The canoe was turning in toward the right bank; and Charley, looking, saw a cluster of thatched huts there. A number of other canoes were tied at the bank, and their boatmen and passengers were loafing among the huts. A loud dispute was going on between some boatmen and passengers. As Charley's boat glided up, and Francisco leaped ashore to hold it, the long-nosed man's angry tones sounded loud and familiar. It was he and his two partners who were threatening their boatmen.
"We want to go on. Go on—understand? We paid you extra; big money. No stop here; no stop. You savvy?"
But the boatmen shrugged their bare shoulders, and sauntered away, leaving the three men furious.
"No use, pardner," called another gold seeker. "These niggers always stop here for the night. You might as well swallow your cud."
"But we paid them one hundred dollars to take us straight through," rasped Mr. Jacobs.
"Yes, and stole another party's boat in the bargain, I understand," retorted the gold seeker. "Serves you right."
"Well, I'd like to have them up North for about ten minutes," growled the man who had drawn knife on Mr. Grigsby aboard the Georgia. "I'd tan their hides for 'em."
"Shucks! Such tall talk doesn't go down here," answered the other. "They're as free as you are, and no crookeder."
He plainly enough was somebody not afraid to speak his mind; and since they were getting the worst of the argument the three scallawags quit complaining.
"We'll have to hustle to find lodging here," spoke Mr. Adams, rather dubiously surveying the crowd and the huts.