"Bring Me His Ears" Part 6

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 circ.u.mstances! 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 pa.s.sed 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 part.i.tion 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 pa.s.sage-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 pa.s.sage.

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 ident.i.ty 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 G.o.ddess of Chance direct his energies.

At the other end of the pa.s.sage-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 pa.s.sage, having beaten, choked, and gouged the thief into an inert and senseless ma.s.s, 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 ma.s.s apart and drag out one belligerent at a time. They lined them up just as Captain Newell galloped down the pa.s.sage-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-h.e.l.l'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-h.e.l.l's-th'-matter-down-here?"

"There was a fight," carefully explained the weary officer.

"h.e.l.l'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 k.n.o.bs rising over one ear. "d.a.m.ned 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? h.e.l.l'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 pa.s.sing rapidly.

CHAPTER V

THE INSULT

Shortly after dawn Tom awakened and became conscious of a steady vibration and the rhythmical splash of the paddle wheel. Hurriedly dressing he went out on deck and glanced sh.o.r.eward. The cream-and-chocolate colored water, of an opacity dense enough to hide a piece of sh.e.l.l only a quarter of an inch below its surface, rioted past; to port was a low-lying island covered with an amazing ma.s.s of piled-up trees, logs and debris, deposited there by the racing current of the rapidly-falling stream; and the distant sh.o.r.e was covered with dense forests of walnut and cottonwood, interspersed with rich bottoms masked by tangles of brush. Farther up he knew the sight would change into an almost treeless expanse of green prairies, gashed by scored bluffs of clay. The surface of the river was not smooth and the wind already had reached disturbing strength, while an occasional gust of chilling rain peppered the water and a.s.saulted the boat. From the beat of the paddles and the high frequency of the vibrations he knew the _Belle_ was going ahead under full steam, but his momentary frown was effaced by the thought that the pilot was competent and knew what he was doing. Still, he felt a little uneasy, and went forward to pay the pilot a visit.

Reaching the hurricane deck he saw both pilots at the wheel and also a lookout on the roof of the little house, while in the very point of the bow, on the main deck, another lookout was scrutinizing the river ahead.

"We're makin' good time," said Tom pleasantly as he poked his head in the pilot house.

"Yes," came an answering grunt; "too good, mebby."

His words and manner were not calculated to encourage conversation and the visitor went down to see about breakfast. Fortified by a cup of coffee he felt able to wait until the meal was ready and went out on deck again, standing in the shelter of an angle of the cabin, pretending to be interested in the slowly shifting panorama, but really impatiently waiting for the appearance of Patience Cooper. He had waited for about an hour, hardly stirring from his post near the door which she had used the morning before, when he caught sight of her crossing the cabin.

Turning from the window and stepping forward he opened the door for her and after a short, cheerful talk about being under way again, led her to the breakfast table, ignoring the scowling horse-dealer who sat at a table in a corner talking to Elias Stevens.

Their breakfast did not take as long as it had on the previous morning, one reason being that while they ate they sensed the boat turn toward the sh.o.r.e and before they had finished it stopped along the bank and moored again.

"I do believe the rain has ceased for the day," Patience observed, peering out of the window by her side. "It is growing brighter every minute. I wonder why the boat has stopped?"

"Too much wind," answered her companion, nodding at the waves running past the boat.

"If that is all, I'm going ash.o.r.e," she declared.