Читать книгу: «Bob Burton», страница 8

CHAPTER XXII
THE FIRST DAY

Bob was accustomed to rowing, but navigation with the ferry-boat presented a new and interesting problem which he was eager to solve. A steering apparatus had been rigged up at the stern, which was found strong enough for the purpose required. Bob took his place at the helm in starting, and managed for the first hour to regulate the direction of his craft. By that time they came to a place where the creek widened considerably, and the boat showed a disposition to whirl round in an eddy. This difficulty, however, was overcome by practice, and Bob began to acquire confidence in himself as a navigator. But it was evident that he could not remain at the helm all day.

"Come here, Clip," he said; "I want you to rest me in steering."

Clip took his place, but his first attempts proved discouraging. He was inclined to steer in just the reverse direction, and twice came near running the boat ashore.

"What are you about, Clip?" demanded Bob, in excitement. "Don't you see you are running the boat ashore?"

"I done just like you, Massa Bob," protested Clip. "De boat acts contrary; never see such an ol' boat."

"It is you that are contrary, Clip. You don't do as I tell you."

"I 'clar to gracious I did, Massa Bob. I can't never learn to steer."

In fact, Clip, who was naturally lazy, found it very irksome to stand at the helm, and much preferred going here and there on the boat and surveying the scenery on either bank. He hoped that his incompetence would save him from the task. But his dream was rudely disturbed.

"If you can't take your turn in steering, Clip," said Bob, "you won't be of any use to me. I shall have to send you home, and get along with Sam's assistance."

"Oh, don't send me home, Massa Bob!" exclaimed Clip, in alarm. "I'll try – 'deed I will."

"I'll try you a little longer, Clip," said Bob; "but you must not blame me for sending you back, if it is necessary."

No better argument could have been used to insure satisfactory work from Clip, who was naturally careless, and inclined to shirk work. Nevertheless, Bob felt glad that he had another assistant in Sam Wolverton, who proved to possess all the qualities which Clip lacked.

When it was one o'clock, Clip began to show signs of distress.

"I'm pow'ful hungry, Massa Bob," he said, in a pleading tone.

"So am I, Clip," returned Bob, with a smile. "I will see if I can't do something to relieve you."

He had brought from home a basket of sandwiches and a gallon of milk. To these the boys did ample justice, displaying even more appetite than usual. This was not surprising, for they had worked hard, and this in the open air.

"Sam," said Bob, "I can't hope to supply you with all the delicacies you would get at home, but I hope you'll make it do with our humble fare."

Sam smiled.

"All the delicacies on Uncle Aaron's table wouldn't spoil anybody's digestion. I like my dinner to-day better than any I've eaten for a long time. I don't know what uncle and aunt would say if they could see me here."

"De ol' man would be wild," said Clip, with a guffaw.

"I expect he would, Clip. He isn't fond of me, but he doesn't want to lose me. He will have to do his own chores now, for I don't believe he can get a boy to work for him."

About six o'clock in the afternoon, having arrived opposite a town which I will call Rushford, Bob decided to tie up for the night. He and Clip went on shore, leaving Sam in charge of the boat. He did not dare to leave it unguarded, for the cargo, according to his estimate, was worth not far from three thousand dollars.

He took the opportunity to enter a restaurant, where he bought Clip and himself cups of coffee, and ordered a fresh supply of sandwiches made up, which he arranged to have delivered at the boat early the next morning.

"I don't mean that we shall starve, Clip," he said.

Clip showed his teeth.

"Dat coffee's awful good, Massa Bob," he said.

"Yes, but we can't make it on board the boat. I shall have to depend on getting it at the villages on the way."

"How far are we from home, Massa Bob?"

"Well thought of, Clip. I will inquire."

He asked the keeper of the restaurant the distance to Carver.

"I don't know, but I think my waiter comes from that neighborhood. Sam, how far away is Carver?"

