‘Oh, yes. Well, after him then.’
Charlie paused. ‘And there will likely be some killing related to the Commodore’s death. Accusations leveled, debts owed, that sort of thing. Could be quite bloody, in fact.’
I thought, Then this will be the final era of killing in my lifetime.
‘It is getting dark,’ Charlie said. ‘We should strike out now, in case they’re planning to beat a retreat. We can come at them the long way around, from the eastern hilltop. It will be fish in a barrel, you watch.’ He began urinating on the fire. I watched the light from the dying flames flickering over his cheeks and chin. He was feeling merry. Charlie was always happiest when he had something to do.
Chapter 48
We took an annular course around Warm and Morris’s camp, crossing the river a half mile up and doubling back, creeping to the summit of the tall hill opposite their settlement. Through the trees we could make out the glowing embers in their fire pit, the kegs of formula sitting up from the waterline, one of them toppled and emptied while the remaining three stood untapped. I could see neither man but their animals remained and I assumed they were either hiding beneath their shelter or else nearby in the woods, armed and waiting for a fight. Morris, I thought, was likely engaged in desperate prayer and repentance; though I scarcely knew the man I decided Warm was probably feeling bolder, more adventuresome, driven by an attitude of rightness and a demand upon himself to see the plan through, come what may. But whatever was going on in their minds, they were nowhere to be seen, and their camp was quiet as the grave.
The dam by comparison was bustling with the inscrutable industry of the nocturnal beavers, numerous, fat, and slick coated in the milky moonlight. They ducked and swam and rose, issuing low groans, communicating some beaver lament or perhaps a sentiment of encouragement; they strode up the shore, pulling twigs and branches back into the water and ferrying these to the dam, atop of which sat the fattest of the bunch, looking over the others as if supervising their efforts. ‘That one there is the boss man,’ I said to Charlie. He had been watching them also, and he nodded.
Presently the portly beaver lumbered free from the dam and moved onto the shore, stepping cautiously at first, as though he did not trust the ground to support his weight, but his trepidation was short-lived, and now he entered into the camp itself, traveling without hesitance or fear, and heading directly for the kegs of formula. Sticking his head into the spent keg, he recoiled at its fumes, then moved on to one of the full and upright barrels. Standing upon his hind legs, he sunk his teeth into the rim, attempting to topple it and, I suppose, drag or roll it into the river. I found the scenario more amusing than anything but Charlie was very focused and anxious about it, for he knew the beaver’s unwelcome attentions would bring about a reaction from Warm and Morris, if they were in fact watching. Sure enough, a moment passed and there came a faint clack-clack sound from the bottom of the valley. Charlie nodded excitedly: ‘There? You heard it?’ The sound was repeated, and then again, and I could make out the blurred black shapes of stones flying through the air and toward the tenacious rodent, who had by this time succeeded in upsetting the keg. We traced the stones’ point of origin to a sheltered grouping of trees and bushes twenty yards back from the camp on our side of the river—Warm and Morris were hidden at the base of the same hill we stood upon, and without a word, Charlie and I began creeping down to catch them from behind. ‘I will take care of Morris,’ he whispered. ‘Keep Warm under your pistol, but you mustn’t shoot him unless it’s an absolute necessity. Give him one in the arm, if need be. He will still be able to work—and he will still be able to talk.’
My very center was beginning to expand, as it always did before violence, a toppled pot of black ink covering the frame of my mind, its contents ceaseless, unaccountably limitless. My flesh and scalp started to ring and tingle and I became someone other than myself, or I became my second self, and this person was highly pleased to be stepping from the murk and into the living world where he might do just as he wished. I felt at once both lust and disgrace and wondered, Why do I relish this reversal to animal? I began exhaling hotly through my nostrils, whereas Charlie was quiet and calm, and he made a gesture that I should also be quiet. He was used to corralling me like this, winding me up and corralling me into battle. Shame, I thought. Shame and blood and degradation.
