Murray Accuses George of Robbing The Safe
Murray Accuses George of Robbing The Safe
The captain placed his hands behind his back, and looking down into the clear, honest eyes that were gazing straight into his own, told himself that theboy was no more a thief than he was. "Do you know where the money is?" he asked.
"I do not, sir; I have never seen it. The one who put that key there can tell you where he put the money. You have made a good beginning, and you had better go on with your search."
"Pull off the pillow-case, Walker," said Murray, who had backed up into one corner of the room, and stood holding his handkerchief over his wounded eye. "I don't see why that money didn't fall out," he added, mentally.
The second clerk acted upon the suggestion, but found nothing. Murray, who closely watched all his movements, grew a shade whiter than ever, and his heart sank within him. This was the second hitch in his programme. The first was the captain's unshaken faith in George's innocence. That was something that Murray had not look for, and perhaps it was one reason why he did not play his part better.
"It was a well-laid scheme, and I cannot yet see where I made a mistake in it," soliloquized the chief clerk, whose suspense and alarm were so great that he scarcely knew how he was acting. He was almost ready to thank George for giving him thatblow, because it furnished him with an excuse for keeping his face covered. "I can't imagine where that money has gone. I put three hundred dollars in that pillow-case at the same time I put the key there, and how it has disappeared so suddenly beats me. If anybody saw me put it there—"
Murray could not bear to dwell upon this thought. It suggested too many dreadful things to him.
As he was in duty bound to do, the captain made a searching investigation, but the money he was looking for could not be found. He questioned George very closely, but could learn nothing from him, for the simple reason that he did not know anything about it.
"This is a sad affair," said the captain, at length, "and the law will have to look into it. George, I have known you but a short time, but somehow I have great confidence in you."
The accents of kindness touched the boy's heart, and his eyes filled with tears. "Thank you, sir," said he, heartily. "I assure you that I shall never abuse that confidence."
"Consequently, if you will promise that you will not leave the boat until we reach St. Louis, I shall put no restraint upon you," added the captain.
"I promise; I am as anxious to have this matter looked into as you are; more so, for I have more at stake."
"Very well. Now, gentlemen, we will go below," said the captain, addressing himself to the clerks. "I shall consult with some of the officers, and be governed by their advice."
George's visitors went out, and the boy set to work to repack his trunk and make up the bunks. When this was done, he walked leisurely up the steps that led into the pilot-house, and found the captain and the chief engineer in consultation with Mr. Black and his partner.
"George!" exclaimed Mr. Black, seizing the boy's hand in both his own and shaking it heartily; "these fellows mean to ruin you, don't they?"
"I am afraid they have done it already," replied George, with a sickly smile.
"Not by a long shot," said the other pilot, who stood at the wheel. "I know that the evidence is against you, but your friends have not all turned their backs on you. Has Murray any reason to be down on you?"
"Well, I'll tell you something, and then you can answer that question for yourself," answeredGeorge, who then went on to describe how Murray had acted when he saw him pick up Mr. Black's lost pocket-book. His auditors opened their eyes and looked significantly at one another when George explained how it came that he had been so intimate with the chief clerk ever since the Telegraph left St. Louis.
"It's a put-up job," said the chief engineer, decidedly. "I heard that Murray lost a good deal of Clayton's money at cards when he came up on the Quitman a few months ago, and that Clayton discharged him for it. That shows that he is not honest. You asked my advice, captain; I should say, let the matter rest until we reach the city, and then set the law at work. I'll promise that George will not run away," added the engineer, poking the young pilot in the ribs with his finger. "If you want to watch anybody, watch Bill Murray."
This was the captain's idea too, and after some discussion it was decided that the engineer's advice should be followed.
Bad news flies like wild-fire, and it was not long before it was known all over the boat that George Ackerman had broken into the office and robbedthe safe of three thousand dollars, and that the captain had virtually placed him under arrest The chief clerk, who was obliged to explain how he got that black eye, industriously circulated this story. He saw the necessity of creating a popular opinion in his favor, for he was literally alone. All the officers who heard his version of the affair looked incredulous, and even Walker acted as though he had his suspicions. Murray, of course, had known all along that when the denouement came a rigid investigation would be held, but he relied upon the overwhelming evidence he could produce to crush George and turn all his friends against him. But the young pilot positively refused to be crushed. Feeling strong in his innocence he was determined to make a fight of it, while his friends—and it looked now as though every man on board the boat was his friend—rallied to his support.
"There's something about this business that doesn't look just right to me," said Walker, as he and Murray went back to the office and began to put things in order there; "but I can't for the life of me tell what it is. I can tell you this much, however, if there had been a stranger with us whenwe went up to Ackerman's room, he would have declared that you looked and acted more like a guilty man than George did."
"Walker," exclaimed the chief clerk, sharply. "Do you mean to insult me?"
"No; I don't. I mean to tell you that I didn't believe Ackerman knows any more about this robbery than—than I do." He was about to say "than you do."
"Who did it, then. Why, man alive, just look at the evidence."
"I know. But when that evidence comes to be sifted by some sharp lawyer"—Walker stopped there, and left his companion to finish the sentence for himself. "Mark my words," he added, a moment later. "We're going to see lively times before this thing is settled."
"I begin to think so, too," thought Murray. "I am afraid I have jumped out of the frying-pan into the fire. I wonder if I hadn't better take what is left of that three thousand, and step off the boat when we reach Memphis without saying a word to anybody? That's an idea worth thinking about."
