“Miss Montell,” he drawled. “You shouldn’t interfere with the pastimes of our worthy skipper and mate. Let the good work go on.” “Shame on you, Mr. Barreau!” she flashed, drawing away from him. The man paid no heed to her quick retort, but himself leaned a bit forward and spoke directly to the captain. “Go to it, Captain Speer,” he said indifferently—that is, his manner of speech was well simulated indifference; but I, staring up at him, saw the storm-clouds gathering in his dark eyes. “Go ahead. Beat the boy’s face to a jelly. Kick in a few ribs for good measure. Make a thorough job of it. You see, I know something of the river-boat way. But when you are done with _that_, Messrs. Speer and Tupper, you shall have some little entertainment at my expense, I promise you.” There was a menace in the inflection. “By the Lord, sir, I’m master on this vessel,” Captain Speer at length found his tongue. “If you don’t like this, come down and take a hand.” “Now speaks the doughty mariner,” Barreau laughed mockingly. “I shall take a hand without troubling to come down, believe me. Colonel Colt shall arbitrate for us. If _that_ is to your liking I am at your service, Captain Speer.” “Another cowardly blow,” cried the girl, her dainty face flushing, “and my father shall see that you captain no more boats for the Benton and St. Louis Company—you barbarian. I promise you that for penalty, whatever Mr. Barreau sees fit to do.” Whether the threat against his position carried weight, or if he simply had no hankering for an encountering with the cool individual on the upper deck, I do not know; but, at any rate, Captain Speer saw fit to sheath his claws at this juncture. “Git t’ hell out o’ here, you,” he grunted, under his breath. And I made haste to “git.” Looking back, I saw Tupper and Speer striding aft. Above, the girl stood by the rail, tucking in the flying locks with graceful movements of her hands. Barreau was staring after the retreating pair, smiling sardonically over a cigarette. Later, I learned from Bilk that Miss Montell was the fur-merchant’s daughter, and straightway I forgave the portly one any grievance I held against him. But from none of the crew could I learn aught of Barreau. Nor did I see him again, except at ship-length. Like the girl, he kept close to his cabin and the passengers’ saloon—terra incognita to such lowly ones as I. I was grateful, even at a distance, for between them they had saved me a thumping—a thumping which I had reason to believe was merely postponed.