We were close enough that I could see the spot where Warm and Morris were tucked away, and the indistinct shape of their arms as they tossed their stones. I imagined how their hiding place would look when it was brightly and momentarily lit from our muzzle flashes; each leaf and stone would be sharp and clear and I could envision the men’s frozen expressions, their terrible surprise at having been discovered.
Charlie suddenly clapped his hand on my chest to halt me. His eyes examined my eyes and he said my name searchingly; this removed me from the above-described mentality and returned me to the actual earth. ‘What?’ I said, frustrated, almost, by the interruption. Charlie held up his finger and pointed and said softly, ‘Look.’ I shook my head to awaken my true self and followed the line of his finger.
South of the camp there came a line of men in the dark, and I knew just as soon as I saw their rifle-toting silhouettes it was the blue-eyed brothers from downriver. Thinking back on my brief interaction with the men, I remembered the slightest shift in their stances at my mention of Warm’s wine casks, and now the barrels were just what they moved toward. The beaver was at the waterline with his hard-won prize, but a kick in the belly from the largest brother and he was soaring through the air, landing with a plop in the river. Outraged, he began slapping his tail on the surface of the water, alerting his fellows of this latest danger; they instantly ceased their labors and returned to the safety of the dam interior where they might huddle together without threat of mayhem and brutishness. The boss-man beaver was the last to vacate the scene and his movements were sluggish. I thought he was probably winded after the boot to the stomach—or was he nursing his wounded pride? There was something human about those little beasts, something old and wise. They were cautious, thoughtful animals.
The largest brother rolled the barrel upriver and set it beside its mates before moving to look inside the tent. Finding it empty, he called out a loud ‘Hullo!’ I thought I detected some restrained laughter from Morris and Warm, and I looked quizzically to Charlie. The laughter grew louder, becoming hysteric, and the brothers shifted on the sandbank, looking at one another uneasily.
‘Who is there?’ said the largest brother.
The laughter died away and Warm spoke: ‘We’re here. Who’s there?’
‘We are working a claim downriver,’ the brother answered. Kicking a keg, he said, ‘We want to buy some of this wine from you.’
‘Wine’s not for sale.’
‘We’d give you San Francisco prices.’ He shook his purse to illustrate this, but there was no reply, and the brother looked searchingly into the darkness. ‘Why are you hiding in the shadows like that? Are you afraid of us?’
‘Not particularly,’ said Warm.
‘Then will you come out here and speak with us like men?’
‘We will not.’
‘And you refuse to sell to us?’
‘That is correct.’
‘What if I simply took a barrel?’
Warm paused to think of the answer. At last he said, ‘Then I will send you home less a ball, friend.’ Now I could hear Morris’s crazed laughter—the last sentence had tickled him to the depths of his soul and he submitted wholly, overtaken by his joy. Charlie, smiling, said, ‘Warm and Morris are drunk!’
The brothers came together on the sandbank to speak in private. After their conference of opinion, the largest stepped away from the others, nodding. He said, ‘Sounds like you have had your fair share tonight, but before the sun comes up your spirits will turn low, and your heavy blood will force you into sleep. You can count on us returning then, you men. And we will have your wine, and we will have yo
ur lives, also.’ There was no response to this, no laughter or mocking retort, and the brother took a step downriver, his chin in the air, very dramatic and proud. He was having sovereign-type thoughts, it was plain. His words, at any rate, were sufficiently theatrical as to give the jolly duo below us pause; but now I could hear Morris and Warm speaking in a hurried back-and-forth, lowly at first, but soon giving rise to an outright argument at full volume, their words heated and cross. Morris’s pleading voice came clearly as he cried: ‘Hermann, no!’ Just after this was the report of Warm’s baby dragoon, and I saw the largest brother was dropped with a fatal shot to the face.
In a flash then, the other brothers fell to a crouch and began firing in the direction of Morris and Warm; and the drunken pair returned fire, shooting wildly, likely with their heads down and eyes closed. Charlie offered me his swift instruction: ‘Take them both down. It’s all for nothing if they murder Warm.’ From our elevated angle the two remaining brothers proved to be the most elementary game. Less than twenty seconds had passed before they were lifeless in the sand, just beside their leader.
