Moontrap - Don Berry Page 23

  "Me, I'd just as soon not be in the United States if that's the way it's goin' t' be," Monday muttered.

  "I'll tell y' what let's do," Meek said. "Let's sink 'er."

  "Sink who?" Webb said.

  "That ship. The Portsmouth," Meek said. "Let's sink 'er."

  "Wagh!" Monday said softly, thinking about it.

  "Right t' the bottom o' the river," Meek said gleefully.

  "Never done nothin' like that, " Webb admitted. "By god, that sounds like a hell ofa good idee, Meek. Let's do 'er!"

  "Me, I don't think I can," Devaux said glumly.

  "Why not?"

  "Me, I am not a citizen."

  "Y're a deputy, ain't you? That's practically the same thing," Meek said.

  Monday frowned slightly "Y'know, I think you got this deputy thing wrong, Meek. I think it must be more complicated than that."

  "Mebbe so could be," Meek said cheerfully "Ain't nobody objected so far, though. Listen, what d' y' say?"

  "Hell, I say fine, but I don't know how to sink a ship."

  "They got McLoughlin's cannon up on the hill, ain't they?" Meek said. "It's perfect, y' couldn't ask for anythin' better. We'll just put 'er under slick with that cannon."

  "By god, she's worth a try" Monday said, scrambling to his feet. He wavered a little and put his hand on his forehead. "Whoo! Di'n't know it got so drunk out this time o' year. Hooraw, coons, let's go."

  "Hold up, there," Webb said, and the other three turned to look at him.

  "Now don't you go gettin' cranky, hoss," Monday said. "Else we'll vote on y'again."

  Webb's face was set in a contemptuous grimace. "You so damn hell-fired eager. Ain't y' forgettin' something?" He gestured to the whisky kettle.

  "Wagh!" Monday said. "Damn near did at that. Best bring 'er along."

  "Me," Devaux said, "I just take a little bottle. I had enough, almost."

  "It ain't f'r us, altogether," Monday said reprimandingly.

  "Hell it ain't," Webb snapped. "Who's it f'r if it ain't f'r us?"

  "F'r them poor survivors," Monday said. "Thats how it is when there's a tragedy at sea. Y'give the survivors a drink. It's sort of traditional."

  "I s'pose that may be right, though I don't much give a damn myself about survivors," Webb said dubiously.

  "Y'know," Monday said. "ifn we have t' vote again. y' may not live through it this time. It's risky stuff when y'ain't in the majority."

  "Moreover," Devaux; said, "is you and Meek got to carry it, because we rowed."

  After a little arguing for the sake of appearances Webb gave in and agreed to carry the kettle at least halfway. But he insisted that the question be reopened at the halfway point. When this was agreed, Webb squatted down in front of the kettle and put his arms around it. His hands did not come together on the opposite side. With an enormous tug he got it off the ground and stood wavering for a moment, just his face showing above the rim. His eyes had a wild glare as he stared at the others from behind his load. Monday turned away so as not to laugh and make him mad.

  "It's too damn heayy," Webb said angrily. Slowly he stooped back down, gently resting the kettle on the ground again. "No man living or dead that could carry that thing."

  "So much the better," Monday said. "That means we got plenty of drinkin' to do."

  "That damn kettle's solid cast iron, y'iggerant dunghead. That's whats

  heavy."

  "Listen," said Meek. "One of us take each side an' it'll go fine, all right?" He lifted up the bail and gestured for Webb to take the other side.

  "See? That does 'er slick. We're off!"

  They made their way through the brush at the edge of the clearing and started down the bank, Devaux and Monday holding bushes aside for the kettle-bearers. When they reached the very edge of the stream, the kettle was gently lowered by all four.

  "You're doin' fine," Monday encouraged, "you're doin' real good."

  Webb scowled at him, but took the kettle bail again. With Monday and Devaux cheerfully leading the way they waded downstream. Behind came Meek and Webb, their free arms outstretched for balance, the kettle swinging precariously between them and occasionally banging against their legs.

  "God damn it, Meek!" Webb complained. "You're doin' that a-purpose. Holt on t' that thing."

  "Here's a slippery rock," Monday said. "Watch the moss, now."

  "Watch y'r own damn moss," Meek said. "You want t' carry this thing?"

  Monday shrugged. "Just lookin' out f'r y', coon. 'Cause, if anythin' happens t' that whisky we'll have t' kill y'."

