The men laughed amiably as they guided their horses down the trail. Shadows deepened before the underbrush thinned and the lights of New Orleans came into view. Caleb breathed a sigh of relief.

"First thing I'm gonna do is find a bathhouse," Jeremy said.

Caleb chuckled. "You need it."

"You?"

"Naw. I'm going for a good, stiff drink."

"Don't make me come bail you out of jail."

Caleb winked. "You're no fun." He tied his horse in front of a tavern. Enticing smells assaulted his nostrils as he stepped inside. He sat at a table and ordered a meal as well as a bottle of whiskey.

Caleb glanced up as angry shouts were punctuated by glass shattered against the wall. Liquor drizzled down the garish paneling. He watched the outburst and smiled, thankful he wasn't playing cards today.

Jeremy elbowed him. "Let's go over the plan again."

Caleb shook his head. "Nah. We've been over it a million times. Get the slaves. Go to Texas. Get the herd. Drive them to Colorado Territory." He waved a hand in the air. "Happily ever after."

"Caleb, I think you're drunk."

Caleb shook his head and slurred, "I'm jess startin'."

The whiskey bottle sloshed its contents as he slammed it onto the table. Jeers and mocking shouts sounded outside. "What's that?"

Jeremy narrowed his eyes. "Dunno. Let's go see."

They pushed their way out onto the boardwalk. A crowd had gathered in front of the bar, blocking their view. Caleb nudged the man next to him. "Hey, what's going on?"

"LeFleur got back with the runaways he was after. Looks like he caught quite a few."

Caleb turned his attention to the grotesque procession as the crowd shifted. Men, women and children were chained together; metal clinked, marking their lurching progress to the square. From darker than night to almost white, skin color had no bearing. Most bore the scars of wicked beatings. Several scabs had cracked, blood dripped to the ground with every step.

Near the end, a young boy with tanned skin was followed by a giant of a man. The boy took four steps to each one of the man.

"What of the boy?"

The man next to him shrugged. "If he was caught with a slave and the slavers couldn't verify his identity, he'll be sold with the rest."

"Color has no bearing?"

He shook his head. "Nah. Sometimes, it's near impossible to tell. Metif, Sang-Mele, Marabou. They've all got a white portion. Sometimes, the skin comes out different, lighter." He shrugged. "They're all still slaves." He spit a line of tobacco juice over the edge of the boardwalk into the cobblestone street.

Caleb grunted and winced as the whip cracked, urging the captives further down the street.

"Do ya think they'll be in the sale tomorrow?"

He shrugged. "Most likely." He nodded at the disappearing group. "That big 'un at the end'll go for a small fortune. They'll want him as a fighter prospect."

Caleb turned and retreated back into the bar. Drinking straight from the bottle, he drained the contents and staggered back to the inn.