sentiment would have found favor had not Mrs. Jinks appeared in the doorway with a dish of fried pork, fried eggs and cold cornbread. She announced:

“You menfolks stand clear. This poor meechin' critter's goin' to eat suthin'. Then he's goin' to mosey along right smart. Libbie, you keep shet.”

“I won't! I'm my own woman!” angrily defied the girl.

Bell quieted her. Then he called out to the men:

“Keep your hands off that sheep. He's my meat. Ten dollars to the man who brings me a jug of whisky, which you boys will help me drink.”

A jug was quickly produced, and the men went inside. Graham ate his supper. The western sun was sliced in half by the timbered horizon. Loud laughter came through the empty windows, as the jug was passed. A shrill whistle back of the house stilled the merrymaking. The men came through the doorway, ready to run and hide. Bell answered the whistle and explained:

“It's only the man who came ahead of me—the one I sent for. He signals to make sure I'm here. Nothing to stop our fun.”

Soon voices were heard behind the house, and the Jinks girl cried—

“They're comin' through the corn.”

Then the man who had preceded Bell to the Landing, accompanied by the messenger sent to bring him back, came around the south end of the house. The gambler called out—

“Everything all right?”

“All right, Jim,” replied the man.

Bell ran down the veranda steps and walked aside with the man. They conferred briefly, and Bell received a paper and thrust it into a side pocket. In a voice, audible to all, he directed:

“That ends your part. You can take the skiff and drop downstream or go inland.”

“Keen to be going. Going now. In the skiff. So long. Good luck.”

“I've had all the luck,” said Bell, and he laughed contentedly as he turned and stared at Graham.

Mrs. Jinks came along the veranda and hurriedly whispered to Graham:

“Dig out through the corn. I'll pick you up at the fence 'n' put you into the Hickman path. Mr. Bell will heap mis'ry on you to make the menfolks laff.”

“Perhaps he won't bother me any more. Here's some money.”

“Be you a plumb fool? I'm scared of him. He'll take Libbie away, an' then send her back!”

“Enough. Leave me. Perhaps he won't take your girl away.”

“Oh, Lawd! He's comin' to bedevil you! After he's done, the men'll pitch in!”

She scuttled back to the doorway and into the house, so that she might not witness the cruel sport.

The skiff had vanished around a wooded bend, when Bell halted before the motley group and said—

“Citizens of Lasker's Landing, I will now put my trained sheep through his tricks and then we'll finish the jug.”

He walked toward Graham, with the people following. Halting, he grinned sardonically and told the spectators—

“To prove this sheep is very tame, I will first slap his face.” His voice was venomous with hatred, as he lowered it almost to a whisper. “It makes me see red every time I think of the bluff you ran on me, every time I think of giving you credit for what you never had—guts. I want you to return to the river. I want to meet you in St. Louis and show you up, so the niggers will crowd you into the road. Why, damn you!” His rage smothered him, and he struck Graham violently in the face.

Like a steel spring suddenly released, Graham was clear of the veranda and had driven his fist against the snarling lips. Astounded by this show of resentment, Bell hesitated for a moment, then he pulled his knife and with a scream leaped forward. Graham had his knife out, too. In the first clash each gripped the knife hand of the other.

They whirled and worked down the slope toward the water. As they came together, with clinched hands outstretched, Bell butted his head into Graham's face. He tried the maneuver a second time and released the strain on Graham's right wrist for an instant, long enough for Graham to drive his knife down to prick Bell's left thigh. The wound was nothing, but the sharp bite of the steel startled Bell. He swung wildly about. Then he threw himself backward, risking all on the chance of tearing his right hand free to use his blade.

Over and over they rolled, and into the muddy water. Bell managed to free his hand, but lost his knife and tried to draw his gun. Graham lifted his shoulders, threw himself forward and forced his foe's head under water. In his spasmodic efforts to turn his adversary, Bell lost his grip on the knife hand. Instantly the heavy blade rose and fell twice.

“What have you to report, Lieutenant Graham?” bruskly greeted General Curtis, as the young officer was admitted to the provost marshal's private office.

“The masquerade was a complete success, sir,” said Graham, as he placed a thin, sealed package of papers on the table. “These have had a bath in the Mississippi, sir; but I'm confident you'll find they explain how the proposed maneuvers against New Madrid and Columbus are to mask General Grant's and Commander Foote's campaign against Forts Henry and Donelson.”

Curtis tore open the package and after a brief examination grimly admitted:

“The writer of this is very well informed. But what's to stop this man Bell from telling the enemy the contents of these papers?”

“He died, sir, before he had a chance to tell anything. Once I learned he had sent those papers across to the Tennessee shore to avoid the risk of having them found in his possession, I knew he must die. The challenge, the poker game, the prearranged arrival of the guard, our unobstructed flight—they permitted me to keep up with Bell and be with him, when he overtook the man he had sent on ahead to Lasker's Landing. It was a fair fight between us, although I was prepared to resort to any means.”

“You have done well, Lieutenant. I confess your scheme seemed a bit fantastic when first submitted. You must have played your part excellently. You will now report back to your company for active duty. I see your face is bruised. You suffered no serious hurt?”

“One serious hurt, sir. I had my face slapped when I could not resent it.”