While this storm was raging about the young pilot's devoted head, another was brewing whichproved to be as dangerous to human life as this one was to George's reputation. A thick, black cloud, which had been hanging in the horizon all the forenoon, now began rising rapidly, and in ten minutes more it had covered the whole heavens. The rain fell in torrents and the wind blew a gale. The Telegraph was within whistling distance of Helena when the storm struck her. For a while it seemed as if the wind would sweep her decks clear of everything; or, failing that, drive her back down the river; but she struggled successfully against it, and finally came abreast of the town. It was a matter of no little difficulty to come alongside the wharf-boat without smashing something, but under the skilful management of Mr. Black and his partner, the landing was made, and after the engineers had been instructed to "keep her working ahead pretty strong," so that the wind would not blow both steamer and wharf-boat away from the bank, the occupants of the pilot-house sat down on the bench to talk over the events of the day.
While they were thus engaged, the watchman suddenly made his appearance, bringing with him a pale, scared face, and said something to the captain, who stood in his usual place near the bell. Thelatter at once hurried below, while the watchman came into the pilot-house to report that one of the cabin boys had been "pinched" between a fender and a stanchion and very severely injured. The way it happened was this: When the Telegraph came abreast of the wharf-boat, the wind caught her and swung her toward it with great violence. One of the mates, seeing the danger, called out, "Stand by, everybody, to fend off! Drop those fenders overboard!Everybody, I said," he added, shaking his fist at a negro, who was passing along the deck from the engine-room with a pail of hot water in his hand.
Now, although the negro knew all about the duties of a boy who was employed in the cabin, he knew nothing about a deck hand's business. Setting down his pail, he rushed to the side in readiness to assist in pushing the Telegraph away from the wharf-boat; but it so happened that he placed himself close to a stanchion, at the top of which was fastened a fender—a heavy piece of timber long enough to reach from the boiler-deck to the water. No sooner had he taken up his position, than two of the deck-hands seized the fender attached to that stanchion and dropped it overboard. It swungdown to its place, and striking the darkey with fearful force, pinned him fast. He was released as soon as the Telegraph swung away from the wharf-boat, carried off in a fainting condition, and laid upon one of the bunks in the deck hands' room, while the watchman was dispatched to acquaint the captain with the accident, and to inquire if there was a surgeon among the passengers. This was the substance of the story to which George and his companions listened. None of them had much to say about it, for accidents of all kinds were of too frequent occurrence to attract any especial notice from men of their calling. They could not foresee the results that were to grow out of this one.
The storm abated about the time the Telegraph was ready to continue on her way up the river, and George took Mr. Kelsey's place at the wheel. As soon as the boat was fairly under way the captain turned toward the pilot-house, when the doctor, who had been summoned to attend to the injured man, came up the stairs. "I was looking for you, captain," said he. "That man of yours is badly hurt and ought to go to the hospital."
"All right," said the captain. "I'll put him ashore at Memphis. I never heard of so careless anact but once before. I knew a deck hand to put his head between a stanchion and a fender, and his neck was broken short off. It is a wonder to me that this man escaped with his life."
"We physicians while acting in our professional capacity, sometimes come into possession of very important secrets. This man, believing that he is going to die, has made a confession, and I—shall I tell it to you here?"
"Yes, speak freely," said the captain, who wondered if the steward had missed any of the silver belonging to the boat. "There is no one to overhear you."
"I understand that there has been a robbery committed on board this boat," continued the doctor, whereupon the captain began to open his eyes; "but I don't know whether or not this man's confession will throw any light upon it. He said that he was at work scrubbing out one of the rooms in Texas, wherever that is—"
"There it is," said the captain, pointing to the little cabin under the pilot-house. "The officers sleep there."
"O!" exclaimed the doctor. "Well, while he was at work in that state-room he saw the chief clerk ofthe boat go into Ackerman's room, take a pillow off his bunk, and put some money and a key into it. Here is the money, and I—my goodness, what's the matter?"
When the doctor said "here's the money," he drew out of his pocket a package wrapped up in something that looked like a piece of brown paper. As soon as the captain's eyes rested upon it, he snatched it from the hands of the astonished physician and opened it. The brown paper proved to be a large envelope, and its contents were greenbacks. The envelope bore Murray's name and address, and in the upper left hand corner were the figures $300.
"Pardon my rudeness, doctor," said the captain, "but you don't know how impatient I was to see what was in that roll. This is a matter of importance, the first thing you know, and you have completely unravelled something that was to me a deep mystery. Go on, please."
"Well," said the doctor, "when Murray went out, the negro stepped into the pilot's room and stole the money. That's all there is of it. I don't pretend to know why the clerk put the money into the pillow instead of placing it in the pilot's hands,and neither do I know what the key was placed there for."
"I know all about it," explained the captain. "If you will excuse me now I will see you later."
The captain ran down to the boiler-deck and walked around to the outer door of the office, which he entered without ceremony. Both the clerks were there—Walker perched upon a high stool and Murray lying in his bunk with his handkerchief over his wounded eye. They both stared at the captain in great surprise. They had never seen such an expression on his face before.
"Murray," said the captain, without any preliminary remarks, "you might just as well own up. The whole thing is out on you!"
Murray raised himself in his bunk and tried to look astonished, while Walker leaned his elbows on the desk and nodded his head, as if to say that he had been expecting something of this kind.
"The man who saw you put the money and the safe-key into Ackerman's pillow, in your endeavor to fasten this robbery upon him, has made a confession," continued the captain. "I don't wonder that you tremble; I should if I were in your place. You can save yourself trouble by handingout the rest of that three thousand. You've got it, and I know it. If you will do that, I think I can safely promise that Ackerman will let the thing drop right here, and be content to leave you to the punishment of your own guilty conscience."
The chief clerk could not say a word in reply. The rapidity with which the young pilot's vindication had followed upon the heels of his accusation bewildered him. The mysterious disappearance of the money which he had so confidently expected that Walker would find in George's pillow had caused him the most intense alarm, for it told him that somebody had discovered his secret; that somebody had confessed, and it was all over with him.