"Forty miles," answered Sam promptly.

"I thought it had been more. We have been eight hours coming on the river."

That is because the river (they had left the creek fifteen miles up) was winding in its course.

On the whole, however, Bob decided that it was very fair progress for the first day, and that only about two-thirds of the time.

Rushford was a town of fifteen hundred inhabitants, and presented as busy an appearance as a town three times the size in the East. Clip, who was fond of variety, was reluctant to return to the boat, but Bob said:

"We must relieve Sam, and give him a chance to come ashore and get some coffee. You come with him, and show him the restaurant."

This arrangement suited Clip, who liked as much variety and excitement as possible.

On returning to the boat Bob was somewhat surprised to find his young lieutenant in conversation with an old lady dressed in antediluvian costume. She had a sharp face, with an eager, birdlike look, and seemed to be preferring a request.

"Here's the captain; you can ask him," said Sam, who seemed much relieved by the return of Bob.

"Is he the captain?" asked the old lady. "Why, he's nothin' but a boy!"

"He's all the captain we have," answered Sam.

"Be you in charge of this boat?" asked the old lady.

"Yes, ma'am. What can I do for you?"

"I want to go down to St. Louis," said the old lady, "and I thought maybe you might find room for me."

"But, ma'am, why don't you take passage on a river steamer?"

"They charge too much," said the old lady. "I hain't got much money, and I s'pose you wouldn't charge me much. Are you any acquainted in St. Louis?"

"No, ma'am."

"I thought maybe you might know my darter's husband. He keeps a grocery store down near the river. His name is Jeremiah Pratt, and my darter's name is Melinda Ann. I want to give 'em a surprise."

"I never met the gentleman."

"When do you start?"

"To-morrow morning about half-past seven o'clock."

"Can't you put it off till eight? I've got to pack my trunk over night, and I've got to eat a bit of breakfast to stay my stummik. How much do you charge? I'd be willing to pay you seventy-five cents."

"How much do the steamboats charge?" asked Bob.

"I think it's six dollars, or it may be seven. That's too much for a poor woman like me."

"I think you will have to pay it, madam, for we have no accommodation for passengers on our boat."

"Oh, I ain't a mite particular. You can put me anywhere."

"I suppose you wouldn't be willing to get into a grain bin?"

"Oh, now you're jokin'. Where do you sleep yourself?"

"On a mattress on the floor; that wouldn't be suitable for a lady like you. Besides, we have no separate rooms."

"Then you can't take me, no way?" asked the old lady, disappointed.

"I am afraid not, madam."

"You're real disobligin'. I don't see how I am to get to St. Louis."

"I am sorry I can't help you."

The old woman hobbled off in evident anger. Bob heard afterwards that she was a woman of ample means, fully able to afford steamboat fare, but so miserly that she grudged paying it.

"Now, Sam," said Bob, "Clip will show you the way to a restaurant where you can get a hot cup of coffee and a plate of meat, if you desire it."

While the boys were gone, Bob received a visitor.

CHAPTER XXIII
A SUSPICIOUS CHARACTER

Fifteen minutes after Sam and Clip had left him Bob's attention was drawn to a man of somewhat flashy appearance, who, while leaning against a tree on the bank, seemed to be eying him and the boat with attention. He wore a Prince Albert coat which was no longer fit to appear in good society, a damaged hat, and a loud neck-tie. His eyes were roving from one point to another, as if he felt a great deal of interest in Bob or the boat. Our hero was not favorably impressed with this man's appearance.

"I wonder what he sees that interests him so much?" he thought.

"I say, young man, is this here boat yours?" he asked.

"Yes," answered Bob, coldly.

"What have you got on board?"

Bob felt under no obligation to answer, but reflecting that there was no good excuse for refusing, he said, briefly: "Wheat."

"Humph! How much have you got?"

This clearly was none of the questioner's business, and Bob replied by another question:

"Do you want to buy?"

