Free Clive Cussler; Craig Dirgo by The Sea Hunters II Page A

said.
    “Beautiful,” said Lydia.
    Half a mile away, in the Audubons’ store in Henderson, Kentucky, Nicholas sat in front of a checkerboard. He glanced over at Audubon, then made his move.
    “We are 150 miles below Louisville,” Roosevelt said. “So far, so good.”
    Audubon studied Roosevelt’s move. Reaching onto the table, he removed a deerskin pouch of tobacco and filled his pipe. Tamping down the tobacco, he lit it with a nearby candle. “From here downstream,” Audubon said, “the river widens and the current slows.”
    “So you think we’ll make New Orleans?” Roosevelt asked.
    “Sure,” Audubon said. “I made it to the Gulf of Mexico once in a canoe.”
    Roosevelt nodded and watched as Audubon made his jump.
    “Did a painting of a pelican there,” he finished, “with a fish hanging from his bill.”
    ON DECEMBER 16, New Orleans left Henderson and continued downstream.
    Inside a buffalo-skin tepee near present-day East Prairie, Missouri, a Sioux Indian chief drew in smoke from a long pipe, then handed it to his Shawnee visitor.
    “General Harrison defeated the Shawnee at Tippecanoe?” the Sioux chief asked.
    “Yes,” the Shawnee messenger noted. “The white men attacked the morning after the harvest moon. Chief Tecumseh rallied his braves, but the white men attacked and burned Prophet’s Town. The tribe has retreated from Indiana.”
    The Sioux took the proffered pipe and again inhaled the smoke. “I had a vision yesterday. The white man has harnessed the earth’s power for his own evil purposes. He has rallied the beasts to his cause, as well as controlling the comet in the heavens.”
    “One of the reasons I came,” the Shawnee explained, “is that our braves witnessed a Penelore on the river above here. It might try to enter the Father of Waters.”
    “A Fire Canoe?” the Sioux chief asked. “Must be part of the burning star.”
    The Shawnee exhaled smoke from his lungs before answering. The Sioux had powerful tobacco, and his head was spinning. “Smoke trails from the center of the canoe like from the middle of a thousand tepees. And it roars like a wounded bear.”
    “Where did you see this beast last?” the Sioux said.
    “It was still at the city by the falls when I left,” the Shawnee said.
    “Once it comes down my river,” the Sioux chief said, “we will kill it.”
    Then the chief rolled over onto a pile of buffalo robes and closed his eyes. He would seek the answer from the spirits. The Shawnee opened the flap of the tepee and stepped out into the bright light reflected off the early snow.
     
    DEEP INSIDE THE earth below New Madrid, Missouri, all was not well. The layers forming the first thousand feet of overburden were twitching like an enraged lion. Molten earth, heated by the immense temperatures below ground, mixed with water from the thousands of springs and dozens of tributaries along the Mississippi River. This superheated, black, slippery liquid worked as a lubricant on the plates of the earth that were held in place under great tension. Earth had given fair notice of the wrath it was about to unleash. The birds and animals had sensed the danger. A great burp from the earth was building. And the burp would soon erupt.
    New Orleans was steaming right toward the inevitable eruption.
    The Ohio River current ran faster nearing the Mississippi River, and New Orleans was steaming smoothly. In a few moments, the ship would arrive at the confluence of the two rivers, hours ahead of schedule. The mood aboard the steamboat was one of happy contentment. The deckhands went about their duties with gusto. Markum had already cleaned the cabins and was hanging the sheets from a clothesline stretched between them. Andrew Jack was taking a short nap on the bow while Nicholas steered. When Roosevelt sent word that they were at the confluence, he would go to the pilothouse to direct the passage.
    Hilda Gottshak was putting the finishing touches on a dozen meat pies for