ARMIJO'S STRONG ARM
Piloting on the Mississippi was tricky enough, with the shifting bars
and the deadly, submerged logs, stumps, and trees; but the Missouri was
in a class by itself; indeed, at various stages of high water it seemed
hardly to know its own channels or, in some places, even its own bed. It
threw up an island today to remove it next week or ten years later, and
cut a new channel to close up an old one whenever the mood suited.
Gnawing off soft clay promontories or cutting in behind them was a
favorite pastime; and the sand and clay of its banks and the vast
expanses of its bottoms coaxed it into capricious excursions afield.
More than one innocent and unsuspecting settler, locating what he
considered to be a reasonable distance from its shores on some rich
bottom, found his particular portion of the earth's surface under the
river or on its further bank when he returned from a precipitate and
entirely willing flight.
There were two tricks used on the river to get out of sandbar
difficulties that deserve mention. During certain stages of the river it
for some reason would cross over from one side of its bed to the other,
and between the old and the new deep channels would be a space of
considerable distance crossed by the water where there was no channel,
but only a number of shallow washes, none of which perhaps would be deep
enough to let a steamboat through. The deepest would be selected, and
if only two or three more inches of water were needed, the boat would be
run up as far as it could go, the crew would fix the two great spars
with their shoes against the bottom, slanting downstream, set the steam
capstans drawing on their ropes, and then reverse the paddle wheel. The
turning of the great wheel would force water under the hull while the
spars pushed backward and, raising a platform of water around her and
taking it with her, she would slide over the shallow place and go on
about her business.
In case of a bar where there were no submerged banks to hold a platform
of water, and only a few more inches needed, the spars would be used as
before, but the paddle wheel would remain idle. The backward thrust of
the spars would force the boat ahead, while their lifting motion would
raise it a little. This being repeated again and again would eventually
"walk" the boat across and into deeper water on the other side. It was a
slow and laborious operation and sometimes took a day or two, but it was
preferable to lying tied to the bank and waiting for a rise, often a
matter of a week or more.
All this was an old story to Tom, who now was on his fifth trip up the
river, for he was an observant young man and one who easily became
acquainted with persons he wished to know. These included the officers
and pilots, who took to the upstanding young plainsman at first sight
and gave painstaking answers to his many but sensible questions. In
consequence his knowledge of the river was wide and deep, although not
founded on practical experience.
Long before the packet turned into the Missouri he had his affairs
attended to and was leaning against the rail enjoying the shifting
panorama. But the scenery did not take all of his attention, for he was
keeping a watch for a certain Mexican trader and for the young lady of
the glove; and after the boat had rounded into the Big Muddy, he caught
sight of the more interesting of the two as she walked forward on the
port side in the company of her escort. Waiting a few moments to see if
they would discover him, he soon gave it up and went in search of the
purser, who seemed to know about everyone of note in St. Louis.
"Hello, Tom," called that officer, having recovered his breath after the
rush. "Yo're goin' back purty quick, ain't you?"
"Reckon not. One night an' one day in th' city was enough. But this
cussed packet is near as lonesome. I don't know a passenger on board."
"I can fix that," laughed the purser. "I know about three-quarters of
'em, an' can guess at th' rest. I counted seven professional gamblers
comin' up th' plank. They'll be in each other's way. You feelin' like
some excitement?"
"Not with any of them," answered Tom, grinning. "I can count seven times
seven of them fellers in Independence; an' I hear some of 'em are
plannin' to join up with th' next outgoing train."
"Well," mused the purser. His face cleared. "There's that sneakin'
minister. Havin' looked in everythin' but our mouths, he'll mebby have
time to convert a sinner. How 'bout him?"
"Don't hardly think he can do much with me," muttered Tom. He considered
a moment and tried to hide his grin. "Now I noticed an elderly old
gentleman with a young lady, gettin' aboard jest before I did. They was
leavin' you when I showed up. Happen to know 'em?"
"You shouldn't 'a' give back th' glove when you did," laughed the
officer. "You should 'a' had yore quarrel with Schoolcraft first, so you
could 'a' waited till we was under way before you handed it back to her.
That would 'a' give you a better chance to get acquainted. I've heard
that frontierin' sharpens a man's wits, but I dunno. Want to meet 'em?
Th' old sport's interesting when he ain't tryin' to beat th' gamblers at
their own game. An' he's plumb successful at it, too, if there ain't too
many ag'in him."