"I don't know," said the stranger. "What do you ask?"

"I can't say till I get to St. Louis."

"How much do you calc'late to get?"

"Two dollars and a quarter," answered Bob, naming a price beyond his expectations.

"Ain't that a high figger?"

"Perhaps so."

"Come, young feller, you don't seem social. Can't you invite me aboard?"

"I don't think you would be paid for coming," said Bob, more and more unfavorably impressed.

"Oh, I don't mind. My time ain't valuable. I guess I'll come."

The stranger stepped across the gang-plank, which Bob had laid from the boat to the shore, and entered without an invitation. Bob was tempted to order him off, but the intruder appeared much stronger than himself; and while he was alone it seemed politic to submit to the disagreeable necessity of entertaining his unwelcome visitor.

The latter walked from end to end of the boat, examining for himself without asking permission, or appearing to feel the need of any. He opened the bins and counted them, while Bob looked on uneasily.

"I say, young feller, you've got a smart lot of wheat here."

"Yes," said Bob, briefly.

"Got a thousand bushels, I reckon?"

"Perhaps so."

"And you expect to get two dollars and a quarter a bushel?"

"Perhaps I shall have to take less."

"At any rate, you must have two thousand dollars' worth on board."

"You can judge for yourself."

"I say, that's a pile of money – for a boy."

"The wheat doesn't belong to me."

"Who owns it, then."

"My mother."

"What's your mother's name?"

"I have answered all the questions I am going to," said Bob, indignantly.

"Don't get riled, youngster. It ain't no secret, is it?"

"I don't care about answering all the questions a stranger chooses to put to me."

"I say, young chap, you're gettin' on your high horse."

"What is your object in putting all these questions?"

"What is my object?"

"That is what I asked."

"The fact is, youngster, I've got a ranch round here myself, and I've got about five hundred bushels of wheat I want to market. Naturally I'm interested. See?"

Bob did not believe a word of this.

"Where is your ranch?" he asked.

"About two miles back of the town," answered the stranger, glibly. That lie was an easy one. "I'm thinkin' some of runnin' down to the city to see if I can't sell my wheat in a lump to some merchant. Mebbe I could strike a bargain with you to carry me down."

Bob had even more objection to the new passenger than to the old lady, and he answered stiffly:

"I have no accommodations for passengers."

"Oh, I can bunk anywhere – can lie on deck, on one of the bins. I'm used to roughin' it."

"You'd better take passage by the next steamer. This is a freight boat."

"There ain't anybody but you aboard, is there?"

"Yes; I have two companions."

The stranger seemed surprised and incredulous.

"Where are they?" he asked.

"Gone into the village."

The visitor seemed thoughtful. He supposed the two companions were full-grown men, and this would not tally with his plans. This illusion, however, was soon dissipated, for Sam and Clip at this point crossed the gang-plank and came aboard.

"Are them your two companions?" asked the stranger, appearing relieved.

"Yes."

Sam and Clip eyed him curiously, expecting Bob to explain who he was, but our hero was only anxious to get rid of him.

"Then you can't accommodate me?" asked the man.

"No, sir; but if you'll give me your name and address, I can perhaps sell your crop for you, and leave you to deliver it."

"Never mind, young feller! I reckon I'll go to the city myself next week."

"Just as you like, sir."

He re-crossed the plank, and when he reached the shore took up his post again beside the tree, and resumed his scrutiny of the boat.

"What does that man want?" asked Sam.

"I don't know. He asked me to give him passage to St. Louis."

"You might make money by carrying passengers," suggested Sam.

"I wouldn't carry a man like him at any price," said Bob. "I haven't any faith in his honesty or respectability, though he tells me that he owns a ranch two miles back of the town. He came on the boat to spy out what he could steal, in my opinion."

"How many days do you think we shall need for the trip, Bob?" asked Sam.

