Millard had abandoned him, he thought with a sardonic grunt. Well, that came as no real surprise. Longarm had known the man less than twenty-four hours, and it wasn't reasonable to expect Millard to risk his own life to stay behind and help a new employee. All Longarm could do now was try to get himself out of this mess and hope that Millard made it back to New Orleans safely.
The voices of the hunters were getting closer now. Longarm had no idea how well Royale's men knew these marshes, but if they knew their way around at all, they were better off than he was. He crouched in the tall grass and lifted his Colt, his hand tightening on the butt of the gun. Outnumbered as he was, he couldn't hope to shoot it out with them and come out alive, but they didn't seem to be interested in taking any prisoners.
"Be careful," said one of the killers, surprisingly close. "I don't know who that fella with Millard was."
"Don't matter," came the harsh reply. "We'll jus' kill him anyway, no matter who he be."
Longarm's lips drew back from his teeth in a grimace. You can try, old son, he thought. You can try.
Then he had to swallow a startled cry as a hand reached out from the salt grass and grabbed hold of his left arm.
He twisted toward the unknown attacker and jerked his gun around, finger tightening on the trigger. Just in time, his brain registered what his eyes were seeing, and his finger froze, stopping him from putting a bullet through the brain of the young woman who crouched beside him in the mud.
CHAPTER 7
She put a finger to her lips, motioning to him for silence.
Longarm's eyes widened in surprise. He had never seen this young woman before. If he had, he would have remembered her. He was certain of that.
She was an olive-skinned beauty with thick dark hair tumbling to her shoulders. The thin cotton dress she wore clung wetly to her body, making the nipples on her pear-shaped breasts plainly visible. Once, the dress had been an elegant gown, Longarm saw, but now it was old and ripped in places, and the bottom had been torn off so that it came down only midway on her thighs, leaving the rest of her tanned, muscular legs bare. Her feet were shod in flimsy slippers that were caked with mud, and mud was splattered on her calves too, as well as on her dress. There was even a smear of it on her face. Despite the ragged dress and the grime, she was still lovely.
She tugged on Longarm's sleeve and motioned with her other hand for him to follow her.
Longarm glanced around. The gunmen were still prowling around close by, and within a matter of minutes, they were bound to stumble over him if he didn't move. Even though he had no idea who this young woman was, he was willing to bet that she knew her way around the marsh better than he did. He nodded, letting her know that he was willing to follow her.
He hoped she wasn't planning to lead him into a trap.
Longarm figured he looked like a damned fool as he walked in a crouch after her, but better to look foolish than to stick his head up and get it shot off, he decided. Besides, they traveled that way only for a few yards, Longarm following closely behind the young woman as she carefully parted the salt grass, and then they reached the bank of another stream. A pirogue was there, pulled up on firmer ground. The young woman gestured for Longarm to get in.
He did so, hoping there were no coral snakes or cottonmouths lurking under the surface of the water as he waded into it and stepped up into the pirogue. The young woman pushed the craft off the bank and hopped in lithely. Obviously she had had plenty of practice getting in and out of pirogues.
She picked up a paddle lying in the bottom and dipped it into the water. Longarm checked for another paddle so that he could help, and saw that there wasn't one. Clearly she intended to do all the paddling herself. She gestured for him to keep his head down, then settled into a steady rhythm with the paddle. It bit quietly into the water and pushed them along, first on one side of the pirogue, then the other. The splashes were so faint that Longarm doubted if they could be heard more than a few feet away.
He could still hear Royale's men shouting among themselves as they searched for him and Millard, though, and the growing frustration was plain to hear in their voices. There had been no more shots, which gave Longarm reason to hope that Millard had gotten away. After having such a perfect setup for his investigation fall into his lap, he hated the idea of having to start over if Millard wound up dead at the hands of Royale's men.
More streams intersected the one on which they were traveling, and Longarm quickly grew confused by the twists and turns of the route that the young woman was following. He knew that the shouts of Royale's men were dying away in the distance behind them, however, and for the moment, that was all he cared about. His lovely young rescuer and guide, self-appointed though she might be, was doing an excellent job of getting him out of a whole mess of trouble. Longarm slipped his Colt back in its holster, figuring that he no longer needed it, at least for the time being.
Within half an hour, they were out of the marshes and back in the bayou country, with huge cypresses spreading their limbs over the twisting, slow-moving waterways. Now that she didn't have to worry so much about noise, the young woman paddled with stronger strokes, and the pirogue slid easily over the water.
"I'm mighty obliged for what you did back there," Longarm said, breaking the silence between them. "Reckon you saved my bacon, ma'am."
She turned her head and flashed a dazzling smile at him. "This bay-konn of yours, him is good with the hush puppies, no?" Her Cajun accent was thick, but the words still sounded soft and musical coming from her.
Longarm chuckled. "I suppose you may be right. I'm Custis Parker."
"Cussstisss," she repeated, drawing out the name. "Name is Claudette, mine."
"Well, Claudette, you came along just in time. Those fellas who were looking for me would've found me pretty soon, and when they did they'd have done their best to put some bullets in my hide."
She nodded as she paddled, and without looking back at him, she said, "Knew they wanted to kill you, I did. Heard 'em yellin' 'bout it. Figure any man in so much trouble, gotta help him."
"You know who those other gents were?"
She shrugged her shoulders without breaking the rhythm of her paddling. "Smuggler men." The distaste in her voice was evident.
"You don't like the smugglers? Lots of folks in this part of the country are mixed up in it, I hear."
Claudette shook her head. "Other people, not me. I catch the crawfish, trap the otter and the nutria for their furs, get by jus' fine."
"What about your family?" asked Longarm.
Again, she shook her head. "Gran'pere the last one left, an' the sickness take him last winter, it did. Now jus' me, but I don't mind."
"Where do you live?"
She brought the paddle back into the pirogue and used her right hand to point. "My home, there."
Longarm leaned over to look past her, and saw that she was pointing at a shack built on the edge of the bayou, part of it extending over the water on its stilts like some of the others he had seen today. This one was surrounded by thick brush and cypress trees, however, so that it seemed even more cut off from the rest of the world as it perched on the edge of the slow-moving water. Claudette turned and smiled at Longarm again, then resumed paddling toward the ramshackle cabin.
There was a crude ladder built on the side of the shack that hung over the water, and Claudette sent the pirogue skimming straight toward it. As they came alongside, she caught hold of the ladder, which led up to a door mounted on sagging leather hinges. She stood up, steadying herself with the ladder, and tied the pirogue to it with a stout cord. Then she climbed up to the door and opened it, and Longarm couldn't help but admire the play of the muscles in her legs and rear end under the thin dress. She looked back over her shoulder and beckoned for Longarm to follow her.