INTO THE BLACK WATER
The contemptuous, utterly indifferent manner in which he voiced his
villainous purpose, would have crazed any man. Perhaps he intended
that it should, although it was my belief that he merely expressed
himself naturally, and with no thought of consequences. The man was so
steeped in crime as to be ignorant of all sense of honor, all
conception of true manhood. But to me this utterance was the last
straw, breaking down every restraint, and leaving me hot, and furious
with anger. I forgot the muzzle of the pistol pressed against my side,
and the menacing threat in Kirby's low voice. The face of the man was
indistinct, a mere outline, but the swift impulse to strike at it was
irresistible, and I let him have the blow--a straight-arm jab to the
jaw. My clinched knuckles crunched against the flesh, and he reeled
back, kept from falling only by the support of the deckhouse. There
was no report of a weapon, no outcry, yet, before I could strike again,
I was suddenly gripped from behind by a pair of arms, which closed
about my throat like a vise, throttling me instantly into silent
helplessness. I struggled madly to break free, straining with all the
art of a wrestler, exerting every ounce of strength, but the grasp
which held me was unyielding, robbing me of breath, and defeating every
effort to call for help; Kirby, dazed yet by my sudden blow, and eager
to take a hand in the affray, struck me a cowardly blow in the face,
and swung his undischarged pistol to a level with my eyes.
"Damn you!" he ejaculated, and for the first time his voice really
exhibited temper. "I'd kill you with this, but for the noise. No, by
God! there is a safer way than that to settle with you. Have you got
the skunk, Carver?"
"You can bet I have, Joe. I kin choke the life out o' him--shall I?"
"No; let up a bit--just enough so he can answer me first, I want to
find out what all this means. Now look here, Knox, you're an army
officer, are you?"
"Yes," I managed to gasp, sobbing in an effort to catch breath, as the
iron fingers at my throat relaxed slightly.
"Well then, what is all this to you? Why are you butting in on my
game? Was Beaucaire a friend of yours?"
"I can hardly claim that," I admitted. "We never met until I came
aboard this steamer. All I am interested in is justice to others."
"To others? Oh, I suppose you mean those girls--you know them then?"
"I have never even seen them," I said, now speaking more easily.
"Thockmorton chanced to tell me about them yesterday, and their
condition appealed to me, just as it naturally would to any true man.
I thought probably you did not understand the situation, and hoped that
if I told you the truth you might respond."
"Oh, you did, did you? You must have figured me as being pretty soft.
Well, what do you think now?"
His tone so completely ended my hope of compromise that I replied
hotly, "That you are a dirty, piratical cur. I may have doubted your
purpose at first, for I am not used to your kind, but this is so no
longer. You deliberately ruined and robbed Beaucaire, in order to gain
possession of these two girls. You have admitted as much."
He laughed, in no way angered by my plain speech; indeed it almost
seemed as though he felt complimented.
"Hardly admit, my friend, for that is not my style. I let others do
the guessing. What do you think of that, Carver? It seems we rank
rather high in the estimation of the young man." His eyes again
centered on me. "And you are really not acquainted with either of the
ladies?"
"No."
"I see; a self-appointed squire of dames; actuated merely by a romantic
desire to serve beauty in distress. Extremely interesting, my dear
boy. But, see here, Knox," and his tone changed to seriousness. "Let
the romance go, and talk sense a minute. You are not going to get very
far fighting me alone. You haven't even got the law with you. Even if
I cheated Beaucaire, which I do not for a moment admit, there is no
proof. The money is mine, and so is the land, and the niggers. You
can be ugly, of course, but you cannot overturn the facts. Now I don't
care a whoop in hell for that bunch of miners back there in the cabin.
If left alone they will forget all about this affair in an hour. It's
nothing to them, and they are no angels if it was. But, in a way, it
is different with you. I understand that, and also that you are in a
position where you might make me some trouble. People would listen to
what you had to say--and some of them might believe you. Now you
acknowledge that what has occurred is personally nothing to you;
Beaucaire was no special friend, and you don't even know the two
girls--all right then, drop the whole matter. I hold no grudge on
account of your striking me, and am even willing to share up with you
to avoid trouble."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then, of course, we shall be compelled to shut your mouth for you.
Self preservation is the first law."
"Which simply means that you intend to go on, and yield nothing?"
