ON THE STEAMER ROCK ISLAND.
THE horse thieves struggled to their feet, and stood apprehensively,
but defiant, facing the old man who eyed them with stern and
threatening glances. They were too much disabled to think of escaping.
“Why, you poor contemptible hoss thieves!” ejaculated Peters, “what
have you got to say for yourselves?”
The two men looked at each other, but the right words did not seem to
occur to them, for they remained silent.
“Serves you right to be tripped up by a woman! You ain’t men, you’re
sneaks!”
The thieves turned their eyes toward Mrs. Peters, who, tall and gaunt,
stood looking on with her thin gray hair floating down her back.
“She ain’t a woman! She’s a witch!” said one of them bitterly.
“You’ll have to answer for that to me!” cried Ben, and with a stride
he struck the man with his huge fist, and prostrated him.
“Dad, shall we string ’em up?” he asked, turning to his father. “He’s
insulted mother.”
What Mr. Peters would have said is problematical, but Noel Brooke
interposed earnestly, “No, no, Mr. Peters, let them go! They’re both
wounded, and that will be punishment sufficient.”
“Just as you say, stranger! It’s your hosses they tried to steal.”
“But they insulted mother,” insisted Ben.
“Let ’em go!” said Mrs. Peters contemptuously. “They’ll remember the
old witch for some time, I reckon!”
The men looked as if they would like to strangle her, but they were
prudent enough to keep their mouths shut.
“Now scoot!” exclaimed Peters, in a threatening tone. “If I ever catch
either of you within a mile of my cabin, I’ll shoot you down like dogs.”
The two thieves waited for no further hint, but, helping each other as
best they could, struck into the woods.
“Mrs. Peters,” said the tourist, turning to his hostess, “I feel very
much indebted to you for your prompt action. But for you Gerald and I
would be forced to walk till we could secure fresh horses.”
“You’re welcome, strangers,” responded Mrs. Peters, coolly reloading
her rifle. “I ain’t enjoyed myself so much for six months.”
And indeed the old woman appeared to be in high spirits. The adventure,
which would have terrified most women, only exhilarated her.
“I reckon we’d better be gettin’ back to bed!” said Peters. “Gettin’ up
at midnight is too early risin’ for me.”
His feeling was shared not only by members of his family, but by
his guests, and all betook themselves to bed again, and in half an
hour were sleeping peacefully. The rest of the night passed without
adventure, and at seven o’clock the next morning they sat down to
breakfast.
As they were about to start on their journey Noel Brooke tendered a
ten-dollar bill to his hostess.
“Mrs. Peters,” he said, “allow me to offer you a slight gift in
acknowledgment of your kindness and of the signal service you did us
last night.”
“I don’t understand all your high words, stranger,” said the old lady,
as with a look of satisfaction she pocketed the money, “but I’ll be
glad to see you again any time. You’re one of the right sort.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Peters.”
So amid farewell greetings the two rode away.
Two months later Gerald and his English friend found themselves on
a river steamer floating down the Mississippi from Davenport to St.
Louis. They had kept on their way west as far as Salt Lake City, then
struck up to the northwest, without any particular plan of proceeding
till they reached the Mississippi. They had once been in danger of
capture by the Indians, and once by highwaymen, but had on both
occasions been fortunate enough to escape.
Noel Brooke had become more and more attached to his young secretary,
whom he not only found an agreeable companion, but intelligent and an
eager learner. He had voluntarily given him oral lessons in French and
German, so that Gerald was able to make use of both languages to a
limited extent.
At Davenport Mr. Brooke learned that the steamer Rock Island would
start at ten o’clock the next morning on her way down the river to St.
Louis and New Orleans, and on the impulse of the moment he decided to
take passage.
“I have heard so much of the Mississippi,” he said to Gerald, “that I
should like to see something of its shores. How will that please you?”
“I should like nothing better,” said Gerald eagerly.
“The boats are running pretty full,” said the landlord of the hotel.
“You may not be able to secure a stateroom.”
“We will try at any rate,” rejoined the tourist. “If we don’t succeed
we can wait till the next boat. Our time is not of great value.”
“Ah,” said the landlord, “that is where you have the advantage of me.
You rich Englishmen are not obliged to turn time into money like us
poor landlords.”
Noel Brooke laughed.
“I sometimes wish I had to work for a living,” he said. “I am inclined
to think that I should enjoy life more.”
“In that case,” remarked Gerald with a smile, “suppose you exchange
places with me.”
“Would you give me a place as private secretary?” asked the tourist.
“Yes.”
“My dear Gerald, envy no man the possession of money. You are young
and healthy, and with an excellent prospect before you. You will be
happier than if there were no necessity for your working.”
“I believe you, Mr. Brooke. I was only joking.”
While the landlord was bantering Mr. Brooke upon being a rich
Englishman, a dark-whiskered man, with a sallow face and shifty
eyes, listened with apparent interest. He watched Noel Brooke with a
scrutinizing glance, and listened attentively to what he said.
When Brooke decided to board the steamer this man settled his bill and
followed him to the boat. At the office the tourist found that a single
stateroom was vacant, No. 37, and he secured it.
It contained two berths, an upper and lower.
“You may take the upper berth, Gerald,” he said. “I shall avail myself
of my privilege as an older man to occupy the lower.”
“All right, Mr. Brooke. It makes no difference to me.”
The man who had shown such a suspicious interest in Mr. Brooke managed
to jostle him a little in going on board the steamer.
“Excuse me,” he said. “Are you going down the river?”
“Yes,” answered Brooke coldly, for he did not like the man’s
appearance.
“How far shall you go? To St. Louis?”
“I presume so.”
“I shall probably get off at St. Louis myself. Ever been there before?”
“No, sir.”
“It’s a nice city. I may be able to show you around.”
“Thank you, but I should not like to give you the trouble.”
“No trouble, I assure you. Is that your brother with you?”
“No, it is a young friend.”
Later on, while Mr. Brooke had gone off to smoke a cigar, the stranger
sought out Gerald.
“Are you English, like your friend?” he asked.
“No, sir. I am an American.”
“I didn’t quite catch the gentleman’s name.”
“Mr. Brooke.”
“Oh, I’ve heard the name before. I presume he is a rich man.”
“I never asked him,” answered Gerald, displeased with his companion’s
curiosity which he considered ill-bred.
“Well, at any rate, you must have money to travel around with him.”
“I am his private secretary.”
“You don’t say so? Is it a soft snap?”
“I don’t understand.”
“I mean is it an easy job?”
“I do not complain of its duties.”
“Where have you been traveling?”
“In Colorado and Utah.”
“All expenses paid, I suppose?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then it _is_ a soft snap. I am a business man, a traveler for a
Chicago house.”
“Indeed!” said Gerald, who felt no interest in his companion or his
business.
“My name is Samuel Standish. How long are you going to travel with Mr.
Brooke?”
“I can’t tell, sir.”
“When you get out of a job, call on me, at No. 114 North Clark Street,
Chicago.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You look like a smart fellow. I will recommend you to my firm.”
“You are very kind, sir.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Mr. Samuel Standish walked away, and directly afterwards a stout
gentleman walked by.
Gerald started in surprise, for in the newcomer he recognized Mr.
Bradley Wentworth.