Paxton and the Lone Star by Kerry Newcomb Page A

the outskirts of Natchez proper. To her right she could hear the Mississippi running in darkness. With a deep breath, she turned and entered the narrow, tree-overhung path that, she discovered soon enough, sloped down precipitously. She slipped and slid, caught at branches for support, once stepped off the path itself and found herself knee deep in what must have been a ditch. Thunder crashed on every side. Lightning cast grasping shadows of lurking monsters. The lantern barely lit the few feet of path in front of her and, quite suddenly and surprisingly, revealed a sheer red clay and mud wall that was the base of the bluff under which lay Natchez Under the Hill.
    The Mississippi roared in her ears, drowning out all other sounds. Dim outlines of squat buildings, shot through with myriad holes that leaked warm lantern light, marched in irregular formation ahead of her. Elizabeth approached one and saw that the windows were covered with clapboard shutters to keep out the rain. She pressed close to a peephole and peered inside where a conglomeration of unsavory-looking individuals danced with chunkily built, painted harlots who spun and bobbed in approximate time to an out-of-tune piano. Cigar and pipesmoke hovered over the whirling assembly, giving it the appearance of a scene from the nether world her father was so quick to describe on each occasion of her or Lottie’s slightest misdeed.
    Lottie had described a large, two-story dance hall filled with lots of people. Elizabeth leaned against the wall, wiped the water from her face, and looked up just as a flash of lightning revealed a half dozen or so buildings to her right and a single two-story structure. “As good a place to start as any,” she said aloud, more to bolster her spirits than to be heard.
    A boardwalk constructed by some mad inebriate angled out from the tavern and passed in front of two or three other buildings before becoming indistinguishable from the mud that filled the street. Elizabeth scraped some of the mud off her shoes and struck out along the boardwalk. The rain was coming fitfully now. Driven off the river by hard gusts, it whipped the edges of the tarpaulin she wore. A sign creaked overhead. KARANKAWA KATIE, it said. From inside, a loud crash and a flurry of curses, shouts, shrieks, and a single shot sent her scurrying away. The next building was completely dark and smelled of smoke and charred wood. Just beyond it, the sound of a violent struggle came from an alley. Elizabeth paused, then almost ran before she heard what sounded like her father’s voice. Her heart beating wildly, she jumped off the boardwalk, nearly tripped on a half-sunken beam, caught hold of a post for balance, and entered the alley where two shadowy figures were rolling in the mud.
    â€œStop!” Elizabeth shouted.
    The man on top glanced up, but kept pummeling his victim.
    â€œI have a gun!” she warned, raising her arm and hoping the lie sounded convincing.
    The man struggled to his feet, waving his hands in front of his face. “Damn!” he cursed, and stumbled off down the alley to disappear among a tumble of barrels and crates.
    Elizabeth ran to the downed man and crouched by him. “Father,” she said, turning him over and rolling him out of a puddle. “It’s me, Father. Elizabeth.”
    Lightning flared, revealed heavy-set features covered with a sheen of offal and mud. An arm encircled Elizabeth’s neck and yanked her down to be kissed by a hideous, foul-smelling mouth. Horrified, Elizabeth struggled free with such force her momentum propelled her against the wall of the burned-out tavern. Barely able to keep from screaming, she watched as the figure approached. “I’ve been called a lot of things, honey, but never a father.”
    It was a woman! Elizabeth’s stomach churned and she tried to wipe the taste from her mouth.
    The woman shook her head, spraying Elizabeth with the foul-smelling mud, and stuck