Tom had the grace to flush under his tan, but he thankfully accepted the
bantering and the suggestion. "What you suppose I've risked wastin' my
time talkin' to you for?" he demanded.
"You know cussed well you wasn't wastin' it," retorted the purser. "Come
on, an' meet one of th' finest young ladies in St. Louis. She won't care
if you pay more attention to her uncle."
A few minutes later Tom had been made acquainted with the couple and
they soon discovered that they had mutual friends in the city. Time
passed rapidly and Patience Cooper and her uncle, Joseph, took a keen
interest in their companion's account of life on the prairies. He found
that the uncle was engaged in the overland trade and was going out to
Independence to complete arrangements for the starting of his wagons
with the Santa Fe caravan. Finding that they were to be seated at
different tables they had the obliging steward change their places so
they could be together, and after the meal the uncle begged to be
excused and headed for the card room, which brought a fleeting frown to
the face of his niece. Tom observed it without appearing to and led the
way to some chairs on deck near the rail.
The blast of the whistle apprised them of a landing in sight and soon
they picked it out, as much by the great piles of firewood as by any
other sign. This was the little hamlet of St. Charles, and here came on
board several plainsmen and voyageurs who, having missed the packet at
St. Louis, had hastened across the neck of land to board it here. As
soon as the gangplank touched the bank a hurrying line of men depleted
the great wood pile, and in a few minutes the landing stage swung aboard
again and the _Missouri Belle_ circled out into mid-channel, a stream of
sparks falling astern.
An annoying wind had been blowing when they left the parent stream,
annoying in a way a stranger to the river never would have dreamed.
There being no permanence to the channels, no fixity to the numerous
bars, no accurate knowledge covering the additions to the terrible,
destroying snags lurking under the surface, the pilot literally had to
read his way every yard and to read it anew every trip. All he had to go
by was the surface of the water, and it told him a true tale as long as
it was reasonably placid. From his high elevation he looked down into
the river and learned from it where the channel lay; and from arrow-head
ripples and little, rolling wavelets, where the snags were, for every
one close enough to the surface to merit attention was revealed by the
telltale "break" on the water. Let a moderate wind blow and his task
became harder and more of a gamble; but even then, knowing that the
waves run higher over deeper water, he still could go ahead; but above
a certain strength the wind not only baffled his reading, but gave such
a sidewise drift to the shallow-draft, high-riding vessel that he could
not hope to take it safely through some of the narrower channels. Rain
or hail, which turned the surface into a uniform area of disturbance,
instantly closed his book; and in this event he had no recourse except
to lie snugly moored to the south bank and wait until the weather
conditions changed. Sometimes these waits were for a few hours,
sometimes for a day or more; and when the persistent southwest prairie
gales blew day and night, moving great clouds of sand with them, the
boat remained a prisoner until they ceased or abated.
There was good reason for choosing that south bank, for the stronger
winds almost invariably came from that direction during the navigation
season, and the bank gave a pleasing protection. While lying moored,
idleness in progress did not mean idleness all around, for the boilers
ate up great quantities of wood, and in many cases the fuel yards were
the growing trees and windfalls on the banks. Once the boat was moored
the crew leaped ashore and became wood-choppers, filling the fuel boxes
and stacking the remainder on shore for future use. In a pinch green
cottonwood sometimes had to be used, but it could be burned only by
adding pitch or resin.
Nowhere on the river was a navigation mark, for nowhere was the channel
permanent enough to allow one to be placed. It was primitive, pioneer
navigation with a vengeance, requiring intelligent, sober, quickwitted
and courageous men to handle the boats. On the Missouri the word "pilot"
was a term of distinction.
The river was high at this time of the year, caused less by the
excessive rains and melting snows in the mountains, being a little early
for them, than by the rains along the immediate valley; bottom lands
were flooded, giving the stream a width remarkable in places and adding
greatly to the amount of drift going down with the current.
The afternoon waned and the wind died, the latter responsible for the
pilot's good nature, and the shadows of evening grew longer and longer
until they died, seeming to expand into a tenuity which automatically
effaced them. But sundown was not mooring time, for the twilight along
the river often lasted until nine o'clock, and not a minute was wasted.