"There's the money you put into George's pillow when you put the safe-key there," said the captain, handing the envelope and the bills over to Walker, "and I tell you that you will have a time of it if you don't refund the balance. Now, do as you please."
Murray sank back upon his bunk, covered his face with his handkerchief, and without saying a word put his hand into his pocket and drew out aroll of greenbacks. Walker took it and counted it while the captain looked on. There were twenty-seven hundred dollars in it, and that amount, added to the three hundred dollars which the injured darkey had surrendered to the doctor, made up the three thousand dollars that George had been accused of stealing.
"That's all right. Where's the key of the safe? Now," said the captain, as Murray produced it, "vacate this office at once, and leave Walker in charge. Don't come near it again."
The captain left the office and went up to the pilot-house. George and the two pilots were there, and so was the chief engineer, who was laying out some very elaborate plans for establishing George's innocence, which were to be set on foot as soon as they reached St. Louis. When the captain entered, he was saying,
"We'll put a detective after him, and find out everything he has done since Clayton discharged him. Don't you think that would be the best way, skipper?"
"There is no need of it," was the reply. "I know pretty nearly what he has done since he has been on board this boat, and that's enough for me.Don't look so down-hearted, George. I told you that the blame should be placed right where it belonged, and I have kept my word. Murray is the guilty man!"
Without paying any attention to the exclamations uttered by his auditors, the captain gave a hurried account of all the incidents that had happened since the Telegraph left Helena, and the story, while it cleared George, confirmed the suspicions that every one of them had entertained from the moment it became known that he was suspected of robbing the safe. The young pilot was almost overwhelmed by the congratulations he received, and it is hardly necessary to add that he cherished the strongest feelings of gratitude toward the men who had stood by him and believed in him when everything seemed to point to him as the guilty one.
George never saw Murray after that. In fact, nobody seemed to think of him, until the boat had left Cairo and was well on her way toward St. Louis, and then some one asked, merely out of curiosity, where he kept himself ever since the captain ordered him out of the office. Even Walker couldn't tell. At Murray's request he had assigned him to a stateroom, and he had not seen him since he went into it. An examination showed, that the stateroom was empty, although the lower bunk looked as though it had been occupied.
"He's all right; you may depend upon it, Ackerman," said Walker, who had lost no time in making things straight with George. "I know, as well as I want to know it, that he left the boat at Memphis. As we got there in the night, it was no trouble at all for him to step off without being seen by anybody."
The clerk was right. That was just the way that Mr. Murray had taken, to avoid the troubles that would certainly have befallen him if he had gone on to St. Louis. George never heard of him again, as long as he stayed on the river.
Mr. Black was not out of a "job" more than two days after he reached St. Louis. Another of Mr. Richardson's boats, the Benefit, was about to start for New Orleans, and he was one of the pilots who was engaged to take her down and bring her back. The other was Mr. Scanlan, who afterward went down the river with Mr. Black and George on the ill-fated Sam Kendall. Mr. Scanlan spent all his time ashore, Mr. Black stayed at home withhis family, and George was left to take the boat up to the coal-fleet. He could not help thinking of the company he had the last time he went up there, and wondered where Tony was now, and whether he was not sorry he had ever run away from home; for by this time it had become known, that he had not been killed by Mr. Vandegriff's negroes, as everybody at first believed. He had been heard from at Cairo. From that city he had written to Mr. Vandegriff, that he was about to strike out for himself; and he had sent that gentleman all his money, with the exception of fifty dollars, which he had kept out for his own use. Unfortunately the report had became raised abroad, that Tony had stolen those fifty dollars; but that was something that George could not believe. It was not like Tony.
The Benefit arrived at New Orleans late one afternoon, and when George had eaten his supper, he strolled out to take a look about the levee. When he came back to his boat he did not go aboard, but seated himself on a bale of cotton to watch a gulf steamer that was getting under way. While he looked at her, he thought of Tony Richardson.
"I suppose that foolish fellow is on deep waterby this time, and supping sorrow with a big spoon," soliloquized George, as he put his hands under his legs and kicked his heels against the bale of cotton. "I don't know anything about a sailor's life, but from what I have heard and read of it, I should say it was the very life for which Tony is the most unfitted. There goes a sailor now. I wish Tony could have seen him before he ran away."
The subject of these thoughts was a young fellow who just then came sauntering along with his hands in his pockets. His face was covered with coal-dust, his clothing was very dirty and ragged, and his shoes were almost ready to drop from his feet. When he came opposite to the place where George was sitting, he caught sight of the strip of canvas which was stretched around the railing of the Benefit's hurricane deck, bearing the words, "For St. Louis." He looked at it for a moment, and then walked toward the gang-plank, still keeping his gaze directed toward the strip of canvas, which presently came within range of the steamer's name on the pilot-house. When the sailor saw that, he faced about at once and started up the levee again, this time walking pretty rapidly; butbefore he had made many steps, he felt George Ackerman's grasp upon his arm.
"Tony!" exclaimed the young pilot, in great amazement.
The sailor turned his face toward George, but it was so completely covered with coal-dust that nobody could tell what the expression of it was. He looked at the trim, neatly-dressed boy before him, then his eyes fell down upon his own dilapidated garments, and he made an effort to pull himself away. "You have made a mistake," said he. "That doesn't happen to be my name."
"Tony, Tony, that won't do," returned George, tightening his grasp on the sailor's arm. "I was a little uncertain at first, but I am not now. I know your voice. Aha! I thought so," said George to himself, as the boy covered his face with his hands and sobbed violently.
It was Tony, sure enough. George put his arm around him and led him back to the cotton-bale from which he had just arisen. He lifted Tony upon it bodily, and seated himself by his side.
"No use of shedding the briny over it," said George, who was delighted to see his friend once more. "You're going home now, are you not?"
