IF the dumb brute at his side had been a human being, capable of understanding and appreciating his feelings, Bob would not have parted from him with greater reluctance. But there was no help for it. The ringing of the steamer’s bell indicated that the freight was nearly all aboard, and the next time it rang, which would be in a very few minutes, it would sound the signal for casting off the lines. Bob had purposely remained away from the boat as long as he could, for he knew that he would run something of a risk in attempting to board her. What if the constable had discovered his absence and was watching for him at the landing? Or what if some of the numerous idlers he had seen at the store in the morning should happen to be there and recognise him in spite of his disguise? Bob was obliged to take his chances on this; and for fear that the boat might be searched, in case his escape had been discovered, he thought it best to keep away from her until she was ready to back out into the stream. She was getting ready to do it now.

The first stroke of the bell seemed to put new life into Bob. He led his horse into the road, turned his head toward home, and giving him a parting slap to put him in motion, threw his valise over his shoulder, and ran toward the landing at the top of his speed. He hurried down the main street just as any honest traveller would have done who was a little behind time, and while on the way told himself that if it were only as dark at the landing as it was there in the road, he could effect his escape without the least difficulty. But the landing-place was lighted up so brilliantly that objects could be plainly distinguished for a hundred yards around. The huge fire which had brought the boat to the shore was kept well supplied with resinous wood, and in addition to that there was a flaming torch on the steamer’s forecastle. In boarding the vessel Bob would be obliged to pass along the gang-plank in the full glare of both these lights, and in plain view of every man who might happen to be at the landing. His courage almost failed him when he thought of it; and perhaps if he had not just then recalled some of the thrilling scenes in the lives of his favorite bordermen, Wild Bill and Texas Jack, he would have turned back.

“They wouldn’t turn back if they were in my place,” said Bob, to himself. “The more danger there was in any undertaking, the better they liked it. I am in danger now, and it is a good time to show what I am made of.”

With this thought to encourage him Bob kept on toward the shed in which the corn was stored—or rather in which it had been stored, for he saw that there were not more than half a dozen bags of it remaining. He saw, too, that there were several men standing near the fire. Some of them he put down as steamboat men, and in the others he was sure he recognised some of the idlers he had seen at the store that morning. But he did not take a second look in order to satisfy himself on this point. He turned his head partly away from them, and passing through the shed fell in between two of the deck-hands who were going up the gang-plank with bags of corn on their shoulders. The nearer he approached to the end of the plank, the easier he breathed; but just as he was about to step on the steamer’s deck, he happened to look toward the man who was standing under the torch beside the clerk, checking the bags as they came aboard, and was almost ready to drop when he saw that it was the horseman he had met in the morning—the one who had stopped in the road and watched his movements so closely. The man looked at him as he stepped upon the forecastle, but did not appear to recognise him; and Bob, trembling all over with apprehension, hurried on past the stairs that led to the boiler deck, and made his way through the engine-room to the after-guard. There were some boxes piled there, and Bob quickly concealed himself behind them.

“I did it, didn’t I?” said he, drawing a long breath of relief. “Five minutes more will tell the story. If I am allowed to go in peace, so much the better for me; but if that constable comes down here to search the boat, I’ll take to the water. He is not going to carry me back to Rochdale. That much is settled.”

Bob had been in his concealment scarcely more than five minutes when the bell sounded the signal for letting go the lines. The steamer began to move almost immediately, one engine working forward and the other backward to throw her bow away from the bank. Then Bob felt perfectly at his ease. He arose from his hiding-place and leaned over the rail to take a farewell view of the little settlement which would always be associated in his mind with the most unpleasant incidents of his life. The first person on whom his eyes rested was the owner of the corn—the man who checked the bags as they came aboard. He seemed to be looking directly at the runaway, and as it was not yet too late for him to hail the steamer and bring her back to the shore, Bob thought it would be a good plan to get out of his sight. Besides, some of the officers or deck-hands might have occasion to come back there, and what would they say to him if they found him hidden away among the boxes? He did not want to attract any attention if he could help it, so he picked up his valise and made his way toward the forward part of the vessel. He stopped for a few minutes in the engine-room to watch the working of the machinery, and was walking slowly along the main deck when he was startled by the sound of a commotion on the forecastle. There was a hurrying of feet, accompanied by loud cries of “Stop her! stop her!” and then a body of men, composed of officers, passengers and deck-hands, rushed to the port side of the forecastle and looked over into the water.

