Among the River Pirates

by Hugh Lloyd

  Tully’s face looked distorted as he walked to and fro across the shantyfloor. Finally he turned.

  “Sure Skinner don’t know what it means to be sendin’ that Beasell guydown here to be tellin’ us we must be out by tomorrow night, bad cess tohim.”

  “What d’ye mean, Big Joe?”

  “Sure, folks here ain’t like other folks, like ye’ve noticed. They beenfree for years and they ain’t goin’ to be kicked out without doin’ somekickin’ first thimselves. Law? Sure, they don’t know what it’s all aboutso what do they care, I’ll be askin’ ye.”

  Big Joe Tully had summed it all up in one sentence. They didn’t knowabout the law, so what did they care about it?

  It wasn’t many hours before Skippy learned how little they did care.

  CHAPTER XXXI MOONLIGHT

  Skippy waited until Tully was fast asleep that night, then he creptstealthily out of the shanty with the dog skipping and sniffing at hisheels. He was careful to close the door softly behind him; he wanted tobe alone.

  It was a different Skippy that trod those decks, a new and older Skippy,who looked about the lumbering old barge through his father’s eyes. Itdid not seem possible to him that Skinner could so ruthlessly order himaway from the only home he had. Yet he realized that not many hourshence he would not even have _that_ home.

  He went forward and, getting to his knees, leaned far over and stareddown at the trickling waters of the muddy inlet lapping against thehull. The dog, thinking him to be playing, jumped about with a softwhine to draw his master’s attention.

  Skippy tumbled him about for a while, then climbed down with him intothe borrowed kicker that was anchored alongside the barge.

  “We’re gonna take one last cruise out and back in the inlet again—see,Mugs? I’ve just gotta see how the _Minnie M. Baxter’s_ gonna look when Ithink of her afterwards. I don’t want to forget it’s where I lived withtwo of the best pals I’ll ever have, outside of Pop. Gee, Mugs, maybeit’s silly to feel so over a barge,” he confided to the attentive puppy,“but I gotta feel that it’s sumpin’ I must think a lot of. Every timeI’ve visited Pop, he’s asked me how was the _Minnie M. Baxter_. Justlike as if she was a human being, he asked about her! So I love her onaccounta my Pop. He’s proud of her because she was so hard to get andbecause he decided to quit Ol’ Flint and be honest so’s I’d have abetter chance.”

  He started the kicker after this long confidence and steered it with onehand, putting his free arm about the dog. And as if cherishing thewhispered confidences and affection, the animal cuddled close andremained perfectly still while the boat crept out to the mouth of theriver.

  As they turned back, a full moon broke through some dark clouds andshone brilliantly down upon the Basin. Skippy looked at the mellow,silver light gleaming over the grouped barges and he gazed in wonder atthe fairyland that the moon made of the sordid colony. The dust at oncebecame a shimmering film of silver and the washlines strung from shantyto forward deck contained fluttering bits of laundry that stirredflippantly in the soft night breeze.

  Skippy’s heartstrings tightened at the sight of it—he loved it all. Hishonest nature cried out against the injustice of turning all thesepeople out of their homes. For that is just what it amounted to—no moreand no less. Skinner knew that there wasn’t a man in the Basin who couldafford to have his barge lifted out of the mud. They would have to faceit, he realized—they were people condemned!

  He steered the boat farther on until he caught sight of the moonlightgleaming across his own shanty. Its shimmering rays picked out in boldrelief the now dulled letters, _Minnie M. Baxter_, and he thought of alate afternoon when he and his father had looked on those same lettersso new and shining, shining in the last brilliant rays of a dying sun.

  He turned away from these reflections with heavy heart only to have hisattention drawn to a boat, floating about the bow of the kicker. As heleaned forward to see it better, the dog growled ominously.

  Skippy drew back instantly, gasping with horror. He sat stark still fora moment, as cold as ice and unable to take his eyes away from thebattered face and body of a man he had seen in robust health but a fewhours before.

  That man was Beasell, Marty Skinner’s lieutenant, and he appearedlifeless.

  CHAPTER XXXII THE LAST OF THE BASIN

  Skippy was so frightened that he did nothing for a moment but sit andstare. Then suddenly he realized the terrible thing before his eyes, andhe pulled the boat up alongside of the barge, trembling from head tofoot.