  With the overbalancing weight of the kettle and the slipperiness of the bottom, the going was uncertain and tended to be spasmodic. But in reasonably short time they had reached the mouth of the Twality, where it emptied into the broad flood of the Willamette.

  "This is halfway,"Webb said firmly. He sat down on the bank and took off his moccasins, pouring the water out of them.

  "No, it isn't nearly halfway," Monday said.

  "I ain't carryin' this damn thing a step farther than halfway," Webb said.

  "Listen," Meek said in an injured tone, "I'm doin' half the work."

  "Wagh!"

  "Now don't worry, hoss, we'll let y' know. Y' ready t' go again?"

  Monday considerately helped Webb up, but the old man brusquely shook him off.

  They started downriver toward the falls, keeping to the flat edge of the water where they could, occasionally detouring up the bank a little when there was no path at all. Webb was unrelentingly suspicious of Monday's estimate of distance, and insisted every thirty or forty yards that they'd passed the halfway point.

  "Now, listen, hoss. It just seems like that because it's farther goin' back than it was comin'."

  "Farther! just exactly the same, y'dunghead. How c'n it be farther?"

  "F'r one thing account of y'r judgment's got a bit cloudy," Monday explained. "Anyways, it ain't very far from Christmas t' New Year's, but she's one hell of a stretch from New Year's t' Christmas. Now ain't that right?"

  Webb closed one eye and peered at him, his teeth clenched. But Meek interrupted just as the old man was about to speak, saying, "C'mon, boys. We'll never get there if we stop an' argue ever' ten feet." .

  "Oh, we got lots o' light, yet," Monday said, feeling cheerful.

  2

  Still, the sun was behind the hill when they reached the cannon emplacement. There was a road of sorts high on the hill above the river, and the cannon was about twenty yards below that level, perched on the edge of a narrow rock outcropping that dropped fifty feet into the river.

  They put the kettle down at the roadside, and Monday wiped his forehead. He had held out as long as he could, but Webb had finally sat himself down beside the trail obstinately. He refused to say a single word, and Monday, realizing the end had come, took over with Devaux. He was secretly satisfied that he had managed to get Webb to carry it well over halfway.

  Meek dug in his pocket and got his marshal's badge, and pinned it carefully dead-center on his belly.

  "Wagh!" Monday said. "That's a hell of a walk, comin' back. I tol' y' it was farther."

  "Me, I'm glad we brought the whisky," Devaux said. "If we had some violins it would be perfect."

  "Hell, I'd be sober by now if'n we'd of left it," Meek said. "Now shut y'r traps an' follow me." He started down the path toward the rock outcropping. Devaux and Monday followed with the kettle, Webb behind. From the trail they could hear the sound of voices and

  laughing.

  There were only three men left at the cannon, and empty powder sacks were scattered around the rock. "All right, boys," Meek said loudly "Clear out, now."

  The three farmers looked around, startled. "What's the trouble, Meek? We ain't doin' no harm." One of them glanced behind the marshal to the three who had followed him down the path. He saw the kettle and looked puzzled. "What the hell's that?" he said.

  Meek looked around. "That there's cleanin' fluid," he said. "You boys been shootin' this
here gun off all day, now we got t' clean it."

  "Cleanin' fluid? Cleanin' fluid for a cannon? Meek, I never heard—"

  "Now look here, friend. We ain't come t' discuss y'r ignorance. Now you just clear out an' let us get t' work."

  Reluctantly the farmers looked at one another, then back at Meek and the others. Finally one of them shrugged. He stuck the smoking punk upright in the ground beside the cannon. "All right, but listen. We promised t' get this here cannon back t' McLoughlin two hours ago."

  "Don't you worry about that. I seen him just ten minutes ago an' he says, 'Let the boys have their fun. But you get that gun cleaned up.' "

  Scowling, the three men began to trudge past. One of them sniffed as he passed the marshal. "You been inter that cleanin' fluid y'r own self, Meek," he said enviously.

  Meek winked at him. "Might could be I have. I expect there's enough left f'r the cannon an' you boys too. Jaybird," he said, turning, "let these here boys have a bit o' that cleanin' fluid f'r their rifles."

  They did, and Devaux let them have the bottle he'd brought along to carry it in. The three farmers finally wound off up the path in better humor.

  "Wagh!" Meek said gleefully. "Let's put 'er under, boys."