When St. Charles had been left astern Tom had led his companion up onto
the hurricane deck and placed two chairs against the pilot house just
forward of the texas, where the officers had their quarters. The water
was now smooth, barring the myriads of whirling, boiling eddies, and
from their elevated position they could see the configuration of the
submerged bars. The afterglow in the sky turned the mud-colored water
into a golden sheen, and the wind-distorted trees on the higher banks
and ridges were weirdly silhouetted against the colored sky. Gone was
the drab ugliness. The finely lined branches of the distant trees, the
full bulks of the pines and cedars and the towering cottonwoods,
standing out against the greenery of grass covered hills, provided a
soft beauty; while closer to the boat and astern where sky reflections
were not seen, the great, tawny river slipped past with a powerful,
compelling, and yet furtive suggestion of mystery, as well it might.
Tom was telling of the characteristics of the river when the boat veered
sharply and caused him to glance ahead. A great, tumultuous ripple tore
the surface of the water, subsided somewhat and boiled anew, the
wavelets gold and crimson and steel blue against the uniform lavender
shade around them. The many-fanged snag barely had been avoided as it
reached the upward limit of its rhythmic rising and falling.
Soon a bell rang below and the boat slowed as it headed in toward a
high, wooded bank. Nudging gently against it the packet stopped, men
hurried lines ashore, made them fast to the trees and then set a spring
line, which ran from the stern forward to the bank ahead of the bow, so
as to hold the boat offshore far enough to keep it afloat in case the
river should fall appreciably during the night. The pilot emerged behind
them, glanced down at the captain overseeing the mooring operations, and
then spoke to Tom, who made him acquainted with Patience and invited him
to join them. He gladly accepted the invitation and soon had interested
listeners to his store of knowledge about the river. Darkness now had
descended and he pointed at the stream.
"There's somethin' peculiar to th' Missouri," he said. "Notice th' glow
of th' water, several shades lighter than th' darkness on th' bank? On
the Mississippi, now, th' water after dark only makes th' night all th'
blacker; but on this stream th' surface can be seen pretty plain, though
not far ahead. We take full advantage of that when we have to sail after
dark. We would be goin' on now, except that we got news of a new and
very bad place a little further on, an' we'd rather tackle it when we
can see good."
"Oh," murmured Patience. "A ghost road leading through a void."
A long, dark shape appeared on the "ghost road" and bore silently and
swiftly down upon the boat, struck the hull a glancing blow, scraped
noisily, ducked under, turned partly and scurried off astern. It was a
trimmed tree trunk, and by its lowness in the water it told of a journey
nearly ended. Before long one end would sink deeper and deeper, finally
fastening in the alluvial bottom and, anchoring securely, lie in wait to
play battering ram against some ill-fated craft surging boldly against
the current.
The lanterns on shore began to move boatward as the last of the wooding
was finished and the fuel boxes again were full. Farther back among the
trees some trappers had started a fire and were enjoying themselves
around it, their growing hilarity and noise suggesting a bottle being
passed too often. Gradually the boat became quiet and after another
smoke the pilot arose and excused himself, saying that it was expected
that the journey would be resumed between three and four o'clock in the
morning.
"How long will it take us to reach Independence Landing?" asked
Patience.
The pilot shook his head. "That depends on wind, water, and th' strength
of th' current, though th' last don't make very much difference
sometimes."
Tom looked up inquiringly. "I don't just understand th' last part," he
confessed. "Mebby I didn't hear it right."
"Yes, you did," replied the pilot, grinning in the darkness. "When she's
high she's swift; but she's also a hull lot straighter. Th' bends of
this river are famous, an' they add a lot of miles to her length. They
also cut down th' slant of her surface, which cuts down th' strength of
th' current. At lower water we'd have a longer distance to sail, but a
gentler current. When she rises like she is now she cuts off, over or
behind a lot of th' bends an' makes herself a straighter road. An' th'
shorter she gits, th' steeper her pitch grows, which makes a stronger
current. She jest reg'lates herself accordin' to her needs, an' she gits
shet of her floods about as quick as any river on earth. Oh, I tell you,
she's a cute one; an' a mean one, too!"
"She's shore movin' fast enough now," observed Tom, watching the
hurtling driftwood going spectrally down the almost luminous surface.
"How long will this high water last, anyhow?"