“There’s a man overboard, cap’in!” shouted the mate, looking up at the master of the steamer, who was standing on the hurricane deck, “and he’s going right under the wheel. Stop her!”

Just then, a gentleman came down the stairs from the boiler-deck, in two jumps, and ran quickly to the side. “Who is it?” he exclaimed.

“Georgie Ackerman!” replied a dozen voices, in concert.

“And he can’t swim a stroke!” cried the gentleman, throwing off his coat and hat. “Neither can I; but I will save him or go down with him. There he is! I see his head!”

Bob saw it, too, and in an instant afterward he was in the water beside it. Securing a firm hold of the man’s long hair, he raised his head from the water so that he could breathe, and swam with him away from the steamer. He knew he was in no danger of being drawn under the wheel, for it was working backward, and that, in some degree, counteracted the force of the current. The real peril to be apprehended was, that the steamer, which was rapidly swinging around, might run over him, and force him down under the water. In order to avoid this, Bob, who had all his wits about him, swam with his utmost speed until he was out of the influence of the eddy caused by the wheel, and then he struck the current, and was carried down the stream at the rate of four miles an hour.

The man floundered and struggled desperately at first, making blind clutches at the empty air, and trying to turn about so that he could take hold of Bob, and it was all the latter could do to manage him. But after he had recovered his breath, wiped the water from his face, and brushed the hair out of his eyes, he became calmer, and gave Bob the first opportunity he had had to see what he looked like. The steamer’s torch had by this time been transferred from the starboard to the port side of the forecastle, and by the aid of the light it threw out Bob saw that the person he had rescued was not a man, but a boy about his own age. He felt much easier after he made this discovery. He was afraid of a drowning man, but he did not doubt his ability to manage almost any boy of his own size in the water.

“Say, you!” exclaimed Bob, shifting his grasp from the boy’s hair to his collar, and giving him a little shake to stir up his ideas.

“All right!” was the reply. “Who are you? Anybody I know? I don’t recognise your voice.”

Bob was so surprised at the calmness with which the boy spoke, that he did not answer immediately.

“I hope you have got a good hold of me, whoever you are,” continued the boy; “for if you let go I shall go down like a chunk of lead. I can’t swim.”

“Well, can you understand what I say to you?”

“O, yes! I am not frightened now.”

“You are a cool one! that’s a fact,” said Bob. “Now, don’t kick and thrash about any more, for that makes it hard for me to keep you afloat. Remember, that every portion of your body that is out of the water helps to sink you, while that which is in the water helps to buoy you up. So keep your arms by your side, and throw back your head. That will give you the best chance to breathe. They’ll send a boat after us directly.”

“I wish they would do it now,” said the boy, who implicitly obeyed every one of Bob’s orders. “If they let us stay in this current much longer they will find us at New Orleans. I don’t want to go there unless I can go in my boat.”

“Do you belong on the steamer?”

“Yes; I am the cub pilot!”

“I say, George!” shouted a voice.

The boys looked up when they heard the hail, and saw that the strong current had already carried them a hundred and fifty yards below the steamer, whose bow was swinging around toward the landing again. On her hurricane deck were a group of men, one of whom was the captain. He it was who had hailed the young pilot.

“I say, George!” repeated the captain, “who is that in the water with you?”

“I am sure I don’t know,” said George, in a low tone. “Who are you, fellow?”

“I am Bob Owens. But don’t tell him that!” added Bob, quickly. He knew that if George pronounced his name in a tone of voice so loud that the captain could hear and understand it, it would also be heard and understood by the men about the fire, who would recognise it on the instant. “Just tell him that I am a passenger.”

“Is he swimmer enough to take you to the shore?” asked the captain, when he had received George’s reply. “We can’t send our yawl after you for she would sink before reaching you, she is so leaky!”