"Yes, I am," replied Tony, between his sobs. "And if I ever get there, I'll stay. That is, I'd like to stay, for I have had quite enough of salt water, but I don't know whether the folks will want me there or not."
"I do," said George, cheerfully. "They'll be overjoyed to see you again, and you'll get there just as soon as the Benefit can take you."
"Oh, I can't go on her," exclaimed Tony. "She is my father's boat, and almost all the officers know me. I was going aboard of her to see if I could ship as deck-hand when I noticed the name on her pilot-house."
"You'd look nice, shipping as deck-hand, wouldn't you, now?" said George. "You shan't do it while I have a bunk. What difference does it make to you if the officers do know you? You'll have to meet people who know all about it, and you might as well begin one time as another. Now, where have you been and what have you been doing since I last saw you?"
There was no need that Tony should indulge in flights of fancy or use glowing language to convince George that he had had an exceedingly hard time of it during his short career as a sailor. Hehad hardly began his story before the young pilot interrupted him with—
"You have lifted a heavy load from my mind. I was informed that you had stolen that money of Mr. Vandegriff.
"I didn't," said Tony, stoutly. "I earned it fairly. I'll go to Mr. Vandegriff with you as soon as we reach St. Louis and ask him if I didn't."
"There is no need of that," answered George "I believe you. Go on."
"The hardest part of my experience," said Tony, after he had described his life on the Princeton and told how he had deserted from her, "was on board the City of Baltimore; but fortunately the voyage was not a long one, and I was able to live through it. I suppose I was a rough-looking fellow, but that was no reason why the mates should kick me and knock me about as they did. I never showed myself until the ship was well out to sea, and then I wished I hadn't showed myself at all. The jawing I got when they found that I was a stowaway was fearful, but it was nothing to the abuse that followed. I was put to heaving coal and kept at it until I was ready to drop. The men who worked with me werechanged every few hours, but they wouldn't let me stop at all. I feel as if I could sleep for a week."
By the time Tony had finished his story it was dark, and George took him aboard the Benefit and up to his room in Texas. There were plenty of towels, soap and water handy, and when George had laid out a suit of his own clothing for Tony to put on, he left him to himself. An hour later he went back to his room and found that the runaway had taken possession of his bunk and was sleeping soundly. He looked more like the Tony of old now that he had got rid of the coal-dust and put on a suit of better clothes, but his face was thin and pinched and his eyes were still badly discolored.
Great was the astonishment among the officers of the Benefit when it became known that Tony Richardson had turned up safe, if not sound, and that he was on his way home. Of course they were all glad to see him, and praised him without stint for the courage he had exhibited during the battle on the barge; but they never said a word to him about running away from home. They did not talk or act as though they knew anythingabout it. When the Benefit reached St. Louis he went straight to the depot to take the first train for Kirkwood, George furnishing the money to pay his fare, and promising to run up to the office and let his father know of his arrival.
The next half year of George Ackerman's life passed without the occurrence of any event that is worthy of notice. The longer he followed the river the better he liked it. When he was not asleep or at his meals he was always to be found in the pilot-house, no matter whether it was his turn to stand watch or not. He learned rapidly, and it was no unusual thing for him to steer for hours together without a word of instruction or advice. His memory was very retentive, and if Mr. Black, when questioned by a brother pilot, forgot just how much water he found on a certain bar, or in a particular bend during his last trip, he had but to call upon George for the information, and he always got it.
When everything was going so smoothly with him, it was a great pity that those of whom he had a right to expect better treatment, could not let him alone. Pretty soon warning letters began to arrive from Mr. Gilbert, with whom George had kept up a constant correspondence ever since he had been on the river. The first one conveyed to him the information that Uncle John had discharged Jake and Bob, and all the other herdsmen who had found employment on the ranche during his father's lifetime, and hired others in their places.
"That's some of my affectionate cousin's spite work," said George to himself. "But he can't injure me in that way. One herdsman is about as good as another, and when I return to Texas, if I ever do, I can get all those old-time fellows back again. It wouldn't seem like home to me there without them."
In another letter, which George received about two months later, Mr. Gilbert told him that three very fine herds had been lost through the imprudence or criminality of the men in charge of them, who, in spite of the warnings of the settlers, persisted in pasturing them too close to the river for safety.
"That's a more important matter," thought George. "It looks too much as though Uncle John was paying Fletcher hush-money. I must see to that."
He thanked Mr. Gilbert for keeping so watchful an eye on his interests, and took Uncle John to task for losing those herds in a way that made him and Ned very angry. Two months more elapsed and a third letter told George that his uncle was selling stock as fast as he had the opportunity. He thanked Mr. Gilbert again and wrote to his uncle.
"Have you forgotten the agreement made between us during our second interview at the hotel in Brownsville? I shall be down there to see about your selling stock, which you were positively forbidden to do, and I shall call upon you for a strict account of your stewardship."
George had intended to quit the river at once, and go home and assume charge of his property with Mr. Gilbert for a guardian; but unfortunately Mr. Black was taken ill about the time he had made up his mind to start. He was not so ill that he was obliged to take to his bed, but he was not able to stand his regular watch. Moreover, he was in such a state financially that idleness meant ruin to him.
"I don't see how I can spare you just now," said he, when George told him that his presence was needed at home. "I know I ought not to run on the river, but when I look at my pocket-book, it tells me I must. If you will only stay with me a little while longer, I shall be ahead of the hounds; but if you leave me now, I don't know what I shall do."
"Well, don't worry over it," said George, after Mr. Black had talked to him in this way a few times. "I'll stay. I can better afford to lose a little more through Uncle John, than Mr. Black can afford to lie idle with all those notes to meet," he added, to himself. "But just as soon as he gets firmly on his feet, I shall start for Texas, to look into my guardian's way of doing business."
