CHAPTER III
ARMIJO'S STRONG ARM
Piloting on the Mississippi was tricky enough, with the shifting barsand the deadly, submerged logs, stumps, and trees; but the Missouri wasin a class by itself; indeed, at various stages of high water it seemedhardly to know its own channels or, in some places, even its own bed. Itthrew up an island today to remove it next week or ten years later, andcut a new channel to close up an old one whenever the mood suited.Gnawing off soft clay promontories or cutting in behind them was afavorite pastime; and the sand and clay of its banks and the vastexpanses of its bottoms coaxed it into capricious excursions afield.More than one innocent and unsuspecting settler, locating what heconsidered to be a reasonable distance from its shores on some richbottom, found his particular portion of the earth's surface under theriver or on its further bank when he returned from a precipitate andentirely willing flight.
There were two tricks used on the river to get out of sandbardifficulties that deserve mention. During certain stages of the river itfor some reason would cross over from one side of its bed to the other,and between the old and the new deep channels would be a space ofconsiderable distance crossed by the water where there was no channel,but only a number of shallow washes, none of which perhaps would be deepenough to let a steamboat through. The deepest would be selected, andif only two or three more inches of water were needed, the boat would berun up as far as it could go, the crew would fix the two great sparswith their shoes against the bottom, slanting downstream, set the steamcapstans drawing on their ropes, and then reverse the paddle wheel. Theturning of the great wheel would force water under the hull while thespars pushed backward and, raising a platform of water around her andtaking it with her, she would slide over the shallow place and go onabout her business.
In case of a bar where there were no submerged banks to hold a platformof water, and only a few more inches needed, the spars would be used asbefore, but the paddle wheel would remain idle. The backward thrust ofthe spars would force the boat ahead, while their lifting motion wouldraise it a little. This being repeated again and again would eventually"walk" the boat across and into deeper water on the other side. It was aslow and laborious operation and sometimes took a day or two, but it waspreferable to lying tied to the bank and waiting for a rise, often amatter of a week or more.
All this was an old story to Tom, who now was on his fifth trip up theriver, for he was an observant young man and one who easily becameacquainted with persons he wished to know. These included the officersand pilots, who took to the upstanding young plainsman at first sightand gave painstaking answers to his many but sensible questions. Inconsequence his knowledge of the river was wide and deep, although notfounded on practical experience.
Long before the packet turned into the Missouri he had his affairsattended to and was leaning against the rail enjoying the shiftingpanorama. But the scenery did not take all of his attention, for he waskeeping a watch for a certain Mexican trader and for the young lady ofthe glove; and after the boat had rounded into the Big Muddy, he caughtsight of the more interesting of the two as she walked forward on theport side in the company of her escort. Waiting a few moments to see ifthey would discover him, he soon gave it up and went in search of thepurser, who seemed to know about everyone of note in St. Louis.
"Hello, Tom," called that officer, having recovered his breath after therush. "Yo're goin' back purty quick, ain't you?"
"Reckon not. One night an' one day in th' city was enough. But thiscussed packet is near as lonesome. I don't know a passenger on board."
"I can fix that," laughed the purser. "I know about three-quarters of'em, an' can guess at th' rest. I counted seven professional gamblerscomin' up th' plank. They'll be in each other's way. You feelin' likesome excitement?"
"Not with any of them," answered Tom, grinning. "I can count seven timesseven of them fellers in Independence; an' I hear some of 'em areplannin' to join up with th' next outgoing train."
"Well," mused the purser. His face cleared. "There's that sneakin'minister. Havin' looked in everythin' but our mouths, he'll mebby havetime to convert a sinner. How 'bout him?"
"Don't hardly think he can do much with me," muttered Tom. He considereda moment and tried to hide his grin. "Now I noticed an elderly oldgentleman with a young lady, gettin' aboard jest before I did. They wasleavin' you when I showed up. Happen to know 'em?"
"You shouldn't 'a' give back th' glove when you did," laughed theofficer. "You should 'a' had yore quarrel with Schoolcraft first, so youcould 'a' waited till we was under way before you handed it back to her.That would 'a' give you a better chance to get acquainted. I've heardthat frontierin' sharpens a man's wits, but I dunno. Want to meet 'em?Th' old sport's interesting when he ain't tryin' to beat th' gamblers attheir own game. An' he's plumb successful at it, too, if there ain't toomany ag'in him."