“I can take care of him,” shouted Bob.

This answer seemed to satisfy the captain, for he turned and walked toward the pilot-house, while the rest of the group remained to watch the boys.

“That yawl is like everything else about the old Sam Kendall—nearly played out,” said George. “She has four boats, and I don’t believe that any of them would float until they could be pulled across the river. You are not going to let go?” he added, as he felt Bob loosen his grasp on his collar.

“O, no. I didn’t jump into the water to let you go after I caught you. I want to get you in such a position that I can tow you ashore. Put your hand on my shoulder and keep it there. That’s the way. Now fall back alongside of me so that—don’t, be afraid,” he added, as George seized his collar and held on with all his strength. “Let go!”

The boy pilot was either blessed with more than an ordinary share of courage, or else he had unbounded confidence in Bob, for he did just as the latter told him, and without any words or hesitation. He let go his hold, but he didn’t sink, Bob’s hand being promptly thrust out to support him.

“You mustn’t clinch me that way,” said Bob, earnestly; “for if you do, you’ll drown us both. Don’t do it again.”

“I won’t,” answered George. “I was afraid I was going under.”

“You needn’t be afraid of that. The weight of your finger on my shoulder will keep your head out of water, and that is all you want. Now, fall back so that I can have plenty of elbow-room. That’s the idea.”

George placed his hand upon Bob’s shoulder, allowed himself to swing back out of the way so that the swimmer could freely use his arms, and in this manner was towed toward the shore. Bob turned his head once or twice to say an encouraging word to him, but finding that George was not in the least frightened, he did not speak again until he reached the shore. It was hard work to swim so long a distance in that swift current, with his boots and all his clothes on, and dragging a boy behind him as heavy as himself, and he needed all his breath. He struck the bank fully a mile below the landing, and in an almost exhausted condition. George was obliged to help him out of the water. He recovered his breath in a few minutes, however, and as soon as he was able to stand upon his feet, he divested himself of his coat, pulled off his boots and stockings, and rolled up the legs of his trousers.

“It will be easier walking now,” said he, by way of explanation. “These wet things are heavy, and I am so tired that I don’t want to carry any unnecessary weight.”

But this was not the reason why Bob pulled off some portions of his clothing. He knew that he would be obliged to board the steamer in full view of the men at the landing, and he had been thinking about it ever since he began towing George toward the shore. He had escaped recognition once, it is true, but that thought did not encourage him. He was famous now, and everybody would want to take a good look at the boy who had nerve enough to jump overboard and save another from drowning. He was glad that his valise was safe on board the boat. With that in his hand his detection would have been almost certain.

After resting a few minutes, the two boys scrambled along the bank toward the landing, but before they had gone half a mile they discovered a party of men coming in search of them. When they had approached a little nearer George informed his rescuer that he knew four of them—the captain, first mate, and Mr. Black and Mr. Scanlan, the two pilots belonging to the steamer. Bob recognised one of them, and after running his eye over the party a second time, told himself that there was also another whom he had met somewhere very recently. He was not as glad to see them as George was to see his friends. One was the owner of the corn that had just been placed on board the steamer, and the other was—no—yes, it was the constable. Bob stopped, rubbed his eyes, and looked again; but there was no mistake about it.

About half an hour after Bob left the house, the officer awoke and found that his prisoner was gone. He ran at once to the stable to see if his horse was gone also. He was, and this led the constable to believe that Bob had mounted him and fled up the river. Being an easy-going sort of person, who did not think it worth while to do anything to-day that could be put off until to-morrow, he decided not to begin the pursuit until morning. Then he would raise a squad of men and scour the country in every direction.

After finding that the horse was gone, the constable went down to the landing and questioned the men who were standing about the fire. They were greatly astonished to find that Bob had escaped, and declared that he could not possibly have boarded the boat without being seen by them, for they had been at the landing ever since the steamer arrived. The officer, however, thought it best to be sure on this point, so he went on board the Sam Kendall, accompanied by some of his friends, and gave her a good looking over. He looked in almost every place except the one in which Bob was concealed, and went ashore firm in his belief that his prisoner would be found farther up the river. Bob, of course, knew nothing of this, but he did know that the constable was within speaking distance, and the sight of him deprived him so completely of his little remaining strength that he was obliged to take hold of a bush to keep himself from falling.

