ON BOARD THE FLATBOAT.
“PAP! I say, pap! be ye goin’ to sleep here till creation comes? It’s
pitch dark, an’ me an’ Tom have got the dug-out tied fast to the
flatboat, like ye told us, an’ the cap’n’s jest been in the house a
tellin’ of Mr. Mortimer that he ain’t a-goin’ to wait no longer. Get
up, consarn it all.”
It was Jake Bowles who spoke, and while he was thus addressing his
slumbering parent he was shaking him most vigorously. Jack opened his
eyes at last, and after yawning and stretching his arms, and listening
to what his hopeful son had to say about the dug-out and the captain’s
impatience, he began to understand the matter.
“All right,” he replied, drowsily. “Now, Jake, I want to be sartin’
that ye know what ye’ve got to do. Let me hear ye go over what I said
to ye this mornin’.”
Jake began and rehearsed his instructions, and went through with
them to his father’s entire satisfaction. When he had concluded Jack
inquired:
“What did I say I’d give ye if ye brought Julian back here a prisoner?”
“Oh, I hain’t forgot that, I bet ye,” replied Jake, quickly. “Ye said
ye’d give me his rifle an’ $10. Don’t _ye_ forget it, pap, when ye
comes back.”
“I won’t. I’m a man what allers sticks to his word. Now let me see if
ye remember something else. What did I say I’d give ye an’ Tom if ye
let him get away from ye?”
“A larrupin’.”
“A little one or a big one?”
“A big one—wusser than all the rest.”
“I’m powerful glad to see that ye hain’t forgot it. I’ll allers keep my
promises, I told ye. Mind what ye are about, now.”
Having thus cautioned his young ally, Jack staggered to his feet and
walked slowly toward the house, where he found Mr. Mortimer pacing the
floor in great excitement. The captain of the flatboat had just left
him, with the information that if Jack did not return in half an hour
he would be obliged to start without him, for he could wait no longer.
“You have come at last, have you?” was Mr. Mortimer’s greeting.
“Hain’t you got a pair of good eyes? In course, I have.”
“I should say it was a high time. And you haven’t got your clothes,
either.”
“Wal, that ain’t no fault of mine, is it? I forgot to ax ye fur some
money to git ’em with, an’ the storekeeper wouldn’t trust me. I’m all
ready now, if you are.”
“Then take charge of Julian and bring him on board the boat at once.
Remember that I want him kept out of my sight as much as possible.”
“I give ye the word of a gentleman that he shan’t never trouble ye no
more,” replied Jack significantly.
Mr. Mortimer hurried out of the cabin, slamming the door after him. As
he sprung upon the deck of the flatboat he was met by the captain, who
was impatiently awaiting his appearance.
“We are ready at last,” said the passenger, “and the sooner you get
under way the better it will suit me.”
“Stand by the lines,” shouted the captain.
“Where’s that man?” continued Mr. Mortimer.
His companion pointed toward the bow of the boat. Mr. Mortimer looked
and saw Sanders pacing back and forth as wide awake as ever.
“He must be made of iron,” said the skipper, “for he has kept up that
walk ever since we landed here this morning, and shows no sign of
giving out.”
“There is nothing strange in that. He is working for money, and wants
to be where he can see everything that is going on. Have you told him
that he can not go down the river with us?”
“Not yet.”
“Then do it at once. Use every argument you can think of to induce him
to go ashore, and if you can not make him listen to reason call your
crew and put him off.”
Mr. Mortimer descended the stairs leading into a little dismal
apartment in the stern of the boat that was dignified by the name of
“the cabin,” and the captain approached his passenger, and extending a
roll of bills, said:
“I’m sorry to be obliged to say that I can’t take you to Orleans.”
“Sho!” exclaimed Sanders.
“It’s a fact. My cabin has been given up to a crazy boy and his
keepers, and I can’t accommodate you. Here’s the passage money you paid
me.”
“I don’t want it. A bargain’s a bargain.”
“I tell you that I can’t take you.”
“O, I hain’t no ways particl’ar as to commodation. I can hang up
anywhar.”
“But I don’t want you on board my boat, and you shan’t stay either.
Here’s your money. Take it and go ashore.”
“Now jest listen to me a minute, cap’n, and I’ll tell you something,”
replied Sanders, approaching the skipper and speaking in a low,
confidential tone. The latter, believing that his passenger was about
to communicate some secret to him, leaned forward and caught the words:
“I shan’t stir a peg.”
“Then I shall use force,” cried the captain in a rage. “I shall put you
off.”
