TOM CHANGES HIS PLANS
Dawn broke dull and cold, but without much wind, and when Tom awakened
he heard the churning of the great paddle wheel, the almost ceaseless
jangling of the engine room bell and the complaining squeaks of the
hard-worked steering gear. A faint whistle sounded from up river, was
answered by the _Missouri Belle_, and soon the latter lost headway while
the two pilots exchanged their information concerning the river. Again
the paddles thumped and thrashed and the boat shook as it gathered
momentum.
On deck he found a few early risers, wrapped in coats and blankets
against the chill of the morning hour. The overcast sky was cold and
forbidding; the boiling, scurrying surface of the river, sullen and
threatening. Going up to the hurricane deck he poked his head in the
pilot house.
"Come on in," said the pilot "We won't go fur today. See that?"
Tom nodded. The small clouds of sand were easily seen by eyes such as
his and as he nodded a sudden gust tore the surface of the river into a
speeding army of wavelets.
"Peterson jest hollered over an' said Clay Point's an island now, an'
that th' cut-off is bilin' like a rapids. Told me to look out for th'
whirlpool. They're bad, sometimes."
"To a boat like this?" asked Tom in surprise.
"Yep. We give 'em all a wide berth." The wheel rolled over quickly and
the V-shaped, tormented ripple ahead swung away from the bow. "That's
purty nigh to th' surface," commented the pilot. "Jest happened to swing
up an' show its break in time. Hope we kin git past Clay before th' wind
drives us to th' bank. Look there!"
A great, low-lying cloud of sand suddenly rose high into the air like
some stricken thing, its base riven and torn into long streamers that
whipped and writhed. The gliding water leaped into short, angry waves,
which bore down on the boat with remarkable speed. As the blast struck
the _Missouri Belle_ she quivered, heeled a bit, slowed momentarily, and
then bore into it doggedly, but her side drift was plain to the pilot's
experienced eyes.
"We got plenty o' room out here fer sidin'," he observed; "but 'twon't
be long afore th' water'll look th' same all over. We're in fer a bad
day." As he spoke gust after gust struck the water, and he headed the
boat into the heavier waves. "Got to keep to th' deepest water now," he
explained. "Th' snags' telltales are plumb wiped out. I shore wish we
war past Clay. There ain't a decent bank ter lie ag'in this side o' it."
For the next hour he used his utmost knowledge of the river, which had
been developed almost into an instinct; and then he rounded one of the
endless bends and straightened out the course with Clay Point half a
mile ahead.
"Great Jehovah!" he muttered. "Look at Clay!"
The jutting point, stripped bare of trees, was cut as clean as though
some great knife had sliced it. Under its new front the river had cut
in until, as they looked, the whole face of the bluff slid down into the
stream, a slice twenty feet thick damming the current and turning it
into a raging fury. Some hundreds of yards behind the doomed point the
muddy torrent boiled and seethed through its new channel, vomiting
trees, stumps, brush and miscellaneous rubbish in an endless stream. Off
the point, and also where the two great currents came together again
behind it two great whirlpools revolved with sloping surfaces smooth as
ice, around which swept driftwood with a speed not unlike the horses of
some great merry-go-round. The vortex of the one off the point was
easily ten feet below the rim of its circumference, and the width of the
entire affair was greater than the length of the boat. A peeled log, not
quite water-soaked, reached the center and arose as vertical as a plumb
line, swayed in short, quick circles and then dove from sight. A moment
later it leaped from the water well away from the pool and fell back
with a smack which the noise of the wind did not drown. To starboard was
a rhythmic splashing of bare limbs, where a great cottonwood, partly
submerged, bared its fangs. To the right of that was a towhead, a newly
formed island of mud and sand partly awash.
The pilot cursed softly and jerked on the bell handle, the boat
instantly falling into half speed. He did not dare to cut across the
whirlpool, the snag barred him dead ahead, and it was doubtful if there
was room to pass between it and the towhead; but he had no choice in the
matter and he rang again, the boat falling into bare steerageway. If he
ran aground he would do so gently and no harm would be done. So swift
was the current that the moment he put the wheel over a few spokes and
shifted the angle between the keel-line and the current direction, the
river sent the craft sideways so quickly that before he had stopped
turning the wheel in the first direction he had to spin it part way back
again. The snag now lay to port, the towhead to starboard, and holding a
straight course the _Missouri Belle_ crept slowly between them. There
came a slight tremor, a gentle lifting to port, and he met it by a quick
turn of the wheel. For a moment the boat hung pivoted, its bow caught by
a thrusting side current and slowly swinging to port and the snag. A
hard yank on the bell handle was followed by a sudden forward surge, a
perceptible side-slip, a gentle rocking, and the bow swung back as the
boat, entirely free again, surged past both dangers.
