Kings of the Missouri. Hugh Pendexter
Parker again. Now git your nose to your work and keep it there."
He was Susette's father. Lander believed Susette loved him. And her father could talk to him like this! He turned red, then white, and assailed his task to keep his thoughts from murder. He could feel Parker's hard eyes boring into the nape of his neck. It seemed as if he worked an hour with the boss' gaze malignantly following his every move.
At last he heard Parker's steps receding. He twisted his head and caught a glimpse of Phinny, half doubled with merriment behind a pyramid of whisky casks. Lander's heart ached with hate of the man. Parker had some excuse—he had been drinking all night and he was the father of the incomparable Susette. It was his nasty way to be always nagging the men. He gloried in his nickname. But Phinny was free to be hated. He was ever trying to lift himself by stepping on the necks of his mates. Many of the men were convinced he carried tales to Parker.
"What made him think I was up at the house last evening?" Lander asked himself as he slowed up his work and rested a hand on a trade-ax and was tempted to hurl it at the grinning face. "Phinny knew somehow that I was there and he let it drop this morning. Curse him! He's got all the ways of a Red River half-breed."
For the rest of the morning Phinny kept out of his way. When it was near the noon hour Lander saw the men near the door bustling to one side, bowing and scraping in an extravagant manner. Twice before Susette had come to the store, and her arrival had been greeted by just such clumsy attempts to do homage to the pretty daughter of a domineering boss. Ordinarily Lander would have marked it a red-letter day and been filled with joy; now he glanced uneasily toward the door marked "Office" and prayed Parker might not emerge.
Then came a flutter of youth and beauty and Miss Susette was standing inside the door, her skirts pulled aside to escape contamination from a small mountain of whisky casks destined to be smuggled by Fort Leavenworth for the Sioux and Assiniboin trade. Lander hoped she would pass into the office.
She spied him and with a little cry of discovery came tripping down the lane formed by the heaped-up trade goods and supplies.
"Why didn't you come to help me in?" she sternly rebuked. "Two of the men had to lift me up."
"Not a hard job for one man," he said, grinning ruefully at her slight, dainty figure and again marveling how the old bear could be her father. "If you want to see your father he is in the office."
"I don't want to see him," she coolly informed. "I saw him this morning and he was very cross. Can't you come outside where we can talk? This place smells so of things."
"Susette, I don't dare budge. I was late. Your father mounted me like a wildcat. I can't even talk in here. If you'll walk down by Tradeau's house at eight o'clock this evening I'll have much to tell you."
"Walk by Jean Tradeau's house?" she repeated, much puzzled. "Why not see me at my house?"
"I'll tell you this evening."
"But tell me now!" and a maternal glitter quickened her gaze.
"It's like this——"
He halted and cast an apprehensive glance over his shoulder. Phinny's voice was loudly informing:
"She was here just a minute ago, Mister Parker. I thought she was right behind me when I announced her. Now she's gone. No, there she is chatting with Lander."
Lander felt his heart slipping. To get the best of physical fear was easy enough; one had only to buckle down and come to grips with the cause. But the anticipation of being put to shame before the girl and by her father fairly sickened him. Susette, not understanding in the least, was rather provoked that her father should intrude on the scene. She affected not to see him.
Parker bore down upon them and unceremoniously seized the girl by the arm and without a word led her to the door.
"But, papa, I was talking with Mr. Lander," she indignantly protested.
Ignoring her, Parker called out to a servant and a frightened colored woman bobbed her head in the door, her lips broadly smiling, her eyes wdde with fear.
"You, Maime," hoarsely growled Parker. "If your mistress ever comes here again without my telling her to come I'll sell you down-river."
With that he lifted the vision in lace and ribbons down from the high door and turned back to speak with Lander.
Lander had suffered the worst and now stared at his employer sullenly. Parker halted a few feet from him and began:
"So it's true, eh? I couldn't believe it at first. You're chasing my little gal, eh? I thought it was a lie when he told me——"
"Meaning when that puppy of a Phinny told you," hotly broke in Lander. "I haven't chased your girl. I've known Miss Susette ever since I came to work here two years ago. You've sent me to the house every few days. You knew we met and talked."
"Well, you won't call again. Now git out of here. You're through. You're not only through, but the A. F. C. will see you don't git any work in St. Louis, except it's nigger's work on the levee."
"The A. F. C. may stop me getting work, perhaps. I won't call at your house till you ask me," replied Lander, slipping on his coat and picking up his hat.
"I'll ask you to call when the Missouri flows from the Mississip' into the Rocky Mountains. Git your pay at the office now. I don't want you coming in here again."
"God forbid!" exclaimed Lander, hastening blindly into the office.
When his mind cleared Lander found himself down by the old Chouteau Pond. From the time he left Parker he could remember nothing of having procured his pay although he found it in his pocket and right to a penny. He had no recollection of where he had walked or by what route he had come to the pond. He could recall but one thing, and that was Phinny's hoarse bleat of derision as he left the storehouse.
"I have made the breath come hard trying to catch you," spoke up a gentle voice at his elbow.
He turned and his face lighted as he beheld the frail figure of a man with snow-white hair and white mustaches. It was Etienne Clair, an old and very eccentric Frenchman who roomed near him on upper Market Street.
"I'm in a devil of a mess, Papa Clair," he groaned, feeling as free to crave sympathy as if the ancient had been a woman.
"I followed you many streets. I thought you mad. The devil's to pay? Then there must be work for the knife. We will fix it together!" cried Clair, speaking his English with scarcely a trace of accent. "I have lived long on the river and at the foot of the river. I have seen many troubles eased with the knife. But never have I been so glad——"
"The knife will hardly do in this case," morosely broke in Lander.
"Not do?" squealed the Frenchman, his arms and hands violently repudiating such heresy. "Have I not taught you the etiquette of the knife? Is there a young blood in St. Louis, in New Orleans, who knows it better? And behold, you say it will not do!"
"Papa Clair, your heart is as white as your hair. I've quit the A. F. C. Made to quit——"
"Good!"
"Hurry-Up Parker discharged me without a second's notice."
"Descendant of a pig! He shall be insulted by you and challenge you. I will appear for you. Weapons? Knives. He is not so old he can hide behind his age and refuse to meet you."
"Impossible! Even if I wanted to fight him I couldn't."
"Holy blue! I—I do not understand, M'sieu Lander. I, Etienne Clair, walk in darkness, m'sieu. I have taught you the knife. I have made for it the scabbard for you to wear inside your boot. Knowing what I have taught you, wearing the blade I gave you, you can look the devil in the face and tell him to go home or have his tail cut off. And behold! You say you can not demand your safety from a low-down Indian-trader. God's mercy! M'sieu Lander, if you can not explain——"
"You don't understand!" choked Lander. "The girl, his girl—Susette. But I mustn't mention names."