At the mention of the word “force” all the combativeness in the
stranger’s composition arose and showed itself. His eyes flashed
angrily, and doubling up one huge fist he brought it down into the palm
of his hand with a report like that of a pistol.
“Look a here, cap’n,” said he, with a great deal of emphasis, “my name
is—Jones.”
He had been on the point of pronouncing his own name—one that had more
than once struck terror to a braver heart than the captain of the
flatboat possessed—but recollected himself in time, and gave the first
one that came to his mind.
“Yes, that’s my name,” he exclaimed, after a moment’s
pause—“Jones—_Tom_ Jones. I’m the peaceablest feller you ever seed
when I ain’t crossed, but when I _am_ I’m a leetle wusser than a hul
passel of wild-cats. I can see through a grindstun as fur as the next
man. I know why you don’t want me here, but I’m a-goin’ to stay, I can
tell you, an’ if you want to see bullets fly faster than you ever seed
’em fly afore, jest tell your crew to put me off.”
As Sanders said this he placed his hands in the pockets of his coat,
and when he brought them into view again, he held in each one a navy
revolver. After flourishing them before the eyes of the captain he put
them away again, and locking his thumbs in the arm-holes of his vest,
resumed his walk up and down the deck. While this conversation was
going on the crew had been busy casting off the lines with which the
flatboat was made fast to the bank, and now one of them sung out: “All
gone, sir.”
The captain turned, and seeing that Mr. Bowles and Julian had just
come on board, and knowing that it would be useless to make any more
attempts to rid himself of his objectionable passenger, gave orders to
get under way.
“Haul in that gang-plank,” said he. “Get out the setting-poles and
shove off for’ard. Man the larboard sweeps, and pull her bow out.”
While the crew were busy working the boat out into the river, Mr.
Bowles took occasion to stroll aft and look over into the water. It was
very dark, but still there was light enough for him to distinguish the
outlines of the dug-out dragging at the stern of the flatboat. So far
his plans were working smoothly. His only fear was that the canoe might
be discovered by the pilot; but, after all, there was little danger of
it, for that officer, beside being obliged to give his whole attention
to directing the course of the boat, occupied a position so far from
the stern that he could not look over into the water, even if he had
been disposed to do so. Jack took off his hat and flourished it about
his head, and instantly another hat was thrust over the side of the
dug-out, and being moved to and fro was pulled back out of sight. Jake
and Tom were on the alert, and Mr. Bowles, being satisfied of the fact,
returned to his prisoner and conducted him into the cabin.
Julian took the seat pointed out to him, and looked around with
curiosity. The cabin was a very dingy apartment, and was dimly lighted
by a smoky lantern, which hung suspended from a beam overhead. It
contained a rusty cooking stove, a rough table, around which were
arranged four long benches to serve in lieu of chairs, and two sides
were occupied by bunks in which the crew slept.
One of them, a little apart from the others, was provided with
curtains, which, being looped back, revealed a very comfortable-looking
bed, that was doubtless intended for Mr. Mortimer. The latter gentleman
had nothing to say to Mr. Bowles when he came in, but continued his
walk in silence.
Jack took a turn about the cabin, and then seating himself in a chair
near his prisoner, folded his arms, rested his chin on his breast, and
closed his eyes as if preparing to go to sleep.
Being heavily loaded and short-handed besides, considerable time was
consumed in working the flatboat out into the river; but at the end of
half an hour a gentle, gliding motion, accompanied by the “lapping”
sound of the waves against her sides, told Julian that she was fairly
under way.
Presently the captain came below, followed by some of his crew. The men
looked curiously at the passengers, especially at Julian, who sat in
his chair with his hands tied behind his back, and without any ceremony
divested themselves of some of their outer clothing and tumbled into
bed.
The captain, after pointing out to his passengers the beds he had
arranged for them, followed their example, and presently Mr. Mortimer
also sought his couch.
Julian, almost worn down by fatigue and excitement, waited impatiently
for Jack to give the signal for retiring, but the latter had no
intention of doing anything of the kind. He waited until the sounds
which issued from the bunks told him that their occupants were all
asleep, and then he beckoned Julian to follow him to the deck. A
terrible fear seized upon the boy as he arose to obey. Was Jack about
to throw him overboard?
He tottered up the stairs, and when he reached the deck, was astonished
beyond measure and immensely relieved by an unexpected proceeding on
the part of his keeper, who, instead of conducting him to the side and
pitching him into the water, began untying his hands.