The pilot heaved a sigh of relief. "Peterson didn't say nothin' about
th' snag or th' towhead," he growled. Then he grinned. "I bet he rounded
inter th' edge o' th' whirler afore he knowed it was thar! Now that I
recollect it he did seem a mite excited."
"Somethin' like a boy explorin' a cave, an' comin' face to face with a
b'ar," laughed Tom. "I recken you fellers don't find pilotin'
monotonous."
"Thar ain't no two trips alike; might say no two miles, up or down, trip
after trip. Here comes th' rain, an' by buckets; an' thar's th' place I
been a-lookin' fer. Th' bank's so high th' wind won't hardly tech us."
He signaled for half speed and then for quarter and the boat no sooner
had fallen into the latter than her bow lifted and she came to a grating
stop. The crew, which had kept to shelter, sprang forward without a word
and as the captain crossed the bow deck the great spars were being
hauled forward. After the reversed paddles had shown the _Belle_ to be
aground beyond their help, the spars were put to work and it was not
long before they pushed her off again, and a few minutes later she nosed
against the bank.
The pilot sighed and packed his pipe. "Thar!" he said, explosively.
"Hyar we air, an' we ain't a-goin' on ag'in till we kin see th' channel.
No, sir, not if we has ter stay hyar a week!"
Tom led the way below and paused at the foot of the companionway as he
caught sight of Patience. He glowed slightly as he thought that she had
been waiting for him; and when he found that she had not yet entered the
cabin for breakfast, the glow became quite pronounced. He had seen many
pretty girls and had grown up with them, but the fact that she was
pretty was not the thing which made her so attractive to him. There was
a softness in her speaking voice, a quiet dignity and a certain reserve,
so honest that it needed no affectations to make it sensed; and under it
all he felt that there was a latent power of will that would make
panicky fears and actions impossible in her. And he never had perceived
such superb defenses against undue familiarity, superb in their
unobtrusiveness, which to him was proof of their sincerity and that they
were innate characteristics. He felt that she could repel much more
effectively without showing any tangible signs of it than could any
woman he ever had met. He promised himself that the study of her nature
would not be neglected, and he looked forward to it with eagerness.
There was, to him, a charm about her so complex, so subtle that it
almost completed the circle and became simple and apparent.
She smiled slightly and acknowledged his bow as he approached her.
"Good morning, Miss Cooper. Have you and your uncle breakfasted?"
"Not yet," she answered, turning toward the cabin. "I think he is
waiting for us. Shall we go in?"
The plural form of the personal pronoun sent a slight thrill through him
as he opened the door for her, showed her to the table, and seated her
so that she faced the wide expanse of the river.
"I imagined that I felt bumps against the boat sometime during the
night," she remarked. She looked inquiringly at Tom and her uncle. "Did
we strike anything?"
"Why," Tom answered in simulated surprise, "no one said anything about
it to me, and I've been with the pilot almost since dawn. The whole fact
of the matter is that this river's dangers are much over-estimated,
considering that boats of thirty feet and under have been navigating it
since before the beginning of this century. And they had no steam to
help them, neither."
Uncle Joe appeared to be very preoccupied and took no part in the
conversation.
"I have heard uncle and father speak many times about the great dangers
attending the navigation of the Missouri," she responded, smiling
enigmatically, and flashing her uncle a keen, swift glance. "They used
to dwell on it a great deal before father went out to Santa Fe. So many
of their friends were engaged in steamboat navigation that it was a
subject of deep interest to them both, and they seemed to be very well
informed about it." She laughed lightly and again glanced at her uncle.
"Since uncle learned that I might have to make the trip he has talked
in quite a different strain; but he did suggest, somewhat hopefully,
that we put up with the discomforts of the overland route and make the
trip in a wagon. Don't you believe, Mr. Boyd, that knowledge of possible
dangers might be a good thing?"
Uncle Joe gulped the last of his watery coffee, pushed back, and arose.
"Want to see the captain," he said. "Meet you two later on deck," and he
lost no time in getting out of the cabin.
"Well," came the slow and careful answer from Tom, "so many of us pass
numerous dangers in our daily lives, unknown, unsuspected, that we might
have a much less pleasant existence if we knew of them. If they are
dangers that we could guard against, knowledge of them certainly would
be a good thing."
She nodded understandingly and looked out over the tawny, turbulent
flood, then leaned forward quickly; and her companion did not lose this
opportunity to admire her profile. Coming down the stream like an arrow,
with a small square sail set well forward, was a keelboat, its
hide-protected cargo rising a foot or more above the gunwale amidships.
