Ralph Compton Whiskey River by RALPH COMPTON Page A

the day after tomorrow for Fort Smith, what happens if all this whiskey hasn’t been sold?”
    â€œIt will be,” said Betsy. “When it gets down to the last few barrels, there’ll be fighting over what’s left. One Indian tried to trade his squaw for a barrel of the stuff.”
    â€œMakes me wonder why Estrello don’t add some more wagons and haul in more of the stuff,” Mark said.
    â€œJake said Estrello’s too smart for that,” said Amanda. “By limiting the whiskey, he’s able to demand a higher price. If he brought in too much, the bidding wouldn’t be nearly as fierce.”
    â€œWith so many men in camp, where do the two of you usually sleep?” Bill asked.
    â€œUnder Jake’s wagon, when it’s here,” said Betsy. “When it’s not, we try to hide out in the brush.”
    â€œThen take your place under the wagon tonight,” Bill said. “We’ll be close by.”
    But to the surprise of Mark and Bill, Estrello had plans for them.
    â€œThem Indians knows the whiskey’s here,” Estrello said. “On the first watch, I want Rogers, Harder, and all you men.” He pointed at eleven others. “The rest of us will take the second watch at midnight.”
    Hiram, Odell, Hamby, Suggs, and Irvin knelt behind one of the wagons, rolling smokes.
    â€œIt’s us against them,” said Ursino. “No good reason to have so many men on the first watch. Them five coyotes hunkered behind the wagon is there to keep an eye on us.”
    â€œI suspect you’re probably right,” Clemans said. “Estrello’s been watching us almighty close ever since he shot Jake. He’s expecting some kind of revenge.”
    â€œHe’s damn well going to get it,” said Long, “unless he gets me first.”
    â€œOne thing you ain’t considering,” Sullivan said. “There’s as much a price on our heads as there is on Estrello’s. If we cash in Estrello, we lose contact with that bunch at the illegal distillery. Then there’ll be no more whiskey, and we’ll have every damn Indian in the Territory after our scalps.”
    â€œI’m about ready to saddle up and ride,” said Stackler, “price on my head or not.”
    â€œI’m of the same mind,” Keithley said, “but the time’s not right. I think we’re all on trial, along with Rogers and Harder.”
    â€œI think you’re right,” said Mark. “When you and Stackler sided with Bill and me, Estrello got suspicious. Now he aims to keep an eagle eye on us. It would be almighty easy for some of us to be shot off the wagon box in the middle of the night, without any proof as to who done the shooting.”

Outlaw camp on the Washita. July 19, 1866.
    The night passed uneventfully. It was barely dawn when the Indians began arriving. With an eye for business, Wolf Estrello had tapped a keg of the brew and allowed each of the Indians a single tin cupful. It being summertime, many of the Indians wore only a loincloth and moccasins. From beneath Jake’s wagon, Amanda and Betsy were watching as the trading began.
    â€œIt seems downright indecent, the two of you watching these half-naked Indians get drunk,” said Mark. “A loincloth don’t cover much.”
    â€œIt won’t cover anything at all after they’ve had enough whiskey,” Betsy said. “The loincloth comes off. We’ve been watching this for five years, and we’re not shocked anymore.”
    More and more Indians arrived. Many of them led horses and mules for trading, whose brands attested to their having been stolen. One Indian arrived leading three heavily laden horses. Each animal was loaded with prime pelts, and a shouting argument ensued as the Indian and Estrello got into a trading mood. Slowly, Estrello began to give in to the Indian demands, and the Indian grinned delightedly. He was about