“What in the world does he mean, I wonder?” thought Julian. “Does he
expect me to remain on board this boat if he gives me the least chance
to leave it? If he takes his eyes off me for one instant I’ll astonish
him.”
“What are you untying that crazy fellow for?” exclaimed the pilot, who
stood with his hand resting on one of the sweeps which served as the
rudders of the flatboat. “The cap’n says he’s dangerous.”
“An’ so he is,” replied Jack—“in the day-time; but at night he’s as
gentle as a kitten. I’m goin’ to let him take a leetle exercise afore
he goes to bed. He’ll sleep the better fur it. Ye needn’t be afeared,
’cause I can manage him. Mind what ye’re about now,” he added in a low
tone, addressing himself to Julian. “I’ve got my eyes onto ye.”
Jack walked aft to talk to the pilot, and Julian, delighted to find
himself once more at liberty, strolled leisurely about the boat.
The crew on watch were huddled together in the waist, and at a little
distance from them, Sanders lay stretched out on the deck, apparently
fast asleep. Julian walked past the prostrate forms, and taking his
stand on the bow, gazed toward the shore. Half the width of the
Missouri River lay between him and his freedom.
“I can easily do it,” said he to himself, “and I am going to try it.
Good-by, Jack. When I set my feet on solid ground once more I will put
a safe distance between you and me before I stop.”
Julian seated himself on the side of the boat and looked down into the
dark, muddy water, now and then turning his eyes toward Jack and the
pilot. The former kept his back toward him and his gaze turned up the
river, as if he saw something there that interested him, and finally
the pilot, in response to some inquiry from Jack, faced about and
looked in the same direction. This was Julian’s opportunity, and he was
prompt to seize upon it. Placing his hands upon the side of the boat he
swung himself off and dropped into the river.
His sudden immersion in the cold water almost took his breath away, and
for a moment he felt as if every drop of blood in his body had been
turned into ice; but quickly recovering himself he struck out lustily
for the shore.
There were two persons on board who had witnessed the whole proceeding.
One was Sanders, who was wide awake, in spite of the terrific snores he
uttered, and the other was Jack Bowles.
So delighted was Jack at the success that had thus far attended his
plans that he could scarcely refrain from shouting.
Fearing that the pilot, if he had not also witnessed Julian’s act,
might soon notice his absence, he looked about for something to occupy
his attention, and found it.
“I see a snag,” said he suddenly. “Look out, or ye’ll be afoul of it in
a minute.”
“I see it, too,” replied the pilot. “I was so busy talking to you that
I forgot to attend to my business. Snag on the starboard bow!” he
shouted. “Man the sweeps, all hands!”
The crew jumped at the word, and Jack sprung down from the pilot’s
bench and walked aft whistling. Jake and Tom, who were curled up
in the bottom of the dug-out, heard and obeyed the signal. They
straightened up at once, and while one seized a paddle the other cut
the painter with which the canoe was made fast to the flatboat, and in
a moment more they were out of sight. Jack stood on the stern of the
boat listening intently for fully five minutes, and then he was almost
certain that he heard a splashing in the water and a smothered cry for
help.
“They’ve got him!” said he gleefully. “I was afeared they might miss
him in the dark. If they had, wouldn’t I have dusted their jackets fur
them, though? But they’re good boys, Jake an’ Tom are. The two hundred
dollars are mine, an’ the hundred an’ forty-five besides.”
By this time the snag had been passed in safety, and the watch once
more huddled together in the waist to sleep until their services were
again required. Jack took his stand beside the pilot, and waited
for him to say something about Julian’s disappearance; but as he
did not refer to the matter, Mr. Bowles went below and tumbled into
bed, satisfied that no one beside himself was the wiser for what had
happened.
Jack awoke long before daylight, but remained quiet in his bunk,
awaiting a favorable opportunity to carry out the rest of his plans. At
last the cook entered the cabin and began preparations for breakfast.
Shortly afterward some of the crew crawled out of their bunks, and
the captain also arose. When Jack saw him he began to bestir himself.
He got out upon the floor, and after dressing himself with great
deliberation, went to the bunk which had been set apart for Julian’s
use. The bed certainly looked as if it had been occupied, but there
was no one in it now. Jack started back with well-assumed surprise,
uttering an exclamation that attracted the attention of every one in
the cabin, and then rushing forward picked up something and examined it
attentively. It was the rope with which Julian had been bound.
“Wal, if this yere don’t beat all natur’,” cried Jack.
“Is he loose?” asked the captain in alarm.
