CHAPTER VII. A STORMY INTERVIEW.
"This is the room," said George, seating himself on the lounge, while Mr. Lowry and Joe took possession of the easy chairs that were pointed out to them. "I was in here when you came to the rancho, and heard you say, as you passed through the hall, that you thought there was a regular nest of horse-thieves at Ackerman's; and that you would like to get your hands on that rascally boy who had sent you so far out of your course. While you were waiting for supper, I slipped out, mounted my horse, which in company with my pack-mule had made straight for this place, when my cattle were stampeded, and put out for home."
"It was a pretty sharp trick," said Joe, "and you deserve credit for the way in which you carried it out."
"Now, George," said Mr. Gilbert, "we are ready to hear your story. Where have you been? and what have you been doing, since I last saw you?"
George settled himself into an easy position on the lounge, and beginning with the night on which he had left Mr. Gilbert in so unceremonious a manner, he gave a glowing description of his adventures and exploits among the guerrillas. The only thing he omitted from his narrative, was the conversation he had had with Springer and Fletcher in regard to his uncle's plans. The visitors would have been glad to hear that, for Jake had told them just enough to excite their curiosity; but it was something that George reserved for Mr. Gilbert's private ear.
"Silk Stocking is in the hands of his lawful owner at last," said the boy, in conclusion, "and as soon as Mr. Cook has been paid for the cattle that Ned and Gus shot, all these difficulties will be happily ended."
"Then they are ended already," said Mr. Gilbert. "Cook has been paid, and says he is entirely satisfied."
"Of course he doesn't blame me for anything that happened," said George.
"Well, yes, he did," answered Mr. Gilbert, "and so did all the rest of the settlers. They found fault with you for assisting those boys to escape. They said you had no business to do it."
"Humph!" exclaimed George. "What do they take me for, I'd like to know? Would any of them stand by and see a relative of theirs get into trouble and never lift a finger to help him? I guess not."
Mr. Gilbert shrugged his shoulders by way of reply, and Mr. Lowry, after a few minutes silence, remarked that he thought he and Joe had better be moving toward home. Wouldn't they wait until after dinner, which would be ready within an hour? No; he guessed they had better not. They had been gone a long time, and unless they "showed up," pretty soon, their folks would begin to worry about them. So, in accordance with their request, their horses were brought to the door, and the ranchemen, after taking leave of Mr. Gilbert and George, mounted and rode away.
"That business was settled in a way I did not expect," said the former, as he and his young companion went back into the library. "You have made a friend of every body in the settlement by the course you have pursued, although I must say, that the neighbors were very angry at you at first; but Uncle John and Ned—Well, what are you going to do in regard to them?"
George replied to this question by completing the story of his captivity among the guerrillas, which he did by describing his interview with Springer, and repeating the conversation he had had with the boss cattle-thief. Mr. Gilbert listened in silence, and when the boy ceased speaking, he got up and began pacing the floor.
"Well, George," said he, at length, "you know what I think of this difficulty. There is only one way out of it. Your uncle will not willingly give up his position, and you must call upon the law to throw him out, neck and heels."
"But if I should tell him, in so many words, that I know all about his plans, don't you think he would be more careful in future?" asked George.
"Beyond a doubt he would," replied Mr. Gilbert; and to himself he added: "He would be so very careful that nobody would detect him in his villainy again."
"That is what I thought," said George. "I don't want to turn him loose in the world and send him back to his bookkeeping again, for he is getting to be an old man. I can remove one temptation from his path by keeping out of his way, and that I have decided to do. If I am ever going to see anything of life outside of Texas, I must see it now, for when I come into possession of the ranche and the stock that belong to it, I shall be kept busy."
Mr. Gilbert rubbed his chin, and looked up at the picture that hung on the wall over the lounge.
"I don't know whether you will be kept so very busy or not," said he, to himself. "It is my opinion that if you give your rascally relatives full swing, you will have very little stock to take care of."
But Mr. Gilbert did not give utterance to this opinion. He saw very plainly that the boy was opposed to taking any legal action against his uncle, and he was determined that he would not try to influence him in the matter. He had given his advice simply because George had asked him for it, and the boy was quite at liberty to do as he pleased about following it.
"What course have you marked out for yourself?" added Mr. Gilbert, aloud.
"I thought I would leave Texas for a year or two (you know you told me that I would be safer anywhere in the world than I am here) and go into business," replied George.
"Have you any idea what it will be?"
"No, sir; I have not."
"Neither have I. A boy who has spent most of his life in the saddle, or in camp taking care of cattle, wouldn't make a very good clerk—at least I shouldn't want such a one, if I were a merchant—and your schooling hasn't fitted you for anything else."
"I can keep a set of books," said George, with some dignity.
"But you couldn't stand the confinement. You are not accustomed to it. You will want some active, out-of-door occupation."
"And what is the reason I can't find it? There must be plenty of such work to do."
This was but the beginning of a long conversation that George held with Mr. Gilbert that day, and after he had told his friend all his plans, and listened to some good advice, he mounted his horse and rode away to find Zeke, who was pasturing his herd on Mr. Gilbert's grounds, about three miles from the rancho. The honest old fellow was delighted to see his employer once more, and was almost overwhelmed with grief when George told him that he was going away to be gone a year, and perhaps a good deal longer. The boy gave him some very emphatic instructions in regard to the management of his herd, and then took a hurried leave of him and galloped away; for the longer he remained in Zeke's company, the more firmly he became convinced that he was about to abandon the only life for which he was suited, and the stronger became his desire to give up his "northern scheme," as Mr. Gilbert called it, and settle down again to the business of herding cattle.
Having already said good-bye to Mr. Gilbert and his family, George did not return to that gentleman's rancho, but held straight for home, and sought an interview with Jake and Bob. To these faithful men he also gave some very positive orders, and having entered into a sort of alliance with them, both offensive and defensive, and spent an hour or two in looking over some books he found in his uncle's safe, he packed his valise, mounted his horse and set out for Brownsville, accompanied by a young herdsman who was to bring back his nag, as well as those on which his relatives and Gus Robbins had made the same journey a few days before.
