Standish turned ghastly pale as he saw the menacing glances of those around him.
“I assure you, gentlemen,” he protested, “this is a base calumny.”
“Do you mean to tell me I lie?” demanded the Yankee fiercely.
“No, no, I beg your pardon. I only mean to say you are mistaken!”
“I don’t think I am.”
“Throw him into the river! There he will be safe from fire!” called out one man.
“Yes, yes, throw him into the river!”
Samuel Standish was not a hero. Indeed, he was far from it. He seemed overcome with fear, and his knees smote with terror as a brawny cowboy seized him by the shoulder and hurried him towards the side.
“A ducking will do him no harm,” said the cowboy, and he evidently voiced the sentiment of his fellow passengers.
“Gentlemen, friends!” exclaimed Standish, “I can’t swim a stroke. Would you murder me?”