THE STOLEN STEAMBOAT
"My shild! My soul!" cried madame. "What is it? Where have you been?
What is this!" She patted Miss Lady with one plump hand, even as she
wept; and all Miss Lady could do in turn was to put her face on the
older woman's shoulder and sob in sheer relief.
"Why you don' come at 'ome?" cried madame, severely. "We have wait'
so long. See, this boat, she don' stop. Why do you come to the boat,
when you say you come at 'ome to me? Ah, Mademoiselle, you have never
deceive' me before."
"I have not deceived you," said Miss Lady. "I did not know that we
were coming to the river-front in the carriage--I thought we were
going home. When we got here he pleaded, he begged--it was just to
ride across to Algiers, and come back, he said. He said it was the
last time, the last hour that we would ever spend together. He
threatened--what could I do, Madame? You would not have me make a
scene; it was dark out there, I thought it safer to come aboard the
boat--where there were lights--and other ladies. I went back to the
ladies' cabin. O Madame, Madame--"
Madame Delehasse threw her arms about the girl and they passed down
the long cabin of the boat. Eddring turned to the clerk, grieved and
wondering.
"Can you put these ladies ashore at Algiers across the river?" asked
he. "There has been a mistake. They don't want to go up river."
"They'll have to go, now," said the clerk. "We'll put them out at the
ferry, up above a few miles. Best we can do. Algiers! Do you think we
are running a street-car?"
"Very well," said Eddring. "Get two state-rooms, then. We'll go on up
the river. You can put us ashore sometime after daylight. We wanted
to catch a train up country, but if we can't do that to-night, we'll
try it from some stopping-place up river."
There had come to Eddring the lightning-like conviction that he was
now suddenly flung into the chief crisis of his life. He looked hard
at the widening gap of black water between him and the shore, and at
the hurrying floods into which the boat was now beginning steadily to
plow; but the night and the floods gave him no answer. He knew that
he had taken upon himself responsibility for two women, one of whom
he believed to have been practically a victim of abduction--this
woman whom he had loved for years, had lost, and lost again, but who
was now here, under his care, dependent on his own courage, his own
resolution and decision. It was but for a moment that Eddring
hesitated. The heart of the great boat throbbed on beneath him, but
even with her strong pulse there rose his own resolve. He left the
forward deck and passed back to seek out the clerk.
"Go tell the captain of this boat to come to me," said he.
"What do you mean? Who are you?" the clerk asked.
"I must see the captain," Eddring answered with a wave of the hand,
and again turned away. Perhaps it was the very stress of that moment
which finally indeed brought Captain Wilson of the _Opelousas Queen_
into the presence of his enigmatical passenger.
"Well, sir?" cried Wilson, as he approached, "what can I do for
_you?_"
"Captain Wilson," said Eddring, quietly, "I want to take your boat
off her regular run. I have got to get up the river, and I am afraid
the roads are wiped out."
The river-man's astonishment at this bade fair to end in explosion.
"My boat!" he ejaculated. "Quit my run?"
"Yes," said Eddring. "I'll explain to you later the necessity I have
for getting up the river quickly--and why it means that I have got
to have your boat."
"Have my boat!" said Wilson, his voice sinking into an inarticulate
whisper. "And me with mail, and passengers, and freight to leave from
Plaquemine to St. Louis! Have my boat! Have my----"
"Put your passengers off at Baton Rouge in the morning. Transfer your
mails there. Let everything get through the best it can. It can wait.
As for me, I can't wait; I must go through direct."
Wilson endeavored to look at him calmly. "If you talk that way to me
much longer," said he, "I'll say you're surely crazy."
"I'll see you about it in the morning," said Eddring, quietly. His
singleness of purpose had its effect. Captain Wilson abruptly turned
on his heel.
Meantime Miss Lady and Madame Delchasse had drawn apart in their own
excitement, exclaiming only against the fact that this boat, so far
from crossing the river, was now forging steadily upstream. Along the
distant bends there could be seen the black masses of shadow, picked
out here and there by the star-like points of the channel lights;
while the low banks of the western shore, dimly indicated by the
ferry lights, slowly slipped away.
"We are h'run away," cried Madame Delchasse. "It is not to Algiers.
Ah, my angel, what fortune I am here!" Miss Lady silently pressed her
hand, and they moved farther forward on the guards.
Eddring heard them talking, and knew the cause of their uneasiness.
He sat apart on the forward guards planning for a further attempt
with Captain Wilson, and planning also for another meeting which he
knew he might presently expect. He needed all his faculties at that
moment, as he sat with his back to the rail, and his eyes commanding
the approaches to the deck. He was waiting for what he knew would be
the most exacting situation he had known in all his life--the
encounter with Henry Decherd.
As for the latter, it had been his plan to absent himself from Miss
Lady until after the boat should have swung well into the up-stream
journey; then, he meant to do whatever might be necessary to carry
out his main purpose. Abduction, compulsion, force--none of these
things would have caused Henry Decherd to hesitate at this time of
desperation. Miss Lady's sudden desertion and flight to the ladies'
cabin disconcerted him. The sound of Eddring's voice and that of
madame filled him with dismay. He tried to compose himself, but found
his nerves trembling. Hurrying to the bar, he sought aid in a glass
of liquor. He knew there must be a reckoning. As he returned from the
bar he met Madame Delchasse with Miss Lady, and was obliged to speak.
"Madame, how did you come here?" he stammered. "Why, where is this
boat going?"
"It is not go to Algiers, no?" said madame, freezingly. "By this
time, Monsieur Decherd, I have expect mademoiselle to be at my 'ome."
"Why, we only wanted to run across the river together. We were coming
home," protested Decherd. "We did not know this was an up-river
boat."
Madame Delchasse drew herself up magnificently. "I, Clarisse
Delchasse," said she, "have arrive'. I shall take care of
mademoiselle." Decherd again began, but she interrupted him. "If it
is not for this stranger, this Mr. Eddrang," said madame, "I am not
here this moment to care for mademoiselle. What care have you take?
People would not talk, no? You to protect! Bah!" She slammed the
glass door of the cabin in his face.
Decherd stood irresolute, ill-armed in the injustice of his quarrel.
He had not a moment to wait.
"Decherd!" The voice was John Eddring's.
Decherd turned. The silent watcher beside the rail had risen and was
coming straight toward him.