  The dog leaped out of his arms the moment he got on deck and refused torun with him to the shanty. But Skippy had neither the time nor thenerves to think of anything but the battered Beasell in the boatfloating beside the barge.

  He flung open the door of the shanty and rushed to Tully’s bunk. The bigfellow jumped up startled, and sat motionless while Skippy whispered ofhis discovery.

  “Won’t it go bad for everybody here?” he asked with agonized suspense.“Won’t it, Big Joe?”

  “Sure ’twill be just too bad, so ’twill,” Tully said getting up anddressing. “Somewan did it what’s gone cuckoo for thinkin’ they’ll beturned out o’ their home tomorrow night. And crazy like, they beat upthat Beasell thinkin’ they’d be gettin’ even with Marty Skinner—see?Sure I know me Brown’s Basin, kid.”

  Skippy shivered with the horror of it. If Brown’s Basin was like that,he wouldn’t be sorry to leave it after all. Neither could he love peoplewho used such ghastly means for their revenge against Skinner. He wantedto get away from it then, that minute.

  “We gotta tell the police, Big Joe, huh?” he murmured.

  Big Joe nodded as if he were dazed.

  “Us river people ain’t goin’ to have no peace whilst Skinner’s alive,kid!” he said in hard, even tones. “Whoever slugged that Beasellguy—well, _me_, I’d be goin’ for Skinner, so I would. So he’s goin’ totake the _Minnie M. Baxter_ from ye, is he? Well, we’ll be seein’ aboutthat.”

  “Forget me for now, Big Joe. What worries me is, what’re we gonna dowith Beasell? Maybe he’s dead.”

  “Now ye be goin’ down and stay till I come, kid,” said the big fellow,drawing on his shoes.

  Skippy started for the kicker. He went forward but that was as far as hegot for he became suddenly aware of a low, ominous rumbling noise thatseemed to come from shore and run through the barge colony. Before hehad a chance to determine what it was he felt himself lifted off hisfeet bodily and like a feather he was thrown into the muddy waters ofthe Basin.

  There was a terrific detonation throughout Brown’s Basin as Skippy cameto the surface. Fire leaped from one barge to the other in the twinklingof an eye and the screams of men, women and children filled the turbidair.

  Smoke poured skyward in great columns and in the light of the moon,Skippy saw the ponderous form of Big Joe Tully standing on the deck ofthe _Minnie M. Baxter_ shouting and waving his hands. Suddenly he leapedinto the kicker and the boy called out but he seemed not to hear in thedin about them.

  At that moment, the _Minnie M. Baxter_ burst into flames. Big Joe Tullyshouted deafeningly and Skippy, swimming hard to reach him, saw astrange, almost maniacal expression on his large face.

  “’Tis Marty Skinner what’s done this!” he was shouting to no one inparticular. “’Tis him what’s blowed this place up and took the kid awayfrom me. ’Tis him! Skippy’s dead—I’m sure he’s dead! I can’t find him!”he was almost whimpering.

  “I’m here!” Skippy called frantically. “Big Joe....”

  But Tully was even then steering the kicker out of the inlet. He had thethrottle wide open and Skippy had no more than a glimpse of the racingcraft before she slipped beyond his sight.

  Logs, huge chunks of driftwood and every known article of householdfurniture, both broken and whole, floated in Skippy’s path, blocking hisprogress. Suddenly he saw a little boat bearing down
upon him, floatingthrough the inlet unoccupied.

  He reached out, grabbed the bow and climbed in, breathless andexhausted. Other kickers were shoving off filled with crying women andshouting men. Skippy looked about over the water, but saw nothing but aprocession of slowly moving debris.

  He turned over the motor and she responded with a fearful jerk. He wasmoving, in any event, moving away from the fearful heat that the burningbarges threw out over the water. The moon’s shimmering light now lookedsickly and pale in contrast to the fearful red glare that spread overthe entire sky.

  The screaming sirens of motor boats soon became part of the pandemoniumand Skippy heard commanding shouts for the boats to clear out of theinlet immediately. In the wake of this he heard a heart-rending shriekfrom the midst of the barge inferno which made him feel sick and weak.