His first hard work, after reaching his destination, was to find Uncle John and Ned, and there was but one way to do it. He visited all the principal hotels and examined the registers. On one he found the name of Edward Ackerman.
"I don't know who he is or where he is," said the clerk, when his attention was drawn to the signature. "I judged by his appearance that he was a cow-boy. He stopped with us about an hour and then dug out, taking the key of his room with him and leaving his grip-sack behind. I was under the impression that he had been doing something crooked, for I never saw him after two men came here making inquiries about him. Did he get in on you for any amount?"
"O, no," answered George. "He is square with the world—so far as I know," he added, to himself, as he turned and walked out of the office. "The men who came here looking for him were Mr. Lowry and Joe. I saw their signatures on the register. It is probable that Ned saw and recognised them, and that that was the reason he 'dug out' so suddenly."
At the next hotel at which he called, George met with better success. His uncle was registered as one of the guests of the house, and the clerk said he had seen him go up to his room an hour or so before, taking a strange young gentleman with him. The bell-boy was summoned, and George followed him up the stairs.
"A gentleman to see you, sir," announced the boy; after which he closed the door and went back to the office, leaving George standing face to face with his relatives, who hoped they had seen him for the last time. The explosion of a bomb-shell in their room would hardly have caused them greater astonishment and alarm. There was an expression on his face that they did not like to see there. They stared, but could not speak to him.
"Well, how do you do?" exclaimed George, as he deposited his valise beside the door and seated himself on the bed, both the chairs being occupied. "You seem surprised."
"We are indeed surprised, most agreeably so," said Uncle John, recovering his power of speech by an effort.
He got up and extended his hand to his nephew, who took it, but did not grasp it with any cordiality. Ned also came forward to greet him, but anybody could see that it was something he did not like to do.
"Your cousin told me that you were captured by the Mexicans, and I never expected to see you again," said Uncle John, as he went back to his chair. "Did you escape from them, or did they release you; or how did you get away? I am anxious to know all the particulars."
"It is a long story," replied George, looking carelessly about the room, "and I have more important matters to talk about just now."
"Have you any idea why they didn't take Ned and Gus, too?" said Uncle John, who knew very well what those "important matters" were to which George referred. "Your cousin has had one or two very narrow escapes from the men who were hunting for that stolen horse. Do you know what they would have done with him if they had caught him? I wonder where Silk Stocking is now?"
Uncle John thought, that by rattling on in this way, he could divert his nephew's mind; turn the conversation into channels selected by himself; and so, indefinitely postpone the discussion of a very disagreeable subject. When George first entered the room, Uncle John told himself, that he had come there "on purpose to raise a row;" and he thought so now, as he noticed the hard lines about the boy's mouth.
There was something coming—the guilty man was sure of that—and he wanted to put it off as long as he could; but George didn't. He was waiting patiently for an opening, and it was presented the very next minute.
"I never heard of those cattle thieves taking a prisoner before," faltered Ned, who knew that he ought to say something.
"Neither did I; and they never would have made a prisoner of me, if they hadn't been hired to do it."
As George said this, his eyes ceased to rove about the room, and rested first upon Uncle John and then upon Ned. The latter grew as pale as a sheet under his gaze, while Uncle John's face turned very red. George had dealt them a stunning blow, and Uncle John was the first to rally from it.
"Why do you look at me in that way?" he demanded sharply. "And what do you mean to insinuate, when you say, that those men were hired to make a prisoner of you?"
"Yes," said Ned, in a very faint voice. "What do you mean to insinuate?"
"I insinuate nothing!" replied George, in a tone that alarmed his uncle, for it told him very plainly that the boy was sure of his ground. "I mean to tell you, in language you can easily understand, that I know all about it."
"About it! About what?"
"Uncle John, it is useless for you to feign ignorance. You are to blame for my capture, and I know it as well as you do. Jake knows it, and he knocked Philip down in your presence to pay him for putting those cattle thieves on my trail. Fletcher knows it, and I had a long talk with him on the subject. If I hadn't escaped from him, my ranche would have been stripped clean. His plan was to hold fast to me, so that he could make a demand on you for stock whenever he felt like it. If you refused to comply with those demands, he would have blown the whole thing among the settlers. If he had ever done that, Uncle John, you would have been in more danger than Ned and Gus were on the night I took them out of the rancho. He may do it yet, for he has got as good a hold on you as he wants. By the way, I don't see Gus anywhere. Has he gone home?"
"George!" exclaimed Uncle John, as soon as he could speak, "I don't understand you at all. What are you trying to get at? There is only one thing plain to me, and that is that somebody has been slandering me."
There was nothing "sharp" in the tone in which these words were uttered. It was evident that Uncle John was very badly frightened, although he was doing his best to keep up a bold front.
"Did Springer slander you when he told me that you were to pay Fletcher and his gang twenty thousand dollars in stock for capturing me?" asked George.
Uncle John settled back in his chair, with an air which said that he had no patience with anybody who could put faith in so outrageous a statement, while Ned, who began to tremble all over, got up and walked to the window. He could not bear to meet his cousin's eye.
"Of course he slandered me if he told you that, and you insult me by believing it," replied Uncle John. "I don't know Springer, and neither did I ever hear of him before."
"You have heard of Fletcher, haven't you?"
Uncle John replied most emphatically that he never had.
"Did Philip slander you, when he told you to your face that you might as well tell one of the men to bring in a thousand head of cattle and pasture them between the rancho and the river, so that they could be easily captured?" inquired George.
"He never used any such language to me."
"He wasn't knocked down in your presence, either, was he?"
"He never was. If such a thing had happened, I should promptly have discharged the man who did it, for I will not allow any fighting among my own servants."
"You had better not say that much to Jake or Bob when you go home, for if you do, they will certainly knock you down."
