"We wouldn't mind takin' a bottle down on board, sir," said Corlett, who once more proved his intellectual capacity.
"And mind you keep your mouths shut," said Lant.
"Wild 'orses shan't drag a word out of us, sir," said Eales, "for when my mate's drunk 'e's sulky, and I'm 'appy but speechless."
And down they went on board the Enchantress with their bottle, while Lant held a council of war with his chief runner.
* * * * * * *
Portland is a hard place; there is no harder place in the world. San Francisco, for all its reputation, which it owes so greatly to the gold times, is a sweet and easy health resort compared with the trading capital of Oregon. Oregonians from all parts of the State say it is a selfish city, with no more sense of State patriotism than an Italian city of the fifteenth century had of national patriotism. But in these days Portland is beginning to get a trifle nervous about its reputation. It is beginning to get written about, and the truth is told occasionally as to what goes on there. This is why a sudden and remarkable disappearance of Captain Brogger, two days before the Enchantress was due to be towed down stream to the ocean, caused rather more sensation than it might have done a few years ago. The newspapers took two sides, and regarded two hypotheses as needing no proof. The papers which were trying to make Portland smell sweetly in the nostrils of the mercantile world said that some of the boarding-house bosses might be able to clear up the mystery. They gave reasons for supposing that Brogger was not loved by the tyrants of the water-front. But other papers declared that he had been knocked on the head and dumped into the river by some of his own crew. One reporter declared that a more evil-looking lot of ruffians than the crowd on board the Enchantress never towed past Kalama. This journal was partially owned by Lant and Gulliver. They owned something of everything, even a judge. And the good police did what they were told, so long as it was possible. They set about a story that Brogger had committed suicide. The crew said he had been looking wild of late. Mr. Plump had no theory, and was only mad that he had no master's certificate. Young Dodman went round whistling, in spite of the fact that he was the last man to have a real shine with the skipper.
"I hope he won't come back, that's all," said Dodman. "If he does I'm for the shore, boys; I'm for the shore. I've not known what it was to be happy for months till now."
But Plump grew haggard running to the police and the agents. The Enchantress was full up to the deck-beams with the best Oregon wheat, and was ready to go to sea. Every hour's delay meant a notch against him with the owners. And yet, as the owners were the missing skipper's brothers, he did not like to hurry. But the agents, who cared about no man's brother, put their foot down.
"We've found you a captain, Mr. Plump."
"What sort?" asked Plump anxiously.