Elam Storm, the Wolfer; Or, The Lost Nugget

by Harry Castlemon

"I hope we shall have pleasant weather all the way to Fort Hamilton," thought Tom, as he rested his elbows on the railing and proceeded to size up the passengers. "I don't see how they can get all those men into the cabin."

Almost the first thing Tom saw, curled up before some luggage they were watching, were a couple of Indians, taking good care to keep out of the way of the swiftly moving deck-hands. But Indians he could see any day by simply riding into his uncle's woods; but who were those long-legged, lank fellows who took just as much care of their rifles and knapsacks as the Indians did? They were hunters, and Tom could not resist the temptation to turn his eyes away from the fore-castle back to the main-deck to take a second survey of the motley group of men he had seen there. They were cowboys all of them, and their clothing, especially their hats and boots, were as nearly perfect as money could buy. They were all young fellows, from twenty to twenty-five years of age, and wore their six-shooters strapped around them with as much ease as though they had been born with them on. The hunters were a lazy set, and were willing to work for the furs they captured, while the cowboys were willing to work for a salary, and they earned every dollar of it, too.

"That's what I am going to be," thought Tom. "I'll have a horse and lariat, and I'll soon learn to ride with the best of them. I don't see what Mr. Bolton could have been thinking of when he bought me this sheep's-gray suit. None of the cowboys has them on."

While Tom was busy in watching the cowboys and telling himself that almost any one of them looked ready for a fight, the clerk came up, and, following a motion of his hand, Tom stepped after him into the office. He unlocked the safe and, taking out Tom's roll of money, handed it to him, saying:

"I have spoken to the clerk about you, and he promises that he will give you a nice room with a lower bunk. Good luck to you."

Tom immediately tore open the end of the envelope and began running his fingers over the bills. He wanted to see if they were all there.

"I don't want anything," said the clerk. "I wouldn't take anything if you were to offer it to me. Come on and let's go and see the clerk. I'm awful busy when we are making a landing."

Tom at once picked up his valise and fell in behind the clerk, who led the way on board the Ivanhoe. By dodging in the rear of some of the deck-hands he managed to get on board without being knocked overboard, and soon found himself standing beside a man who was shouting out some orders to which nobody paid the least attention. He changed his pencil from his hand into his mouth long enough to shake Tom by the hand.

"Go up on the boiler deck and set down there till I come," said he. "I'll attend to your case in just no time at all."

Seeing that no one else paid any attention to him, Tom ascended the stairs and entered the cabin. He wanted to see what sort of a looking place it was, but almost recoiled when he opened the door, for it was filled so full of stale tobacco smoke that he did not see how anybody could live in it. But he knew that he would have to become accustomed to that smell before he was on the prairie very long, so he kept on and finally found a chair at the further end of the cabin. There was no one near him except a man whose arms were outstretched on the table and his face buried in his hands; and when Tom approached, he raised his head and exhibited a countenance that was literally burning up with fever. He was dressed like a cowboy, but there didn't seem to be anyone to attend to his wants.