"George!" Uncle John almost shouted, "have you been setting the servants against me? If you have, you are guilty of a most contemptible proceeding."
"That's the way to talk to him!" exclaimed Ned, whose courage seemed to be coming back to him, now that he had placed himself out of reach of his cousin's searching gaze. "You had better go out of the room, or leave off insulting us."
"I am not insulting you. I am telling you the truth in plain language, and if I stay in here, I shall continue to do so until I have convinced you that your rascality has been most thoroughly exposed."
"Leave the room!" roared Ned.
"Very good," replied George, rising to his feet, and putting on his hat; "I will leave the room very willingly, but I give you fair warning, Uncle John, that if I do it, I shall go straight home and begin proceedings against you. I have been advised to have a new guardian appointed, and I begin to think it is the best thing I can do."
"Sit down! sit down!" cried Uncle John, when he saw the boy moving toward his valise. "Let us see if we can't straighten things out to the satisfaction of all of us."
"I think myself that you had better straighten them out now, instead of waiting until you are obliged to do so before a court of law," said George, significantly.
"Who advised you to have a new guardian appointed?" inquired Uncle John.
"Mr. Gilbert did."
"Of course," sneered Ned. "He is down on us because we are so far above him. Who is he, any how, but a low, ignorant herdsman, whose money entitles him to the position he holds? What would he be up North?"
"What were you up North?" asked George, in reply.
"I was a gentleman, and I am one now."
"And Mr. Gilbert would be known as an honest man, no matter where he went."
"I suppose you think I am not honest," said Uncle John, who, during this side sparring had been allowed a little time in which to collect his scattered wits. "You can carry out your silly threat about that court of law just as soon as you please."
"If I do, you will have to account for every cent that has passed through your hands since you have been my guardian," returned George.
"I can do it. The books show where it has gone."
"What entry did you make in reference to the money that Ned sent to Gus Robbins to pay his way down here?"
"I charged it to myself," answered Uncle John, who was not a little astonished by this question. He supposed that that was a matter that George knew nothing about.
"What did you do with the ten thousand dollars you received for the herd of cattle that Mose drove to Palos when he met Gus Robbins there?"
"I entered it upon the cash account in the proper way. The books show it."
"They don't show it!" said George, bluntly. "They don't show more than half the money you have received since you have been on that ranche."
"How do you know?" demanded Uncle John, starting up in his chair. "Look here, young man! Have you been prying into my private affairs?"
"I have been examining the books you thought you left locked up in the safe, if that is what you mean," replied George, boldly. "And as I know something about bookkeeping, and all about the money you have received since you took charge of my affairs, I was able to see that your accounts are frauds of the first water. Now, Uncle John, I have dwelt longer on these matters than I intended to when I came up here, and I am coming down to business. If you will promise faithfully that you will deal honestly and fairly by me from this time forward, you can hold your present position for five years longer; otherwise you shall not hold it five days. In the first place, there must not be a single steer sold from that ranche while I am gone. There is no need of it, for you have, or ought to have, fifty thousand dollars in the bank to draw on. Do you promise that?"
"I shall make no promises or concessions whatever," replied Uncle John, whose terror had given away to rage intense and bitter. "I shall manage that estate in future as I have in the past, according to my own judgment."
"Then you shall not manage it any longer. Your account is twenty-five or thirty thousand dollars short already, and I can't stand such a leak as that," said George, as he put on his hat again and picked up his valise. "I don't want to disgrace you, but I don't see how I can help it; for you can bet your bottom dollar that I am not going to stand still and see myself robbed."
George walked out of the room, banging the door behind him, while Ned threw himself into his chair and looked at his father who mopped his face vigorously with his handkerchief, while his hands trembled so violently that he could scarcely control them. They had passed through a very trying interview.
CHAPTER VIII. LIFE IN THE PILOT-HOUSE.
"Now, I just want to know if anybody ever heard of such miserable luck as I have," exclaimed Ned, who was the first to break the silence. "Here I was, pluming myself on being the owner of the finest cattle ranche in Texas, when, as if to mock me and show me how all my bright hopes are destined to end, in walks George, as cool as a cucumber, and looking as though he had never seen a Greaser. Why in the world couldn't they hold fast to him after they got him? My forty thousand a year are up a hollow stump, and George knows everything. Did you hire those men to capture him?"
"Didn't you hear me say that every word of his story was false?" demanded his father, fiercely. "Would I be likely to put my nephew's life in jeopardy?"
"If there is no truth in it, I don't see how he came to hear it from so many different sources."
"And neither do I see how he found out that you sent that money to Gus Robbins," said Uncle John. "Have you any idea how that got to his ears?"
"Not the slightest," answered Ned. He saw that his father was almost ready to boil over with fury, and he did not think it would be quite safe to acknowledge that it was through his own admissions that George had become acquainted with that little circumstance. "Gus must have told him; or it may be that I have enemies as well as you. But what are we going to do? That's the question."
And it was one that aroused Uncle John from the stupor into which he had fallen, and showed him the necessity of prompt and decisive action. He jumped from his chair and began walking up and down the room.
"Can George turn you out of your position and have somebody appointed in your place?" continued Ned.
"Of course he can. I hoped to keep him in ignorance concerning that fact, but Gilbert, or some other busy-body, has been posting him."
"Then you had better make things straight with him and be quick about it," said Ned, growing frightened again. "If you don't, he'll oust you sure, and then what will become of me—of both of us? You'll have to go back to your desk again, and I'll have to pick up my yard-stick. Father, I never could endure that sort of life again. You must make it up with him?"
Uncle John wrung his hands and groaned. He was terribly agitated, and it was not to be wondered at. He could not have told which he stood the more in fear of—punishment at the hands of the angry settlers, who would be sure, sooner or later, to learn all about his dealings with his nephew, or the loss of the management of his brother's property. He could not bear to think of either.
"Where are you going?" inquired Ned, as his father suddenly turned toward the door and laid his hand upon the knob.