Tom had the grace to flush under his tan, but he thankfully accepted thebantering and the suggestion. "What you suppose I've risked wastin' mytime talkin' to you for?" he demanded.
"You know cussed well you wasn't wastin' it," retorted the purser. "Comeon, an' meet one of th' finest young ladies in St. Louis. She won't careif you pay more attention to her uncle."
A few minutes later Tom had been made acquainted with the couple andthey soon discovered that they had mutual friends in the city. Timepassed rapidly and Patience Cooper and her uncle, Joseph, took a keeninterest in their companion's account of life on the prairies. He foundthat the uncle was engaged in the overland trade and was going out toIndependence to complete arrangements for the starting of his wagonswith the Santa Fe caravan. Finding that they were to be seated atdifferent tables they had the obliging steward change their places sothey could be together, and after the meal the uncle begged to beexcused and headed for the card room, which brought a fleeting frown tothe face of his niece. Tom observed it without appearing to and led theway to some chairs on deck near the rail.
The blast of the whistle apprised them of a landing in sight and soonthey picked it out, as much by the great piles of firewood as by anyother sign. This was the little hamlet of St. Charles, and here came onboard several plainsmen and voyageurs who, having missed the packet atSt. Louis, had hastened across the neck of land to board it here. Assoon as the gangplank touched the bank a hurrying line of men depletedthe great wood pile, and in a few minutes the landing stage swung aboardagain and the _Missouri Belle_ circled out into mid-channel, a stream ofsparks falling astern.
An annoying wind had been blowing when they left the parent stream,annoying in a way a stranger to the river never would have dreamed.There being no permanence to the channels, no fixity to the numerousbars, no accurate knowledge covering the additions to the terrible,destroying snags lurking under the surface, the pilot literally had toread his way every yard and to read it anew every trip. All he had to goby was the surface of the water, and it told him a true tale as long asit was reasonably placid. From his high elevation he looked down intothe river and learned from it where the channel lay; and from arrow-headripples and little, rolling wavelets, where the snags were, for everyone close enough to the surface to merit attention was revealed by thetelltale "break" on the water. Let a moderate wind blow and his taskbecame harder and more of a gamble; but even then, knowing that thewaves run higher over deeper water, he still could go ahead; but abovea certain strength the wind not only baffled his reading, but gave sucha sidewise drift to the shallow-draft, high-riding vessel that he couldnot hope to take it safely through some of the narrower channels. Rainor hail, which turned the surface into a uniform area of disturbance,instantly closed his book; and in this event he had no recourse exceptto lie snugly moored to the south bank and wait until the weatherconditions changed. Sometimes these waits were for a few hours,sometimes for a day or more; and when the persistent southwest prairiegales blew day and night, moving great clouds of sand with them, theboat remained a prisoner until they ceased or abated.
There was good reason for choosi
ng that south bank, for the strongerwinds almost invariably came from that direction during the navigationseason, and the bank gave a pleasing protection. While lying moored,idleness in progress did not mean idleness all around, for the boilersate up great quantities of wood, and in many cases the fuel yards werethe growing trees and windfalls on the banks. Once the boat was mooredthe crew leaped ashore and became wood-choppers, filling the fuel boxesand stacking the remainder on shore for future use. In a pinch greencottonwood sometimes had to be used, but it could be burned only byadding pitch or resin.
Nowhere on the river was a navigation mark, for nowhere was the channelpermanent enough to allow one to be placed. It was primitive, pioneernavigation with a vengeance, requiring intelligent, sober, quickwittedand courageous men to handle the boats. On the Missouri the word "pilot"was a term of distinction.
The river was high at this time of the year, caused less by theexcessive rains and melting snows in the mountains, being a little earlyfor them, than by the rains along the immediate valley; bottom landswere flooded, giving the stream a width remarkable in places and addinggreatly to the amount of drift going down with the current.
The afternoon waned and the wind died, the latter responsible for thepilot's good nature, and the shadows of evening grew longer and longeruntil they died, seeming to expand into a tenuity which automaticallyeffaced them. But sundown was not mooring time, for the twilight alongthe river often lasted until nine o'clock, and not a minute was wasted.
