"Who?"
"The Frémont man and I. He found it, though."
"Did you get a berth?" panted his father, following him. "They told me at the steamship office that every berth was taken long ago. I had to fight for the tickets, even. Never saw such a mob."
"No, not a berth. But it's a place, anyhow. You'll see."
In the short space of time the upper deck had grown more populous than ever. They worked their way through the crowd, Charley eagerly looking ahead for the Frémont man at his post.
"This is awful," spoke Mr. Adams. "The steamship company ought to be brought to law about it."
"There he is," directed Charley, gladly. "See him. We've got the life-boat!"
But perhaps they hadn't, for when they arrived, the Frémont man was calmly barring the way of three other men—among them the long-nosed man, who was doing most of the arguing on their part.
"No, gentlemen, you're too late," asserted the Frémont man, thrusting them back with his rifle-barrel held crosswise. "That boat's occupied."
Charley remembered to have seen the little gang much together, on the Georgia, drinking and gambling. They were a tough lot.