"It may take us a week; but it depends on the current, and whether we meet with any obstructions. Are you in a hurry to get back to your uncle?"

"No," said Sam, his face wearing a troubled look. "The fact is, Bob, I don't mean to go back at all."

"You mean dat, Massa Sam?" asked Clip, his eyes expanding in his excitement.

"Yes, I mean it. If I go back I shall have to return to my uncle, and you know what kind of a reception I shall get. He will treat me worse than ever."

"I am sure, Sam, my mother will be willing to let you live with us."

"I should like nothing better, but my uncle would come and take me away."

"Would he have the right?"

"I think he would. He has always told me that my poor father left me to his charge."

"Do you think he left any property?"

"Yes; I feel sure he did; for on his deathbed he called me to him, and said: 'I leave you something, Sam; I wish it were more; but, at any rate, you are not a pauper.'"

"Did you ever mention this to your uncle, Sam?"

"Yes."

"What did he say?"

"It seemed to make him very angry. He said that my father was delirious or he would never have said such absurd things. But I know he was in his right mind. He was never more calm and sensible than when he told me about the property."

"I am afraid Sam, your uncle has swindled you out of your inheritance."

"I think so, too, but I can't prove anything, and it won't do to say anything, for it makes him furious."

"What does your aunt say?"

"Oh, she sides with Uncle Aaron; she always does that."

"Then I can't say I advise you to return to Carver, although Clip and I are sure to miss you."

"'Deed I shall, Massa Sam," said Clip.

"I think I can pick up a living somehow in St. Louis. I would rather black boots than go back to Uncle Aaron."

"I am sure you can. Perhaps some gentleman will feel an interest in you, and take you into his service."

"I want to tell you, Bob, that Uncle Aaron hates you, and will try to injure you. You will need to be careful."

"That's no news, Sam. He has shown his dislike for me in many ways; but I am not afraid of him," the boy added, proudly.

At nine o'clock the boys went to bed. They were all tired, and all slept well. It was not till seven o'clock that Bob awoke. His two companions were asleep. He roused them, and they prepared for the second day's trip.

CHAPTER XXIV
CLIP MAKES A LITTLE MONEY FOR HIMSELF

About noon the next day, while Clip was at the helm, there was a sudden jolt that jarred the boat from stem to stern, if I may so speak of a double-ender ferry-boat.

Bob and Sam, who had been occupied with re-arranging some of the cargo, rushed up to the colored pilot.

"What on earth is the matter, Clip asked Bob.

"'Clare to gracious, I dunno, Massa Bob," asseverated Clip.

Bob didn't need to repeat the question. Clip had steered in shore, and the boat had run against a tree of large size which had fallen over into the river, extending a distance of a hundred feet into the stream. Of course the boat came to a standstill.

"What made you do this, Clip?" said Bob, sternly.

"Didn't do it, Massa Bob. Ol' boat run into the tree himself."

"That won't do, Clip. If you had steered right, there would have been no trouble."

"I steered just as you told me to, Massa Bob."

"No, you didn't. You should have kept the boat at least a hundred and fifty feet from the shore."

"Didn't I, Massa Bob?" asked Clip, innocently.

"No. Don't you see we are not more than fifty feet away now?"

"I didn't get out and measure, Massa Bob," said Clip, with a grin.

"Now, own up, Clip, were you not looking at something on the bank, so that you didn't notice where you were steering?"

"Who told you, Massa Bob?" asked Clip, wondering.

"I know it must be so. Do you know you have got us into trouble? How am I going to get the boat back into the stream?"

Clip scratched his head hopelessly. The problem was too intricate for him to solve.

"I think, Clip, I shall have to leave you over at the next place we come to. You are more bother than you are worth."

"Oh, don't, Massa Bob. I won't do so again. 'Deed I won't."