The last boat that George Ackerman ever backed out from a St. Louis wharf-boat, was the Sam Kendall—a crazy old craft, all paint and gilt outside, but "rotten to the heart," as the rivermen said. If she had been a sea-going vessel, she would have been called a "coffin ship." By this time, Mr. Black had so far recovered his strength that he was able to do a little duty, and he hoped that by the time he returned to St. Louis, his health would be fullyrestored. George had resolved, that if these expectations were realized, his piloting should end with this trip on the Kendall.
They reached New Orleans without any mishap, her cargo was discharged, another one taken on board, and the Kendall was made ready for her trip up the river. The passengers began to arrive; and while Mr. Black sat on the boiler-deck, watching them as they came up the gang-plank, and waiting for George, who had gone ashore to purchase some papers for him, he discovered among them a pompous old gentleman with a gold-headed cane, whom he was sure he recognised. He turned and looked at the gentleman as he came up the stairs, and telling himself that he had made no mistake, arose and extended his hand to him.
"Why, general, how are you?" said he. "I did not expect to see you here."
Uncle John, for it was he, gave him a haughty stare for an answer. Then he raised his eye-glass and looked at the pilot through it.
"I am Mr. Black, you know," said the latter. "George Ackerman's——"
"O yes, yes!" exclaimed Uncle John, who was cordial enough now—not because he liked the pilot,but because he believed the man could serve him. "Are you and George attached to this boat? Well, that's fortunate. Where is George?"
"I am expecting him every moment," replied Mr. Black. "I am sorry to say that he is going to leave me. I really don't see how I can get along without him."
"I believe there was a distinct understanding between you and him, that he was to remain with you until he learned the river," said Uncle John, as he and the pilot seated themselves. "You told me that it would take him three years or more to do that, but he has been with you scarcely eighteen months."
"But what am I to do when he positively refuses to stay with me any longer?" inquired Mr. Black.
"Reason with him," was the answer. "Talk him into a different frame of mind."
"I have tried to do that, but it is of no use. He says that matters in Texas demand his immediate attention."
"What put that notion into his head?" asked Uncle John, who wanted to know whether or not the pilot knew anything of George's history and home life.
"I am sure I don't know. He receives letters from there regularly, and I supposed they came from you."
"Well, I never said anything to indicate that his presence there was needed," said Uncle John, who, during the long months that his nephew had been on the river had written but two letters to him, and they were wholly taken up with denying the accusations that George brought against him. "I don't want him to leave the river—he mustn't; I'll not consent to it. Of course I should like to have him at home with me, but I don't need him there, for everything is going on to my entire satisfaction; and this way of running from pillar to post, picking up first one business and then another, won't do. It gets a boy into bad habits. You must keep him here, Mr. Black."
The pilot, who had almost come to look upon George as one of his own children, was delighted to find that his guardian did not approve the course upon which he had determined, and promised that he would use every argument he could think of to induce the boy to stay on the river until he became a licensed pilot; although when he made the promise he remarked that he didn't see how he couldsay more than he had already said, and that, too, without producing the least effect.
"Well, use your best endeavors," urged Uncle John. "Try every plan you think of, and if you succeed, I shall be your debtor for any amount that you have a mind to draw on me for."
Uncle John said a good deal more to the same purport, and he was so deeply in earnest about it that it was a wonder that the pilot did not suspect something. The latter said he would not draw on the "general" for a cent, but he would try to keep the boy with him, for he was very fond of him, and believed that he would make a good pilot.
"I hope you will be successful," thought Uncle John, as he arose and walked into the cabin. "But whether you are or not, George can make up his mind to one thing—he is not going back to Texas to get me into trouble."
Mr. Black kept his seat on the boiler-deck, and while he was wondering what he could say to George that would induce him to stay on the river, at least eighteen months longer, he discovered the boy coming across the levee. Mr. Black's face must have told the young pilot that his friend had some news for him; for, as he mounted the stepsand stopped beside his chair, he said, with a smile, "Well, what is it?"
"Prepare to be astonished," answered Mr. Black, as he took the papers that George held out to him. "The general is here."
"The general! General who?"
"Why, your uncle, John Ackerman."
"Oh, great Cæsar, is he here?" cried George. "Are you sure?"
"Am I sure that I have eyes and ears? Of course he is here, and I have had a long talk with him. He says he doesn't want you at home, that everything is going smoothly there, and that he will not consent to your leaving the river."
If Mr. Black could have read the thoughts that were passing through the young pilot's mind, he would have been astonished beyond measure. He knew nothing whatever of the boy's private affairs, for the latter had made a confident of no one except Mr. Gilbert; but he was sharp enough to see that the "general's" wishes would have no weight whatever with George.
"Is there anybody with Uncle John?" asked the young pilot, as soon as he had recovered from his surprise.
"I didn't see anybody. I think he is alone. During our conversation, he informed me that he was going up the river on business, and that he had struck this boat by the merest accident, not knowing that we belonged to her."
Leaving Mr. Black to the enjoyment of his papers, George walked into the cabin and looked all around for his uncle. He was not in sight, but the clerks told him that a gentleman who answered to the name and description he gave them, had purchased a ticket for St. Louis, and been assigned to a stateroom; so George sat down in the cabin to wait until he made his appearance.
Those who witnessed the meeting between the young pilot and his relative, who called him his "dear nephew" loud enough to be heard by every body in the cabin, told one another, that Uncle John certainly thought a great deal of the boy, and that George ought to have his ears boxed for giving him so cold a reception. If their meeting had taken place in private, Uncle John would not have been quite so effusive. He felt more like seizing George by the collar, than shaking him by the hand.
"Where's Ned?" asked the boy, after a few common-place remarks had passed between them.