"That is about right. We'll hold tight to what we've got--hey, Carver?"
"That's allers bin my way o' doin' business," chimed in the other
brutally. "An' we've sure got you, mister soldier man, where we kin
handle yer, I reckon."
I looked about at them both, scarcely able to distinguish clearly even
their outlines in the dense gloom. The seriousness of my situation,
coupled with my helplessness, and inability to achieve the object
proposed, was very evident. These men were reckless, and determined,
unable to even grasp my point of view. It might, under these
circumstances, have been the part of wisdom to me to have sought some
means of compromise, but I was young and hot, fiery blood swept through
my veins. The words of Kirby stung me with their breath of insult--his
sneering, insolent offer to pay me to remain still.
"You must rank me as one of your own kind," I burst forth. "Now you
listen to a plain word from me. If that was intended as an offer, I
refuse it. When I first left the cabin, and came here on deck, I
honestly believed I could talk with you, Kirby, appeal to your better
nature, and gain some consideration for those two girls. Now I know
better. From the start this has been the working out of a deliberately
planned plot. You, and your confederate, have coolly robbed Beaucaire,
and propose to get away with the spoils. Perhaps you will, but that
end will not be accomplished through any assistance of mine. At first
I only felt a slight interest in the affair, but from now on I am going
to fight you fellows with every weapon I possess."
Kirby chuckled, apparently greatly amused.
"Quite glad, I am sure, for the declaration of war. Fighting has
always agreed with me. Might I ask the nature of those weapons?"
"That remains for you to discover," I ejaculated sharply, exasperated
by his evident contempt. "Carver, take your dirty hands off of me."
In spite of the fact of their threat, the ready pistol pressing against
my ribs, the grip of Carver's fingers at my throat, I did not
anticipate any actual assault. That either would really dare injure me
seemed preposterous. Indeed my impression was, that Kirby felt such
indifference toward my attempt to block his plan, that he would permit
me to pass without opposition--certainly without the slightest resort
to violence. The action of the two was so swift, so concerted, as
though to some secret signal, that, almost before I realized their
purpose, they held me helplessly struggling, and had forced me back
against the low rail. Here I endeavored to break away, to shout an
alarm, but was already too late. Carver's hands closed remorselessly
on my throat, and, when I managed to strike out madly with one free
fist, the butt of Kirby's pistol descended on my head, so lacerating my
scalp the dripping blood blinded my eyes. The blow partially stunned
me, and I half fell, clutching at the rail, yet dimly conscious that
the two straining men were uplifting my useless body. Carver swearing
viciously as he helped to thrust me outward over the wooden bar. The
next instant I fell, the sneering cackle of Kirby's laugh of triumph
echoing in my ears until drowned in the splash as I struck the black
water below.
I came back to the surface dazed and weakened, yet sufficiently
conscious to make an intelligent struggle for life. The over-hang of
the rapidly passing boat still concealed me from the observation of
those above on the deck, and the advantage of permitting them to
believe that the blow on my head had resulted in drowning, together
with the knowledge that I must swiftly get beyond the stroke of that
deadly wheel, flashed instantly through my brain. It was like a tonic,
reviving every energy. Waiting only to inhale one deep breath of air,
I plunged back once more into the depths, and swam strongly under
water. The effort proved successful, for when I again ventured to
emerge, gasping and exhausted, the little _Warrior_ had swept past, and
become merely a shapeless outline, barely visible above the surface at
the river. Even if the two men had rushed to the stern, seeking thus
to ascertain what had happened to their victim, they could not have
detected my presence in that darkness, or determined whether or not I
had met death in the depths, or been crushed lifeless by those
revolving paddles.
Slowly treading water, my lips held barely above the surface, I drew in
deep draughts of cool night air, my mind becoming more active as hope
returned. The blow I had received was a savage one, and pained dully,
but the cold water in which I had been immersed had caused the bleeding
to cease, and likewise revived all my faculties. The water was so icy,
still fed by the winter snow of the north, as to make me conscious of
chill, and awaken within me a fear of cramps. The steamer melted
swiftly away into nothingness, and the last indication of its presence
in the distance was the faint gleam of a stern light piercing the night
shadows. The very fact that no effort was made to stop was sufficient
proof that Thockmorton in the wheelhouse remained unconscious of what
had occurred on the deck below. My fate might never be discovered, or
suspected. I was alone, submerged in the great river, the stars
overhead alone piercing the night shadows. They seemed cold, and far
away, their dull glow barely sufficient to reveal the dim outline of
the western shore; and even this would have remained invisible except
for the trees lining the higher bank beyond, and silhouetted against
the slightly lighter background of sky. In the other direction all was
apparently water, a turbulent waste, and one glance deciding my action,
I quickly struck out, partially breasting the downward sweep of the
current, in a desperate struggle to attain land.
