No sooner had the sound of their footsteps died away than the rescued passenger threw aside the blanket that enveloped him, and sat up on his hard couch. “Say, you,” he exclaimed, roughly addressing the old man, who stood in front of the fire turning the greenback over and over in his hands as if to satisfy himself that it was genuine, “are my clothes dry yet?”
“I reckon they be,” replied the host, feeling of the garments, one after the other. “I’ve ’tended to ’em purty clost.”
“Then hand them to me and go out on the bank and hail the first boat that goes down the river. So George is going to take that fellow to Texas and make a brother of him, is he?” continued the passenger, as the old man hurried from the cabin to obey his order. “I think not. If either of them gets there after what I have heard, it will be my own fault.”
Just then the whistle of a steamer echoed through the woods, and a few minutes afterward the old man burst into the cabin exclaiming: “I’ve stopped her. She’s the Silver Moon, an’ hove in sight just as I reached the bank. She’s roundin’ to, now.”
The passenger hurried on his clothes, and without stopping to thank the old man for the services he had rendered him, rushed out of the cabin. Reaching the bank just as the Silver Moon’s gang-plank was being shoved out, he boarded the vessel, which came about and resumed her journey toward New Orleans.
CHAPTER XV
THE LOST POCKET-BOOK.
THE boys had no trouble in following the road that led to the little collection of houses known as White River Landing. The ten miles did not seem very long to them, for George beguiled the way with many thrilling and amusing incidents drawn from his own experience, and the journey was completed almost before they knew it.
They found the little settlement in a state of intense excitement. The news of the burning of the Kendall had spread through the country for miles around, and the planters had come in by dozens to learn all the particulars. No sooner did the boys appear in sight than they were surrounded by a crowd of men who asked questions much faster than they could answer them. George told their story, making Bob out a perfect hero (the latter was not a little abashed when he found himself stared at as if he had been some curious wild animal, and could not help asking himself what these men, who complimented him so highly, would have thought of him if they had known how he came to be on board the Sam Kendall); and when the narrative was finished one of the listeners, who proved to be the storekeeper, seized Bob by the arm and led him away. “Come with me,” said he. “A brave boy like you shall not be allowed to run around in his shirtsleeves on a cold day like this.”
He conducted Bob to his store, one side of which was filled with clothing, and told him to help himself to the best coat he could find. Bob objected, declaring that he had money enough to buy all the clothing he needed, but the merchant would not listen to him. He had made up his mind to do something for the boy, and he had his own way. When Bob came out of the store a few minutes later he wore a much better coat than the one he had lost. He found George still in conversation with the planters. They told him that every canoe and yawl that could be found had been brought into service; that a good many of the passengers and crew had been rescued while they were floating by the landing; that the wharf-boat was loaded with furniture and portions of the cargo that had been picked up; that some of the passengers had gone to New Orleans on the Silver Moon and another boat whose name they did not mention, to make a new start for St. Louis; and that those who remained at the landing were being cared for by the settlers while waiting for a boat bound up the river. Then George made inquiries concerning his partners. They were well-known pilots, and some of the planters said they were personally acquainted with them; but they had seen nothing of them.