Free Rocky Mountain Company by Richard S. Wheeler Page B

trading inventories without being noticed. But he doubted it. AFC didn’t operate like that, selling stolen goods. It had other, more pernicious ways of dealing with opposition — such as this.
    “I should have checked sooner,” Maxim said, miserably. “I should have caught them.”
    Brokenleg sighed, not knowing how to ease the guilt that flooded the youth. “You’re sounding like it’s your doing,” he grumbled. “Like you snatched them blankets. Like you weren’t watching. Fact is, you didn’t snitch them; thieves working for Chouteau did. Fact is, you checked exactly as you should — and I wanted — and because you checked, we found out fast. Whoever done it’s on this boat. And I’m going to get him.”
    “Maybe they’ve been taken back to Fort Clark,” Maxim said.
    “Maybe. But I doubt it. The company don’t work like that. They’re all choir boys in white robes. More likely there’s three hundred blankets bumping along the bottom of the river scarin’ fish, below that island somewhere.”
    “We’re ruined,” Maxim said. “I let you and papa down.”
    “You didn’t let nobody down. Get that through your haid.”
    The boy looked unconvinced, and Fitzhugh knew he couldn’t help the young man further. He’d have to wrestle with it in his own mind now.
    “What are you going to do?”
    “I’m thinking on it. Could be, those Witneys weren’t dumped over the side, but stuck in a cabin somewheres. I’m thinking I’ve got to talk private with Captain LaBarge, and we’ll do a quiet search abovedecks, including the crew cabins and all the staterooms, as well as storage, and all that.”
    “It’ll attract attention.”
    “I’m thinking on that. If we do it right, hardly anyone’ll notice. Except the one or two who done it. Say — I guess I’d better check to see who’s on board and who isn’t. Could be we got shut of someone back there.”
    “It’s no use.”
    “I’ve been in darker holes, Maxim, and with six feet of sod over me, too. You get yourself together and be thinking how we’ll earn a profit and whip American Fur so good they don’t know what hit ’em.”
    “We hired traitors,” the youth said bitterly.
    “Could be. But there’s other passengers and crew on board, too. I’ll see to them first, before I’ll start suspecting our own men — good Creoles, I think.”
    They walked glumly toward the patch of light where the forward hatches lay open. “Now, Maxim, plaster a smile on that mug. And don’t talk to anyone for now. Not to Samson Trudeau, not to the engagés. I’m going up to palaver with LaBarge. We’ve got to have a quiet look into every corner of this packet first, before we get down to cases.”
    He hated to leave Maxim just when the lad wallowed in grief, but he had to. He hurried the boy ahead of him up the ladder to the deck, and nudged him. “Smile, boy,” he said, and limped up companionways, not smiling a bit himself. He found LaBarge up in the pilothouse and beckoned to him. The captain nodded, and trotted down to the hurricane deck, which was already roasting in the morning sun.
    “Lost some goods,” Brokenleg began, peering about sharply. They stood alone up on that burning deck.
    LaBarge waited, intently.
    “The blankets. All fifteen bales of Witneys. Between the time Maxim checked the hold yesterday, after we’d got loose from Fort Clark, and this morning. They were missing this morning.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “I went down there myself and tore the place apart. They’re gone.”
    LaBarge sighed. “I’m not surprised.”
    “Last night was perfect. Dark. Not so many deck passengers. Bales easy to lift and ease into the river. And by gawd, Joe, it near ruins us. I thought to send an express down to Straus for more, but he’s got to order from England. We’ll have none this year. Not even to wrap our cold carcasses this winter. Not until next year.”
    “ — Unless they’re on the boat. That’s what you’re wanting to find