"I am going to see George," was the reply. "It would never do to let him go back home feeling as he does now, for you and I would never dare to show our faces there again. I am going to try to reason with him first, and if that has no effect, I shall use my authority."
"That's the way to talk," exclaimed Ned, gleefully. "Pound him within an inch of his life, and if you want any help, call for me. I will leave the door open so that I can hear you."
Ned had been on the very point of volunteering to go with his father, in order to back him up during the coming interview, and holding himself in readiness to assist him as circumstances might require; but the fear that the interview might end in a fight, checked the words that arose to his lips. George's fists were pretty large and heavy, and a good fair blow from one of them would have played sad havoc with the little sense that Ned Ackerman possessed.
"I hardly think that extreme measures will be called for," said Uncle John, "but if they are, I shall use them. Stay here until I return."
"I declare, I didn't know that George could be so insolent," thought Ned, as his father closed the door behind him. "The idea of a little snipe like him sitting there and talking to a gray-headed man as he would talk to a boy of his own age! I wonder that he wasn't kicked out of the room for his impudence. But I believe that father is afraid of him; he certainly acted like it; and if he is, it proves that he has been up to something. I hope he will lay his plans with a little more skill next time."
Ned kept his ear at the open door, but no sounds came up from below to indicate that his father had found it necessary to use his authority in order to bring the refractory George to his senses. He passed a long and gloomy hour alone in his room, and sometimes his impatience and suspense increased to such a degree that it was all he could do to keep from going out in search of Uncle John. When the latter at last made his appearance, Ned saw at a glance that he had passed through another exciting and stormy interview. The perspiration stood on his forehead in great beads, and his face was as flushed as it would have been if he had just finished a hotly-contested foot-race with somebody. He dropped into his chair, and drew his handkerchief from his pocket.
"Now, I tell you what's a fact," said Ned, to himself; "if he has been trying to use 'extreme measures,' he has got worsted at it; he has come back whipped. Well, why don't you speak?"
"Let me recover my breath, won't you?" exclaimed Uncle John, impatiently.
"Is everything all right, or not?" demanded Ned, paying no attention to this request. "I want to know the best or the worst, at once."
"I am to retain my position as his guardian," said Uncle John, "but he imposes some hard conditions."
"You didn't agree to them, of course?"
"Of course, I did. I couldn't do otherwise."
"Why didn't you use the authority you talk so much about?"
"I didn't think it was best. I can do as I please about keeping my promises."
"So you can; I didn't think of that."
"If I find that George's interests require me to exercise my own judgment, as I have done in the past, I shall not hesitate to do it," continued Uncle John, who could not bear that his own son should see him in his true character. "He cannot possibly foresee every emergency that may arise."
"George told you that not a steer was to be sold off the place while he was gone," said Ned. "What did he mean by that?"
"He meant just what he said. Zeke is the only one who has authority from George to sell any cattle."
"Well, if that isn't a pretty state of affairs, I wouldn't say so," exclaimed Ned, in great disgust. "So Zeke is put over you, is he?"
"Oh, no; he is left in charge of George's herd, and when he wants money, he is at liberty to sell cattle to get it. George himself is going North to find something to do."
"Well, there!" cried Ned, bringing his hands together with a loud slap. "I have heard some good news at last. That will leave us monarchs of all we survey, won't it? I will get rid of that Zeke the first thing I do."
"How will you go to work? If I told him that his services were no longer required he would pay no attention to me. George said so."
"Very well; let him stay; but when he comes after supplies, just see that he doesn't get any."
"But he'll not come to us; he'll go to Gilbert. George arranged all that before he left. Then he ordered Jake and Bob to visit every one of our herds and find out just how many cattle there were in each of them. They are to send a report to him through Gilbert, and George says that when he comes home the number of cattle he finds on the ranche must correspond with that report, or there'll be trouble between us."
"Why, father, he has tied your hands hard and fast," exclaimed Ned, springing from his chair, and walking about the room in a state of great excitement.
"He thinks he has," said Uncle John, quietly.
"I don't see why in the world you agreed to any such degrading terms," continued Ned.
"I did it because it was that or the desk for me, and the yard-stick for you," answered Uncle John. "But there are one or two contingencies that George did not provide for. Some of the cattle will probably be stolen."
This was said in so significant a tone of voice that Ned would have been dull indeed if he had failed to catch his father's meaning.
"Then, again, there are herdsmen in the country who will suit us much better than those we now employ, and as fast as they turn up I shall hire them, without consulting anybody's wishes except my own."
"So you can," exclaimed Ned, joyfully. "That boy has somehow got the idea into his head that he is just a trifle smarter than anybody else, but he will find that there are others in the world who are just as smart as he is. Did he have any more to say in regard to those ridiculous stories that somebody has been circulating about you?"
"He did, and he believes them to be true. I assured him that they were not, that I was perfectly willing that my conduct should be investigated at any time, and finally we shook hands, and agreed to let by-gones be by-gones."
"I should think you would have felt more like knocking him down," said Ned; "I know I should."
"His perverseness was certainly very trying to my patience; but, after all, my way of settling the difficulty was the best. We shall leave Brownsville for St. Louis to-night; and as we are to travel in his company, I want you to be very guarded in your words and actions. Everything is satisfactorily settled, and we must be careful to treat him as kindly and considerately as we did before he insulted us."
A stranger would have supposed, from this, that Ned and his father were the injured parties, and that George had no reason to complain of their treatment of him.
Uncle John did not tell all that happened during his second interview with George. While he was in the presence of his son his pride had enabled him to keep up some show of courage; but when he was alone with his nephew, he had nothing to sustain him, and it was all he could do to keep from breaking down entirely. He loudly denied every accusation that George brought against him, but the boy gave him to understand that he knew just what he was talking about, and that there was but one way in which Uncle John could ever regain his confidence. That was by dealing fairly with him in the future. This the old man eagerly, almost abjectly, promised to do; but we have already seen how sincere he was when he made those promises.
