"See here, I don't understand your game?" began Baxter.
"Didn't you say you wanted somebody to tow you down the river?" asked the fellow addressed as Pick.
"I did, but—"
"Well, Cap'n Sculley of the Firefly has taken the job. He'll take you wherever you please, and at your own price. You can't ask for more than that, can you?"
"No, but—"
"I haven't got time to talk, kid—with' that other launch coming after us. I don't know who you are and I reckon you don't know me and my bosom pard here. But let me tell you one thing. It won't be healthy for you to tell anybody that me and my pard are on board here, understand?"
"You are hiding away from somebody?" asked Baxter, quickly.
"I reckon that's the plain United States of it. If you say a word it will go mighty hard with you," and the Kentuckian tapped his revolver.
"You can trust us," replied Baxter, promptly. "Tell me what you want done and I'll agree to do it."
"You will?" The Kentuckian eyed him more closely than ever. "Say, you can't play any game on me,—I'm too old for it."