“That’s jest what’s the matter. He’s slipped his hands outen this rope
and hid hisself somewhars. Help me find him, fellers,” added Jack, in
great excitement, leading the way toward the deck; “but look out fur
yerselves, ’cause if any of ye had any we’pons he’s found ’em, an’
he’ll use ’em, too.”
A slight rustling among the bed-clothes behind the curtain which
concealed the bunk in which Mr. Mortimer lay, proved that that
gentleman was awake and listening to all that was going on. Jack heard
the noise and noticed the movements of the occupant of the bunk, but
the captain and his men did not. They were too busy with thoughts of
the dangerous lunatic, whom they must assist in securing, to hear or
see anything. They followed Jack to the deck, and during the next
quarter of an hour the greatest confusion prevailed on board the
flatboat.
Mr. Bowles that morning earned the reputation of being a very
courageous man; for while he continually cautioned the crew to beware
of the fire-arms of which he was sure his escaped prisoner had obtained
possession, he exposed himself most recklessly, being everywhere
foremost in the search, and advancing boldly into the darkest corners
of the hold, where no one else dared to venture. Every part of the boat
was thoroughly searched, but no Julian was found; and Jack and the
captain, after talking the matter over, were obliged to come to the
conclusion that he had put an end to his life by jumping overboard.
The next thing was to inform Mr. Mortimer—who Jack said was some
distant relative of the unfortunate youth—of the melancholy fact; but
that gentleman had already learned the particulars from one of the
crew, and had also made a most disagreeable discovery. Jack found him
on deck, and when his eyes rested on him he stopped and gazed at him in
surprise.
Mr. Mortimer’s serious air might have been put on for the occasion,
Bowles told himself, but he never could have assumed that pale face.
Something was the matter with him. He listened in silence while Jack
and the captain told him of Julian’s mysterious disappearance, and when
they ceased speaking he walked off to an unoccupied part of the deck.
The captain presently went down into his cabin and Jack joined Mr.
Mortimer.
“Where is he?” asked the latter in a low whisper.
“At the bottom of the river,” replied Jack in the same cautious tone.
“He was standin’ right there, jest this way,” he added, stepping close
to the side of the boat, “with his hands tied behind him, an’ I come up
an’ give him a leetle nudge with my shoulder an’ over he went. Nobody
didn’t see me do it, either.”
“I don’t care to know how it was done,” interrupted Mr. Mortimer
hastily. “I only want to be sure that it _was_ done, and effectually.”
“It sartinly was. He couldn’t swim fur with his hands tied, could he?”
“No; but he might have been picked up. Have you seen Sanders this
morning?”
“I hain’t,” replied Jack, looking about the deck, while an expression
of anxiety settled on his face. “He wouldn’t save him, would he?”
“Of course he would, if he got the opportunity. If he could take that
boy to a certain man whose name I could mention he would make more
money by it than he ever saw. He is working against me.”
“Wal, he didn’t pick him up. I was on deck fur ten minutes arter
Julian went overboard, an’ I didn’t see him at all. Mebbe he’s about
somewhars.”
“No, he isn’t. He’s gone; and so is the yawl belonging to the flatboat.”
Jack started, and folding his arms gazed thoughtfully over the side
into the water. Although he had not noticed the circumstance at the
time, he now remembered that on the preceding day Sanders had kept as
close as possible to him and Mr. Mortimer, and that he had more than
once paused in his walk as if he were listening to their conversation.
Might he not by some means have become acquainted with his plans,
and set himself to work to defeat them? And if Julian was so valuable
to him, might he not have followed Jake and Tom in the yawl with the
intention of securing their prisoner? The thought was enough to put
Jack on nettles.
“Whar’s them two hundred?” he asked, suddenly.
Mr. Mortimer, putting his hand into his pocket, produced a roll of
bills, which he slyly handed to his confederate, and Jack continued:
“I can’t be of no more use here, an’ you might as well tell the cap’n
to set me ashore.”
“I will. I want to go myself. I am uneasy about that man Sanders. Here
comes the captain now.”
“I shall have to land to do it,” said the skipper, after listening to
the request of his passenger, “for I have no boat to send you off in.
That strange-looking man in black has deserted us and stolen it. It was
worth $60, too.”
“Say no more about that,” returned Mr. Mortimer. “Put us on dry land
and I will compensate you for the loss of your boat.”
The captain gave the necessary orders to the pilot, called up his crew
to man the sweeps, and in a few seconds the bow of the flatboat was
turned toward the shore.