Ezra had heard of the Delta Belle. It was one of the finest riverboat gambling boats in
existence. He had come to New Orleans specifically with the intention of boarding her and
fleecing its well-shod patrons as the boat made it's way to St. Louis.
But boarding her did not come cheaply.
"Ah, well, Ezra," he said to himself. "One had to spend money to make
money."
He started with his clothes. He was beginning to look a little tattered and it seemed
time to put some of his ill-gotten funds toward some appropriate haberdashery. He searched
carefully throughout the city until he found just the right tailor to make him a beautiful
burgundy-color coat. And he found the perfect fellow: a little Frenchman tucked away in a
corner of the city.
So much for that.
A shirt, now. Some well-tailored slacks. A hat. A good sturdy one that accented his
fine choice of clothes. "Clothes make the man," he reminded himself, after he'd
handed the tailor and hatter each a considerable sum for the garments and accessories.
He checked his remaining funds. Perfect. Now he was ready.
Ezra started to mount his horse to ride to the dock, then stopped himself. He couldn't
go to all this trouble and then make such a lackluster appearance as that.
No, he'd need a hired carriage. A good one. The best.
He rode up in style, sipping from his flask and thinking of how he's board the ship
with his modest purse, and disembark in St. Louis a very wealthy man indeed.
He stood on the dock and looked up at the boat. It was huge and brightly painted.
He put his foot on the gangplank and hesitated. Something gripped him, stopping him
from proceeding further. He'd never been on a boat before, not even a rowboat, and
suddenly he didn't like the idea. Not at all.
Ezra swallowed hard and looked over the boat again. It looked safe enough. But
looks could be deceiving. And he ought to know, even as he stood there in his burgundy
coat, custom-tailored shirt, and fitted trousers.
His fingers wiped at a slight sweat that broke out on his forehead. Ezra stared at his
moist fingertips. Sweat. Must be the coat, he decided. Or the humidity. Or any of a
thousand things. But not...
Not...
Fear. Of water?
He tried to laugh at that. He'd taken more hot baths in his life than he could count.
How could such a man be afraid of water?
But still...he'd never learned to swim...never needed to know how...But surely he
wouldn't have to know how, would he?
Ezra licked his lips and looked at the people who had already boarded and were milling
about waving goodbye to their friends and families on the dock. All those pockets, all
those purses and wallets of cash. And here he was, ready to relieve them of it.
"I'm getting on this boat! I've invested in it," he thought impatiently, as
he thought of all the money he'd spent for the sake of appearance. But his foot absolutely
refused to move. It was as if his legs were no longer attached to his body.
"Mister, you gettin' on or gettin' off?"
Ezra turned sharply as one of the boat crew tried to wrestle a woman's large, heavy
baggage onto the gangplank. He stepped aside to let them pass.
Finally he sighed, and turned away in defeat. He stood there a long time, his back to
the Delta Belle. Ezra glanced back one last time, as the boat whistle blew, signalling
that it was putting away from shore.
All that money floating away...
Ezra straightened his back. Who said he needed the Delta Belle anyway! Not him. No, he
was Ezra Standish! Or Edward Sanders. Or Eldon Stanton. Well, that didn't matter. The
point was he was sure he could make money anywhere.
He wasn't afraid. No, he'd chosen not to get on board that boat. Fate and he
had decided together that he should go somewhere where his considerable talents could be
challenged.
Somewhere without water.
Somewhere like...the desert. The Arizona Territory.
Ezra went home to pack his things. As he was putting his belongings into his suitcase,
he glanced in the mirror. He paused to look at the fine coat and clean, new shirt.
Well, at least when he'd arrive, he'd make one hell of an entrance.
The End