“What’s the matter, Bob?” asked George, who at once sprang to his side and threw his arm about his waist to support him. “You’re just tuckered out, aint you? I don’t wonder at it. Lean on me till the men come up. Hurry on, Mr. Black!”

The men were coming as fast as they could, and in a few minutes more were near enough to seize George by the hand, which they did one after the other, greeting him as though they had never expected to see him again. Then they turned to Bob, who stood leaning against the bank, with his dripping coat muffled about his head and face.

“Don’t ask him to talk to you now,” exclaimed George, just in time to check a volley of questions. “He hasn’t breath enough to say a word. It was all he could do to get me ashore. Take him by the arms, a couple of you, and give him a lift!”

This request was addressed to no one in particular, but the two men who happened to be standing the nearest to Bob were the ones who complied with it. Then Bob wished most heartily that George had held his peace, for the men who put their strong arms through his to help him along, were the constable and the owner of the corn. Bob’s heart seemed to stop beating, and he trembled so violently that he could scarcely walk; but he dared not refuse their offers of assistance. They mistook his agitation for weakness and helped him very tenderly over all the rough places. They did not speak to him, for they were wholly engrossed with George’s account of his adventure, which he was giving to the two pilots who were supporting him. All Bob heard of it was that George was sitting on the boiler-deck railing, watching a steamer that was going down the river, and the first thing he knew he was in the water. He praised Bob’s skill as a swimmer, and seemed lost in admiration of the courage and coolness he had exhibited, but Bob heard none of it. They were nearing the landing now, and there was that huge fire still burning brightly on the bank. Bob was afraid to pass it, but his good luck had not yet deserted him, and his disguise served him a good turn. The passengers on deck, and the idlers on the bank, all looked at him with the greatest interest and curiosity, but none of the latter recognised in him the “peart and honest-looking boy,” who had ridden that spotted horse into the settlement a few hours before. He was assisted up the gang-plank and to the steps that led to the boiler-deck; and there he sank down as if he were unable to go a step farther.

“Don’t stop,” said George, seizing him by the arm and trying to pull him to his feet. “Come up to my room, and get your wet clothes off. You’ll catch cold if you sit here in this keen wind.”

Bob was well aware of that fact, but he did not say so, for he was afraid to speak, even in a whisper, for fear that the constable, or that other man, would know his voice. He stopped there because he wanted to get away from them both, and he hoped they would leave the steamer without a moment’s delay. He saw the captain run up the stairs, and his heart bounded with delight when he heard the bell ring. The constable and his friend, and the idlers who had followed the boys on board, made all haste to get ashore; the lines and gang-plank were hauled aboard; the engines were set in motion again, and when Bob saw the steamer’s bow swinging toward the middle of the river, and the stretch of clear water between her guards and the bank growing wider, his courage and strength all returned to him. He went back after his valise, which he had left on the main deck, and accompanied the cub pilot to his room in Texas. His dripping garments, and George’s, were given into the charge of the porter, who carried them into the galley, and when Bob had restored his sluggish circulation by a vigorous rubbing, and put on his warm, dry suit, he felt none the worse for his long swim. He and George talked incessantly while they were thus engaged, and, by the time they were dressed, began to think they were very well acquainted with each other.

“How far up the river are you going?” asked George, as they went out into the cabin and took their seats by the stove.

“I am going to St. Louis.”

“Do you live there?”

“No; I don’t live anywhere,” replied Bob, who thought that, since he was fairly out in the world, it was time for him to begin to ignore the existence of home and all his relations.

“No father or mother, brothers or sisters?”

“No. When my hat is on my head my family is all covered.”

“I know how to sympathize with you,” said George. “I am almost alone in the world myself. The only relations I have are an uncle and cousin. My uncle is my guardian, and he is aboard the boat now. What are you going to do when you reach St. Louis?”