"I don't want to see him again," said Ned, "and neither can I bear the thought of travelling in his company as far as St. Louis. I don't see why you consented to any such arrangement. Why didn't you let him go alone, if he is so very anxious to leave to-night? We could have waited until to-morrow."
"But we must be willing to do something for the sake of appearances," replied his father, who would have breathed much easier himself if George had been a thousand miles away at that moment. "One reason why I decided to go with him, was because I want to see him settled at something before I leave him."
"But just think how he will lord it over us!" said Ned, who knew very well how he would have acted if he had been in his cousin's place. "He will let everybody know that he is the moneyed man and that we are the dependants."
"You need not be at all alarmed. George is not that sort of a boy. I'll say that much for him."
Ned's fears on this score were entirely set at rest when he met his cousin at the supper table. George had always been somewhat reserved in the presence of his relatives—he could not help feeling that there was something between himself and them that kept them apart—and the events of the last few days did not in the least widen the gulf between them. Having taken his uncle to task for his rascality, and come to a plain understanding with him, he regarded all differences between them as settled for ever, and he never referred to them in any way. If Mr. Gilbert had known it, he would have declared that George was "too confiding for any use;" and perhaps we shall see that he would not have been very badly mistaken if he had pronounced such a judgment upon the boy's actions.
The three left Brownsville that night for Galveston, at which place they boarded a steamer bound for New Orleans. They stopped there a week in order to give Uncle John and Ned an opportunity to see the sights, and to drive out the shell road to Lake Pontchartrain. Ned and his father had, of course, passed this way when they went to Texas, but they were so impatient to see the property of which Uncle John was to have charge, and to begin the spending of its handsome revenues, that they had not wasted a day in this or any other city along their route.
Having done New Orleans and vicinity to their satisfaction, they took passage for St. Louis on board the steamer General Quitman.
She was a very fine and a very swift vessel (during the war she was fitted up by the rebels as a cotton-clad ram, and we know, by experience, that some of the gunboats in the Mississippi squadron were very much afraid of her), and she left the miles behind her at an astonishing rate, her loud "exhaust" proclaiming her approach to the settlers who lived along the banks a league in advance of her.
While the novelty of this mode of travelling lasted, George and his companions were at no loss to know what to do with themselves. They found abundant gratification in sitting on the wide guards, enjoying the rapid motion, and watching the panorama that passed so swiftly before them; but this grew monotonous after a while, and then Ned took to his bunk; Uncle John read the papers and magazines with which he had provided himself before starting from New Orleans, and George, being left to himself, strolled about the boat to see what he could find that was worth looking at. One day he went up to the hurricane-deck, where he took his stand and watched the pilot who was steering the vessel.
"Come in; come in," said the latter, when he saw that the boy was interested in his movements.
"Thank you, sir. I didn't know that you allowed passengers in here," replied George, as he ascended the steps that led up to the pilot-house door.
"O, yes we do, and we are glad to have them come, for we get lonely sometimes. Sit down there," said the pilot, pointing to a high bench that was built against the after-bulkhead. "Then you can look out ahead and on both sides of you and see everything."
"I think you pilots have an easy way of making a living," said George, as he took possession of the bench. "You have no dirty work to do as the engineers have."
"That is very true," replied the pilot. "We are on duty only while the vessel is under way. As soon as we reach port we are at liberty to go ashore and spend the time as we please, until the boat is ready to start again. But it is not an easy berth for all that. In fact, I don't know any easy way of making a living. You are a young man, and you don't want to start out in life with the foolish notion that you can make headway in the world unless you are willing to work."
"I know what work is," said George, with a smile.
"What is your business?"
"I have none just at present. I am looking for an opening. I am from Texas, and I used to herd cattle."
"Were they your own, or did they belong to somebody else?"
"They were my own property."
"There, now!" exclaimed the pilot. "I'll warrant that you sold out your herd in the hope of finding some easier way of making a livelihood. You will never find it. I have spent some months in Texas, and I know how those ranchemen live. They have nothing to do, month in and month out, but ride around on horseback and keep their stock from straying away. If I had money enough I would go into that business to-morrow; and if you are wise, you will go straight back to it."
"I can't," replied George, who told himself that after his new acquaintance had tried herding unruly cattle for a while, and been caught out in a 'norther or two, and jumped down on by raiders, he would be quite willing to resume his place in the pilot-house. "Circumstances compel me to strike out in another direction. How long does it take one to learn the river, and how much does it cost?" added George, who had suddenly taken it into his head that he would like to be a pilot. It was an active, out-of-door occupation, and that was just what he wanted.
"Well, that depends," was the answer. "If you have a good memory and are a judge of water, you could learn it in three years, or less. The cost need not amount to any great sum. If you have any personal friends among pilots, one of them might be induced to take you for nothing; but a stranger would probably charge you something. In fact, he wouldn't think of taking you as a 'cub' unless you agreed to pay him."
"I don't know a single pilot," said George, "and I should be perfectly willing to pay for instruction. How much does a licensed pilot receive for his services?"
"That also depends. If there is plenty of freight, and the water is good, they sometimes get two hundred and fifty dollars a month."
"Three thousand dollars a year!" exclaimed George.
"Well—no; not always. There is scarcely one pilot in ten who works every month in the year. Unless his boat is in some regular trade, he is paid off as soon as the trip for which he was hired is made, and he remains idle until he finds another job. If times are dull and the water low, he may not find anything to do for months; for pilots are not wanted when boats are not running, you know, Tommy."
"My name is George Ackerman," said the boy.
"Ah! I am delighted to hear it. My name is Black. I suppose you can steer a horse pretty well, can't you? I thought so. Do you think you could steer this boat?"
"I am afraid not. I never tried it."
