Bob, however, did not leave the horse then nor for half an hour afterward. He could not bear to part with him. He led him into the bushes out of sight of the road, took off his bridle, so that he could eat on the way home if he became hungry, and then stood with his arm around the animal’s neck and his cheek resting against his mane. In the meantime the steamer came up to the landing and began taking on the freight that was stored under the shed. Presently the sound of her bell awoke Bob from his reverie.
CHAPTER XI
THE CUB PILOT.
IF the dumb brute at his side had been a human being, capable of understanding and appreciating his feelings, Bob would not have parted from him with greater reluctance. But there was no help for it. The ringing of the steamer’s bell indicated that the freight was nearly all aboard, and the next time it rang, which would be in a very few minutes, it would sound the signal for casting off the lines. Bob had purposely remained away from the boat as long as he could, for he knew that he would run something of a risk in attempting to board her. What if the constable had discovered his absence and was watching for him at the landing? Or what if some of the numerous idlers he had seen at the store in the morning should happen to be there and recognise him in spite of his disguise? Bob was obliged to take his chances on this; and for fear that the boat might be searched, in case his escape had been discovered, he thought it best to keep away from her until she was ready to back out into the stream. She was getting ready to do it now.
The first stroke of the bell seemed to put new life into Bob. He led his horse into the road, turned his head toward home, and giving him a parting slap to put him in motion, threw his valise over his shoulder, and ran toward the landing at the top of his speed. He hurried down the main street just as any honest traveller would have done who was a little behind time, and while on the way told himself that if it were only as dark at the landing as it was there in the road, he could effect his escape without the least difficulty. But the landing-place was lighted up so brilliantly that objects could be plainly distinguished for a hundred yards around. The huge fire which had brought the boat to the shore was kept well supplied with resinous wood, and in addition to that there was a flaming torch on the steamer’s forecastle. In boarding the vessel Bob would be obliged to pass along the gang-plank in the full glare of both these lights, and in plain view of every man who might happen to be at the landing. His courage almost failed him when he thought of it; and perhaps if he had not just then recalled some of the thrilling scenes in the lives of his favorite bordermen, Wild Bill and Texas Jack, he would have turned back.
“They wouldn’t turn back if they were in my place,” said Bob, to himself. “The more danger there was in any undertaking, the better they liked it. I am in danger now, and it is a good time to show what I am made of.”
With this thought to encourage him Bob kept on toward the shed in which the corn was stored—or rather in which it had been stored, for he saw that there were not more than half a dozen bags of it remaining. He saw, too, that there were several men standing near the fire. Some of them he put down as steamboat men, and in the others he was sure he recognised some of the idlers he had seen at the store that morning. But he did not take a second look in order to satisfy himself on this point. He turned his head partly away from them, and passing through the shed fell in between two of the deck-hands who were going up the gang-plank with bags of corn on their shoulders. The nearer he approached to the end of the plank, the easier he breathed; but just as he was about to step on the steamer’s deck, he happened to look toward the man who was standing under the torch beside the clerk, checking the bags as they came aboard, and was almost ready to drop when he saw that it was the horseman he had met in the morning—the one who had stopped in the road and watched his movements so closely. The man looked at him as he stepped upon the forecastle, but did not appear to recognise him; and Bob, trembling all over with apprehension, hurried on past the stairs that led to the boiler deck, and made his way through the engine-room to the after-guard. There were some boxes piled there, and Bob quickly concealed himself behind them.
“I did it, didn’t I?” said he, drawing a long breath of relief. “Five minutes more will tell the story. If I am allowed to go in peace, so much the better for me; but if that constable comes down here to search the boat, I’ll take to the water. He is not going to carry me back to Rochdale. That much is settled.”
Bob had been in his concealment scarcely more than five minutes when the bell sounded the signal for letting go the lines. The steamer began to move almost immediately, one engine working forward and the other backward to throw her bow away from the bank. Then Bob felt perfectly at his ease. He arose from his hiding-place and leaned over the rail to take a farewell view of the little settlement which would always be associated in his mind with the most unpleasant incidents of his life. The first person on whom his eyes rested was the owner of the corn—the man who checked the bags as they came aboard. He seemed to be looking directly at the runaway, and as it was not yet too late for him to hail the steamer and bring her back to the shore, Bob thought it would be a good plan to get out of his sight. Besides, some of the officers or deck-hands might have occasion to come back there, and what would they say to him if they found him hidden away among the boxes? He did not want to attract any attention if he could help it, so he picked up his valise and made his way toward the forward part of the vessel. He stopped for a few minutes in the engine-room to watch the working of the machinery, and was walking slowly along the main deck when he was startled by the sound of a commotion on the forecastle. There was a hurrying of feet, accompanied by loud cries of “Stop her! stop her!” and then a body of men, composed of officers, passengers and deck-hands, rushed to the port side of the forecastle and looked over into the water.
“There’s a man overboard, cap’in!” shouted the mate, looking up at the master of the steamer, who was standing on the hurricane deck, “and he’s going right under the wheel. Stop her!”