"Plumb through th' heart!"
Bridger came to a halt. All the others stood like stumps for a count of five. Then Dillings' voice croaked:
"The devil's to pay for this. Can't kill a' A. F. C man like that!"
With a harsh laugh of triumph Papa Clair jeered:
"M'sleu is much in the mistake. The A. F. C. men can be killed just like that."
There was an uneasy stirring by the bushes, and the metallic click of a pistol being cocked brought Bridger's hands from his belt, holding two pistols; and he warned:
"A fair fight on Lander's part. A try at murder on Phinny's part. Had he killed Lander I should have killed him for firing before the word was given. All stay where you are till we're afloat, or more'n one corpse will be toted from this place."
"If any one is grieved and wishes to settle a point of honor with me, I will remain. I, Etienne Clair, an old man," began Papa.
But Bridger cut him short by fairly taking him under his arm and disappearing among the bushes with Lander at his side.
"You two take your canoe an' paddle to the foot of the island. I've got a canoe there an' will join you in a few minutes."
They jumped into their dugout and shot the craft down-stream. Bridger remained in the narrow path, over which so many vindicators of honor had traveled, and waited. From the opening came a confused murmuring of many voices. Then some one passionately cried out:
"Is three men to git away like that? It's light 'nough to pick 'em off in th' canoe. Come on!"
There was a rush of feet, a floundering about in the narrow path, then a precipitate halt as Bridger coldly warned:
"Stand back. A bullet for the next man who comes another step."
"Jim Bridger!" ejaculated one of the men.
"An' he's waiting to see who'll be first to enter his butcher-shop," was the grim reply.
"We want to take Phinny across," called out Tilton.
"No hurry in his case. Stick where you are for a few minutes."
With this warning Bridger noiselessly slipped into cover and swiftly retreated to the shore and peered down-stream. The dugout was not in sight. He waited a couple of minutes for good measure, and then announced:
"I'll count twenty, slow-like, then the path is open."
The men waited for him to commence counting. But he had ducked into the bushes and was following the path which skirted the shore, and soon came to where he had left his canoe. Holding their dugout stationary by grasping some overhanging branches Papa Clair and Lander were waiting for him. Pushing off his canoe and leaping in he softly cautioned:
"Git work out of your paddles. They're skunks, but there's a full dozen of 'em; an' a bullet from a coward's gun might kill the bravest man that ever lived."
He led the way and it was not until they were nearing the levee that they discerned the other dugout slowly making the crossing. As they landed and hurriedly walked up the levee Bridger said: "The man Dillings 'lowed there'd be trouble. I reckon he was right so far as our young friend is mixed in it, Papa."
"It was a fair fight. No one can bother him," said Clair.
"He won't be bothered by the law but he'll be a marked man so long as that band of wolves feels fretted over to-night's work. Some day he'll turn up missing. Mebbe not to-morrow or next day, but soon. He must quit town for a spell if he wants to keep on living."
"I must see some one before I quit town," said Lander, his mind in a whirl.
"All right. You oughter know your own business best. But the chances is you'll never grow up an' die an' leave her a widder. But that's your game."
"M'sieu Bridger is right as he always is right," sighed Papa Clair. "If they had fought with knives no one would make trouble. If those who want to pick up the quarrel would come out in the open like men you should stay and meet them one by one, always choosing knives, as you would be the challenged party. But a shot in the dark, a knife-thrust while you sleep! Bah, the savages! My young friend, you must leave St. Louis."
"He must go to-night," added Bridger.
"Go? Where to?" asked Lander.
"Up or down the river," retorted the old man.
"With no work ahead of him an' probably without much money," mused Bridger. "No; that won't do. They could trail him easy an' find the killing; better down-river than right here in St. Louis. This is the best way; go across country an' make St. Charles by morning. Some of my men are there, waiting for the rest of the band to join 'em. Etienne Prevost is there with a keelboat. He'll take the boat up to Lexington an' some of the men will keep abreast of him with the mules. The mules are for the band at Lexington who are to go overland while Prevost takes the boat on up to Fort Pierre. You can go on the keelboat from St. Charles to Lexington, or you can stick along with the men driving the mules. By the time you reach Lexington you'll have made up your mind whether you'll stick to the boat an' go to Fort Pierre, or make straight for the mountains with the land party. I shall ride 'cross-country an' join or catch up with the land party at Lexington. Once in the mountains all A. F. C. influence this side of judgment day can't make you budge, but mebbe a Injun will dance your sculp."
"If I must go, I must," sighed Lander. "I'll start at once, but I must write a letter first—and get it delivered."
"I'll act for you, my friend," promptly offered Papa Clair. "Holy blue! What is to become of me after you are gone? No more evening lessons. … Yet behold, you know about all I can teach. No more evening walks down by Chouteau's old grist-mill. I have lived my day."
"I'll be back inside of two years if I'm lucky," lugubriously consoled Lander.
"Too much talk," snapped Bridger. "That gang has landed. No knowing when they may strike your trail. Git about your letter-writing. Pretty soon they may be combing the city for you. I'll hitch a mule back of my store. I'm off at once to make Lexington. You can make St. Charles by morning easy. Don't stop to git any outfit. Just take your gun an' ride like the devil. Prevost will outfit you. Tell him I sent you—that I'm on my way to Lexington."
"Would Tilton dare to attack me here in the city? Isn't there any law in St. Louis? Or can the friends of the A. F. C. do just as they want to?" demanded Lander, beginning to grow wrathy at the prospects of enforced flight.
"Oh, Tilton isn't anybody's fool," assured Bridger. "He won't appear in what happens in St. Louis. But there's a choice collection of murderers an' robbers hanging around his saloon who'll do any dirty work for a prime beaverskin. If they slip up on the job Tilton won't be dragged in. He'll just send out another gang after you."
They parted, Bridger going to procure a mule for the fugitive, the latter and Papa Clair hurrying to the Market Street room. Here Lander wrote a long letter, explaining his plight and vowing his undying love, and pleading for Miss Susette to wait for him. While he wrote Papa Clair laid out his rifle and trappings. With a long-drawn sigh Lander finished, sanded and sealed the missive and handed it to Papa Clair, and was asking his friend how he proposed to deliver it unsuspected by Hurry-Up Parker, when the old man stuffed the letter inside his coat, clutched Lander by the arm and with his free hand extinguished the light.
The old man stuffed the letter in his pocket and extinguished the light.
"The devil!" faintly ejaculated Lander, rubbing his eyes in the darkness.
"No, men. On the stairs," softly whispered Papa.
"Tilton?"