I squeezed his hand, and slowly descended to the cabin. At first the thought occurred to me that he might give the alarm and have me seized; but then this would expose him so palpably to my recognition, should I chance to escape, it was unlikely he would do so. The stillness on deck showed me I was correct in this latter estimate, and so I turned into his comfortable berth, and, while I drew the counterpane over me, thought I had made a capital exchange for the hard ribs of the “long-boat.”
If my stratagem had succeeded in impressing my friend Chico with a most lively fear, it did not leave my own mind at perfect tranquillity. I knew that he must be a fellow of infinite resources, and that the game between us, in all likelihood, had but commenced. In circumstances of difficulty, I have constantly made a practice of changing places with my antagonist, fancying myself in his position, and asking myself how I should act? This taking the “adversary's hand” is admirable practice in the game of life; it suggests an immense range of combinations, and improves one's play prodigiously.
I now began to myself a little exercise after this fashion: but what between previous fatigue, the warmth of the cabin, and the luxury of a real bed, Chico and I changed places so often, in my brain, that confusion ensued, then came weariness, and, at last sound sleep,—so sound that I was only awoke by the steward as he popped his greasy head into the berth and said, “I say, master, here we are, standing close in: had n't you better get up?”
I did as he advised; and, as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, said, “Where's the Padre, steward?—what's become of him?”
“He was took ill last night, and stopped at Fork Island; he 'll go back with us to-morrow to Galveston.”
“You know him, I suppose?” said I, looking at the fellow with a shrewd intelligence that he knew how to construe.
“Well,” cried he, scratching his head, “well, mayhap I do guess a bit who he is.”
“So do I, steward; and when we meet again, he 'll know me.” said I, with a look of such imposing sternness that I saw the fellow was recording it. “You may tell him so, steward. I 'll wait for him here till I catch him; and if he escape both myself and my friend Broughton,—Broughton; don't forget the name,—he is deeper than I give him credit for.”
As I was about to leave the cabin, I caught sight of the corner of a red handkerchief peeping out beneath the pillow of the berth. I drew it forth, and found it was Chico's travelling kit, which he preferred abandoning to the risk of again meeting me. It contained a small black skull-cap such as priests wear, a Romish missal, a string of beads, with a few common articles of dress, and eight dollars in silver.
“The spoils of victory,” quoth I, embodying the whole in my own bundle: “the enemy's baggage and the military chest captured.”