"He is at home," replied Uncle John. "He has started a herd of cattle, and is trying to show the folks there, that he is capable of making an honest living. The troubles into which he so thoughtlessly brought himself are happily settled, and he is very well contented. What has become of Gus Robbins I don't know. But, George, what is this I hear about your leaving the river? You surely haven't made up your mind to that?"
"I certainly have," answered George, emphatically. "I am contented here and should be glad to stay, but you won't let me. You have broken every promise you made me in Brownsville."
"George," said Uncle John, earnestly, "every word that Mr. Gilbert has written you about me and my doings is false—utterly false."
"I have never caught him in a lie, and I don't believe he knows how to tell one," said George, with great spirit. "At any rate, I am going down there as soon as this trip is ended, to satisfy myself of the truth of what I have heard."
"Very well," replied Uncle John, indifferently. "If that is your determination, you are at liberty to act upon it as soon as you please. If I get through my business at St. Louis in time, I shall be glad togo with you. Young man," he added, mentally, "you are not going back to Texas."
"I don't know whether I want him to travel with me or not," thought George, as his uncle arose and walked out of the cabin. "Something tells me that I shall be safer if I go alone. His desire to keep me away from Texas, makes me all the more determined to go there."
Having given his uncle time to get out of the way, George left the cabin and turned toward Mr. Black, whom he found looking down at the deck in a brown study. "George," said he, in a low tone, "I have been looking for it for a long time, and it has come at last. I have made many a trip on this old tub, and every time I thought I had made my last one—that before I should be employed to handle her wheel again, something would happen to her. I have seen the sign, and I predict that this is her last trip!"
"What do you mean?" said George, drawing a chair into such a position, that he could look into Mr. Black's face when he sat down.
The pilot turned about, and after running his eye around the boiler deck, directed George's attention to a gentlemanly-looking passenger who was dressedin black, and wore a white neckcloth. "I see him. He's a gambler, I suppose," said George, who knew that these gentry, during their trips up and down the river, assume all sorts of disguises to assist them in fleecing the unwary.
"No, he isn't; and that's the worst of it," exclaimed Mr. Black. "If he belonged to that class, the old Sam Kendall would be safe enough, for she has carried an army of them, first and last. He's a preacher, and he brought a gray horse aboard with him."
George, who knew the saying among rivermen, that a minister and a gray horse would sink any boat that ever floated, jumped to his feet with an exclamation of impatience.
"O, you may say 'pshaw!' as much as you please," replied Mr. Black, solemnly, "but I tell you, that the Kendall is a dead duck. You'll never steer her into St. Louis. That's my prediction and I want you to remember it."
George did recall it to mind when he and Bob Owens, the boy who had twice saved his life, sat shivering on the bank of the river and watched the Sam Kendall as she burned to the water's edge; but that the minister and his gray horse had anything to do with her destruction, was something he could not think of without getting angry. Mr. Black was honest in his belief that the Kendall was a doomed boat, and so was Mr. Scanlan; and after they left New Orleans, one or the other of them was always in the pilot house. But it happened that the minister and his gray horse went ashore at Donaldsonville, and then the pilots breathed a little easier.
"There!" said George, as the obnoxious passenger disappeared over the levee, all unconscious of the alarm which the mere presence of himself and his beast had excited in the minds of some brave but superstitious men. "We brought him up here all right, and the old Kendall is still on top of the water."
"I am glad to see him go," answered Mr. Black, "but the run isn't over yet. There are a good many miles between here and St. Louis. But, George, if wedoget through all right you'll stay with me, won't you?"
Mr. Black and his partner had of late fallen into the way of asking George some such question as this every time they entered into conversation with him; but they could say nothing to make himchange his mind. Sometimes the boy was on the point of telling them everything and then asking them what they thought about it; but he as often checked himself, for he could not bear that even his friend Mr. Black should know what a rascal his Uncle John was.
One gloomy night George stood alone at the wheel, while the Kendall, with all her berths full of sleeping passengers, was ploughing her way up the river through darkness so intense that one could scarcely see his hand before him. Mr. Scanlan was snoring loudly in his bunk. Mr. Black, who had tired himself out by standing his regular watch between New Orleans and Donaldsonville, had gone below to obtain a little rest, and George had the pilot-house to himself. He generally felt a thrill of pride on such occasions as these, for the responsibility that was placed upon him made him think that he was of some use in the world; but on this particular night he was anything but cheerful. He was certain that the minister and his gray horse had nothing to do with it, he was equally sure that the unwelcome presence of his Uncle John, who now and then passed before him like a thunder-cloud across a clear sky, was notexerting a depressing influence upon him, but still he was very uncomfortable, and could not rid himself of the impression that there was danger hanging over him.
Being constantly on the alert George did not fail to see the bright light on shore which suddenly shot up through the darkness, and which he knew was a notice to the Kendall that there were passengers or freight waiting for her at that landing. He blew the whistle, warned the engineers, rang the bell for the lead, turned the bow of the steamer toward the fire, and just then Mr. Black, who had heard all these signals, came into the pilot-house. He allowed the boy to make the landing, which the latter did in his usual good style, and then he lay down on the bench with his hat for a pillow, while George went down to the boiler-deck.
After awhile he saw a boy dressed in black, wearing his hat low over his forehead and carrying a valise in his hand, come up the gang-plank and disappear in the direction of the engine-room, but he did not pay any particular attention to him. This was Bob Owens, with whom George was destined to have a good deal to do during the next few years of his life. Bob, as we know, had stolena large sum of money from David Evans,The Mail Carrier, and run away from his home in Rockdale to enjoy it. When he reached Linwood landing he was arrested by the constable, who suspected him of having stolen the horse he was riding, but which was Bob's own private property. Through the gross carelessness of that officer he managed to escape from him very easily, and having turned his horse loose and started him toward home, he changed his clothes and boarded the Kendall, intending to go to St. Louis on her. When he reached that city he was going to buy a horse and rifle and plunge into the wilderness to win a name for himself as a borderman; but circumstances arose which induced him to change his plans. Hedidwin a name for himself, but it was as a soldier and not as a hunter.