The staggered echoes of our gunshots jumped away over the hills and treetops, and there came from the base of the valley the whooping war cry of Warm. Unaware we had assisted them, he believed they alone had murdered the brothers, and was feeling roisterous about it. Charlie called out to them: ‘That was none of your shooting, Warm, but my brother’s and mine, do you hear me?’ This brought Morris and Warm’s celebration to an abrupt end, and they fell once more to hissing at each other, disagreeing and worrying beneath their shrubs and foliage.
‘I know you can hear me calling you,’ said Charlie.
‘Which one’s that talking?’ asked Warm. ‘The mean one or the fat one? I don’t want to talk to the mean one.’
Charlie looked at me. He gestured that I should speak and I stepped forward to do this. I hoped to appear purposeful and serious in my movements, but I was embarrassed, and he was embarrassed for me. I cleared my throat. ‘Hello!’ I said.
‘That the fat one?’ asked Warm.
‘Eli is my name.’
‘But you are the bigger one? The huskier of the two?’
I thought I could hear Morris laughing.
‘I am husky,’ I said.
‘I don’t mean it unfavorably. I myself have a problem pushing away from the table. Some of us are simply hungrier than others, and what is there to be done about it? Are we meant to starve?’
‘Warm!’ I said. ‘You are drunken, but we need to speak seriously with you. Do you think you can manage it? Or perhaps Morris can?’
He said, ‘What do you wish to discuss?’
‘The same as before. Of our joining forces and working the river as one.’
Charlie reached over and pinched me, hard. ‘What are you doing?’ he whispered.
‘Our position has changed with this new bit of killing,’ I told him.
‘I can’t see that anything has changed. They are still waiting in the dark with pistols to shoot us down.’
‘Let me just see what the reaction is. I believe we can achieve what we wish without spilling any more blood.’
He sat back against a tree, thinking, and chewing his lips. Again he pointed into the darkness that I should speak, and I did: ‘If you can’t see it through to discuss the venture you will force our hand into action, Warm. I mean this in all honesty when I say we do not want to kill either one of you.’
Warm scoffed. ‘Yes, you demand that we should share our profits with you, and if we choose against this, well, you will be obligated to kill us. Do you see how your proposal might be lacking, from our point of view?’
I said, ‘I am proposing we earn a part of the profits. And anyway, if we wanted you dead, do you think we would have cut down those men you see before you?’
Morris said something I could not make out, which Warm translated: ‘Morris says he thinks he got the one on the left.’
‘He did not.’
Warm did not speak to me for a time, and I could not hear him speaking with Morris.
‘Is either of you injured?’ I asked.
‘Morris’s arm was grazed. He is still fit, despite a burning feeling.’
I said, ‘We have medicine that will eliminate that burning. And we have alcohol to clean the wound. We will work the river alongside you, and we will protect you against bandits or intruders. Think of it, Warm. We had you cold earlier today; if we had wanted you dead, you would be dead.’
Another long silence, where I could not make out the slightest murmur from Morris or Warm. Were they searching their very souls for the answer? Would they allow the heretofore bloodthirsty Sisters brothers into their exclusive fold? There arose a gathering noise then, which at first I could not identify, and when I did identify it I questioned if I was truly hearing the sound, it was so incongruous to the present situation: Hermann Warm was whistling. I did not know the tune, but it was the type I had always enjoyed, slow and maudlin, the lyrics to which would have dealt in heartbreak and death. The whistling became louder as Warm quit his hiding place and walked into the open, across the convex spine of the beaver dam and up the sandbank to his camp. He was a very talented whistler, and the song plummeted and soared, quivering in the air and disappearing into the hush of the river. It went on and on, and Charlie, without speaking a word, stood and began walking down the hill. I did not know the plan and neither could he have known the plan. Warm did not know the plan and Morris could not know it. There was no plan. But I found myself likewise hiking down, and with no thought to conceal our approach. Warm was facing us now, looking up the hill in our direction, searching us out, the song on his lips growing ever more tremulous and romantic. His arms were spread, the way an entertainer spreads his arms, as if to envelop an audience.
