Free Humbug Mountain by Sid Fleischman Page B

down south. Or east. Or west. He was so deep in the glooms, m’am, it didn’t much matter.”
    â€œIn the glooms?” Pa said. “What happened?”
    â€œThe spavined, muddy, cantankerous, misbegotten Missouri flooded, that’s what happened. When the water settled, the river stood a mile off. It had cut itself a new channel. Left the Phoenix high and dry. You can see that.”
    â€œYes,” Ma said.
    â€œWasted a smart lot of dynamite trying to blast the river back where it belonged. But the Missouri’s got a mind of its own. Sunrise went bust before it got fairly started. The captain’s fine river lots are now too far from the Missouri to be worth a nickel.”
    â€œBut a mile,” Pa said, “hardly seems serious. A short walk.”
    Mr. Slathers shook his head. “A short walk, maybe, but a man could drown going to the nearest saloon.”
    â€œI certainly don’t understand,” Ma remarked.
    Mr. Slathers waved an arm as if to take in all of Sunrise. “This grit used to be Dakota Territory. It’s now Nebraska. The river is the dividing line.”
    â€œIf I understand you,” Pa said, leaning forward, “a caprice of the river shifted Sunrise from Dakota Territory to Nebraska. What in Sam Hill have saloons got to do with it?”
    â€œHeaps, Colonel. Knockemdead is legal in Dakota.”
    â€œKnockemdead?” Ma asked.
    â€œWhiskey, m’am. Illegal on this side of the river. Nebraska has voted itself dry.” Mr. Slathers swallowed a mouthful of food. “The first ventures of commerce in Sunrise were six tent saloons and more on the way. When the river jumped, those knockemdead fellows found themselves out of business. They packed their whiskey barrels and hauled anchor before the Nebraska law turned up. Before long there weren’t enough men in town to build a horse trough. This far from civilization a man gets thirsty. The crew jumped ship with the rest.”
    â€œExcept the chief engineer,” Pa remarked.
    â€œI was tempted,” answered Mr. Slathers. “But I couldn’t leave my boiler and valves and rods to rust away, could I? Still keep things oiled.”
    â€œThen you expect Captain Tuggle back!” Ma exclaimed.
    â€œI about give up on that,” Mr. Slathers mumbled. “It’s goin’ on two years.”
    There was a spell of quiet.
    Mr. Slathers shifted uneasily in his chair. Then he said, “A quantity of the captain’s friends bought his riverside lots, sight unseen. Just from the picture. His partners in St. Louis had that thing lithographed up. Captain Jack meant to make that picture good. Why, we got a ten-room hotel aboard, the lumber all cut to size, windows and all. A fine little opera house, too. Came from Chicago—Bridges Ready-Made Houses. The captain paid cash. But Sunrise is never going to be now, and the captain’s gone bust. Can’t pay his friends back their money. Won’t show his face. His partners disappeared with the cash.”
    I had been careful not to open my mouth, being all ears, but I said, “I reckon Grandpa’s out tracking them down. I bet he is!”
    â€œIt crossed his mind. But he calculated they’d have the money spent before he could shake any greenbacks out of their pockets. No, he won’t be back—not until he can pay off everyone or make good on the town. That’s how it is with the captain.”
    Ma took a breath and looked at Pa. “We’ll start packing. And start looking.”
    Mr. Slathers gave his head a shake. “M’am, his trail is dog-nose cold.”
    Pa was gazing off into space. Then he cocked his head, lifted an eyebrow, and smiled. “Simple. It’s all very simple. We’ll stay right here.”
    â€œWhat?” Ma said. “Rufus, we can try to find him.”
    Pa’s smile broadened. “No need to. He’ll find us.”
    â€œHe will?”