“I am going to buy a mustang and a hunting outfit and go out on the plains.”

“What is your idea of starting from St. Louis?”

“Why, don’t all the hunters and trappers fit out there? I understand that it is the headquarters of the fur trade.”

“It used to be; but it is a smashing big city now, and the hunters fit out at other points. Why don’t you go to Denver? That is hundreds of miles farther on. You see that western country is settling up rapidly, and if you want to find fur-bearing animals you must go to the mountains.”

Bob looked down at the floor in a brown study. He began to see, now, that he had made some mistakes in his calculations. He supposed that all he had to do to enter upon the life of a trapper was, to provide himself with a horse and rifle at St. Louis, and plunge at once into the wilderness, where he would find all sorts of game, from a mink to a grizzly bear. He was not very well posted in geography and history, for, while he was at school, he made it a point to neglect his books as much as he could; but he had gained an idea from some of the dime novels: he had read that St. Louis was a little hamlet—a fort, with a few log cabins clustered about it—and that, when he arrived there, he would find himself on the borders of civilization, and surrounded by Indians and trappers.

“What makes you select that mean business, anyhow?” asked George. “Do you know anything about it?”

“O, yes! I have had a good deal of experience in hunting.”

“Did you ever make any money at it?”

“I never tried.”

“And you never will, no matter how hard you try. You’ll go hungry half the time and ragged and dirty all the time. If you go alone you will be certain to fall in with some rough characters who will steal everything you’ve got and leave you stranded in the wilderness. Then what would you do? You don’t know the country, and suppose you should lose your way and get snowed up? That would be the last of you. I have seen lots of hunters, and I know just what sort of men they are and what sort of lives they lead.”

“Where did you ever see any?” asked Bob, in great surprise.

“In Texas, where my home is. I own a big cattle ranche a little way from the Rio Grande (or rather I shall own it when I become of age; my uncle holds it in trust for me now), and I lived there all my life until about eighteen months ago. Then I went up the Mississippi on a pleasure trip with my uncle and cousin. I fell in with Mr. Black and Mr. Scanlan, the pilots on this boat, and they said so much about life on the river that I decided to follow it; and here I am.”

“I wonder that your uncle allowed you to go so far from home,” cried Bob.

“O, he didn’t care. He lets me do just as I please. But I am going to leave the river as soon as this trip is ended. I wrote to my uncle telling him of my decision, and he came up to urge me to stay until I become a full-fledged pilot; but I have made up my mind to go home, and I want you to go with me. I need a friend more than any other boy in the world, (I may tell you why some day), and you must be a friend to me or you would not have risked your life to save mine.”

“Don’t your uncle and cousin live at your house?”

“Yes, but they are—they and I don’t—will you go?”

Bob did not answer at once. He needed a friend as much as George did—he was already so homesick that he would have been glad to get away and cry over his folly—but it was hard to give up the plans he had cherished for so many long months.

“I tell you, Bob,” added George, earnestly, “I know what I am saying when I assure you that you never can succeed in any such wild scheme as this.”

“I’ll have plenty of fun and excitement anyhow,” said Bob, “and that is what I want.”

“There is a great deal more fun in drawing an easy-chair up in front of a comfortable fire on a blustering winter day and reading about it,” returned George, who told himself that he knew right where Bob had got all his foolish notions. “All you know about this life that you want to enter upon, you got out of some book; and I will venture the assertion that if you could see the man who wrote it, you would find that he had never been within five hundred miles of the plains, that he had never seen anything wild larger than a pigeon, and that he couldn’t tell a rifle from a shot-gun if he should see them together. Why, Bob, the men who are born hunters don’t make anything at it. Take them as a class, and you will find them poor, miserable fellows. If excitement is what you want, go home with me. The Mexicans are playing havoc with the stock-raisers down there—Uncle John says they stole two hundred head of cattle not more than a month ago—and they will give you excitement enough to satisfy you. Besides you will have a fine horse to ride, plenty to eat and a tight roof to shelter you. That’s more than you will have on the plains, I tell you.”

As George ceased speaking the door opened and one of the pilots came into the cabin.