Ralph Compton Whiskey River by RALPH COMPTON

“That part I do not like, señor. ”
    â€œWhat the hell would you have us do, Bideno?” Wilder shouted. “Maybe we can just take the whiskey and send them all back to St. Louis, so they can get the law after us that much sooner.”
    â€œThat’s enough, Wilder,” said Estrello angrily. “I understand Bideno’s objection. In our business, it is necessary to kill a man occasionally, but what we’re considering now is premeditated murder. A massacre. Unfortunately, there is no other way.”
    â€œWhen we have done the killing and taken the whiskey, let us anchor the boats somewhere,” Bideno said. “It is better than setting them adrift, as derelicts.”
    â€œYou’re right about that,” said Estrello. “The first steamer up the Arkansas bound for Fort Smith will report the killings. We’d better be long gone by then.”
    â€œSince you aim to take the whiskey without paying,” Wilder said, “that means extra money in our pockets. How much are we talkin’ about?”
    â€œI’m not sure,” said Estrello cautiously.
    â€œWhen you are sure,” Wilder said, “tell me. Then I’ll decide if a shootin’ showdown’s worth it.”
    â€œLike hell,” said Estrello. “You’re either in or you’re out, Wilder. There’ll be no last-minute decisions. If you’re with me, I want a commitment now. If you’re not, then I want you to saddle up and ride. You’re not welcome here.”
    â€œBy God, you’re a caution,” Wilder said. “You’ve just told me you aim to murder the steamboat captains and firemen, and you’re offerin’ me the chance to just ride out? I think I’ll stick around and collect my share of the money.”
    Estrello laughed. “A wise move, Wilder. You’ve already done enough killing to face the rope ten times over. I’m sure the law would like to get its hand on you.”
    â€œI’m sure that some back-shootin’ son-of-a-bitch would turn me in,” Wilder said, “if he can do it without risking his own hide.”
    â€œ Señor Estrello, you must tell the others,” said Bideno. “When?”
    â€œTonight,” Estrello said. “You think I trust you and Wilder to keep your mouths shut until some better time?”
    Bideno laughed. “Ah, señor, is it not a joy to be among amigos who are predictable?”
    Â 
    The fire had burned down to a bed of coals when Estrello called a meeting. He spoke for only a few minutes before it all erupted into a storm of shouting and cursing. Estrello drew his Colt, and two blasts from it silenced them.
    â€œNow I’ll answer any legitimate question,” said Estrello, “except for the money, I think we’ll just have to wait and see how it works out. All of you know what has to be done. I think we’ll cut the cards. Those with low numbers will become our executioners.”
    â€œMy God,” Betsy whispered fearfully, “suppose you or Mark draws a low card?”
    â€œWe’ll face that if and when it happens,” said Mark, “but I can promise you that we’ll not take part in these planned murders.”
    Estrello had produced a new deck of cards and proceeded to shuffle. Each man took a card on the draw. Estrello then began calling names, and each man responded with the card he had drawn. Men drawing the eight lowest cards were Irvin, Jabez, Shadley, Worsham, Jackman, DeWitt, Graves, and McLean. There would be other outlaws aboard, but these eight were the executioners.
    â€œThat’s how it stands then,” Estrello said. “Any one of you that ain’t got the sand for this piece of gun work, let me hear from you now.”
    Nobody spoke, and Estrello nodded in satisfaction. It had gone smoother than he had expected.
    Mark and Bill returned to their wagons.
    â€œI’m glad neither of you drew a low