We walked across the dam and onto the shore. Warm’s tune gave out as we stood face-to-face. He was a wild-looking man, shorter than me by a full foot, and he stank of alcohol and bitter tobacco. His shoulders and arms were thin and he was thin hipped but his belly was great and round and he was not afraid of us in the least, which is to say he was not afraid of death, and I thought I liked him very much; and I could see by the show of whistling, of standing in the clear the way he had that Charlie was also impressed with his boldness and strength of character. Warm offered his hand, first to Charlie and then myself, and we took turns having a shake and solidifying our alliance. After this there was a gap in time where no one knew quite what to say or do. Morris, not yet prepared to socialize, had stayed behind in the bushes with the whiskey.
Chapter 49
We stoked the fire and sat to discuss our partnership. Charlie was for dumping a barrelful of the formula that night but Warm demurred, saying he and Morris were drunk and exhausted besides. Morris, I should say, eventually emerged from his hiding place, gripping his arm in discomfort but hoping to appear nonchalant or cavalier about it. You could see he was troubled by our joining up with them; I watched Charlie watching him and was concerned about what my brother might say or do to the man. It was a relief when he greeted Morris without malevolence, extending his hand and saying he hoped they would let bygones be bygones. Morris shook Charlie’s hand reflexively; looking at me, he shrugged, and passed over a long silver flask. His mustache was frayed at its ends and his eyes were red and swollen and he said, ‘I’m tired, Hermann.’ Warm regarded him with fondness. ‘It has been a long one, has it not, my friend? Well, why don’t you go sleep it off. We’ll all have a rest and regroup as a quartet in the morning.’ Morris said no more, but retired to his tent. I had a drink of whiskey and handed the flask to Charlie. He took a drink and passed it to Warm. Warm took a short sip and screwed the top on tight, hiding the flask away in his coat pocket as if to say: That is enough of that. He licked his palm to smooth his hair and tugged on his lapels to straighten them. He was working through a fog, making an attempt at seriousness.
It was decided my brother and I would keep half of whatever we culled from
the river, and that the remainder would go to what Warm called the Company.
‘The Company being you and Morris,’ Charlie said.
‘Yes, but it’s not as though the profits will be spent at the saloon. They will be used to finance future excursions, similar to this one, though more ambitious, and so more costly. Anyway, if this goes as I believe it might, the Company will grow quickly, with several operations under way simultaneously, and there will be opportunities to become further involved should one prove himself trustworthy. As for now, why don’t we wait and see if you and your brother can make it through this modest expedition without slitting my and Morris’s throats, eh?’
Fair enough, I thought. Warm began itching his ankles and shins and I asked him, ‘Did you pull very much from the river last night?’
He said, ‘We were so tickled with the spectacle that a good amount of time was wasted simply staring and wading and laughing and congratulating each other, when we should have been working. But in the quarter hour we labored before the gold ceased its glowing we removed what would have taken us a month if we had panned it. The formula works, all right. It works just as well as I had hoped or better.’ Looking over his shoulder at the river, Warm was contented to be thinking of his successes, and I felt a powerful envy as I watched him. He was reaping the benefits, both monetary and spiritual, of his hard labors and intelligence, and it made me think of my own path, which by comparison was so much the more thoughtless and heartless one. Charlie was also studying Warm, though his expression read less of admiration than enigmatic curiosity. Warm I do not think noticed our attentions to his person, and continued with his story: ‘It was just the prettiest thing I have ever seen, gentlemen. Hundreds upon hundreds of pieces of gold, each of them lit up, bright as a candle flame. I will call it the most pleasing work I’ve taken part in, stepping up and back in the water and sand, picking out the golden stones and plunking them into the bucket.’ His eyes were sharp and focused at the memory; a shiver ran through me as I gazed at the river and imagined it as he had described. ‘Twenty-four hours,’ he said, ‘then you will see for yourselves.’