Bob didn't relent for some time. He felt that it was necessary to impress Clip with the heinousness of his conduct. At length he agreed to give him one more chance. He had to secure the services of two stout backwoodsmen to remove the tree, and this occasioned a delay of at least two hours. Finally the boat got started again, and for the remainder of the day there was no trouble.

Towards the close of the afternoon they reached a place which we will call Riverton. It was a smart Western village of about two thousand inhabitants. Bob and Sam went on shore to get some supper, leaving Clip in charge.

"Now, Clip, you must keep your eyes open, and take good care of everything while we are gone," said Bob.

"All right, Massa Bob."

About ten minutes after the boys went away Clip was sitting on a barrel whistling a plantation melody, when a slender, florid-complexioned young man stepped aboard.

"Good-evening, sir," he said, removing his hat.

"Evenin'," answered Clip, with a grin. He was flattered by being addressed as "sir."

"Are you in charge of this boat?"

"Yes; while Massa Bob and Sam are gone ashore."

"Are they boys like yourself?"

"Yes, sir."

"Are you three all that are on board – I mean all that man the boat?"

"Yes, massa."

"Where are you bound?"

"To St. Louis."

"Do you think they would take me as passenger?"

Clip shook his head.

"They won't take no passengers," he answered. "An ol' woman wanted to go as passenger, and another man" (Clip was unconscious of the bull), "but Massa Bob he said no."

"Suppose I make a bargain with you," said the man, insinuatingly.

"What you mean, massa?" asked Clip, rolling his eyes in wonderment.

"Can't you hide me somewhere without their knowing I am on board?"

"What for I do dat?" asked Clip.

"I'll make it worth your while."

"What's dat?"

"I'll give you five dollars."

"For my own self?"

"Yes; for yourself."

"And I won't have to give it to Massa Bob?"

"No; you can spend it for yourself."

"But Massa Bob would find out to-morrer."

"If he finds out to-morrow I shan't mind."

"And you won't take back the money?"

"No; you can keep the money at any rate."

"Where's the money?" asked Clip, cautiously.

The stranger took out a five-dollar gold piece, and showed it to Clip. Clip had seen gold coins before, and he understood the value of what was offered him.

"Where can I put you?" he said.

"We'll go round the boat together, and see if we can find a place."

The round was taken, and the stranger selected a dark corner behind a bin of wheat.

"Will Massa Bob, as you call him; be likely to look here?"

"No; I reckon not."

"Have you got anything to eat on board which you can bring me by and by?"

"I'm goin' on shore soon as Massa Bob gets back. I'll buy something."

"That will do."

The stranger ensconced himself in his hiding-place, and soon after Bob and Sam returned.

"Has anybody been here, Clip?" asked Bob.

"No, Massa Bob," answered Clip, solemnly.

Poor Clip's moral convictions were rather obtuse, and a lie did not impress him as seriously wrong.

"What have you been doing while we were away?"

"Nothin', Massa Bob."

"That's what you like best to do, Clip, isn't it?"

"Dat's where you're right, Massa Bob. Yah, yah!"

"Well, you can go to your supper, Clip. Here's some money."

"All right, Massa Bob."

Clip did not seem in any great hurry to go. He was rather afraid that Bob and Sam would explore the boat while he was away. Finally he walked away with slow steps, looking back from time to time.

"What's got into Clip?" said Bob, wonderingly.

"I guess he isn't hungry," answered Sam, with a laugh.

Ten minutes later Bob's attention was drawn to a crowd of men and boys who were approaching the boat. He naturally wondered what was the object of the assemblage.

The leader called out to Bob, when he had approached sufficiently near:

"I say, boy, have you seen anything of a man with dark hair, florid complexion, wearing a light suit, running along the bank?"

"No, sir. Why?"

"A man of that description has stolen a sum of money from a dry-goods store in the town. He was seen running in this direction. We thought you might have seen him."

"No, sir; I have seen nothing of such a man."

Bob little dreamed that the thief in question was concealed at that moment within twenty-five feet of where he was sitting.