The dealer jerked his thumb upward. “We’ll take the roof off,” he answered carelessly, “if yuh want to play ’em that high.”
The buffalo-runner grinned and deliberately set about placing handfuls of coin here and there on the board. And while I stood there wholly engrossed, eagerly watching the ivory ball in its circular race, some one grabbed me by the shoulders and hurled me unceremoniously out the door. Once outside and free of that powerful grip, I turned and beheld Tupper the red-whiskered, very drunk and very angry, flourishing a pistol and shouting vile epithets at me.
“Git back t’ the Moon, yuh —— son of a sea-cook! I’ll jerk an arm off yuh an’ beat yuh t’ death with the bloody end of it, if yuh show up here again. Scoot!”
Naturally, I “scooted,” Mr. Tupper meanwhile emphasizing his threats by sending a bullet or two skyward. I wondered, at the time, why no peace officer appeared to put a quietus on this manifestation of exuberance, but later in the game I learned that in frontier towns the popping of a pistol was regarded as one of the accessories of a properly joyful mood, men handled their guns to make a noise, a la the small boy with a bunch of holiday firecrackers. One could burn powder with impunity, so long as he had due care for innocent bystanders.
Of Bilk I saw no more, for a while. Thinking that since Tupper’s hostility had been directed at me, Bilk might have concluded to keep out of it, and see Benton by himself, I went on to the boat and curled up on a bale of buffalo hides, to sit a while in the moonlight and the pleasant night air before bedding down in the vile hole where we of the roustabout fraternity were permitted to rest o’ nights. An hour or so I sat there, and about the time I began to think of turning in, a figure came slouching up the wharf and aboard. The glare of a deck light showed me that it was Bilk. I called to him, and when he came a little nearer I saw further that he, too, had met with rough usage; for his face was bruised and his lips cut and swollen.
“Aw, that dam’ mate!” he said, in answer to my questioning. “He gits on a razoo like this every once in a while. Yuh was lucky he just throwed yuh out. The son of a gun nailed me after that an’ like t’ beat m’ head off. He’s tearin’ drunk an’ plumb on the fight. Chances is he’ll come down here before mornin’ an’ want t’ lick the captain, the cook, an’ the whole blame crew.”
“Somebody ought to take an axe to him,” I suggested bitterly.
“Yuh betche. That’s what he needs,” Bilk agreed. “I’ve heard tell about him gettin’ on these fightin’ drunks, but this here’s the first time he ever got t’ me. Yuh wait. I’ll git him some uh these times for this.” And Bilk went below, muttering dark threats.
I followed shortly, and rolled in. There was no disturbance during the night, and when we stood by for the loading after breakfast Tupper was on hand, a trifle surlier than usual, more or less red about the eyes, but otherwise showing no signs of his carouse. All that day we labored. Again at eventide part of the crew sallied uptown. Before ten o’clock all of them were back, one or two badly damaged about the face, and one and all filled with tales of the mate’s pugnacious mood.
“He sez, by the great horn spoon, he’ll bust the head of ary hide-slingin’ wharf-rat that sticks his nose up the main street. He wants the whole town t’ himself, the blamed hog!” one indignantly declared; and from what I’d seen of Tupper I could very well believe that he would have it to himself so far as the crew of the Moon was concerned.