  The Portsmouth, now in shade, lay peacefully at anchor just a little downstream from their cliff. Meek kicked the one remaining powder sack with his toe, and looked out across the river at the sloop.

  "That's a hell of a long shoot, " Monday said dubiously "Y'think we c'n reach 'er from here?"

  "Hell, yes," Webb said. "This nigger knows all about such. She's just like any other rifle. More powder y'put to 'er the farther she goes."

  "Well, we best load 'er up good, then," Meek said.

  "Friend of me," Devaux said dubiously. "What we going to use for ball?"

  "Rocks, I expect," Meek said, rubbing the back of his neck. "That's all we got, ain't it?"

  "Listen," Monday objected. "You ain't going to sink a sloop-of-war with rocks."

  "Why not? Put enough powder behind 'em. y' c'd prob'ly sink 'er with straws."

  "Me, I think we must have a trial shot. For range."

  Meek looked doubtfully at the powder sack. "I ain't sure we got enough powder for but one shot," he said.

  "Hell, you put all that powder in there it'll fill up the whole damn barrel," Monday said.

  "Well, that's about what she's goin' t' need, " Meek said. He pointed out to the sloop. "Look at that, that's one hell of a long shoot, y'know."

  "That cannon's goin' t' blow up, sure as hell," Monday said.

  Meek shrugged. "Well, I already owe McLoughlin so much I expect the price of a cannon ain't goin' t' make much difference. You boys start gettin' rocks, an' I'll put the charge to 'er."

  "How you going to aim, you don't make a ranging shot?"

  "Just like a rifle," Webb said. "Listen, this nigger knows all about such. Whyn't you back off an' lemme fire 'er?"

  "No," Meek said firmly. "This here was my idee an' I get t' shoot 'er off."

  Monday dropped some rocks beside the muzzle of the cannon Suddenly he squatted on his heels and looked seriously up at Meek. "I don't think you know what y're doin'," he said.

  "What I wish," Meek said, "I wisht I c'd get in a little bit o' practicin'. It ain't ever' day a man gets t' sink a warship. I'd like t' do 'er just right."

  "I know what you mean," Devaux said. "Me, I find the attitude admirable."

  "Well, I expect we'll just have t' trust t' luck," Monday said. There was a creaking of wagon wheels on the road above, and the snuffling of a horse. The noise ceased and Webb jumped up excitedly.

  "Load 'er up, load 'er up! Somebody's comin'!"

  "Dépéche-toi!" Devaux said, running up to grab the ram. Meek began to shovel powder frantically while Monday stood by with the rocks. "Is enough, is enough!" Devaux said. Almost pushing Meek out of the way he began to ram down the loose powder. Meek ran over to the smoldering punk the others had left upright in the ground and began to blow it into glowing red.

  He ran back and poised the punk over the cannon's touch-hole.

  "Wait a minute, dammit, " Monday shouted. "Lemme get the rocks in!"

  Webb started to laugh and kick the whisky kettle, making a loud

  bell-like tolling.

  "Get out o' the way, get out o' the way!" Meek said. "Here she goes!"

  Monday jumped back away from the muzzle, laughing. "Run f'r y'r lives!" he hollered.

  He and Devaux scurried back toward the path. Holding his free hand over his ear and squinting down at the touch-hole Meek lowered the punk. For what seemed a long time nothing happened.

  Then, suddenly, there was a brief flash of smoke at the punk, and the cannon bellowed, spitting a huge gout of puffy white smoke twenty feet out over the edge of the cliff. The little machine leaped wildly in the air and jumped back three feet or more, falling over on its side with rolls of smoke still piling out of the barrel.

  Meek looked down at it wide-eyed, astonished at the violence.

  "Did we get 'er?" Webb demanded. He ran out to the edge of the cliff again and peered at the Portsmouth. The sloop floated placidly on the dusk-dark surface of the river, undisturbed.

  "We didn't get 'er," Webb said, turning accusingly toward Meek.

  Monday and Devaux came out to look. "I don't even see any splashes," Monday said disappointedly.

  "I forgot to aim," Meek said, lifting his hands and letting them drop again.

  "But the rocks," Devaux said, puzzled. "Where did the rocks go?"

  "Well, we done somethin' wrong, that's all there is to it," Meek said firmly. "That's what happens when you get in too much of a hurry."

  "But the rocks," Devaux said again, disturbed. "Where did the rocks go? Did you put them in?"