"Well, step up here and see what you can do," said Mr. Black, moving away from the wheel, but still keeping his right hand upon one of the spokes. "We often have passengers come up here and steer for us. One of those boys who got off at Natchez, steered for me yesterday for over three hours; but then he is a pilot's son, and has made a good many trips up and down the river. Don't get in front of the wheel," he added, as George stepped down from the bench and laid his hands upon the spokes. "Stand at the side of it—so. Now you have got perfect control of it. Do you see that white pole out there in the bow? That is the jack-staff, and the large black ball you see about half way up the staff, is the night hawk."
"What is it for?"
"That is what we steer by in the night."
"I shouldn't think you could see it."
"O yes, we can. It shows almost as plainly as it does in the daytime, and by keeping one eye on it we can tell which way the boat is swinging. Do you see that leaning tree up there in the bend? Well, keep the jack-staff pointed straight toward it."
"If I do that I shan't keep the boat in the middle of the river," said George.
"I don't want you to keep in the middle of the river. I want you to go where the water is the deepest."
Mr. Black moved away from the wheel, and George had the swiftly-moving boat under his own control.
CHAPTER IX. THE PILOT'S GRATITUDE.
George was greatly surprised to find that it requires skill, and a good deal of it, too, to do so simple a thing as keeping a steamer in a straight course. Mr. Black had done it without the least apparent exertion, not unfrequently managing the wheel with only one hand, but George could not, for the life of him, keep the jack-staff directed towards the object in the bend that had been pointed out to him. That leaning tree was like the negative pole of a magnet: it seemed to repel rather than to attract; and every time the jack-staff was brought to bear upon it, the bow would swing to one side or the other, and George could not hold it anywhere. Like all beginners, he kept the wheel in constant motion; but he was quick to learn anything in which he was interested, and it was not long before he found out that there was always an increased strain upon the tiller rope before the boat began to swing, and that easing the wheel a spoke or two did more good than giving it a round turn. When he had learned this much, he had taken the first step towards learning how to steer a steamboat.
"The deepest water is not always to be found in the middle of the river," continued Mr. Black. "If it was, what would be the use of pilots? Anybody could take a boat up or down the river, provided he knew the bells and could handle the wheel. But the channel is constantly changing, and to-day we find plenty of water in places where sand-bars were high and dry a year or two ago."
"How do you know, then, but that the channel we are now following may change over to the other side of the river before you come down again?" said George.
"I don t know it. I shouldn't be in the least surprised, for stranger things than that have happened. Do you see that tow-head over there?" inquired Mr. Black, directing the boy's attention to a little grove of willows that grew on the farther side of the stream; "that's 'Old' river. The Mississippi used to run on the other side of that tow-head, at least three miles from where it runs now. It is these constant changes that make it necessary for us to have fields-men, who are willing to devote all their time to keeping track of the channel. A pilot of twenty, or even ten years ago, would find it hard work to take a boat to New Orleans. In fact, I don't believe that he could do it, if he depended entirely upon himself. But we help one another all we can. For example, when we get to Cairo, some pilot there, who hasn't been down the river for a few months, will ask me how I got into Helena; there's a very bad river there, you know, and lots of bars, and those bars are always on the move. I'll tell him all the turns I made, and he will remember every word I say, and make the same turns in the darkest of nights. That's why I told you that a man must have a good memory to be a pilot. Now here we are in the bend, and this leaning tree will be of no more use to us to-day. We must find something else to steer by. Bring her around easy, keeping just about this distance from the shore—that's it—now a little more. Steady at that. Do you see that log cabin up there in the bight of the next bend? Well, run the boat right in at the door."
George, who changed the course of the boat very cleverly in obedience to these instructions, told himself that he was learning rapidly, and the pilot remarked that he was doing very well indeed for a boy who had never touched a wheel before. While he was thus engaged, Ned, who had grown tired of idling away the time in his bunk, sauntered up to the hurricane-deck, and exhibited the greatest surprise at what he saw when he glanced toward the pilot-house. He came up the steps, seated himself on the elevated bench, and listened eagerly to the conversation between Mr. Black and his cousin. He must have heard something that interested him, for when the dinner-bell rang, and Mr. Black took the wheel, after telling George that he could come up and steer for his partner in the afternoon, if he felt so inclined, Ned hurried off to hunt up his father, whom he found in the barber shop.
"George has struck something already," he whispered, as he turned the water into one of the wash-bowls, "and I hope from the bottom of my heart that he will make the most of it. He has been steering the boat all the morning, and from what I heard him say to the pilot, I gained the idea that he has some intention of becoming a river man."
"Perhaps it would be a good opening for him," said Uncle John, burying his face in one of the towels.
"I am sure it would," replied Ned. "It would take him three years at least to learn the river, and there are no vacations, you know."
That was the reason why Uncle John had not suggested to George, that it would be a good plan for him to go back to school, because there were vacations; and because he knew that during those vacations, George would be very likely to run down to Texas to see how things were going there. It was Uncle John's desire to see the boy settled in some business, that would occupy every moment of his time.
"It is a dangerous calling, but a very honorable as well as a useful one," added Uncle John. "We couldn't get along without pilots, you know."
"I heard George say, that he would be willing to give fifty dollars a month to learn the business," said Ned.
"Very well. If he has made his decision, the want of money shall not stand in his way. Could you describe the pilot to me, so that I could recognise him?"
"Do you know that tall, dark man, with long black whiskers that come clear down to his waist, and who always dresses in light clothes?"
"I believe I have seen him," said Uncle John, in reply.
This was all the conversation that passed between Ned and his father on this subject, but it was enough to enable the boy to understand, that Uncle John had marked out a course of action for himself. And so he had. He scraped an acquaintance with Mr. Black before he went to dinner, told him of the relationship that existed between himself and the boy who had spent the morning in the pilot-house, and had a long talk with him about river men and the dangers of the life they led. He told him, too, that he (Uncle John) was a very wealthy man, and quite willing to indorse any arrangements his nephew might be able to make with Mr. Black. This, of course, increased the pilot's interest in George, and an incident happened that very afternoon that increased it still more.