Standing near the mast was a lookout, holding fast to it, and crouched
on top of the cargo, the long, extemporized addition to the tiller
grasped firmly in both hands, was the _patron_, or captain. Sitting
against the rear bulkhead of the hold and facing astern were several
figures covered with canvas and hides, the best shift the crew could
make against the weather. The French-Canadian at the mast waved his
hand, stopping his exultant song long enough to shout a bon voyage to
the steamboat as he shot past, and the little boat darted from their
sight into the rain and the rolling vapor of the river like a hunted
rabbit into a tangle of briars.
"That's splendid!" she exclaimed, an exultant lilt in her voice. "That's
the spirit of this western country: direct, courageous, steadfast! Can't
you feel it, Mr. Boyd?"
His eyes shone and he leaned forward over the table with a fierce
eagerness. In that one moment he had caught a glimpse into the heart and
soul of Patience Cooper that fanned fiercely the flame already lighted
in his heart. His own feelings about the West, the almost tearful
reverence which had possessed him at the sight of those pioneer women,
many with babes at their breasts, that he daily had seen come into
Independence from the East to leave it on the West, the hardships past
great enough to give pause to men of strength, but not shaking their
calm, quiet determination to face greater to the end of that testing
trail, and suffer privations in a vast wilderness; his feelings, his
hopes, his faith, had come back to him in those few words almost as
though from some spirit mirror. He choked as he fought to master himself
and to speak with a level voice.
"Feel it?" he answered, his voice shaking. "I feel it sometimes until
the sheer joy of it hurts me! Wait until you stand on the outskirts of
Independence facing the sunset, and see those wagons, great and small,
plodding with the insistent determination of a wolverine to the distant
rendezvous! Close your eyes and picture that rendezvous, the caravan
slowly growing by the addition of straggling wagons from many feeding
roads. Wait until you stand on the edge of that trail, facing the west,
with rainbows in the mist of your eyes! Oh, Miss Cooper, I can't--but
perhaps we'd better go on deck and see what the weather promises."
She did not look at him, but as she arose her hand for one brief instant
rested lightly on his outflung arm, and set him aquiver with an ecstatic
agony that hurt even while it glorified him. He shook his head savagely,
rose and led the way to the door; and only the moral fiber and training
passed on to him through generations of gentlemen kept him from taking
her in his arms and smothering her with kisses; and in his tense
struggle to hold himself in check he did not realize that such an
indiscretion might have served him well and that such a moment might
never come again. Holding open the door until she had passed through, he
closed it behind them and stumbled into a whirling gust of rain that
stung and chilled him to a better mastery of himself. Opportunity had
knocked in vain.
"Our friends, the pilots, will not be good company on a day like this,"
he said, gripping the rail and interposing his body between her and the
gusts. "The gangplank's out, but there seems to be a lack of warmth in
its invitation. Suppose we go around on the other side?"
On the river side of the boat they found shelter against the slanting
rain and were soon comfortably seated against the cabin wall, wrapped in
the blankets he had coaxed from his friend, the purser.
"Just look at that fury of wind and water!" exclaimed Patience. "I
wonder where that little keelboat is by now?"
"Oh, it's scooting along like a sled down an icy slope," he answered,
hoping that it had escaped the hungry maw of the great whirlpool off
Clay Point. "They must have urgent reasons for driving ahead like that.
It must be an express from the upper Missouri posts to St. Louis.
McKenzie probably wants to get word to Chouteau before the fur company's
steamboat starts up the river. Or it may be the urging of the thrill
that comes with gambling with death."
Behind them Uncle Joe poked his head out of the cabin door and regarded
them curiously. Satisfied that troublesome topics no longer were being
discussed he moved forward slowly.
"Oh, here you are," he said, as though making a discovery. "I thought I
might find you out here. Captain Newell ain't fit company for a savage
wolf this morning. Have you heard how long we're going to be tied up?"
Tom drew a chair toward him and looked up invitingly. "Sit down, Mr.
Cooper. Why, I understand we will stay here all day and night." He
understood the other man's restlessness and anxiety about the wait, but
did not sympathize with him. The longer they were in making the
river-run the better he would be suited.
Uncle Joe glanced out over the wild water. "Oh, well," he sighed. "If we
must, then we must. That river's quite a sight; looks a lot worse than
it is. Hello! What's our reverend friend doing down there? Living in the
hold?" He chuckled. "If he is, it's a poor day to come up for air."
They followed his glance and beheld a tall, austere, long-faced
clergyman emerging from the forward hatch, and behind him came the pilot
with whom they had talked the evening before. When both had reached the
deck and stepped out of the rain the clergyman shook his head stubbornly
and continued his argument.
