AN UNWELCOME VISITOR
The boats of the Sparling fleet had been moving steadily downstream for several hours, their passengers, in the majority of instances, sound asleep, lulled by the gentle motion and the far away "spat, spat, spat," of the industrious paddle wheel at the stern of each craft.
Teddy had prudently kept away from the main cabin for the rest of the evening; when Phil turned in, Teddy was sleeping sweetly.His active part in the affair in the cabin had not caused him any loss of sleep.
With the pilot, Cummings, however, matters had been different.Mr.Cummings had been steadily at the wheel of the "Marie" since the boats had sailed shortly after one o'clock in the morning.
The pilot's temper had suffered as the result of his experience in the cabin, and the jeers aud laughter of the circus people had not added to his peace of mind.At intervals he would break out into a tirade of invective and threats against Teddy Tucker, who had so humiliated him.
"I'll get even with that little monkey-face! They ought to put him in the monkey cage where he belongs," growled the pilot, giving the wheel a three-quarter turn to keep the boat from driving her prow into the bank, for which he had been steering to avoid a hidden sand bar.
"I'll tell the manager tomorrow, that if he doesn't keep that boy away from me, I'll take the matter into my own hands and give that kid a trouncing that will last him till we get to New Orleans."The darkness of the night, just before the dawn, hung over the broad river.Doors and windows of the pilot house were thrown open so that the wheelman might get a clear view on all sides.
All at once Cummings seemed to feel some presence near him.He thought he caught the sound of a footfall on the deck.To make sure he left the wheel for a few seconds, peering out along the deck, on both sides of the pilot house.
He saw no one.The air was filled with a black pall of smoke from the "Marie's" funnel, the smoke settling over the boat, wholly envelopingher from her stack to the stern paddle wheel."Huh!" grunted the pilot, returning to his duties.
Yet his ears had not deceived him.Something was near him, a strange shape, the like of which never had been seen on the deck of the "Fat Marie", in all her long service on the Mississippi.
"If that fool boy comes nosing around here I'll throw him overboard-- that's what I'll do," threatened Cummings."I'll show him he can't fool with the pilot of the finest steamboat of the old line.I--"The pilot suddenly checked himself and peered out to starboard."Wha--what?" he gasped.
Something darkened the doorway.What he now saw was a strange, grotesque shape that looked like a shadow itself in the uncertain light of the early morning.
"Get out of here!" bellowed the pilot, the cold chills running up and down his spine.
The most frightful sound that his ears had ever heard, broke suddenly on the quiet of the Mississippi night.
"It's the lion escaped!"
Cummings grabbed a stout oak stick that lay at hand--the stick that now and then, when battling with a stiff current, he used to insert between the spokes of the steering wheel to give him greater leverage.
With a yell he brought the stick down on the head of the strange beast.The roar or bray of the animal stopped suddenly.
Whack! came the echo from the club.
Cummings sprang back.He slammed the pilot-house door in the face of the beast, and closed the windows with a bang that shook the pilot house.In his excitement the pilot rang in a signal to the engineer for full speed astern.
About that time something else occurred.
With a terrific crash one of the windows of the pilot house was shattered, pieces of glass showering in upon the pilot like a sudden storm of hail.
Crash!
Another window fell in a shower about him.He tried to get the dooron the opposite side of the pilot house open, but locked it instead and dropped the key on the floor.
All this time the "Fat Marie's" paddle wheel was backing water and the craft, now swung almost broadside to the stream, was working her way over toward the Iowa shore.
Bang!
A section of the pilot-house door fell shattering on the inside, and what sounded like a volley of musketry, rattled against the harder woodwork of the pilot house itself.
Frightened almost out of all sense, Cummings began groping excitedly for his revolver.At last he found it, more by accident than through any methodical search for it.
The pilot began to shoot.Some of his bullets went through the roof, others through the broken out windows, while a couple landed in the door.
At last the half-crazed Cummings was snapping the hammer on empty chambers.He had emptied his revolver without hitting anything more than wood and water.
The fusillade from the outside still continued.
By this time the din had begun to arouse the passengers on the boat.Phil Forrest was the first to spring up.He shook Teddy by the shoulder, but, being unable to awaken his companion, jerked the boy out of bed and let him drop on the floor.
"Get a net! What's the matter down there!" yelled Teddy."Hey, hey, did the mule kick me? Oh, that you Phil? What's the row--what has happened?""I don't know.Come on out.Something has gone wrong.Hear those shots?""Wow! Trouble! That's me! I knew I couldn't dream about angels without something breaking loose."Phil had thrown the door open and bounded out to the deck.Just as he did so the pilot leaped from the front window of the pilot house, climbed over the rail and dropped to the deck below.The volleying, the thunderous blows still continued.
A loud bray attracted their attention to the other side of the boat.
"What's that?" demanded Phil, starting off in that direction.
