we jine 'em? It's too early to roll up, an' thar's only card
buzzards in th' cabin a-try-in' ter pick th' bones o' a merchant."
"We might do wuss nor that," replied Tom; "but I don't reckon I'll go
ashore tonight."
"Wall, if ye change yer mind ye know th' trail. I'm leavin' ye now,
afore th' bottles air all empty," and the hunter crossed the deck and
strode down the gangplank.
Tom watched the hurrying, complaining water for a few moments and then
turned to go to the cabin. As he did so something whizzed past him and
struck the water with a hiss. Whirling, he leaped into the shadows
under the second deck, the new Colt in his hand; but after a hot, eager
search he had to give it up, and hasten to the cabin, to peer
searchingly around it from the door. The only enemy he had on board to
his knowledge was Schoolcraft--and then another thought came to him: was
Armijo reaching out his arm across the prairies?
Joe Cooper was intent on his game; Schoolcraft and the Mexican trader
were taking things easy at a table in a corner, and both had their
knives at their belts. They did not give him more than a passing glance,
although a frown crept across the Independence horse-dealer's evil face.
Seating himself where he could watch all the doors, Tom tried to solve
the riddle while he waited to scrutinize anyone entering the cabin. At
last he gave up the attempt to unravel the mystery and turned his
attention to the card game, and was surprised to see that it was being
played with all the safeguards of an established gambling house. Having
a friend in the game he watched the dealer and the case-keeper, but
discovered nothing to repay him for his scrutiny. An hour later the game
broke up and Joe Cooper, cashing in his moderate winnings, arose and
joined Tom and suggested a turn about the deck before retiring. Tom
caught a furtive exchange of fleeting and ironical glances between the
case-keeper and the dealer, but thought little of it. He shrugged his
shoulders and followed his new friend toward the door.
Ephriam Schoolcraft, somewhat the worse for liquor, made a slighting
remark as the two left the cabin, but it was so well disguised that it
provided no real peg on which to hang a quarrel; and Tom kept on toward
the deck, the horse-dealer's nasty laugh ringing in his ears. He could
see where he was going to have trouble, but he hoped it would wait until
Independence was reached, for always there were the makings of numerous
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