"I was told to come up on this packet and examine her carefully on the
way," he asserted, doggedly. "Liquor in vast quantities has been getting
past both Fort Leavenworth and Bellevue; and while the military
inspectors may be lax, or worse, that is an accusation which cannot
truthfully be brought against us at the upper agency. If I am not given
honest assistance in the prosecution of my search, your captain may
experience a delay at our levee that will not be to his liking. It's all
the same to me, for if it isn't found on our way up, it _will_ be found
after we reach the agency."
"But, my reverend sir!" replied the pilot, in poorly hidden anger,
"you've been from one end of th' hold to th' other! You've crawled
'round like a worm, stuck yore nose an' fingers inter everythin' thar
war to stick 'em in; you've sounded th' flour barrels with a
wipin'-stick, an' jabbed it inter bags an' bales. Bein' a government
inspector we've had ter let ye do it, whether we liked it or not. I've
got no doubts th' captain will be glad ter take down th' engines, rip
open th' bilers, slit th' stacks an' mebby remove th' plankin' of th'
hull; but--air ye listenin' close, my reverend sir? If ye try ter git me
ter guide ye around in that thar hold ag'in, I'll prove ter ye that th'
life o' a perfect Christian leads ter martyrdom. Jest ram that down yore
skinny neck, an' be damned ter ye!"
"I will not tolerate such language!" exclaimed the indignant shepherd.
"I shall report you, sir!"
"You kin report an' be damned!" retorted the angry pilot. "Yo're too
cussed pious to be real. What's that a-stickin' outer yer pocket?"
The inspector felt quickly of the pocket indicated and pulled out a
half-pint flask of liquor, and stared at it in stupefaction.
"Why--I----"
"Yer a better actor than ye air a preacher," sneered the pilot, glancing
knowingly from the planted bottle around the faces of the crowd which
had quickly assembled. "O' course, you deal in precepts; but they'd be a
cussed sight more convincin' fer a few examples along with 'em. Good
day, my reverend sir!"
The frocked inspector, tearing his eyes from the accusing bottle and
trying to close his mouth, gazed after the swaggering pilot and then
around the circle of grinning faces. A soft laugh from above made him
glance up to where Patience and her companions were thoroughly enjoying
the episode.
"Parson, I'll have a snorter with ye," said a bewhiskered bullwhacker,
striding eagerly forward, his hand outstretched. "Go good on a mornin'
like this."
"Save some fer me, brother," called a trapper, his keen eyes twinkling.
"Allus reckoned you fellers war sort o' baby-like; but thar's th' makin'
o' a man in you." He grinned. "'Sides, we dassn't let all that likker
git up ter th' Injuns."
"Shucks!" exclaimed a raw-boned Missourian. "That's only a sample he's
takin' up ter Bellevue. He ain't worryin' none about a little bottle
like that, not with th' bar'ls they got up thar. What you boys up thar
do with all th' likker ye take off'n th' boats? Nobody ever saw none o'
it go back down th' river."
The baited inspector hurled the bottle far out into the stream and tried
to find a way out of the circle, but he was not allowed to break
through.
"You said somethin' about Leavenworth bein' careless, or wuss," said a
soldier who was going up to that post. "We use common sense, up thar.
Thar's as much likker gits past th' agencies on th' land side as ever
tried ter git past on th' river. Every man up-bound totes as much o' it
as he kin carry. Th' fur company uses judgment in passin' it out, fer it
don't want no drunken Injuns; but th' free traders don't care a rip. If
th' company ain't got it, then th' Injuns trade whar they kin git it;
an' that means they'll git robbed blind, an' bilin' drunk in th'
bargain. If I had my way, they'd throw th' hull kit of ye in th' river."
"That's right," endorsed a trapper, chuckling, and slapping the
inspector on the back with hearty strength. "You hold this hyar boat to
th' bank at Bellevue jest as long as ye kin, parson. It makes better
time than th' boys goin' over th' land, an' 'tain't fair ter th' boys.
Think ye kin hold her a hull week, an' give my pardners a chanct ter
beat her ter th' Mandan villages?" He looked around, grinning. "Them
Injuns must have a hull passel o' furs a-waitin' fer th' first trader."
"What's th' trouble here?" demanded the captain, pushing roughly through
the crowd. "What's th' trouble?"
"Nothing but the baiting of a government inspector and a wearer of the
cloth," bitterly answered the encircled minister.
"Oh," said the captain, relieved. "Wall, ye git as ye give. Are ye
through with th' hold?"
The inspector sullenly regarded him. "I think so," he answered.
