He pulled the smaller man back to the dugout. Stack got in, nodding and smiling over his shoulder in a comic and pitiable attempt to propitiate the grim Ralph. They pushed off. As the dugout disappeared around the first bend below, Stack actually had the effrontery to wave his hand to Ralph.
Ralph sat down to do some hard thinking. His charming dreams were rudely shattered, and like every man suddenly roused to action, he felt a little ashamed at having been caught dreaming. He remembered precautions he might have taken had he been wide awake. When his anger cooled—in spite of the smile he had been no less angry than Joe Mixer—he was a little appalled by his situation. Four against one is heavy odds. If he had had even so much as a dog to keep watch while he slept! How could he venture to sleep and leave himself open to a night attack? He resolutely put that unnerving thought out of his head. "I shall travel exactly as if they had not come!" he decided.
The more he thought, the greater loomed his difficulties. In a manner of speaking he was trapped in the river just the same as if they had him on a road between high and unscalable walls. He could not go back against the current, and he could not leave the river. With his clumsy boat and one paddle, against their dugout and four, there was not the slightest possibility of his escaping them downstream. They were free to follow him at their leisure, and play with him like cat and mouse.
Ralph was amazed, as any open-hearted man might be, at the suddenness of the discovery that he had active and malignant enemies. Joe Mixer's hatred he instinctively understood, and returned. Those two had been formed to hate each other. He likewise understood now that the evil fire Nahnya had lighted in Joe's breast was no mere ephemeral flame. It was clear that Joe hoped to reach Nahnya through him. "I'll lead him a chase," Ralph thought grimly. This brought up the thought that Joe might be the means of keeping him from returning to Nahnya. Ralph ground his teeth at that, and understood the desire to murder that is born in men's breasts.
In Stack Ralph realized he had a more dangerous enemy than Joe. In vain he threshed his brain to discover a reason for Stack's being in Joe's galley. He had never laid eyes on the little man until they took their places in the stage together. It was true he had never thought much of the little Jackstraw, but there had never been anything but friendly exchanges between them. There was a mystery here that tantalized him.
The upshot of his cogitations was, Ralph decided to accept Stack's invitation to visit their camp that night—not to eat with them, Ralph's gorge rose at the idea, but to go after supper. "It'll surprise 'em," he thought grimly. "Nothing like bearding them in their own den. I'm bound to find out something. One man's strength isn't enough against four. I've got to use all the wits I have, too. I've got to meet them on their own ground, lie for lie. Beastly crooks! I'll go further than lying if necessary to keep them out!"
All day they remained ahead of him in the river, About nine o'clock, while it was still fully light, he came upon their camp in the accustomed camping-place where Nahnya had stopped on the second night of the previous journey; the spot where Nahnya and Ralph had effected their midnight reconciliation. There was the little grassy shelf in the bank where she had lain! The coarse voices of the men above profaned the scene horribly.
Ralph's face as he climbed the bank was serene. His greeting was as bland and off-hand as a schoolboy's. The four men were sitting on the ground playing "jackpot." As Ralph had pleasurably anticipated, their jaws dropped upon his appearance. Only Stack answered his greeting. Cards in hand, the little man jumped up obsequiously, but Joe Mixer barked at him, and he sat down abruptly. Joe scowled at his cards like a hangman. The game proceeded as if Ralph were not there.
Ralph's cheeks began to burn at the implied insult, but he clapped his anger under hatches. He saw clearly enough that Joe was waiting for him to make an opening for a quarrel. Drawing closer, he coolly overlooked the game. They had a folded blanket between them to play the cards upon. In lieu of chips they used matches. The half-breed was winning. He was a fine specimen of physical manhood a year or two younger than Ralph, with a bold, conceited face. He scarcely took pains to hide his contempt for the three white men of his party, and Ralph observed that even Joe was inclined to truckle to him like a bully to one whose strength he has not measured. Stack was obsequious all around. In the third white man Ralph recognized Crusoe Campbell, a disreputable character well known up and down the river of that name. He had the reputation of being not quite right in his head, which he traded upon to his advantage. His wits were good enough to play a crafty game of poker.
So much for Ralph's observations. "A rum outfit!" he thought grimly.