“First trip on a sternwheeler, huh?” he asked, in a not unfriendly tone.
“Yes—like this,” I answered, and he grinned understandingly.
“I should have jumped and made a swim for it,” I mourned. That had not occurred to me while we were tied up at the wood-wharf; in fact, my thinking was none too coherent about that time—Tupper’s fist had jarred me from head to heel.
“He’d likely ’a’ plugged yuh quick’s yuh hit the water,” Bilk observed indifferently. “He’s noway backward about usin’ a pistol, if he takes a notion.”
“Do you mean to say they’d dare shoot a man for quitting the steamer?” I uttered incredulously.
“Sure.” Bilk’s positive answer was distressingly matter of fact.
With exceeding bitterness I aired my opinion of such a state of affairs. Bilk merely shrugged his shoulders.
“They’re short-handed, that’s why they froze t’ you,” he explained. “She’ll lose time every wood-loadin’ if there ain’t men enough to pack it aboard. Then the freight’s slow, the passengers kick, an’ the owners pry up hell with the captain. Lord, was yuh never rung in like this before? It’s nothin’ t’ bein’ shanghaied onto a wind-jammer that’s due round the Horn—months of it yuh get then, an’ it’s tough farin’, too. You ain’t got no call t’roar on this. We’ll be in Benton in ten days or so. What’s that amount to?”
“It amounts to quite a lot with me,” I responded. “I’m not going to Benton if I can help it. I’ll fool that red-whiskered bully yet.”
“Don’t let him catch yuh at it, kid,” Bilk observed. “He’ll give yuh worse’n ten days’ steam-boatin’ if yuh mix with him.”