When St. Charles had been left astern Tom had led his companion up ontothe hurricane deck and placed two chairs against the pilot house justforward of the texas, where the officers had their quarters. The waterwas now smooth, barring the myriads of whirling, boiling eddies, andfrom their elevated position they could see the configuration of thesubmerged bars. The afterglow in the sky turned the mud-colored waterinto a golden sheen, and the wind-distorted trees on the higher banksand ridges were weirdly silhouetted against the colored sky. Gone wasthe drab ugliness. The finely lined branches of the distant trees, thefull bulks of the pines and cedars and the towering cottonwoods,standing out against the greenery of grass covered hills, provided asoft beauty; while closer to the boat and astern where sky reflectionswere not seen, the great, tawny river slipped past with a powerful,compelling, and yet furtive suggestion of mystery, as well it might.
Tom was telling of the characteristics of the river when the boat veeredsharply and caused him to glance ahead. A great, tumultuous ripple torethe surface of the water, subsided somewhat and boiled anew, thewavelets gold and crimson and steel blue against the uniform lavendershade around them. The many-fanged snag barely had been avoided as itreached the upward limit of its rhythmic rising and falling.
Soon a bell rang below and the boat slowed as it headed in toward ahigh, wooded bank. Nudging gently against it the packet stopped, menhurried lines ashore, made them fast to the trees and then set a springline, which ran from the stern forward to the bank ahead of the bow, soas to hold the boat offshore far enough to keep it afloat in case theriver should fall appreciably during the night. The pilot emerged behindthem, glanced down at the captain overseeing the mooring operations, andthen spoke to Tom, who made him acquainted with Patience and invited himto join them. He gladly accepted the invitation and soon had interestedlisteners to his store of knowledge about the river. Darkness now haddescended and he pointed at the stream.
"There's somethin' peculiar to th' Missouri," he said. "Notice th' glowof th' water, several shades lighter than th' darkness on th' bank? Onthe Mississippi, now, th' water after dark only makes th' night all th'blacker; but on this stream th' surface can be seen pretty plain, thoughnot far ahead. We take full advantage of that when we have to sail afterdark. We would be goin' on now, except that we got news of a new andvery bad place a little further on, an' we'd rather tackle it when wecan see good."
"Oh," murmured Patience. "A ghost road leading through a void."
A long, dark shape appeared on the "ghost road" and bore silently andswiftly down upon the boat, struck the hull a glancing blow, scrapednoisily, ducked under, turned partly and scurried off astern. It was atrimmed tree trunk, and by its lowness in the water it told of a journeynearly ended. Before long one end would sink deeper and deeper, finallyfastening in the alluvial bottom and, anchoring securely, lie in wait toplay battering ram against some ill-fated craft surging boldly againstthe current.
The lanterns on shore began to move boatward as the last of the woodingwas finished and the fuel boxes again were full. Farther back among thetrees some trappers had started a fire and were enjoying themselvesaround it, their growing hilarity and noise suggesting a bottle beingpassed too often. Gradually the boat became quiet and after anothersmoke the pilot arose and excused himself, saying that it was expectedthat the journey would be resumed between three and four o'clock in themorning.
"How long will it take us to reach Independence Landing?" askedPatience.
The pilot shook his head. "That depends on wind, water, and th' strengthof th' current, though th' last don't make very much differencesometimes."
Tom looked up inquiringly. "I don't just understand th' last part," heconfessed. "Mebby I didn't hear it right."
"Yes, you did," replied the pilot, grinning in the darkness. "When she'shigh she's swift; but she's also a hull lot straighter. Th' bends ofthis river are famous, an' they add a lot of miles to her length. Theyalso cut down th' slant of her surface, which cuts down th' strength ofth' current. At lower water we'd have a longer distance to sail, but agentler current. When she rises like she is now she cuts off, over orbehind a lot of th' bends an' makes herself a straighter road. An' th'shorter she gits, th' steeper her pitch grows, which makes a strongercurrent. She jest reg'lates herself accordin' to her needs, an' she gitsshet of her floods about as quick as any river on earth. Oh, I tell you,she's a cute one; an' a mean one, too!"
"She's shore movin' fast enough now," observed Tom, watching thehurtling driftwood going spectrally down the almost luminous surface."How long will this high water last, anyhow?"