I discovered this to be no easy task, as the swirl of the river bore
strongly toward the opposite shore, yet I had always been a powerful
swimmer, and although now seriously hampered by boots, and heavy,
sodden clothing, succeeded in making steady progress. A log swept by
me, white bursts of spray illuminating its sides, and I grappled it
gratefully, my fingers finding grip on the sodden bark. Using this for
partial support, and ceasing to battle so desperately against the
down-sweep of the current, I managed finally to work my way into an
eddy, struggling onward until my feet at last touched bottom at the end
of a low, out-cropping point of sand. This proved to be a mere spit,
but I waded ashore, water streaming from my clothing, conscious now of
such complete exhaustion that I sank instantly outstretched upon the
sand, gasping painfully for breath, every muscle and nerve throbbing.
The night was intensely still, black, impenetrable. It seemed as
though no human being could inhabit that desolate region. I lifted my
head to listen for the slightest sound of life, and strained my eyes to
detect the distant glimmer of a light in any direction. Nothing
rewarded the effort. Yet surely along here on this long-settled west
bank of the Mississippi I could not be far removed from those of my
race, for I knew that all along this river shore were cultivated
plantations and little frontier towns irregularly served by passing
steamboats. We had not been far to the northward of St. Louis at
midnight, and Thockmorton confidently expected to tie up the _Warrior_
at the wharf before that city early the next morning. So, surely,
somewhere near at hand, concealed amid the gloom, would be discovered
the habitations of men--either the pretentious mansion of some
prosperous planter, or the humble huts of his black slaves. Could I
attain to either one I would be certain of welcome, for hospitality
without questioning was the code of the frontier.
The night air increased in chilliness as the hours approached dawn, and
I shivered in my wet clothes, although this only served to arouse me
into immediate action. Realizing more than ever as I again attempted
to move my weakness and exhaustion from struggle, I succeeded in
gaining my feet, and stumbled forward along the narrow spit of sand,
until I attained a bank of firm earth, up which I crept painfully,
emerging at last upon a fairly level spot, softly carpeted with grass,
and surrounded by a grove of forest trees. The shadows here were
dense, but my feet encountered a depression in the soil, which I soon
identified as a rather well-defined path leading inland. Assured that
this must point the way to some door, as it was evidently no wild
animal trail, I felt my way forward cautiously, eager to attain
shelter, and the comfort of a fire.
The grove was of limited extent, and, as I emerged from beneath its
shadow, I came suddenly to a patch of cultivated land, bisected by a
small stream, the path I was following leading along its bank. Holding
to this for guidance, within less than a hundred yards I came to the
house I was seeking, a small, log structure, overshadowed by a gigantic
oak, and standing isolated and alone. It appeared dark and silent,
although evidently inhabited, as an axe stood leaning against the jamb
of the door, while a variety of utensils were scattered about.
Believing the place to be occupied by a slave, or possibly some white
squatter, I advanced directly to the door, and called loudly to whoever
might be within.
There was no response, and, believing the occupant asleep, I used the
axe handle, rapping sharply. Still no voice answered, although I felt
convinced of some movement inside, leading me to believe that the
sleeper had slipped from his bed and was approaching the door. Again I
rapped, this time with greater impatience over the delay, but not the
slightest sound rewarded the effort Shivering there in my wet clothes,
the stubborn obduracy of the fellow awakened my anger.
"Open up, there," I called commandingly, "or else I'll take this axe
and break down your door."
In the darkness I had been unobservant of a narrow slide in the upper
panel, but had scarcely uttered these words of threat when the flare of
a discharge almost in my very face fairly blinded me, and I fell
backward, aware of a burning sensation in one shoulder. The next
instant I lay outstretched on the ground, and it seemed to me that life
was fast ebbing from my body. Twice I endeavored vainly to rise, but
at the second attempt my brain reeled dizzily and I sank back
unconscious.