Deadly Shoals by Joan Druett Page A

warningly.
    Wiki ignored him. “How about a man by the name of Rowland Hallett?”
    â€œYou mean Captain Hallett?”
    â€œCaptain?” Wiki echoed, surprised.
    â€œCaptain of the New York brig Athenian . When he first arrived, a couple of years back—about October 1836, I think, because it was the beginning of the sealing season—he acquired a schooner, to be used as a … tender? Is that the correct word for a small vessel that works alongside a big one?”
    â€œIt is,” said Wiki, all attention.
    â€œThe schooner was called the Grim Reaper, ” said the physician, and let out a womanish giggle. Then he sobered and went on, “He hired a gang of Indians to do the killing and skinning, and did very well, I believe. In the sealing way, that is,” Ducatel amended, and then added, “The schooner came back about three weeks ago. The arrangement with the Indians was that they were to be returned to El Carmen de Patagones, and he was also anxious to consult with me professionally.”
    â€œHe was sick? Or did he want beef?”
    â€œHe’d been bitten in the hand by a bull seal—a common hazard with sealers, I believe—and gangrene had set in. I was forced to cut off his arm,” the surgeon went on, adding pridefully, “Though I have been forced to abandon my profession, I have retained my amputating instruments, along with the appropriate skills.”
    â€œSo where is he now?” Wiki urgently asked.
    â€œThe operation was a complete success,” the surgeon complacently said. “Unfortunately, the patient died.”

Six
    When they got into the pueblo of El Carmen de Patagones, Ringgold and his party were greeted with terrified screams, then a commotion of loud slams as doors were swiftly barricaded. Within instants the alleys were empty, and the yellow dogs were back in control. Captain Ringgold reined in, looking around in astonishment, and the rest straggled to a halt.
    A figure appeared at the end of the street, and ran stumblingly toward them—Stackpole, looking extremely dusty and disheveled. Wiki touched his mare with his heel, cantered up to him, and said, “Did you find the clerk?”
    â€œWhat?” Stackpole blinked bloodshot eyes, and then said with complete lack of enthusiasm, “Oh, it’s you.”
    â€œWho did you think it was?”
    â€œEverybody here thought it was the French arriving at last.”
    Wiki said sarcastically, “Didn’t that worry you?”
    â€œI’ve got no personal quarrel with the French, and any official presence whatsoever would be a blessing, believe me. The governor couldn’t care less about the state of law and order in this province, and his troops are a bloody disgrace. I need men with guts and discipline, not a bunch of ex-felons pretending to be soldiers! Who’s that?” said the whaling master, and jerked his chin at Ringgold, who had jumped off his horse and was stalking their way on foot.
    â€œA captain with the U.S. expedition fleet,” said Wiki.
    â€œWell, thank God for that,” said Stackpole. He stepped out to meet Ringgold, declaiming in ringing tones, “As an American citizen, I demand the protection of my nation!”
    The captain bristled. “Who the hell are you?”
    Wiki carried out introductions.
    Ringgold removed his cocked hat, but neglected to shake hands. Instead, he said dangerously, “So you’re the man who requisitioned Wiki Coffin from the Swallow ?”
    â€œThat’s me,” Stackpole agreed with spirit. “For the very good reason that I was robbed by a Yankee trader in these parts!”
    â€œYour money was used to buy a schooner, I believe, and in your name, at that,” Captain Ringgold corrected, proving to Wiki that there was nothing wrong with his memory. “So you can scarcely say you were robbed.”
    â€œBut the schooner’s been stolen, which is just the