The fierceness of him, the futility of pitting myself against a club, much less his ponderous fists, quelled me once more. I hoisted a length of cordwood upon my shoulder and passed aboard. Another trip I made, and some of the murderous rage that seethed inside me must have shown upon my countenance; for Bilk lagged, and, edging near as we trod the gangway together, muttered a word of advice. “Fergit it, kid,” he warned. “Don’t go agin’ him. He’s a killer—he’s got more’n one man’s scalp a’ready. An’ it’s the calaboose for you if yuh do lay him out. See?” Bilk was right. I was aware that while falling short of mutiny on the high seas, a good smash at Mr. Tupper would land me in jail right speedily—providing the captain and the other mate left enough of me to lock up—and seeing that St. Louis and my friends were already far astern, I might find myself in a worse pickle than aboard the _Moon_. This, coupled with a keen sense of shame for blows received and not yet returned, was galling. But cowardly or not, just as you choose, I could not cope with sluggers of that heavy calibre, and I knew it. So, temporarily, I subsided, and sullenly became a satellite of the _New Moon_. The empty space behind the boilers, and a good share of the lower deck space was duly filled with wood; the _Moon_ got under way again, and then I had a breathing spell, which I spent turning over in my mind certain plans that suggested a way out of the difficulty. Going to Montana, when my destination was Texas, was not to my liking, and the manner of my going I liked least of all. While I pondered Bilk drew near. “First trip on a sternwheeler, huh?” he asked, in a not unfriendly tone. “Yes—like this,” I answered, and he grinned understandingly. “I should have jumped and made a swim for it,” I mourned. That had not occurred to me while we were tied up at the wood-wharf; in fact, my thinking was none too coherent about that time—Tupper’s fist had jarred me from head to heel. “He’d likely ’a’ plugged yuh quick’s yuh hit the water,” Bilk observed indifferently. “He’s noway backward about usin’ a pistol, if he takes a notion.” “Do you mean to say they’d dare shoot a man for quitting the steamer?” I uttered incredulously. “Sure.” Bilk’s positive answer was distressingly matter of fact. With exceeding bitterness I aired my opinion of such a state of affairs. Bilk merely shrugged his shoulders. “They’re short-handed, that’s why they froze t’ you,” he explained. “She’ll lose time every wood-loadin’ if there ain’t men enough to pack it aboard. Then the freight’s slow, the passengers kick, an’ the owners pry up hell with the captain. Lord, was yuh never rung in like this before? It’s nothin’ t’ bein’ shanghaied onto a wind-jammer that’s due round the Horn—months of it yuh get then, an’ it’s tough farin’, too. You ain’t got no call t’roar on this. We’ll be in Benton in ten days or so. What’s that amount to?”