  “Mrs. Duffy an’ her two kids ain’t nowheres,” a man’s voice shoutedabove the roar. “I’ll bet Skinner had that dynamite planted.” And asSkippy attempted to turn the kicker about he was peremptorily orderedfrom the approaching police launch to keep on his way out to the river.

  He didn’t look back again. The _Minnie M. Baxter_ was a seething massbehind him—there was nothing left. Big Joe was nowhere about—Skippysuddenly remembered the big fellow’s shouts about Skinner. It gave himan idea and he nosed the boat down the river.

  Out of this confusion of mind, he thought of the dog. He remembered thenthat he hadn’t seen the puppy since he had let him down on the deckafter seeing the battered Beasell.

  And what had become of him? Was he dead or alive? Skippy wiped a grimyhand across his forehead. He was utterly weary and exhausted by theordeal. He could not think of an answer to anything. His world hadtoppled over since the discovery of Beasell and the explosion. And nowMugs was gone too—his skipping, faithful-eyed pal! Was there nothingleft for him at all?

  He put his hands over the wheel and gripped it bitterly, but soon herelaxed and with a soft sob he covered his face. And nobody knew but theriver.

  CHAPTER XXXIII SKIPPY’S WISDOM

  Skippy got the most out of his commandeered kicker. He opened it wideand raced her down the river and the closer he got to the bay the moreapprehensive did he feel about Big Joe’s flight. He tried not to attachany special significance to his good friend’s shouts, but he could nothelp remembering Tully’s earlier veiled threats about Skinner.

  His fears grew as he chugged out into the bay and something urged him onstill faster. Then he spied the glistening hull of the beautiful_Apollyon_, her anchor lights gleaming like stars against the night anda single light amidships.

  Funny, the boy thought, how much it seemed like that night when he andhis father had come for the showdown with the older Flint. Now there wasto be no showdown, but he must warn Skinner against Big Joe’s suddenmaniacal fury. Queer that he should go to such trouble for a man who hadgiven them no quarter in anything. But he was not thinking of doingSkinner a good turn beyond that it might prevent Big Joe from killingthe Flint agent and being sent to jail.

  He approached the yacht with his old feeling of awe. The deck was almostdark as he scrambled aboard but up forward he saw the rotund form of thesecond mate asleep and snoring in a luxurious swing. The boy could nothelp remember a very solemn resolve that night long ago, when the matehad sworn to be more faithful to his duties during his night watches.

  With silent tread, he hurried along the deck and stopped before thelighted cabin amidships. Once, twice, he knocked softly, and waited.

  “Come in!” Marty Skinner’s cold voice commanded.

  Skippy stepped in, his heart bounding. He was thinking of the last timehe had been in this room and closed the door, determined he would not bedriven out again until he had had his say.

  “Well?” Skinner snapped but this time he did not order Skippy out.

  “You seen Big Joe Tully?” Skippy asked bravely. “He been here yet?”

  “What d’ye mean—yet? I have no business with Tully and I haven’t anywith you that I know of.”

  “You’re wrong both times Mister Skinner. ’Cause if you don’t listen tome Big Joe’ll be comin’ here an’ he’ll try gettin’ you an’ he’s so madhe’ll probably kill you.”

  Skinner was all interest now. “He’s mad and he may kill me and you cometo warn me. That’s funny.”

  “No it ain’t funny. I wouldn’t care much what happened to you MisterSkinner you been so hard on me’n Pop an’ everybody, but I ain’t gonnasee Big Joe get in a jam an’ maybe go to jail for life on accounta you.I’m tippin’ you off so’s Big Joe won’t have no chance gettin’ jammed.Maybe after that blowin’ up of the barges tonight, which they say youordered done, an’ what happened to that guy Beasell I oughta let....”

  “Blowing up barges? Beasell? What d’ye mean, boy? What happened?”

  “Well, Beasell come an’ ordered us outa the Basin by sundown tomorrow,sayin’ it was your orders, an’ if we can’t get the barges out they’ll beblowed up. Some time after he left me’n Joe I go for a boat ride. When Icome back I see Beasell in a boat all battered an’ lookin’ as if he’sdead. So I goes to call Joe an’ while he’s gettin’ his shoes on I comesout again an’ I just got near the rail when there’s an explosion an’ I’mtossed in the water. I swim till I find a boat an’ climb in. I see BigJoe on deck an’ he’s yellin’ that I’m lost an’ acts like he’s gonna getyou when he jumps in his kicker an’ races off without hearin’ me. So Icome right here to beat him to it an’ keep him outa trouble, see?”

