“You lads keep quiet in your cabin,” Barker told the boys, “till the boat has started. Tatanka and I will do a little scouting till we have cast off.”
The two men took a position behind some boxes and bales of freight. The landing was lit by several glaring torches, so that the two scouts could see clearly every person moving about, but they could not be seen themselves from the landing.
The deck-hands were just throwing on the last sticks of cord-wood and carrying on board the last sacks of wheat, when a stranger appeared and spoke to the captain.
“Can you carry another passenger?” Barker heard him ask. “I have blankets and can sleep on the deck.”
“Walking is good, on you can ride on a log, the water is fine.”
“Not another soul,” replied the captain. “Get off the gang-plank, you’re in the way.”
“But I must get to St. Louis,” the man argued.
“I don’t care what you must do,” the captain replied gruffly. “Walking is good, or you can ride on a log, the water is fine. Now get off the gang-plank. This boat leaves in five minutes.”
“Hicks,” whispered Tatanka. “Bad man Hicks,” as the man slouched back up town. “I’d like to throw my ax at him.”