"Considerable less than th' June rise," answered the pilot. "She'sfallin' now, which is one of th' reasons we're tied to th' bank instidof goin' on all night. This here rise is short, but meaner than sin. Th'June rise is slower an' not so bad, though it lasts longer. It comesfrom th' rains an' meltin' snow in th' mountains up above. Down here th'current ain't as swift as it is further up, for this slope is somethin'less than a foot to th' mile; but if it warn't for th' big bottoms, thatlet some of th' water wander around awhile instid of crowdin' along allat once, we'd have a current that'd surprise you. Jest now I figgershe's steppin' along about seven miles an hour. Durin' low water it'ssome'rs around two; but I've seen it nearer ten on some rises. There areplaces where steamboats can't beat th' current an' have to kedge up orwait for lower water. About gittin' to Independence Landin', or what'sleft of it, I'll tell you that when we pass Liberty Landin'. Milesthrough th' water ain't miles over th' bottom, an' it's th' last thatcounts. Besides, th' weather has got a lot to say about our business. Ihope you ain't gittin' chilled, Miss Cooper, this spring air cuts inamazin' after sundown."
"I _am_ beginning to feel it," she replied, arising, "I'll say goodnight, I believe, and 'turn in.'"
Tom escorted her to the lower deck and watched her cross the cabin andenter her room, for he had no illusions about some of the men on board.As her door closed he wheeled and went to look at the engines, whichwere connected directly to the huge paddle wheel. The engineer wasgetting ready to climb into his bunk, but he smoked a pipe with hisvisitor and chatted for a few minutes. Tom knew what it meant to be anengineer on a Missouri river packet and he did not stay long. He knewthat his host scarcely took his hand from the throttle for a momentwhile the boat was moving, for he had to be ready to check her instantlyand send her full speed astern. The over-worked system of communicationbetween the pilot house and the engine room had received its share ofhis attention during his runs on the river.
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He next went forward along the main deck and looked at the boilers, theheat from them distinctly pleasing. As he turned away he heard and feltthe impact from another great, trimmed log slipping along the faint,gray highway. Some careless woodcutter upstream had worked in vain. Hestopped against the rail and looked at the scurrying water only a fewfeet below him, listening to its swishing, burbling complaints as iteddied along the hull, seeming in the darkness to have a speedincredible. A huge cottonwood with its upflung branches and sunkenroots paused momentarily as it struck a shallow spot, shivered, lost asnapping dead limb, collected a surprising amount of debris as it swungslowly around and tore free from the clutching mud of the bottom and,once more acquiring momentum, shot out of sight into the night, itsslowly rising branches telling of the heavy roots sinking to theirproper depth. Next came a tree stump like some huge squid, which musthave been well dried out and not in the water for very long, else itwould have found the bottom before this. Then a broken and waterloggedkeelboat, fully twenty-five feet long, scurried past, a great menace toevery boat afloat. Planks, rails from some pasture fence, a lean-toouthouse, badly smashed, and a great mass of reeds and brush came alonglike a floating island. The constantly changing procession and the graywater fascinated him and he fairly had to tear himself away from it.Strange splashings along the bank told him of undermined portions of ittumbling into the river, and a louder splash marked the falling of sometree not far above.
"She's talkin' a-plenty tonight," said a rough voice behind him and heturned, barely able to make out a figure dressed much the same as hewas; but he did not see another figure, in Mexican garb, standing in theblackness against a partition and watching him. The speaker continued."More gentle, this hyar trip; ye should 'a' heard her pow-wowin' th'last run up. I say she's wicked an' cruel as airy Injun; an' nothin'stops her."
"I can't hardly keep away from her," replied Tom, easily dropping intothe language of the other; "but I ain't likin' her a hull lot. A hardtrail suits me better."
"Now yer plumb shoutin'," agreed the other. "If 'twarn't fer goin'ashore every night, up in th' game country, I don't reckon I'd want tersee another steamboat fer th' rest o' my days. Everythin' about 'em istoo onsartin."
Tom nodded, understanding that his companion was a hunter employed bythe steamboat company to supply the boat's table with fresh meat. Afterthe game country, which really meant the buffalo range, was reached thisman went ashore almost every night and hunted until dawn or later,always keeping ahead of the boat's mooring and within sight of the riverafter daybreak. Whatever he shot he dragged to some easily seen spot onthe bank for the yawl to pick up, and when the steamboat finallyovertook him he went aboard by the same means. His occupation washazardous at all times because of the hostility of the Indians, some fewof which, even when their tribes were quiet and inclined to be friendlyfor trade purposes, would not refuse a safe opportunity to add a whiteman's scalp to their collection. The tribes along the lower sections ofthe river were safer, but once in the country of the Pawnees and Sioux,where his hunting really began, it was a far different matter. He didnot have much of the dangerous country to hunt in because the _Belle_did not go far enough up the river; but the hunters on the fur company'sboats went through the worst of it.