"Considerable less than th' June rise," answered the pilot. "She's
fallin' now, which is one of th' reasons we're tied to th' bank instid
of goin' on all night. This here rise is short, but meaner than sin. Th'
June rise is slower an' not so bad, though it lasts longer. It comes
from th' rains an' meltin' snow in th' mountains up above. Down here th'
current ain't as swift as it is further up, for this slope is somethin'
less than a foot to th' mile; but if it warn't for th' big bottoms, that
let some of th' water wander around awhile instid of crowdin' along all
at once, we'd have a current that'd surprise you. Jest now I figger
she's steppin' along about seven miles an hour. Durin' low water it's
some'rs around two; but I've seen it nearer ten on some rises. There are
places where steamboats can't beat th' current an' have to kedge up or
wait for lower water. About gittin' to Independence Landin', or what's
left of it, I'll tell you that when we pass Liberty Landin'. Miles
through th' water ain't miles over th' bottom, an' it's th' last that
counts. Besides, th' weather has got a lot to say about our business. I
hope you ain't gittin' chilled, Miss Cooper, this spring air cuts in
amazin' after sundown."
"I _am_ beginning to feel it," she replied, arising, "I'll say good
night, I believe, and 'turn in.'"
Tom escorted her to the lower deck and watched her cross the cabin and
enter her room, for he had no illusions about some of the men on board.
As her door closed he wheeled and went to look at the engines, which
were connected directly to the huge paddle wheel. The engineer was
getting ready to climb into his bunk, but he smoked a pipe with his
visitor and chatted for a few minutes. Tom knew what it meant to be an
engineer on a Missouri river packet and he did not stay long. He knew
that his host scarcely took his hand from the throttle for a moment
while the boat was moving, for he had to be ready to check her instantly
and send her full speed astern. The over-worked system of communication
between the pilot house and the engine room had received its share of
his attention during his runs on the river.
He next went forward along the main deck and looked at the boilers, the
heat from them distinctly pleasing. As he turned away he heard and felt
the impact from another great, trimmed log slipping along the faint,
gray highway. Some careless woodcutter upstream had worked in vain. He
stopped against the rail and looked at the scurrying water only a few
feet below him, listening to its swishing, burbling complaints as it
eddied along the hull, seeming in the darkness to have a speed
incredible. A huge cottonwood with its upflung branches and sunken
roots paused momentarily as it struck a shallow spot, shivered, lost a
snapping dead limb, collected a surprising amount of debris as it swung
slowly around and tore free from the clutching mud of the bottom and,
once more acquiring momentum, shot out of sight into the night, its
slowly rising branches telling of the heavy roots sinking to their
proper depth. Next came a tree stump like some huge squid, which must
have been well dried out and not in the water for very long, else it
would have found the bottom before this. Then a broken and waterlogged
keelboat, fully twenty-five feet long, scurried past, a great menace to
every boat afloat. Planks, rails from some pasture fence, a lean-to
outhouse, badly smashed, and a great mass of reeds and brush came along
like a floating island. The constantly changing procession and the gray
water fascinated him and he fairly had to tear himself away from it.
Strange splashings along the bank told him of undermined portions of it
tumbling into the river, and a louder splash marked the falling of some
tree not far above.
"She's talkin' a-plenty tonight," said a rough voice behind him and he
turned, barely able to make out a figure dressed much the same as he
was; but he did not see another figure, in Mexican garb, standing in the
blackness against a partition and watching him. The speaker continued.
"More gentle, this hyar trip; ye should 'a' heard her pow-wowin' th'
last run up. I say she's wicked an' cruel as airy Injun; an' nothin'
stops her."
"I can't hardly keep away from her," replied Tom, easily dropping into
the language of the other; "but I ain't likin' her a hull lot. A hard
trail suits me better."
"Now yer plumb shoutin'," agreed the other. "If 'twarn't fer goin'
ashore every night, up in th' game country, I don't reckon I'd want ter
see another steamboat fer th' rest o' my days. Everythin' about 'em is
too onsartin."
Tom nodded, understanding that his companion was a hunter employed by
the steamboat company to supply the boat's table with fresh meat. After
the game country, which really meant the buffalo range, was reached this
man went ashore almost every night and hunted until dawn or later,
always keeping ahead of the boat's mooring and within sight of the river
after daybreak. Whatever he shot he dragged to some easily seen spot on
the bank for the yawl to pick up, and when the steamboat finally
overtook him he went aboard by the same means. His occupation was
hazardous at all times because of the hostility of the Indians, some few
of which, even when their tribes were quiet and inclined to be friendly
for trade purposes, would not refuse a safe opportunity to add a white
man's scalp to their collection. The tribes along the lower sections of
the river were safer, but once in the country of the Pawnees and Sioux,
where his hunting really began, it was a far different matter. He did
not have much of the dangerous country to hunt in because the _Belle_
did not go far enough up the river; but the hunters on the fur company's
boats went through the worst of it.
