Elam Storm, The Wolfer Part 6

"What do you suppose they will set me to doing?"

"Oh, perhaps they will grub-stake you and send you into the mountains to hunt up a gold mine. Many a nice fellow has got a start in that way, and is now numbered among the millionnaires. You'll get a start if you strike Black Dan."

"I hope you will take this pin and wear it while you are on the boat,"

said Tom; for he had already made up his mind to go on to Fort Hamilton and seek an interview with Black Dan if he were still alive. "I wish I had some baggage in which I could hide it away."

Without saying a word Mr. Bolton took the pin, adjusted it into his shirt-front, and once more placed his heels on the railing. The longer Tom talked with him the more he admired him, and the more he detested his avocation. The idea that such a man as that should deliberately prey upon the cupidity of his neighbors! But, then, if he was a gambler, he was the only man in the whole lot of pa.s.sengers who had taken to him.

There were a number of finely dressed planters who sat at the table with him, but not one had had a word to say to him, and would have allowed him to go on his way to ruin if it had not been for this solitary man.

And how he had trusted him! Was there a planter on the boat who would have given him so large an amount of money on so short an acquaintance?

"There's one thing about it," said Tom, as he thrust his hands deep into his pockets. "If I make a success of this thing, I shall not have any planters, who have already made their mark in the world, to thank for my salvation."

The sight of the revolver that was placed upon the stool at the head of his bed did not startle Tom as it had done on a former occasion.

Answering the cheerful "Morning" of the sleepy gambler he made a trip to the barber shop to get a "shake up," for Tom had not yet had opportunity to buy a brush and comb, and then went out and seated himself on the guards. He felt more lonely now than he had at any time since leaving home. Memphis was only forty miles away,--he had heard one of the customers in the barber shop make that remark,--and he knew that when he got there the last friend he had on earth was to take leave of him.

"How will I ever get along without him?" was the question he kept constantly asking himself. "Two hundred dollars and a good overcoat besides. I think I shall need the overcoat, for if the weather is as cold as it is this morning, I should prefer to hug the fire."

While he was thinking about it, Mr. Bolton came out and beckoned to him.

Tom followed him into the office, and when the blinds had all been closed, the clerk unlocked his safe and took out three official envelopes; for the thirty thousand made so large a roll of money that he could not get the bills all into one. Selecting one of the envelopes, he tore it open, counted out two hundred dollars from it, placed it in a second envelope, sealed it with a blow of his fist upon the counter, and placed Tom's name upon it.

"That's yours, Tom," said he. "I need hardly tell you to be careful of it. When you leave the boat at Fort Gibson, the clerk will give it to you."

"Must I change boats again?" asked Tom.

"Yes, for this boat draws so much water that she can't run any farther,"

said the clerk. "I'll keep an eye on you and see that you get through all right."

Mr. Bolton then proceeded to count out fifty dollars, which he pushed over toward the clerk, after which he put the envelopes in the inside pocket of his vest and b.u.t.toned his coat over them.

"What's this for?" enquired the clerk.

"That's to pay you for your trouble," said the gambler. "Now, the less I hear about this money the better I shall like it. Let us out."

"What have you been doing to him?" enquired the clerk, after he had let Mr. Bolton out of the side door on to the guards, locked Tom's money in the safe, and raised the blind which gave entrance into the cabin. "Are you any relative of his?"

"No. I never saw him until I came on board this boat. I told him my story and that led him to give me some money. The barber says he has travelled over this road a good many times."

"Oh, I know him. This isn't the first fifty dollars I have made out of him. He has a different name every time. This time it is Jasper Bolton.

Why, two years ago he came aboard of us, clean shaved as any farmer and dressed like one, and had charge of twenty-five barrels of dried apples which he was taking to Memphis. Of course he got on to a game before he had been here a great while, and cleaned everyone out."

"I wish he wouldn't gamble," said Tom. "He has the manners of a gentleman."

"Oh, everyone has to make his living at something," said the clerk, with a laugh. "And if he can't make his any easier than at gambling, why, I say let him keep at it. But you ought to have seen him with those dried apples! He talked them up so big among the pa.s.sengers that he sold them for double the sum that I could have bought the same apples for. Oh, he's a good one!"

"I shouldn't think he would want to carry that money in his vest pocket," said Tom. "How easy it would be for somebody to knock him down and take it away from him."

"He's got a big revolver in his pocket," said the clerk.

During the rest of the trip to Memphis Tom stuck as close to Mr.

Bolton's side as if he had grown there, and listened to some good advice, which, had he seen fit to follow it, would have made his progress through life a comparatively smooth one; but Tom could not get over the "gibes" which he knew his uncle would throw at him as often as he got angry. He said that was all that kept him from going back, and the gambler finally gave it up in despair.

On arriving at Memphis Mr. Bolton picked up his valise, bade good-by to some of the officers whose acquaintance he had made on the way up, and stepped ash.o.r.e with Tom at his heels. The latter kept a close watch over the sharpers, and was not a little annoyed to find that they were going ash.o.r.e, too. He called Mr. Bolton's attention to it, but all he got was a smile in return; and now, when Tom got a good view of it, he told himself that there was more self-confidence in that smile than he had given him credit for. Indeed, Mr. Bolton, with his overcoat on and a valise in his hand, and the free, swinging stride with which he stepped off, looked more like a prosperous business man than he did like anything else.