  "I didn't get 'em all in," Monday said. "Hell, with that dunghead standin' there ready t' touch 'er off, I didn't figure t' hang around—"

  "Y' had too damn much powder in there. Meek," Webb said. He was crouched down looking at the cannon. It lay helplessly on its side, trails of blue smoke still streaming out of the muzzle and rising straight into the still air of afternoon. "It ain't supposed t' fall over like that."

  "Mr. Joe, Mr. Joe," came a voice behind them. John McLoughlin stood at the trail, his eyes wide and the great mane of white hair seeming to float around his head like a low cloud. With one hand he rubbed his stomach rapidly.

  "Mr. Joe, what—what are you about here?" McLoughlin asked excitedly. "This will never do, Mr. Joe, never do!"

  "Well, we—we was just celebrating a little, Doctor," said Meek in a friendly way.

  McLoughlin bent over and sniffed at the kettle. "Yes, yes," he said abstractedly. "But Mr. joe, this will never do. You had some sort of projectile there. Dangerous, Mr. Joe, terribly dangerous."

  "Wagh!" Webb said happily. "That there's the idee. We figured t' sink that there little boat slick."

  McLoughlin raised his eyes. "My cannon," he said to heaven. "My cannon." At last he looked back down at the men, glanced at the cannon, started to say something, and stopped. He shook his head helplessly, setting the loose hair into motion again.

  "We'll clean 'er up good as new, Doctor," Meek assured him. "We even brought the cleanin' fluid."

  "Yes, yes, Mr. Joe," McLoughlin said. "I see that. Mr. Joe, can you imagine the situation if you had succeeded in sinking that vessel? With my cannon?"

  "Well, hell," Meek said hesitantly. "I didn't exactly think about the thing is, Doctor, a man's got his dignity."

  McLoughlin shook his head again. "Gentlemen, I must ask you not to avenge your dignity with my equipment. An American warship! My cannon! Mr. Joe."

  "Well, anyways," Webb muttered cheerfully. "We got a good bang out of 'er."

  "Me," Devaux said, "I had a great envy to see it sink, that boat."

  3

  It had been a pretty good Independence Day after all. The grand attempt had cheered them all considerably even though, strictly speaking, it had not accomplishe
d its purpose. Meek was genuinely chagrined when he thought of the possible consequences of sinking an official representative of the United States Government with McLoughlin's cannon, and he set himself to humility and cooperation, dragging the little machine up the trail and helping load it into McLoughlin's waiting wagon.

  "By God, though," he told McLoughlin, "if' n you hadn't of rushed me, we'd of got 'er sure."

  "Mr. Joe," McLoughlin said resignedly, "my life consists of arriving somewhere five minutes before utter disaster."

  At the end of the day everything seemed to get very complicated. If Monday had had his way, he would have curled up on the spot and gone to sleep. But the wagon had to be taken across to Oregon City on the ferry, explanations had to be made to Little Billy who seemed unable to understand exactly way his skiff had been left on the wrong side of the river. After a careful consideration of the condition of the mountain men, he finally realized he was much more likely to get it back by towing it across himself. It would have been difficult to predict the final destination if any of the four had undertaken to row it back. The question was finally settled by McLoughlin, and a five-dollar bill changed hands in the deepening darkness.

  When the cannon had been established back in McLoughlin's yard, Meek regretfully rode on off toward his house at the other end of town. Monday, Webb and Devaux began the long ride down the valley "Listen," Devaux said suddenly, just as they reached the edge of Oregon City. "We forgot the whisky again."

  "Wagh! We did now!" Webb snorted. "Damn! I b'lieve you boys is drunk, do a thing like that."

  Monday shrugged, unable to worry about it seriously. "Me, I don't care. That's a hell of a jaunt back, now."

  "Is right, that," René said, after a moment.

  "Me, I vote t' go back an' get 'er," Webb said.

  "I ain't votin'," Monday said. "I'm just goin' home."

  "How the hell come! " Webb said plaintively. "Ever' time you bastards want t' get y'r own way you vote on it. How come it don't work for me?"

  "Friend of me," Devaux said, "you do not understand the essential. Before one votes, he makes certain he is the majority, or it does not march properly."

  "Your trouble, coon," Monday said. "is you been a minority all y'r life."

  "Ain't goin' to be no different, neither," Webb muttered. "You bastards think you change the way things is, just by votin' 'em to be different."