The captain wheeled to one of the crew. "Joe, throw on that hatch, lock
it, and keep it locked until we get to Bellevue," he snapped. "We're
ready to comply with government regulations, at the proper time and
place. You and your friends can root around all you want after we get to
Bellevue. The next time I find you in the hold with a lighted candle
I'll take it away from you and lock you in there." He turned, ordered
the crowd to disperse and went back to the texas.
It was an old story, this struggle to get liquor past the posts to the
upper Missouri, and there were tricks as yet untried. From the
unexpected passage of this up-bound inspector, going out to his station
at the agency, and his officious nosings, it was believed by many that
any liquor on board would not have a chance to get through. And why
should the _Belle_ be carrying it, since her destination and turning
point was Bellevue?
"Is it true that liquor is smuggled up the river?" asked Patience as the
inspector became lost to sight below.
Her companions laughed in unison.
"They not only try to get it up," answered Tom, "but they succeed. I've
been watching that sour-faced parson on his restless ramblings about the
boat, and I knew at once that there must be a game on. Sometimes their
information is correct. However, I'll back the officers of this packet
against him, any time."
"I'm afraid you'd win your bet, Mr. Boyd," choked the uncle.
"Uncle Joe! What do you know about it?" asked his niece accusingly.
"Nothing, my dear; not a single thing!" he expostulated, raising his
hands in mock horror, his eyes resting on three new yawls turned
bottomside up on the deck near the bow. He mentally pictured the
half-dozen bullboats stowed on the main deck near the stern, each
capable of carrying two tons if handled right, and he shook with
laughter. This year the fur company's boat carried no liquor and its
captain would insist on a most thorough inspection at Bellevue; but the
fur posts on the upper river would be overjoyed by what she would bring
to them. After the inspection she would proceed on her calm way, and tie
against the bank at a proper distance above the agency; just as the
_Belle_ would spend a night against the bank at a proper distance below
Bellevue; and what the latter would run ashore after midnight, when the
inquisitive minister was deep in sleep, would be smuggled upstream in
the smaller boats during the dark of the night following, and be put
aboard the fur boat above.
"Uncle Joe!" said his niece. "You know something!"
"God help the man that don't!" snorted her uncle. "Look there!"
A heavily loaded Mackinaw boat had shot around the next bend. It was of
large size, nearly fifty feet long and a dozen wide. In the bow were
four men at the great oars and in the stern at the tiller was the
_patron_, singing in lusty and not unpleasant voice and in mixed French
and English, a song of his own composing.
Patience put a finger to her lips and enjoined silence, leaning forward
to catch the words floating across the turbulent water, and to her they
sounded thus:
_"Mon pere Baptiste for Pierre Chouteau
He work lak dam in le ol' bateau;
From Union down le ol' Missou
Lak chased, by gar, by carcajou._
_"Le coureurs des bois, le voyageur, too,
He nevaire work so hard, mon Dieu,
Lak Baptiste pere an' Baptiste fils,
Coureurs avant on le ol' Missou._
_"McKenzie say: 'Baptiste Ladeaux,
Thees lettaire you mus' geeve Chouteau;
Vous are one dam fine voyageur--
So hurry down le ol' Missou._
_"Go get vous fils an' vous chapeau,
You mebby lak Mackinaw bateau'--
Lak that he say, lak one dam day
Le voyage weel tak to ol' St. Lou!"_
As the square stern of the fur-laden boat came opposite the packet the
mercurial _patron_ stopped his song and shouted: "_Levez les perches!_"
and the four oars rose from the water and shot into the air, vertical
and rigid. The pilot of the steamboat, chancing to be in the pilot
house, blew a series of short blasts in recognition, causing the
engineer to growl something about wasting his steam. The crew of the
Mackinaw boat arose and cheered, the _patron_ firing his pistol into the
air. Gay vocal exchanges took place between the two boats, and the
patron, catching sight of Patience, placed a hand over his heart and
bowed, rattling off habitant French. She waved in reply and watched the
boat forge ahead under the thrust of the perfectly timed oars.
"Mackinaw boat," said Tom, "and in a hurry. _There's_ the express. There
is a belief on the river that the square stern of those boats gives them
a speed in rapids greater than that of the current. They are very safe
and handy for this kind of navigation, and well built by skilled
artisans at the boat yards of the principal trading posts up the river.
They are a great advance over the bullboat, which preceded them."
"And which are still in use, makeshifts though they are," said Captain
Newell as he stopped beside them. "But you can't beat the bullboat for
the purpose for which it was first made; that of navigating the
shallower streams. I thought you would be glad to know that we expect to
be under way again early in the morning. But, speaking of bullboats, did
you ever see one, Miss Cooper?"
"I've had them pointed out to me at St. Louis, but at a distance," she
answered. "Somehow they did not impress me enough to cause me to
remember what they looked like."