  Skinner did not seem interested in the explosion. While he appearedcallous as to the suffering and death that came in its wake he wanted toknow more about Beasell. “D’ye think he’s really dead?” he askedanxiously.

  “Looked like that to me,” answered Skippy, “an’ if he wasn’t he probablywas blowed apart or burnt up.” He wondered at the look of satisfactionthat appeared on Skinner’s face. “But you better be beatin’ it MisterSkinner or Big Joe’ll be here an’ takin’ you apart if he don’t killyou.”

  “Well, if Big Joe comes here looking for trouble he’ll get it—andplenty.” Skinner reached under his left arm and pulling out a pistollaid it on the table before him.

  Skippy heard footsteps and turned as if to shout a warning.

  “Quiet you!” Skinner ordered as he picked up the pistol and leveled itat the door. Skippy with visions of his beloved Big Joe shot dead in histracks as he opened the door wished from the bottom of his heart that hehad not tried to warn Skinner. All he had done was bait the trap for BigJoe.

  He stood there, a bit to the side of the desk, his knees shaking and,while his brain was active, he was so terror stricken that he could notopen his mouth to warn Big Joe of his impending fate. He closed his eyesand said a little prayer as he heard the door creak a bit on its hinges.Why hadn’t he left the door open when he came into Skinner’s cabin,why....

  A few tense seconds that seemed as so many hours to Skippy and then heheard the voice of Inspector Jones: “Now that’s hardly the nice way towelcome a police officer, Mr. Skinner. I like your extended hand but notwith a gun in it.”

  Skippy looked up to see Inspector Jones advancing into the room and thistime a policeman’s uniform was a most welcome sight to him. He breathedthanks that the visitor was not Big Joe.

  “I’ll just tuck the hardware away, Inspector, and give you the hand.”Skinner smiled and did so. “I thought you were Big Joe Tully coming into get me. The boy here warned me Joe was on the warpath so I was allset to welcome him and beat him to the draw.”

  “So I could see,” the Inspector commented. “Heard about the burning ofthe barges in the Basin and what happened to poor Beasell?”

  “This boy told me there was an explosion and that some one sluggedBeasell. Tell me is he—is he—dead?” The question sounded to Skippy as ifSkinner was hoping the answer would be yes.

  Inspector Jones looked sharply at Skinner. “Yes. He is,” he answeredsimply
and again looked up sharply as Skinner sighed as if in relief.

  “Beasell was in my confidence. He knew my business and I trusted him,”Skinner spoke as if to himself.

  “Sure, I know you did,” the Inspector agreed and there was that in hiswords which made Skippy feel as if there was something behind them.

  “And how did you know that, may I ask, Inspector?” Skinner seemed a bitill at ease.

  “I talked to him before he died. We picked him up in a boat when we wentto the fire. He had been badly beaten but before he died he regainedconsciousness. He talked plenty, too.”

  “What did he say? Tell who beat him up?” Skinner was plainly anxious.

  “No, strange to say he didn’t.”

  “Well then...?”

  “Just this.” Inspector Jones whipped out his gun. “Put ’em up Skinnerand keep ’em up. I’m arresting you and I’m going to charge you with themurder of Josiah Flint.”

  “Why—why—that’s—that’s ridiculous, Inspector. You can’t make a chargelike that stand up on the ravings of a dying man.”

  “I didn’t tell you that Beasell made any such charges. But I’m tellin’you now that he made a dying statement that he was in the kicker off theyacht when Skippy and his father came along, that he had been there sometime, and hearing you and Flint quarreling, he watched through theporthole, saw you two struggling after Flint charged you with cheatinghim—saw you shoot the old man in the back when you twisted him around ashe tried to snatch the gun you drew in your anger. He also saw you sitold Flint up again, scatter papers all over the place and take whatmoney there was in his desk. Beasell’s blackmailed you plenty since,threatening to turn you in.”