Mr. Bolton was evidently acquainted in Memphis, for he pa.s.sed three or four clothing-houses, and finally turned into an extra fine one, where he said he wanted to see the longest and thickest overcoat they had. His boy was going away into a country where blizzards were plenty, and he desired to see him well protected before he went. The first garment that was handed down was a fit, and Tom stood by with it on, and saw Mr.

Bolton buy another valise, an extra suit of sheep's-gray clothing, a couple of blue flannel shirts, and a number of other little things which Tom would not have thought of. When the articles had been paid for, Mr.

Bolton took off his pin, wrapped it in a little piece of paper, and thrust it into one corner of the valise, then locked it and handed the key to Tom. Then he turned and walked out.

"Mr. Bolton," said Tom, hurrying after him, "I never can repay----"

"Oh, yes, you can. Whenever you meet a fellow that is hard up, and you can afford it, just hand him a dollar or two, and that will make it all right. Now, be careful of yourself on the way up. You'll find some lawless men there who won't hesitate to take the last cent you've got.

Remember me to Black Dan, and don't forget what I have told you. Put it there. So long."

Tom wanted to say something else, but before he could form the words his hand had been squeezed for a moment and he was alone. He watched the man and then saw him disappear among the crowd.

"I wonder if anybody ever had such luck as this," said Tom, as he turned his face slowly toward the levee. "I almost dread to think of it, for fear that there is worse luck in store for me."

He was alone now, at all events.

CHAPTER VI.

TOM ADMIRES THE COWBOYS.

Tom Mason slowly made his way back to Wolf River, the place where the _Jennie June_ was discharging her cargo, locked his baggage in his state room, and seated himself on the guard to watch the deck-hands and think of Mr. Bolton, if that was his name. Several pa.s.sengers got off at Memphis, and several more got on to take their places, but from the time the boat rounded to go up the Arkansas River there was no one who had anything to say to him, if we except the clerk and the barber.

Tom thought he had never seen so lonely and desolate a country as that through which the Arkansas flowed. Woods were to be seen in every direction, and here and there a small clearing with a negro or two scattered about to show that somebody lived there. The boat stopped a few times to let off a pa.s.senger where there was not the sign of a fence anywhere around, but she never got out a line for them. She awoke the echoes far and near with her hoa.r.s.e whistle, shoved out a gang-plank, a couple of deck-hands ran ash.o.r.e with the pa.s.senger's baggage, and then she went on her way up the river. The town of Little Rock was situated in the woods, and above that it was all wilderness until Fort Gibson was reached. The _Jennie June_ did not tie up alongside the levee, but ran on till she came to a little boat with steam up, the only boat there was at the landing, and made fast alongside of her, keeping her wheels moving all the while, so as not to pull her away from her moorings.

"Have I got to change to that thing?" said Tom.

"Yes, sir," replied the clerk, who hurried past him with a book in his hands and a pencil behind his ear. "She's the only one who can go above here at all. Plenty of room on her. I'll be ready to go with you in ten minutes."

With his baggage between his feet Tom sat down to await the return of the clerk, and to make a mental estimate of the vessel that was to take him 150 miles further on his journey. He saw that she had no Texas on board of her, her pilot-house being seated on the roof of the cabin. Her engines were small, being no doubt reduced in weight to make her carrying capacity equal to pa.s.sing over the shoal places she would find before her, her spars were ready for use, and she had no roof over her main-deck. She could get along very well in dry weather, but what would she do when a rain-storm came up? Tom noticed that a good portion of baggage was laid out on the boiler deck, and no doubt some of the pa.s.sengers slept there; and consequently it would be a dangerous piece of business for any of the wakeful parties to attempt to promenade the main-deck with a cigar, as he had often seen done on the _Jennie June_.

"I hope we shall have pleasant weather all the way to Fort Hamilton,"

thought Tom, as he rested his elbows on the railing and proceeded to size up the pa.s.sengers. "I don't see how they can get all those men into the cabin."

Almost the first thing Tom saw, curled up before some luggage they were watching, were a couple of Indians, taking good care to keep out of the way of the swiftly moving deck-hands. But Indians he could see any day by simply riding into his uncle's woods; but who were those long-legged, lank fellows who took just as much care of their rifles and knapsacks as the Indians did? They were hunters, and Tom could not resist the temptation to turn his eyes away from the fore-castle back to the main-deck to take a second survey of the motley group of men he had seen there. They were cowboys all of them, and their clothing, especially their hats and boots, were as nearly perfect as money could buy. They were all young fellows, from twenty to twenty-five years of age, and wore their six-shooters strapped around them with as much ease as though they had been born with them on. The hunters were a lazy set, and were willing to work for the furs they captured, while the cowboys were willing to work for a salary, and they earned every dollar of it, too.

"That's what I am going to be," thought Tom. "I'll have a horse and lariat, and I'll soon learn to ride with the best of them. I don't see what Mr. Bolton could have been thinking of when he bought me this sheep's-gray suit. None of the cowboys has them on."

While Tom was busy in watching the cowboys and telling himself that almost any one of them looked ready for a fight, the clerk came up, and, following a motion of his hand, Tom stepped after him into the office.

He unlocked the safe and, taking out Tom's roll of money, handed it to him, saying:

"I have spoken to the clerk about you, and he promises that he will give you a nice room with a lower bunk. Good luck to you."