"Why, I'll show you some," offered Tom eagerly. "There's half a dozen on
the main deck."
Uncle Joe squirmed as he glanced around, and arose to leave for the card
room, but the captain smiled and nodded.
"Yes, that's so, Mr. Boyd. Take a look at them when the rain lets up.
We're always glad to carry a few of them back up the river, for we find
them very handy in lightering cargo in case we have mean shallows that
can be crossed in no other way. You'd be surprised how little water this
boat draws after its cargo is taken ashore."
"But why do they call them bullboats?" asked Patience.
"They're named after the hides of the bull buffalo, which are used for
the covering," explained the captain. "First a bundle of rather heavy
willow poles are fashioned into a bottom and bound together with
rawhide. To this other and more slender willow poles are fastened by
their smaller ends and curved up and out to make the ribs. Then two
heavy poles are bent on each side from stem to stern and lashed to the
ends of the ribs, forming the gunwale. Everything is lashed with rawhide
and not a bolt or screw or nail is used. Hides of buffalo bulls, usually
prepared by the Indians, although the hunters and trappers can do the
work as well, are sewn together with sinew after being well soaked. They
are stretched tightly over the frame and lashed securely to the gun'le,
and they dry tight as drumheads and show every rib. Then a pitch of
buffalo tallow and ashes is worked into the seams and over every
suspicious spot on the hides and the boat is ready. Usually a false
flooring of loosely laid willow poles, three or four inches deep, is
placed in the bottom to prevent the water, which is sure to leak in,
from wetting the cargo. In the morning the boat rides high and draws
only a few inches of water; but often at night there may be six or eight
inches slopping around inside. I doubt if any other kind of a boat can
be used very far up on the Platte, and sometimes even bullboats can't go
up."
"How was it that the fur company's boat was tied at the levee at St.
Louis, after we left?" asked Tom. "Rather late for her, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is," answered the captain. "The great event on this river has
always been the annual upstream fur packet. She is coming along
somewhere behind us, and very likely will pass us before we reach the
mouth of the Kaw. They take bigger chances with the river than we do
because they've got to get up to Fort Union and away again while
there's water enough." He looked at Patience. "Are you going far, Miss
Cooper?" he asked, anxious to get the conversation into channels more to
his liking.
"Santa Fe, captain," she answered as placidly as though it were a
shopping trip from her home to the downtown stores of St. Louis.
"Well, well!" he exclaimed, as if he had not known it. "That will be
quite an undertaking!"
Tom Boyd was staring at her aghast, doubting his ears. The slowly
changing expression on his face caught her attention and she smiled at
him.
"You look as if you had seen a ghost, Mr. Boyd," she laughed.
"I'm going to do my very best not to see one, Miss Cooper; or let anyone
else see one," he answered mysteriously. "I am glad that I, too, am
bound for Santa Fe. It is a great surprise and pleasure to learn that
you are going over the same trail."
"Why, didn't you say that you were going over the Oregon Trail this
year?" she quickly asked. "At least, I understood you that way."
"I often let my enthusiasm run away with me," he answered. "Much as I
would like to go out to Oregon I will have to wait until my affairs will
permit me to follow my inclination. You see, I've made two trips to
Santa Fe, it has got into my blood, and there are reasons why I must go
over that trail again. And then, knowing the trail so well, it is
possible that I can make very good arrangements this year. But isn't it
a most remarkable coincidence?"
"Very," drily answered the captain. "By the way, Mr. Boyd: you and Mr.
Cooper seem to be quite friendly, and neither of you waste much time in
the company of your present roommates. Seeing that you are both bunked
with strangers, how would it suit you if I put you together in the same
room? Good: then I'll speak to Mr. Cooper, and if it's agreeable to him
I'll have the change made. Sorry to tear myself away from you two, but I
must be leaving now." He bowed and stepped into the cabin, smiling to
himself. He distinctly remembered his conversation with the young man,
only the day before, when Tom had assured him with great earnestness
that he no longer could resist the call of the emigrant trail and that
he was going to follow it with the first outgoing caravan. The captain
was well pleased by the change in the young man's plans, for he knew
that the niece of his old friend would be safer on her long journey
across the plains if Tom Boyd was a member of the caravan. He turned his
steps toward the gaming tables to find her uncle, whom he expected would
be surrounded by the members of a profession which Joe Cooper had
forsaken many years before for a more reputable means of earning a
living.
The reputation of "St. Louis Joe" was known to almost everyone but his
niece; and the ex-gambler was none too sure that she did not know it.
