“A bundle, Father; that under his head, and nothing more.”
“Did he speak to you, or ask any questions?”
“Only at what time we should reach Houston, and if the 'White Hart' was near the Quay?”
“And then he lay down in the boat here?”
“Just so; I saw no more of him after.”
“That will do,” said the Padre, handing the lantern to the boy.
That will do! thought I also. Master Chico, if you know me, I know you as well!
The game was now begun between us,—at least, so I felt it. I lay watching my adversary, who slowly paced backwards and forwards, stopping now and then to peep into the boat, and doubtless conning over in his own mind his plan of attack.
We were to land some passengers and take in some wood at a little place called Fork Island; and here I was half determined within myself that my voyage should end. That “Chico” had discovered me, was clear, the Padre could be no other than him; and that he would inevitably hunt me down at Austin was no less evident. Now, discovery and “lynching” were but links of the same chain; and I had no fancy to figure as “No. 2” in Hall's Court!
The silence on the deck soon showed that most of the passengers had gone below, and, so far as I could see in the uncertain light, “Chico” with them. I arose, therefore, from my hard couch to take a little exercise, which my cramped limbs stood in need of. A light drizzling rain had begun to fall, which made the deck slippery and uncomfortable, and so I took my stand at the door of the cook's galley, into which two or three of the crew had sought refuge.