When George became tired of watching the crew at their work, he moved over to the other side of the boiler-deck, and seating himself on the railing looked at a steamer that was going up the river and thought of the future. He became so completely engrossed in his meditations concerning his hard lot in life that he did not know that the bell rang, that the lines were cast off, that thepaddle-wheels were set in motion, and that the boat began to swing away from the landing. The sound that aroused him from his reverie was a stealthy footstep on the guard behind him. He turned quickly and saw his Uncle John at his side; but before he could speak to him the man gave him a push that sent him into the river. He went over the rail with such force that he turned a complete somersault, and striking the water feet first "went clear down to China," as he afterward declared, although his friends rather doubted this from the fact that he could give no clear account of what he saw there.
When George found himself struggling in the water, he lost all heart. He could not swim, although he made a feeble attempt to do so as soon as he arose to the surface. He did not hear the uproar that arose on board the steamer, or the frantic orders to "stop her," which the mates shouted up at the captain, nor did he see the boy who plunged fearlessly into the river and swam to his assistance. But he felt his grasp, and resigning himself entirely to the boy's control, he was towed safely to the shore. His rescuer was Bob Owens. He told the young pilot something of his planswhile they were changing their wet clothes for dry ones, and it was through him that Bob was induced to abandon, for the present, his idea of becoming a hunter. The two boys became fast friends, and their friendship lasted until they got into trouble that tested Bob's a little too severely.
After the young pilot and his companion had eaten a hasty lunch, they went up into the pilot-house, and while they were there an alarm of fire was raised. It is believed to this day, that the captain of the Kendall, after trying in vain to run her upon a snag which had been the destruction of two or three boats, applied the torch to her in order that he might pocket the money for which she was insured; but this act, like Uncle John's attempt to drown his nephew, had no witnesses, and nothing could be proved against him.
During the wild scenes that followed, Bob Owens, who possessed physical courage in the same degree that he lacked moral courage, exerted himself to the utmost to rescue the passengers and crew whom the flames had driven to the forecastle, but was at last obliged to take to the water in order to save himself. He assisted George's worst enemy, who could not swim, by placing in his hands an oar thatsupported him while he floated down the current, and discovering the young pilot clinging to the rudder, took him safely to the shore for the second time. They warmed and dried themselves in the cabin of a friendly trapper, and after spending some time in discussing the plans upon which they had determined, they set out to walk to White river landing, where they found a boat that took them to New Orleans.
Now it so happened that Uncle John was in the cabin at the same time the boys were there, having been pulled out of the river by the trapper, who saw him floating by on his oar. His clothing was drying in front of the fire, and he was so closely wrapped up in the only blanket the trapper possessed, that his nephew did not recognise him. He heard George tell his new friend that he was going to take him to Texas and make a brother of him, and as soon as the boys started for White river, he set to work to defeat this plan. He went to New Orleans on a steamer which the trapper hailed for him, and while in that city, made an effort to separate the boys by enticing Bob on board a steamer that was bound to some port in South America. He had nothing against Bob, but heknew that he had money, while George had none; and his object was to keep the latter in New Orleans until he could run down to Texas and straighten up some things there that he had left in a pretty bad state. But this plot was frustrated, and George and Bob sailed in company for Galveston. There Bob's pocket was picked, and the two friends found themselves in a strange city, hungry, penniless and without a roof to shelter them. They spent the whole night on the streets, keeping constantly in motion in order to avoid arrest, and the next day looking in vain for work.
Late in the afternoon of this particular day, Bob made a discovery that proved too much for his friendship. He found a fifty cent scrip in his watch-pocket. That would provide him with a good supper and a bed to sleep in. It was not enough to pay for supper and lodging for George, too, and believing that he had already shown his good-will for him by saving his life when he could not possibly have saved it himself, Bob slipped away from his companion and hunted up a cheap lodging-house, where he had a square meal and a night's rest. The next day he enlisted in the army. There was where we left him, and where we shallfind him the next time we see him. Surprising as it may seem, his life and George's ran on in the same channel for months, and we shall have a good deal to say about them and their exploits.
George never dreamed that Bob had deliberately deserted him. He missed him after a while, and turning back, looked everywhere for him. Although he did not find him, he found somebody else, and that was Mr. Gilbert, the very man he wanted most to see just then. The last time the young pilot saw him he wore a red shirt, coarse trousers, cowhide boots and a slouch hat. Now he was dressed in clothing of the latest cut, and it made so great a change in his appearance that the boy was not sure of his identity until he heard his voice and felt the cordial grasp of his hand.
"Where are you stopping?" asked Mr. Gilbert, after each had expressed the surprise and pleasure he felt at meeting the other.
George moved his hand up and down the street. "This is my hotel," said he, with a laugh. "I haven't a cent in my pocket, and have eaten but one very light meal to-day."
"Is that so?" exclaimed Mr. Gilbert, seizingthe boy by the arm and turning him around. "Come tomyhotel."
"Hold on a moment," answered George. "I have a friend who is as hungry as I am. I have only just lost him, and he must be close about here."
"Well, you know him, and I don't. Keep a sharp lookout for him, and tell me your story as we walk along. Then I will tell you something that will astonish you."
This announcement made George cut his narrative rather shorter than he would otherwise have done; but still he dwelt long enough on all the important points in it to enable Mr. Gilbert to understand just what had happened on board the Sam Kendall. He did not go any farther back in his history than the beginning of his connection with that boat, for everything that had happened previous to that time had been fully described in his letters. He wound up his story by saying:
"You will hardly believe it, Mr. Gilbert, but Uncle John really did push me overboard."