While his name was well-known, there were large numbers of gamblers on
both rivers, newcomers to the streams, who did not know him by sight;
and it was his delight to play the part of an innocent and unsuspecting
merchant and watch them try to fleece him. Not one of the professionals
on the _Missouri Belle_ knew he was playing against a man who could
tutor him in the finer points of his chosen art; but by this time they
had held a conference or two in a vain attempt to figure why their
concerted efforts had borne bitter fruit. One of them, smarting over his
moderate, but annoyingly persistent losses, was beginning to get ugly.
While his pocketbook was lightly touched, his pride was raw and
bleeding. Elias Stevens was known as a quick-tempered man whom it were
well not to prod; and Joseph Cooper was prodding him again and again,
and appearing to take a quiet but deep satisfaction in the operation. At
first Stevens had hungered only for the large sum of money his older
adversary had shown openly and carelessly; but now it was becoming
secondary, and the desire for revenge burning in Stevens was making him
more and more reckless in his play.
The careless way in which Joe Cooper had shown his money to arouse the
avarice of the gamblers had awakened quick interest in others outside
the fraternity, and other heads were planning other ways of getting
possession of it. Two men in particular, believing that the best chance
of stealing it was while the owner of it was on the boat, decided to
make the attempt on this night. If the boat should remain tied to the
bank their escape would be easy; and if it started before daylight they
could make use of the yawl, which was towed most of the time, and always
during a run after dark.
Captain Newell looked in at the gambling tables and did not see his
friend, but as he turned to look about the upper end of the cabin he
caught sight of him coming along the deck, and stepped out to wait for
him.
"Looking for me?" asked Uncle Joe, smiling.
"Yes; want to tell you that your young friend Boyd has changed his mind
and is going out to Santa Fe to look after his numerous interests
there. Ordinarily I would keep my mouth shut, but I know his father and
the whole family, and no finer people live in St. Louis. Who have you in
mind to go in charge of your wagons?"
Uncle Joe scratched his chin reflectively. "Well, I'd thought of Boyd
and was kinda sorry he was going out over the other trail. I'll keep my
eyes on the scamp. Strikes me he'd take _my_ wagons through for his
keep, under the circumstances! He-he-he! Changed his mind, has he?
D----d if I blame him; I'd 'a' gone farther'n that, at his age, for a
girl like Patience. How about a little nip, for good luck?"
"Not now. How would you like to change sleeping partners?" asked the
captain, quickly explaining the matter.
"First rate idea; th' partner I got now spends most of his nights
scratching. Better shift me instead of him, or Boyd'll get cussed little
sleep in that bunk."
Captain Newell leaned against the cabin and laughed. "All right, Joe;
I'll have your things taken out and the change made by supper time, at
the latest. Look out those gamblers in there don't skin you."
* * * * *
True to his word the captain shifted Joe Cooper to the room of his new
friend, and sent the bull-necked, bullwhacking bully who had shared
Tom's cabin to take the ex-gambler's former berth. This arrangement was
suitable both ways, for not only were the two friends put together, but
the two loud-voiced, cursing, frontier toughs found each other very
agreeable. They had made each other's acquaintance at the camp-fire on
the bank the night previous and like many new and hastily made
friendships, it had not had time to show its weaknesses. One of them had
stolen a bottle of liquor at the camp-fire carousal and upon learning of
the change shortly after supper, had led his new roommate to their joint
quarters to celebrate the event; where they both remained.
The early part of the night was passed as usual, Uncle Joe at the card
tables, Tom Boyd with Patience and later mingling with the hunters and
trappers in the cabin until his eyes became heavy and threatened to
close. Leaving his friend at the table, he went to their room and in a
few moments was so fast asleep that he did not hear the merchant come
in. It seemed to him that he had barely closed his eyes when he awakened
with a start, sitting up in the berth so suddenly that he soundly
whacked his head against the ceiling. He rolled out and landed on the
floor like a cat, pistol in hand, just as his roommate groped under the
pillow for his own pistol and asked what the trouble was all about.
The sound of it seemed to fill the boat. Shouts, curses, crashes against
the thin partition located it for them as being in the next room, and
lighting a candle, the two friends, pistols in hands, cautiously opened
the door just as one of the boat's officers came running down the
passage-way with a lantern in his hand. There was a terrific crash in
the stateroom and they saw him put down the light and leap into a dark
shadow, and roll out into sight again in a tangle of legs and arms.
Other doors opened and night-shirted men poured out and filled the
passage.
The battle in the stateroom had taken an unexpected turn the moment the
officer appeared, for the door sagged suddenly, burst from its hinges
and flew across the narrow way, followed by a soaring figure, to one
leg of which Ebenezer Whittaker, bully bullwhacker of the Santa Fe
trail, was firmly fastened. After him dived his new friend, who once had
ruled a winter-bound party of his kind in Brown's hole with a high and
mighty hand. The trapper went head first into the growling pair rolling
over the floor, his liquor-stimulated zeal not permitting him to waste
valuable time in so small a matter as the identity of the combatants. He
knew that one of them was his new roommate, the other a prowling thief,
and being uncertain in the poor light as to which was which, he let the
Goddess of Chance direct his energies.