"Goin' out this spring?" asked the hunter.
"Yep; Oregon, this time," answered Tom. "My scalp ain't safe in Santa Fe
no more. Been thar?"
"Santa Fe, yep; Oregon, no. Went to N'Mexico in '31, an' we got our fust
buffaler jest tother side o' Cottonwood Creek. It war a tough ol' bull.
Bet ye won't git one thar no more. We forded th' Arkansas at th' lower
crossin' an' follered th' dry route. Hear thar's a track acrost it now,
but thar warn't any then. Don't like that stretch, nohow. Longest way
'round is th' best fer _this_ critter. Ye got Bent's Fort handy ter bust
up th' trip, git supplies an' likker; an' I'd ruther tackle Raton Pass,
mean as it is, than cross that cussed dry plain atween th' Crossin' an'
th' Cimarron. I'd ruther have water than empty casks, airy time; an'
fur's th' Injuns air consarned, 'twon't be long afore ye'll have ter
fight 'em all th' way from th' frontier ter th' Mexican settlements.
They'll be gittin' wuss every year."
"Yer talkin' good medicine," replied Tom, thoughtfully. "'Twon't be safe
fer any caravan ter run inter one o' them war parties. Thar cussin' th'
whites a'ready, an' thar bound ter jine han's ag'in us when th' buffaler
git scarce."
The hunter slapped his thigh and laughed uproariously. "Cussed if that
ain't a good un! Why, th' man ain't alive that'll live ter see that day.
They won't git scarce till Kansas is settled solid, an' _then_ there'll
have ter be a bounty put on 'em ter save th' settlers' crops. Why,
thar's _miles_ o' 'em, pardner!"
"I've _seen_ miles o' 'em," admitted Tom; "but they'll go, an' when they
once start ter, they'll go so fast that a few years will see 'em plumb
wiped out."
"Shucks!" replied the hunter, "Why, th' wust enemies they got is th'
Injuns an' th' wolves. Both o' them will go fust, an' th' buffalers'll
git thicker an' thicker."
"_We_ are thar worst enemies!" retorted Tom with spirit. "Th' few th'
Injuns kill don't matter--if it did they'd 'a' been gone long ago. They
only kill fer food an' clothin'; but we kill fer sport an' profit. Every
year that passes sees more whites on th' buffaler ranges an' more hides
comin' in ter th' settlements; an' most of them hides come from th'
cows. Look at th' beaver, man! Thar goin' so fast that in a few years
thar won't be none left. Thar's only one thing that'll save 'em, an'
that's a change in hats. Killin' fer sport is bad enough, but when th'
killin' is fer profit th' end's shore in sight. What do we do? We cut
out th' buffaler tongues an' a few choice bits an' leave th' rest for
th' wolves. Th' Injuns leave nothin' but th' bones. Why, last trip
acrost I saw one man come inter camp with sixteen tongues. He never even
bothered with th' hump ribs! I told him if he done it ag'in an' I saw
him, I'd bust his back; an' th' hull caravan roared at th' _joke_!"
"Danged if it warn't a good un," admitted the hunter, chuckling. "Have
ter spring that on th' boys." He turned and looked around. "Them fellers
on th' bank air shore havin' a good time. They got likker enough,
anyhow. Cussed if it don't sound like a rendezvous! Come on, friend:
what ye say we jine 'em? It's too early to roll up, an' thar's only card
buzzards in th' cabin a-try-in' ter pick th' bones o' a merchant."
"We might do wuss nor that," replied Tom; "but I don't reckon I'll go
ashore tonight."
"Wall, if ye change yer mind ye know th' trail. I'm leavin' ye now,
afore th' bottles air all empty," and the hunter crossed the deck and
strode down the gangplank.
Tom watched the hurrying, complaining water for a few moments and then
turned to go to the cabin. As he did so something whizzed past him and
struck the water with a hiss. Whirling, he leaped into the shadows
under the second deck, the new Colt in his hand; but after a hot, eager
search he had to give it up, and hasten to the cabin, to peer
searchingly around it from the door. The only enemy he had on board to
his knowledge was Schoolcraft--and then another thought came to him: was
Armijo reaching out his arm across the prairies?