"Goin' out this spring?" asked the hunter.
"Yep; Oregon, this time," answered Tom. "My scalp ain't safe in Santa Feno more. Been thar?"
"Santa Fe, yep; Oregon, no. Went to N'Mexico in '31, an' we got our fustbuffaler jest tother side o' Cottonwood Creek. It war a tough ol' bull.Bet ye won't git one thar no more. We forded th' Arkansas at th' lowercrossin' an' follered th' dry route. Hear thar's a track acrost it now,but thar warn't any then. Don't like that stretch, nohow. Longest way'round is th' best fer _this_ critter. Ye got Bent's Fort handy ter bustup th' trip, git supplies an' likker; an' I'd ruther tackle Raton Pass,mean as it is, than cross that cussed dry plain atween th' Crossin' an'th' Cimarron. I'd ruther have water than empty casks, airy time; an'fur's th' Injuns air consarned, 'twon't be long afore ye'll have terfight 'em all th' way from th' frontier ter th' Mexican settlements.They'll be gittin' wuss every year."
"Yer talkin' good medicine," replied Tom, thoughtfully. "'Twon't be safefer any caravan ter run inter one o' them war parties. Thar cussin' th'whites a'ready, an' thar bound ter jine han's ag'in us when th' buffalergit scarce."
The hunter slapped his thigh and laughed uproariously. "Cussed if thatain't a good un! Why, th' man ain't alive that'll live ter see that day.They won't git scarce till Kansas is settled solid, an' _then_ there'llhave ter be a bounty put on 'em ter save th' settlers' crops. Why,thar's _miles_ o' 'em, pardner!"
"I've _seen_ miles o' 'em," admitted Tom; "but they'll go, an' when theyonce start ter, they'll go so fast that a few years will see 'em plumbwiped out."
"Shucks!" replied the hunter, "Why, th' wust enemies they got is th'Injuns an' th' wolves. Both o' them will go fust, an' th' buffalers'llgit thicker an' thicker."
"_We_ are thar worst enemies!" retorted Tom with spirit. "Th' few th'Injuns kill don't matter--if it did they'd 'a' been gone long ago. Theyonly kill fer food an' clothin'; but we kill fer sport an' profit. Everyyear that passes sees more whites on th' buffaler ranges an' more hidescomin' in ter th' settlements; an' most of them hides come from th'cows. Look at th' beaver, man! Thar goin' so fast that in a few yearsthar won't be none left. Thar's only one thing that'll save 'em, an'that's a change in hats. Killin' fer sport is bad enough, but when th'killin' is fer profit th' end's shore in sight. What do we do? We cutout th' buffaler tongues an' a few choice bits an' leave th' rest forth' wolves. Th' Injuns leave nothin' but th' bones. Why, last tripacrost I saw one man come inter camp with sixteen tongues. He never evenbothered with th' hump ribs! I told him if he done it ag'in an' I sawhim, I'd bust his back; an' th' hull caravan roared at th' _joke_!"
"Danged if it warn't a good un," admitted the hunter, chuckling. "Haveter spring that on th' boys." He turned and looked around. "Them fellerson th' bank air shore havin' a good time. They got likker enough,anyhow. Cussed if it don't sound like a rendezvous! Come on, friend:what ye say we jine 'em? It's too early to roll up, an' thar's only cardbuzzards in th' cabin a-try-in' ter pick th' bones o' a merchant."
"We might do wuss nor that," replied Tom; "but I don't reckon I'll goashore tonight."
"Wall, if ye change yer mind ye know th' trail. I'm leavin' ye now,afore th' bottles air all empty," and the hunter crossed the deck andstrode down the gangplank.
Tom watched the hurrying, complaining water for a few moments and thenturned to go to the cabin. As he did so something whizzed past him andstruck the water with a hiss. Whirling, he leaped into the shadowsunder the second deck, the new Colt in his hand; but after a hot, eagersearch he had to give it up, and hasten to the cabin, to peersearchingly around it from the door. The only enemy he had on board tohis knowledge was Schoolcraft--and then another thought came to him: wasArmijo reaching out his arm across the prairies?