At the other end of the passage-way the boat's officer, now reinforced
by so many willing helpers that the affair was fast taking on the air of
a riot, at last managed to drag the thief's lookout from the human
tangle and hustle him into the eager hands of three of the crew, leaving
the rescuers to fight it out among themselves, which they were doing
with praiseworthy energy and impartial and indefinite aims. Considering
that they did not know whom they were fighting, nor why, they were doing
so well that Tom wondered what force could withstand them if they should
become united in a compelling cause and concerted in their attack.
At the inner end of the passage, having beaten, choked, and gouged the
thief into an inert and senseless mass, the bullwhacker turned his
overflowing energies against his new and too enthusiastic friend, and
they rolled into the stateroom, out again, and toward the heaving pile
at the upper end of the hall. Striking it in a careless, haphazard but
solid manner, just as it was beginning to disintegrate into its bruised
and angry units, the fighting pair acted upon it like a galvanic current
on a reflex center; and forthwith the scramble became scrambled anew.
Finally, by the aid of capstan-bars, boat hooks, axe handles, and
cordwood, the boat's officers and crew managed to pry the mass apart and
drag out one belligerent at a time. They lined them up just as Captain
Newell galloped down the passage-way, dressed in a pair of trousers,
reversed; one rubber boot and one red sock and a night shirt partly
thrust inside the waistband of the trousers; but he was carefully and
precisely hatted with a high-crowned beaver. He looked as if he were
coming from a wake and going to a masquerade. Notwithstanding the very
recent and exciting events he received a great amount of attention.
"What-in-hell's-th'-matter?" he angrily demanded, glaring around him, a
pistol upraised in one hand, the other gripping a seasoned piece of ash.
"Answer-me-I-say-what-in-hell's-th'-matter-down-here?"
"There was a fight," carefully explained the weary officer.
"Hell's-bells-I-thought-it-was-a-prayer-meetin'!" yelped the captain.
"Who-was-fightin'?"
"_They_ was," answered the officer, waving both hands in all directions.
"What-about?"
The officer looked blank and scratched his head, carefully avoiding the
twin knobs rising over one ear. "Damned if _I_ know, sir!"
"Were _you_ fightin', Flynn?" demanded the captain aggressively and with
raging suspicion. "Come, up with it, were you?"
"No, sir; I was a-stoppin' it."
"My G-d! Then don't you never dare start one!" snapped the captain,
staring around. "You look like the British at N'Orleans," he told the
line-up. "What was it all about? Hell's bells! It _must_ 'a' had a
beginning!"
"Yessir," replied the officer. "It sorta begun all at once, right after
th' explosion."
"What explosion?"
"I dunno. I heard it, 'way up on th' hurricane deck, an' hustled right
down here fast as I could run. Just as I got right over there," and he
stepped forward and with his foot touched the exact spot, "that there
stateroom door come bustin' out right at me. I sorta ducked to one side,
an' plumb inter somebody that hit me on th' eye. I reckon th' fightin'
was from then on. Excuse me, sir; but you got yore pants on
upside-down--I means stern-foremost, sir."
"What's my pants got to do with this disgraceful riot, or mebby mutiny?"
blazed the reddening captain. He couldn't resist a downward glance over
his person, and hastily slipped the red-socked foot behind its booted
mate.
Somebody snickered and the sound ran along the line, gathering volume.
Glaring at the battle-scarred line-up, Captain Newell waved the pistol
and seemed at a loss for words.
Uncle Joe stepped forward with the bullwhacker. "Captain, this man says
he woke up an' found a thief reachin' under his pillow, where he keeps
his bottle. I think the thief is against the wall, there; and his
partner, who doubtless acted as his lookout, is in the hands of those
two men. The rest of th' fightin' was promiscuous, but well meant. I
reckon if you put those two thieves in irons an' let th' rest of us go
back to our berths it'll be th' right thing to do. As for Flynn, he
deserves credit for his part in it."
"That's my understanding of it, captain," said Tom, and again burst out
laughing. "Evidently they were after Mr. Cooper's money, which he has
shown recklessly, and they did not know that he had changed staterooms."
"Reckon that's it, captain!" shouted someone, laughingly. "Anyhow, it's
good enough. Come on, captain; it's time for a drink all 'round!"
In another moment a shirt-tailed picnic was in full swing, the bottles
passing rapidly.