Ralph Compton Whiskey River by RALPH COMPTON Page B

to best the white man in a trade. He demanded and received three full barrels of whiskey for his three horse loads of pelts.
    â€œMy God,” said Bill, “he’s swapped two thousand dollars worth of pelts for three barrels of rotgut that ain’t worth fifty dollars a barrel.”
    â€œThey do that all the time,” Amanda said. “The only things they won’t swap are their weapons. Lots of them own repeating rifles.”
    â€œAll these horses and mules they’re trading are branded,” said Bill. “How does Estrello dispose of them?”
    â€œSomewhere near St. Louis,” Betsy said. “He has an outof-the-way corral somewhere along the river. When the wagons go after more whiskey, the livestock the Indians have traded are taken along.”
    â€œHave you and Betsy ever been allowed to go to St. Louis?” Mark asked.
    â€œNo,” said Amanda, “but Jake was. He told us the little that we know. He didn’t like leaving Betsy and me here with outlaws while he was away. That’s why Estrello killed him.”
    The Indian who had traded for three barrels of whiskey had tapped a keg and was selling the lethal brew in lesser amounts to other Indians who didn’t have much to trade. As it turned out, Betsy and Amanda told the truth. As the whiskey took hold, the Indians lost whatever inhibitions they might have had. Many a loincloth was discarded, leaving a band of naked drunken Indians cavorting like mad.
    â€œThey’ve got enough whiskey to stay drunk for a week,” said Bill. “What happens if they’re still here tomorrow, and there’s another whiskey run?”
    â€œEstrello will leave enough men here to keep them in line,” Betsy said. “Their whiskey will be gone before the wagons return with another load. They know better than to cause Estrello any trouble. There wouldn’t be any more whiskey.”
    â€œWell,” said Keithley, seating himself with his back to a wagon wheel, “you’ve just had a firsthand look at why Indians hate the white man. When that stuff wears off, they’ll all be wishing they were dead, and some of them may be.”
    â€œWhen are we going to find out what plans Estrello has for us tomorrow?” Bill asked.
    â€œYou’ll know sometime tonight,” said Keithley. “He’ll take a dozen outriders with him, and they’ll be watching you every minute. Estrello doesn’t trust anybody.”
    â€œFrom the sound of things,” Mark said, “I don’t see how Estrello holds this outfit together. Even if he takes only forty percent of the money, that can’t leave much for the rest of us.”
    â€œAfter Estrello’s share, the rest of us generally get five or six hundred dollars,” said Keithley. “He’s got the only game in town, so you can’t make any demands. Nobody who’s ever complained about the low pay is around anymore. They’re all dead.”
    â€œWe’ll keep that in mind,” Bill said, “but just because we have prices on our heads, it don’t mean we work for nothing. Not for Estrello, or nobody else.”
    Keithley laughed softly. “Like I told Stackler, there’s more to you two gents than meets the eye. Some of the rest of us are ready to bust out of this whiskey smuggling, and when you’re ready to make your play, we’ll side with you.”
    â€œDon’t let what you see fool you,” Mark said. “We’ve each got a price of ten grand on our heads, and if all we can make is five or six hundred dollars a haul, it’ll be better than nothing. Outside the Territory, and the law would have us behind bars in a week.”
    The conversation trailed off, for someone was coming. It was Estrello, and he spoke abruptly.
    â€œKeithley, you’ll have the lead wagon tomorrow. Following you will be Long, Sullivan, Clemans, Ursino, and Stackler. Rogers and Harder, the two