Contrary to his usual custom, George ate his dinner in great haste that day. He had already become infatuated with life in the pilot-house, and he was eager to see more of it. As he ran up the steps that led to the hurricane deck, his eye chanced to fall upon something that lay close to the cabin skylights, and under the shelter of the projecting roof, where it must have rolled when it dropped from its owner's pocket. It was a large, black pocket-book, and if there was any faith to be put in appearances, it was well filled. George picked it up, turned it over in his hands, and looked all around the deck to see if there was any body in sight. As he did so, a rather flashily-dressed young man, who had been standing near the bell, hurried up to him with a great show of eagerness. He was one of the passengers, and George had often bestowed more than a passing glance upon him, for the reason that he had seen him drinking at the bar, and playing cards in the cabin for money.
"I am very much obliged to you," said he, as he held out his hand. "I couldn't imagine where I had dropped it, and I thought I was ruined."
If the young man had hoped to surprise George into promptly surrendering the article he had found, he was doomed to be disappointed. It is true that the boy was from the country, and that he had never had anything to do with city sharpers; but he was pretty smart, for all that, and his quick wit served him in the place of experience.
"What is it?" said he, as he put his hand behind him.
"Why, it is my pocket-book. It is a black one with a silver clasp."
"I am well aware of that fact," replied George, who knew that the young man must have caught a momentary glimpse of the article in question while he was holding it in his hands. "It is easy enough to describe the outside of a thing after you have seen it, but can you describe the contents?"
"Of course I can. There's a good deal of money in it."
"How much?"
"That is something I can't tell, for I am so careless with money, that I never keep a strict account of what I carry about with me. There are also some papers in it that are of no value to anybody except myself."
"All right," said George. "Come on."
"Where are you going?"
"Down to find the captain. You can come with me and describe those papers to him."
"I will give you a hundred dollars the minute you hand over my property," said the young man.
"I don't want your money. I only want to be sure that I give the wallet into the hands of its owner."
As he said this, he took his hand from behind him and put it into his pocket. The young man had a fair view of the wallet, for George did not attempt to hide it from his gaze, and he saw that it was pretty "fat." Believing that its plumpness was occasioned by a big roll of greenbacks which he would find on the inside in case he could get the pocket-book into his possession, he thought he could afford to increase his reward.
"That's mine," said he. "I have carried it for years, and I would recognise it among a thousand. Hand it over here, without any more fooling, and I will give you two hundred dollars to reward you for your honesty. Just think of it! That is a big sum for a boy like you to own."
"I don't want your money," repeated George. "Whenever you get ready to prove the contents of this pocket-book, you can go to the old man to do it."
So saying he ran down the stairs, paying no heed to the protests of the young man, who increased his offer of reward to two hundred and fifty dollars, and turning into the cabin found the officer of whom he was in search just rising from the table.
"I have found something, sir," said he, "and I would thank you to take charge of it until the owner calls upon you for it."
He handed out the pocket-book, as he spoke, and the captain at once opened it to see if he could find anything to indicate who the owner was.
"It belongs to somebody who is pretty well fixed," said he, at length. "There's a big roll of bills here, as well as—Hallo! Jerry Black," he exclaimed, pulling out a card and reading the name that was written upon it. "He is one of my pilots—the man I saw you steering for this morning. He will be glad to remember you for this, for you have placed him under very heavy obligations. I say it knowing something of his circumstances. If you are not afraid to trust me with it, I will give it to him as soon as he awakes. He has gone to bed for the afternoon."
When George ascended to the hurricane deck again he looked every where for the young man who had laid claim to the lost pocket-book, but he was not to be seen. The boy had said nothing to the captain about that little affair, because he did not want to get the would-be swindler into trouble. He had easily foiled him in his attempt to cheat Mr. Black out of his property, and that was the end of the matter so far as George was concerned. When he entered the pilot-house he found there a new man, who greeted him cordially.
"So you're the boy that wants to be a pilot, are you?" said he, "Jerry spoke to me about you. Come on, and let us see what you can do."
George had the boat under his charge almost all that afternoon. About four o'clock Mr. Black suddenly mounted the steps. His face was very pale and he looked as though he had lost everything on earth that was worth living for.
"What's the matter?" exclaimed his partner, as the owner of the lost pocket-book threw himself wearily down upon the bench. "Are you sick?"
"Yes, sick at heart. I am a used-up man, Sam," replied Mr. Black. "My wife and children will lose the roof that shelters them, and I shall be turned out to begin the world again, as I began it thirty years ago, with empty hands."
"You don't mean to tell me that you have lost it?" exclaimed Sam.
"Then what in the name of sense are you staying in here for? Stir around and make a fuss about it. If you dropped it on the boat, it may have fallen into the hands of some honest person."
"And so it has," cried George, from his place at the wheel. "The old man's got it."
George thought that since he was acting as a pilot, he ought to use a pilot's language, and that was the reason he called the captain the "old man."
"How do you know that?" demanded Mr. Black and Sam, in one breath.
"I saw him have it—it was a black pocket-book with a silver clasp—and I heard him read the name of Jerry Black from a card he took out of it."
The owner of that name jumped off the bench, went through the door like a shot, and disappeared down the stairs. He went straight to the captain, who handed out his property without waiting to be asked for it, at the same time telling the pilot who it was that had found it and given it into his keeping. Mr. Black started for the pilot-house to thank George for the favor he had rendered him, and on the guards he ran against Uncle John.
"General," said he, acting upon an idea that suddenly shot through his mind, "may I have a word with you?"
Almost everybody of any prominence in the South answers to some military or judicial title. If he is pretty well to do in the world, he is a major; if he is very well to do, he is a judge or a colonel; and if he is wealthy, he bears the dignified title of general. Uncle John was flattered by this show of respect, and announced that he was quite ready to hear what Mr. Black had to say to him.