Joe Cooper was intent on his game; Schoolcraft and the Mexican traderwere taking things easy at a table in a corner, and both had theirknives at their belts. They did not give him more than a passing glance,although a frown crept across the Independence horse-dealer's evil face.Seating himself where he could watch all the doors, Tom tried to solvethe riddle while he waited to scrutinize anyone entering the cabin. Atlast he gave up the attempt to unravel the mystery and turned hisattention to the card game, and was surprised to see that it was beingplayed with all the safeguards of an established gambling house. Havinga friend in the game he watched the dealer and the case-keeper, butdiscovered nothing to repay him for his scrutiny. An hour later the gamebroke up and Joe Cooper, cashing in his moderate winnings, arose andjoined Tom and suggested a turn about the deck before retiring. Tomcaught a furtive exchange of fleeting and ironical glances between thecase-keeper and the dealer, but thought little of it. He shrugged hisshoulders and followed his new friend toward the door.
Ephriam Schoolcr
aft, somewhat the worse for liquor, made a slightingremark as the two left the cabin, but it was so well disguised that itprovided no real peg on which to hang a quarrel; and Tom kept on towardthe deck, the horse-dealer's nasty laugh ringing in his ears. He couldsee where he was going to have trouble, but he hoped it would wait untilIndependence was reached, for always there were the makings of numerousquarrels on board under even the best of conditions, and he determinedto overlook a great deal before starting one on his own account. It washis wish that nothing should mar the pleasure of the trip up the riverfor Patience Cooper.
He and his companion stopped in the bow and looked at the merry camp onshore, both sensing an undertone of trouble. Give the vile, frontierliquor time to work in such men and anything might be the outcome.
He put his lips close to his companion's ear: "Mr. Cooper, did younotice anyone hurry into the cabin just before I came in? Anyone whoseemed excited and in a hurry?"
Cooper considered a moment: "No," he replied. "I would have seen anysuch person. Something wrong?"
"Schoolcraft, now; and that Mexican friend of his," prompted Tom. "Didthey leave the cabin before you saw me come in?"
"No; they both were where you saw them for an hour or two before youshowed up. I'm dead certain of that because of the interest Schoolcraftseemed to be taking in me. I don't know why he should single me out forhis attentions, for he don't look like a gambler. I never saw him beforethat little fracas you had with him on the levee. Something up?"
"No," slowly answered Tom. "I was just wondering about something."
"Nope; he was there all the time," the merchant assured him. "Seems tome I heard about some trouble you had in Santa Fe last year. Anythingserious?"
"Nothing more than a personal quarrel. I happened to get there afterthey had started McLeod's Texans on the way to Mexico City, and learnedthat they had been captured." He clenched his fists and scowled into thenight. "One of the pleasant things I learned from a man who saw it, wasthe execution of Baker and Howland. Both shot in the back. Baker was notkilled, so a Mexican stepped up and shot him through the heart as he laywrithing on the ground. The dogs tore their bodies to pieces thatnight." He gripped the railing until the blood threatened to burst fromhis finger tips. "I learned the rest of it, and the worst, a long timelater."
Cooper turned and stared at him. "Why, man, that was in October! Late inOctober! How could you have been there at that time, and here, in thispart of the country, now? You couldn't cross the prairies that late inthe year!"
"No; I wintered at Bent's Fort," replied Tom. "I hadn't been inIndependence a week before I took the boat down to St Louis, where youfirst saw me. There were four of us in the party and we had quite a timemaking it. Well, reckon I'll be turning in. See you tomorrow."
He walked rapidly toward the cabin, glanced in and then went to hisquarters. Neither Schoolcraft nor the Mexican were to be seen, for theywere in the former's stateroom with a third man, holding a tense andwhispered conversation. The horse-dealer apparently did not agree withhis two companions, for he kept doggedly shaking his head andreiterating his contentions in drunken stubbornness that, no matter whathad been overheard, Tom Boyd was not going to Oregon, but back to SantaFe. He mentioned Patience Cooper several times and insisted that he wasright. While his companions were not convinced that they were wrongthey, nevertheless, agreed that there should be no more knife throwinguntil they knew for certain that the young hunter was not going over thesouthwest trail.
Schoolcraft leered into the faces of his friends. "You jest wait an'see!" He wagged a finger at them. "Th' young fool is head over heels inlove with her; an' he'll find it out afore she jines th' Santa Fe waggintrain. Whar she goes, _he'll_ go. I'm drunk; but I ain't so drunk Idon't know that!"
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