“Now jest listen to me a minute, cap’n, and I’ll tell you something,” replied Sanders, approaching the skipper and speaking in a low, confidential tone. The latter, believing that his passenger was about to communicate some secret to him, leaned forward and caught the words: “I shan’t stir a peg.”
“Then I shall use force,” cried the captain in a rage. “I shall put you off.”
At the mention of the word “force” all the combativeness in the stranger’s composition arose and showed itself. His eyes flashed angrily, and doubling up one huge fist he brought it down into the palm of his hand with a report like that of a pistol.
“Look a here, cap’n,” said he, with a great deal of emphasis, “my name is—Jones.”
He had been on the point of pronouncing his own name—one that had more than once struck terror to a braver heart than the captain of the flatboat possessed—but recollected himself in time, and gave the first one that came to his mind.
“Yes, that’s my name,” he exclaimed, after a moment’s pause—“Jones—Tom Jones. I’m the peaceablest feller you ever seed when I ain’t crossed, but when I am I’m a leetle wusser than a hul passel of wild-cats. I can see through a grindstun as fur as the next man. I know why you don’t want me here, but I’m a-goin’ to stay, I can tell you, an’ if you want to see bullets fly faster than you ever seed ’em fly afore, jest tell your crew to put me off.”
As Sanders said this he placed his hands in the pockets of his coat, and when he brought them into view again, he held in each one a navy revolver. After flourishing them before the eyes of the captain he put them away again, and locking his thumbs in the arm-holes of his vest, resumed his walk up and down the deck. While this conversation was going on the crew had been busy casting off the lines with which the flatboat was made fast to the bank, and now one of them sung out: “All gone, sir.”
The captain turned, and seeing that Mr. Bowles and Julian had just come on board, and knowing that it would be useless to make any more attempts to rid himself of his objectionable passenger, gave orders to get under way.
“Haul in that gang-plank,” said he. “Get out the setting-poles and shove off for’ard. Man the larboard sweeps, and pull her bow out.”
While the crew were busy working the boat out into the river, Mr. Bowles took occasion to stroll aft and look over into the water. It was very dark, but still there was light enough for him to distinguish the outlines of the dug-out dragging at the stern of the flatboat. So far his plans were working smoothly. His only fear was that the canoe might be discovered by the pilot; but, after all, there was little danger of it, for that officer, beside being obliged to give his whole attention to directing the course of the boat, occupied a position so far from the stern that he could not look over into the water, even if he had been disposed to do so. Jack took off his hat and flourished it about his head, and instantly another hat was thrust over the side of the dug-out, and being moved to and fro was pulled back out of sight. Jake and Tom were on the alert, and Mr. Bowles, being satisfied of the fact, returned to his prisoner and conducted him into the cabin.