I began to explain, but I daresay my appearance hardly lent an air of truth to my words; he cut me short with an incredulous shrug of his shoulders. “Tell that t’ the captain or the purser,” he interrupted sharply. “Bilk, you steer him t’ the pilot house. I’ll be there in a minute.” He turned on his heel, and Bilk motioned me to follow. As we passed forward I wondered on what sort of craft I had landed, whither bound, and how good my chance was of getting back to St. Louis and making a fresh start. The first of these queries I voiced to Bilk. “She’s the _New Moon_,” he growled. “Through freight t’ Bismark, Cow Island, and Fort Benton. Stop? Naw, she don’t stop fer nothin’ only wood.” CHAPTER III—WHICH SHOWS THAT THE WORM DOES NOT ALWAYS TURN The door of the pilot-house swung open and the captain himself stepped out as Bilk reached for the knob. The eyes of this river autocrat fell inquiringly on me. I daresay I was not a prepossessing figure in the dull glimmer of a deck lamp. “What the devil’s this?” he demanded. “Feller picked up alongside us, hangin’ on by an unstowed line, sir.” Bilk explained. “Huh!” the captain grunted. “See here, sir,” I began. “I’m much obliged for being picked up. And I’ll be much more obliged if you’ll put me in the way of getting into some clothes and landing as soon as possible. I was to have taken the _Memphis Girl_ down-river to-night. Mr. Bolton, of the Bolton and Kerr bank will make it all right with you.” The captain guffawed coarsely in my face. “God bless me, that’s all right. Hey, Tupper,”—to the mate, who came up while I was speaking—“here’s a lad with a black eye, a skinned nose, and no clothes on, who wants us to put about—and his banker will make it all right. Ha—ha—ha!” And he laughed till my cheeks burned. “I don’t ask anything of you only to get ashore, first stopping-place,” I spluttered, trembling with anger; his patent disbelief of my statement was hard to swallow. “I’m not to blame for getting robbed and tumbled into the river, and I don’t want my people to think I’ve been drowned.” “There’s the shore,” he jerked his thumb backward significantly. “Swim for it, if the deck o’ the _Moon_ don’t suit you.” That silenced me for the time. I knew I could never make shore, weary as I was. The inhospitable atmosphere was better than the unquiet bosom of the Mississippi. I had no stomach for further natatory stunts that night. And I knew that it depended on the good-will of this grouchy individual as to when and where I should set foot on land. He squinted calculatingly at me for a second or two, then addressed the mate. “Take ’im below, Tupper,” he said. “Dig ’im up some jeans an’ a pair o’ shoes, an’ let ’im roost somewhere forrad. We can use ’im, I reckon.”