George at the Wheel

"So you can; I didn't think of that."

"If I find that George's interests require me to exercise my own judgment, as I have done in the past, I shall not hesitate to do it," continued Uncle John, who could not bear that his own son should see him in his true character. "He cannot possibly foresee every emergency that may arise."

"George told you that not a steer was to be sold off the place while he was gone," said Ned. "What did he mean by that?"

"He meant just what he said. Zeke is the only one who has authority from George to sell any cattle."

"Well, if that isn't a pretty state of affairs, I wouldn't say so," exclaimed Ned, in great disgust. "So Zeke is put over you, is he?"

"Oh, no; he is left in charge of George's herd, and when he wants money, he is at liberty to sell cattle to get it. George himself is going North to find something to do."

"Well, there!" cried Ned, bringing his hands together with a loud slap. "I have heard some good news at last. That will leave us monarchs of all we survey, won't it? I will get rid of that Zeke the first thing I do."

"How will you go to work? If I told him that his services were no longer required he would pay no attention to me. George said so."

"Very well; let him stay; but when he comes after supplies, just see that he doesn't get any."

"But he'll not come to us; he'll go to Gilbert. George arranged all that before he left. Then he ordered Jake and Bob to visit every one of our herds and find out just how many cattle there were in each of them. They are to send a report to him through Gilbert, and George says that when he comes home the number of cattle he finds on the ranche must correspond with that report, or there'll be trouble between us."

"Why, father, he has tied your hands hard and fast," exclaimed Ned, springing from his chair, and walking about the room in a state of great excitement.

"He thinks he has," said Uncle John, quietly.

"I don't see why in the world you agreed to any such degrading terms," continued Ned.

"I did it because it was that or the desk for me, and the yard-stick for you," answered Uncle John. "But there are one or two contingencies that George did not provide for. Some of the cattle will probably be stolen."

This was said in so significant a tone of voice that Ned would have been dull indeed if he had failed to catch his father's meaning.

"Then, again, there are herdsmen in the country who will suit us much better than those we now employ, and as fast as they turn up I shall hire them, without consulting anybody's wishes except my own."

"So you can," exclaimed Ned, joyfully. "That boy has somehow got the idea into his head that he is just a trifle smarter than anybody else, but he will find that there are others in the world who are just as smart as he is. Did he have any more to say in regard to those ridiculous stories that somebody has been circulating about you?"

"He did, and he believes them to be true. I assured him that they were not, that I was perfectly willing that my conduct should be investigated at any time, and finally we shook hands, and agreed to let by-gones be by-gones."

"I should think you would have felt more like knocking him down," said Ned; "I know I should."

"His perverseness was certainly very trying to my patience; but, after all, my way of settling the difficulty was the best. We shall leave Brownsville for St. Louis to-night; and as we are to travel in his company, I want you to be very guarded in your words and actions. Everything is satisfactorily settled, and we must be careful to treat him as kindly and considerately as we did before he insulted us."

A stranger would have supposed, from this, that Ned and his father were the injured parties, and that George had no reason to complain of their treatment of him.

Uncle John did not tell all that happened during his second interview with George. While he was in the presence of his son his pride had enabled him to keep up some show of courage; but when he was alone with his nephew, he had nothing to sustain him, and it was all he could do to keep from breaking down entirely. He loudly denied every accusation that George brought against him, but the boy gave him to understand that he knew just what he was talking about, and that there was but one way in which Uncle John could ever regain his confidence. That was by dealing fairly with him in the future. This the old man eagerly, almost abjectly, promised to do; but we have already seen how sincere he was when he made those promises.

"I don't want to see him again," said Ned, "and neither can I bear the thought of travelling in his company as far as St. Louis. I don't see why you consented to any such arrangement. Why didn't you let him go alone, if he is so very anxious to leave to-night? We could have waited until to-morrow."

"But we must be willing to do something for the sake of appearances," replied his father, who would have breathed much easier himself if George had been a thousand miles away at that moment. "One reason why I decided to go with him, was because I want to see him settled at something before I leave him."

"But just think how he will lord it over us!" said Ned, who knew very well how he would have acted if he had been in his cousin's place. "He will let everybody know that he is the moneyed man and that we are the dependants."

"You need not be at all alarmed. George is not that sort of a boy. I'll say that much for him."

Ned's fears on this score were entirely set at rest when he met his cousin at the supper table. George had always been somewhat reserved in the presence of his relatives – he could not help feeling that there was something between himself and them that kept them apart – and the events of the last few days did not in the least widen the gulf between them. Having taken his uncle to task for his rascality, and come to a plain understanding with him, he regarded all differences between them as settled for ever, and he never referred to them in any way. If Mr. Gilbert had known it, he would have declared that George was "too confiding for any use;" and perhaps we shall see that he would not have been very badly mistaken if he had pronounced such a judgment upon the boy's actions.