"General," said the pilot, slapping the recovered pocket-book into his open palm. "I owe that nephew of yours something. He found this wallet that I had somehow lost out of my pocket. It contains fifteen hundred dollars that I borrowed in New Orleans to pay off the mortgage on my house, and the receipts for all the money I have paid on that mortgage. If I had lost the money, my house would have been sold over the head of my wife, who is an invalid, and who could never survive the loss of the home for which we have both worked so hard. My property is mortgaged to a sharper who would foreclose in a minute in order to gain possession of it."
"Well, sir," said Uncle John, with the dignity becoming his newly-acquired title. "What has my nephew to do with it?"
"He has this much to do with it, or, rather, I have this much to do with him: I want to make him some return for the service he has rendered me, and I don't know how to go about it. You say that the boy is rich, and that he will some day be richer, and of course, under the circumstances, I couldn't think of offering him money."
"Certainly not," said Uncle John. "He doesn't need it. He can call upon me for all he wants. There is only one way in which you can help him, and that is by making a pilot of him."
"I should be glad to do it," said Mr. Black, "but I thought I had better speak to you before saying anything to him about it."
"O, my consent is not necessary," replied Uncle John. "The boy has always been his own master, and I suppose he always will be."
"But if he is so well off, I don't see why he should want to risk life and limb by running on the river," said Mr. Black.
"Riches sometimes take to themselves wings and fly away, you know. No matter how much money a young man may be worth, or how much more he may have in prospect, he ought to be made to learn some useful trade or business that will enable him to earn a living for himself, if circumstances compel him to do so. That was his father's doctrine and it is mine, too."
"And a very good doctrine it is," said Mr. Black.
"I repeat, that I stand ready to back up, with money, if money is required, any bargain that you may make with my nephew," continued Uncle John. "But I want you and him to understand one thing very distinctly; if George takes up this business of piloting, he must stick to it until he makes himself master of it. If he can't learn the river in three years, I want you to keep him six. I don't believe in doing things by halves."
"Neither do I. A poor pilot is worse than none, for he endangers every boat and cargo that are placed under his care. George seems to take to the business naturally; and if he will only stay with me, I will make a first-class——"
"If he goes into it at all, he must stay with you!" said Uncle John, emphatically. "I want an agreement to that effect, made between him and you. You need not say, however, that I suggested the idea to you. Speak for yourself, but not for me."
"All right, general," said Mr. Black, as he turned toward the stairs, "I'll bear it in mind."
"O, don't I hope he will take it, though!" exclaimed Ned, who had stood a little apart from his father, but still quite near enough to him to catch every word of the conversation. "I wonder if I could say anything that would induce him to do so?"
"Probably not," answered his father. "George has somehow got hold of the idea, that we don't want him near us—he told me so in plain language during our second interview at Brownsville—and you might influence him the wrong way."
That was something Ned did not want to do, and so he wisely resolved that he would say nothing to his cousin on the subject. Knowing that George was in the pilot-house, he hung around the foot of the stairs all the afternoon, waiting to hear what he would have to say to Uncle John when he came down.
Mr. Black returned to the pilot-house, looking very unlike the pale, discouraged man who had gone in there a few minutes before. He carried his pocket-book in his hand, and slammed it down upon the bench with a triumphant air.
"George," said he, "let Sam steer the boat, and you come and sit down here. I want to talk to you."
The boy reluctantly gave up his place at the wheel; and after Mr. Black had shaken him warmly by the hand, and told him how deeply he was indebted to him for the recovery of his money and receipts, he listened while George described how he had found the pocket-book; and then he drew him to a seat on the bench.
"If you really want to be a pilot, I will take you with me as a cub, free of all expenses, except your clothes, which you will have to provide for yourself," said he. "That is customary, you know. That is the only way in which I can repay you."
"I hope you don't think I want to be paid for being honest," said George.
"Certainly not; but still we always like to show our gratitude to those who have done us a service. What do you say?"
This brought the matter squarely home to George, who did not know what to say. He had never in his life thought of being a pilot until that morning, and all the ideas he had of the business, he had gained during the few hours he had spent in the company of Mr. Black and his partner. He had only seen the sunny side of it; of its trials and perplexities he knew nothing. He tried to obtain some information regarding them during the long conversation that followed Mr. Black's proposition, and before it was ended he came to the conclusion that unless his new friends told some greatly exaggerated stories, there where not so many difficulties and obstacles in the way of a cub-pilot, as there were in the path of him who was ambitious to become a successful cattle raiser. Something definite must have been decided upon, for when the supper bell rang, and Mr. Black and George descended to the boiler-deck, Ned said to himself, after taking one look at his cousin's face:
"He's done it! He's done it, as sure as the world, and we are well rid of his hateful presence for long months to come."
And the sequel proved that Ned was not far from right.
When George had eaten his supper he drew a bee-line for the pilot-house. He saw but one person on the boiler-deck, and that was the young man who had tried to swindle him out of Mr. Black's money. George thought that if he had been guilty of an act of that kind he would have gone off somewhere and hidden himself; but the young man held his head up and looked as honest as anybody.
"Well," said he, "I didn't succeed in fooling you, did I? I only wanted to try you, you know. Have you found the owner yet?"
George replied that he had.
"I suppose he did the handsome thing by you?" said the young man, in an inquiring tone. "I know I should if it had been mine."
"I am entirely satisfied with the reward I received," replied George.
"Was there much in it?"
"Fifteen hundred dollars, I believe, and papers worth twice that amount."
The young man's countenance fell at once. He turned and walked away, while George ran up the stairs that led to the hurricane-deck.
"Fifteen hundred dollars, and papers worth twice that amount," repeated the young man, as he leaned upon the rail and looked down into the water. "That would have set me square with my employer, and got me out of a scrape that I am sure is going to end in something serious, sooner or later. I have lost a lot of Clayton's money at poker, and how I am going to replace it, I don't know. Why couldn't I have been lucky enough to find that pocket-book? But I never have luck except in one way: I am always able to get even with those who go back on me, and if I ever have the chance to make this young snipe feel as miserable as I do this moment, how quickly I'll jump at it."
The opportunity he wished for presented itself after a while, and we shall see what use the young man made of it.