"It is not so hard for me to believe as you may suppose," answered Mr. Gilbert. "I know more about that man than you think I do."
"I am going to take your advice now and have a new guardian appointed," continued George. "You will bear me witness that I have been very patient with Uncle John, and that I have been willing to submit to almost anything rather than bring him into trouble; but his recent attempt on my life has shown me what he is capable of, and I know I am not safe while he is near me. Don't say anything about that, for I don't want the settlers to know it."
"It isn't necessary," replied Mr. Gilbert. "They are as mad at him already as they can be, and at you and me, too."
"They are!" exclaimed George. "What are they mad about? What do they know about my affairs?"
"They know all about them. The whole thing has been let out among them and the rope is ready. I had just time to put Ned on a horse and run with him. If I had been five minutes later something disagreeable——"
"Mr. Gilbert," interrupted George. "You surely haven't been——"
"No; I haven't. I kept a still tongue in my head until I found that everybody in the settlementknew as much as I did, and that was what made the neighbors mad at me and you, too. They say we ought to have told them about Uncle John, so that they could have run him out of the country. If evidence was wanting to prove the truth of the story you told Mr. Lowry, Joe and myself, regarding your experience among the Contra-Guerrillas," continued Mr. Gilbert, "that evidence has been produced. The regiment was almost cut to pieces at Queretaro, and out of the seven hundred men who went into the last fight there, scarcely more than one-quarter of them came out to tell about it. As bad luck would have it, Fletcher and most of his gang escaped, and they have come back to the Rio and gone into their old business of stealing cattle. Fletcher has made several demands upon your uncle for hush-money, threatening, in case those demands were not complied with, to tell the settlers that he was hired to make an end of you, and that was the way you came to lose those herds. But there was one in the gang who couldn't stand that, and his name was Springer. He couldn't forget that you had helped him to save his life, and so he came over among the settlers and told everything about Uncle John and hisplans. Luckily this happened after your uncle had started for St. Louis. If it had happened before, it is probable that you wouldn't have had any guardian now. They threatened vengeance against Ned, and that was the reason I ran off with him. By the way, do you know what Uncle John's business was in St. Louis? Neither do I, but it's my opinion that he was going there to deposit the money he received for the last cattle he sold."
George was indeed astonished by this revelation. He forgot that Uncle John had twice put his life in jeopardy, and thought only of the danger that threatened him when he returned to the rancho. "He mustn't go back there," said the boy; "but how are we going to prevent it?"
"I know of but one way, and that is to stay here and meet him when he comes," replied Mr. Gilbert. "You don't seem to find your friend, do you? Let's go and get something to eat, and then we'll take another look for him."
When they entered the dining-room of the hotel at which Mr. Gilbert and Ned were stopping, George saw his cousin seated at one of the tables, but the latter wouldn't look at him. He also took particular pains to avoid him during the evening,and George, taking his conduct as an indication that Ned wished to hold no farther intercourse with him, made no effort to approach him. After supper he and Mr. Gilbert went out to look for Bob Owens, but could not find him. During this walk a plan of operations was decided upon which was to be carried out as soon as Uncle John made his appearance. He came the very next day, and then there was another stormy interview; but we will draw a veil over that, won't we? It will be enough to say that at the end of half an hour Uncle John came out of the room, in which the interview was held, wiping his face vigorously with his handkerchief; that he and Ned set off at once to find another hotel; and that George and Mr. Gilbert took the first train for Austin, the latter carrying in his pocket a check for nearly sixty thousand dollars which Uncle John had intended to deposit to his own credit in some bank in St. Louis. Uncle John did not dare tell Mr. Gilbert that everything the latter had written to George was false, and when Mr. Gilbert told him that he could make a statement there in Galveston or go back to the rancho to do it, just as he pleased, the guilty man made a full confession. George allowedhim every cent that was due him, according to the terms of his father's will, and everybody who heard of it said it was more than Uncle John deserved.
George's business in the courts was soon transacted, and then he settled down at his rancho with his friend for a guardian, but more his own master, in fact, than he had ever been before. Mr. Gilbert rode over nearly every day, just to show his authority, as he said, but in reality to talk to George, whom he was glad to have for a neighbor again. The settlers had a good deal to say about his relatives, but it was in a good-natured way, and the boy noticed that they never failed to speak in the most complimentary terms of his fidelity to them.
When George had shaken hands with Zeke, who almost cried with joy at seeing him once more, and had got all his old herdsmen back, and had received letters from Mr. Black and Mr. Scanlan, both of whom had floated down the river on a sofa until they were picked up by a boat from the shore, he thought he was ready to settle down to business and to begin to enjoy himself in a quiet way; but, as it happened, he was not long allowed to rest in peace. Our dilatory government at last awoke to the fact that if our border along the Rio Grandewas to be protected at all, we must protect it ourselves, and the general commanding the Department of Texas was instructed to pursue the raiding parties across the river, and punish them wherever they could be found. This raised the ardor of the Texans, and every man in George's neighborhood and every boy, too, who was old enough to do military duty, enrolled himself as a member of a company of Rangers, which was ready to march in less than forty-eight hours after it became known among the settlers that such an order had been received. But the department commander, knowing the deadly enmity that existed between these men and the Mexicans, would not accept their services. It was his intention, he said, to rely entirely upon the regular troops under his command; but he needed guides who knew the country on the other side of the river, and who could lead him to Don Miguel's rancho, which was supposed to be the headquarters and stronghold of the most daring and formidable of the raiding parties—the one led by Fletcher. There was one in the settlement who could tell him where to look for that rancho, and his services, which were promptly offered to the officer commanding the nearest post,were as promptly accepted. What our hero saw and did after that, how he fell in with Gus Robbins and Bob Owens, and how the latter gained a reputation as an Indian fighter, shall be told in "George at the Fort; or, Life Among the Soldiers."