The three left Brownsville that night for Galveston, at which place they boarded a steamer bound for New Orleans. They stopped there a week in order to give Uncle John and Ned an opportunity to see the sights, and to drive out the shell road to Lake Pontchartrain. Ned and his father had, of course, passed this way when they went to Texas, but they were so impatient to see the property of which Uncle John was to have charge, and to begin the spending of its handsome revenues, that they had not wasted a day in this or any other city along their route.

Having done New Orleans and vicinity to their satisfaction, they took passage for St. Louis on board the steamer General Quitman.

She was a very fine and a very swift vessel (during the war she was fitted up by the rebels as a cotton-clad ram, and we know, by experience, that some of the gunboats in the Mississippi squadron were very much afraid of her), and she left the miles behind her at an astonishing rate, her loud "exhaust" proclaiming her approach to the settlers who lived along the banks a league in advance of her.

While the novelty of this mode of travelling lasted, George and his companions were at no loss to know what to do with themselves. They found abundant gratification in sitting on the wide guards, enjoying the rapid motion, and watching the panorama that passed so swiftly before them; but this grew monotonous after a while, and then Ned took to his bunk; Uncle John read the papers and magazines with which he had provided himself before starting from New Orleans, and George, being left to himself, strolled about the boat to see what he could find that was worth looking at. One day he went up to the hurricane-deck, where he took his stand and watched the pilot who was steering the vessel.

"Come in; come in," said the latter, when he saw that the boy was interested in his movements.

"Thank you, sir. I didn't know that you allowed passengers in here," replied George, as he ascended the steps that led up to the pilot-house door.

"O, yes we do, and we are glad to have them come, for we get lonely sometimes. Sit down there," said the pilot, pointing to a high bench that was built against the after-bulkhead. "Then you can look out ahead and on both sides of you and see everything."

"I think you pilots have an easy way of making a living," said George, as he took possession of the bench. "You have no dirty work to do as the engineers have."

"That is very true," replied the pilot. "We are on duty only while the vessel is under way. As soon as we reach port we are at liberty to go ashore and spend the time as we please, until the boat is ready to start again. But it is not an easy berth for all that. In fact, I don't know any easy way of making a living. You are a young man, and you don't want to start out in life with the foolish notion that you can make headway in the world unless you are willing to work."

"I know what work is," said George, with a smile.

"What is your business?"

"I have none just at present. I am looking for an opening. I am from Texas, and I used to herd cattle."

"Were they your own, or did they belong to somebody else?"

"They were my own property."

"There, now!" exclaimed the pilot. "I'll warrant that you sold out your herd in the hope of finding some easier way of making a livelihood. You will never find it. I have spent some months in Texas, and I know how those ranchemen live. They have nothing to do, month in and month out, but ride around on horseback and keep their stock from straying away. If I had money enough I would go into that business to-morrow; and if you are wise, you will go straight back to it."

"I can't," replied George, who told himself that after his new acquaintance had tried herding unruly cattle for a while, and been caught out in a 'norther or two, and jumped down on by raiders, he would be quite willing to resume his place in the pilot-house. "Circumstances compel me to strike out in another direction. How long does it take one to learn the river, and how much does it cost?" added George, who had suddenly taken it into his head that he would like to be a pilot. It was an active, out-of-door occupation, and that was just what he wanted.

"Well, that depends," was the answer. "If you have a good memory and are a judge of water, you could learn it in three years, or less. The cost need not amount to any great sum. If you have any personal friends among pilots, one of them might be induced to take you for nothing; but a stranger would probably charge you something. In fact, he wouldn't think of taking you as a 'cub' unless you agreed to pay him."

"I don't know a single pilot," said George, "and I should be perfectly willing to pay for instruction. How much does a licensed pilot receive for his services?"

"That also depends. If there is plenty of freight, and the water is good, they sometimes get two hundred and fifty dollars a month."

"Three thousand dollars a year!" exclaimed George.

"Well – no; not always. There is scarcely one pilot in ten who works every month in the year. Unless his boat is in some regular trade, he is paid off as soon as the trip for which he was hired is made, and he remains idle until he finds another job. If times are dull and the water low, he may not find anything to do for months; for pilots are not wanted when boats are not running, you know, Tommy."

"My name is George Ackerman," said the boy.

"Ah! I am delighted to hear it. My name is Black. I suppose you can steer a horse pretty well, can't you? I thought so. Do you think you could steer this boat?"