“No, I ain’t got no hatchet,” replied Jensen, very sullenly.
Mr. Morgan stepped to the hatchway and called to a hand on the tug. “Bring me an axe,” he said.
In a second the fellow dropped through the hatchway with an axe. Mr. Morgan directed him to knock down the partition. The man from the tug drove his axe blade between two of the partition boards and pried one loose. Some tightly stuffed burlap bags promptly bulged into the space he had opened. He tore off one board after another and the bulging sacks came tumbling out on the floor of the lighter. They were filled with cotton.
“What does this mean?” demanded Mr. Morgan, confronting the sullen barge captain. “Where did this cotton come from and how did it get behind this false partition?”
“I don’t know,” growled Jensen. “I never seen it before. I didn’t know it was behind there.”
“See here, Jensen,” said Sheridan, stepping up to the boatman. “The jig is up. You are under arrest for grand larceny,” and he threw back his coat, displaying on his vest the glittering shield of the Secret Service.
“I don’t know nothin’ about that cotton,” persisted Jensen.
“There’s no use lying about it,” said Sheridan sharply. “We’ve got you dead to rights and you’ll go to prison as sure as you stand here. None of that.”
He leaped forward, grabbed the boatman’s right hand, and whirled the fellow around. From the man’s hip pocket he drew a loaded revolver. Deftly he “frisked” his prisoner, and finding no other weapons on him, let go of him.
“Now, Jensen,” he said, “we’ve got you right. You will only hurt yourself by lying. You may help yourself if you tell the truth. Where did this cotton come from?”