Joe Cooper was intent on his game; Schoolcraft and the Mexican trader
were taking things easy at a table in a corner, and both had their
knives at their belts. They did not give him more than a passing glance,
although a frown crept across the Independence horse-dealer's evil face.
Seating himself where he could watch all the doors, Tom tried to solve
the riddle while he waited to scrutinize anyone entering the cabin. At
last he gave up the attempt to unravel the mystery and turned his
attention to the card game, and was surprised to see that it was being
played with all the safeguards of an established gambling house. Having
a friend in the game he watched the dealer and the case-keeper, but
discovered nothing to repay him for his scrutiny. An hour later the game
broke up and Joe Cooper, cashing in his moderate winnings, arose and
joined Tom and suggested a turn about the deck before retiring. Tom
caught a furtive exchange of fleeting and ironical glances between the
case-keeper and the dealer, but thought little of it. He shrugged his
shoulders and followed his new friend toward the door.
Ephriam Schoolcraft, somewhat the worse for liquor, made a slighting
remark as the two left the cabin, but it was so well disguised that it
provided no real peg on which to hang a quarrel; and Tom kept on toward
the deck, the horse-dealer's nasty laugh ringing in his ears. He could
see where he was going to have trouble, but he hoped it would wait until
Independence was reached, for always there were the makings of numerous
quarrels on board under even the best of conditions, and he determined
to overlook a great deal before starting one on his own account. It was
his wish that nothing should mar the pleasure of the trip up the river
for Patience Cooper.
He and his companion stopped in the bow and looked at the merry camp on
shore, both sensing an undertone of trouble. Give the vile, frontier
liquor time to work in such men and anything might be the outcome.
He put his lips close to his companion's ear: "Mr. Cooper, did you
notice anyone hurry into the cabin just before I came in? Anyone who
seemed excited and in a hurry?"
Cooper considered a moment: "No," he replied. "I would have seen any
such person. Something wrong?"
"Schoolcraft, now; and that Mexican friend of his," prompted Tom. "Did
they leave the cabin before you saw me come in?"
"No; they both were where you saw them for an hour or two before you
showed up. I'm dead certain of that because of the interest Schoolcraft
seemed to be taking in me. I don't know why he should single me out for
his attentions, for he don't look like a gambler. I never saw him before
that little fracas you had with him on the levee. Something up?"
"No," slowly answered Tom. "I was just wondering about something."
"Nope; he was there all the time," the merchant assured him. "Seems to
me I heard about some trouble you had in Santa Fe last year. Anything
serious?"
"Nothing more than a personal quarrel. I happened to get there after
they had started McLeod's Texans on the way to Mexico City, and learned
that they had been captured." He clenched his fists and scowled into the
night. "One of the pleasant things I learned from a man who saw it, was
the execution of Baker and Howland. Both shot in the back. Baker was not
killed, so a Mexican stepped up and shot him through the heart as he lay
writhing on the ground. The dogs tore their bodies to pieces that
night." He gripped the railing until the blood threatened to burst from
his finger tips. "I learned the rest of it, and the worst, a long time
later."
Cooper turned and stared at him. "Why, man, that was in October! Late in
October! How could you have been there at that time, and here, in this
part of the country, now? You couldn't cross the prairies that late in
the year!"
"No; I wintered at Bent's Fort," replied Tom. "I hadn't been in
Independence a week before I took the boat down to St Louis, where you
first saw me. There were four of us in the party and we had quite a time
making it. Well, reckon I'll be turning in. See you tomorrow."
He walked rapidly toward the cabin, glanced in and then went to his
quarters. Neither Schoolcraft nor the Mexican were to be seen, for they
were in the former's stateroom with a third man, holding a tense and
whispered conversation. The horse-dealer apparently did not agree with
his two companions, for he kept doggedly shaking his head and
reiterating his contentions in drunken stubbornness that, no matter what
had been overheard, Tom Boyd was not going to Oregon, but back to Santa
Fe. He mentioned Patience Cooper several times and insisted that he was
right. While his companions were not convinced that they were wrong
they, nevertheless, agreed that there should be no more knife throwing
until they knew for certain that the young hunter was not going over the
southwest trail.
Schoolcraft leered into the faces of his friends. "You jest wait an'
see!" He wagged a finger at them. "Th' young fool is head over heels in
love with her; an' he'll find it out afore she jines th' Santa Fe waggin
train. Whar she goes, _he'll_ go. I'm drunk; but I ain't so drunk I
don't know that!"