Читать книгу With Sam Houston in Texas онлайн

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The “Arkansas” had ceased her efforts, which had only swung her around on the pivot of her hull. The paddle-wheel hung idle. The negro roustabouts were leaning on their long poles, puffing and resting. The booted mate sat in some shade in the bows and mopped his crimson face. The pilot in the pilot-house left his bell-rope, perched himself on the window-ledge, and lighted his pipe. The passengers subsided. Some cast lines over and began to fish. Others sat at cards. Some went to sleep, with their dogs.

Taken altogether, the scene was not very hopeful; and the lieutenant, gazing around, gnawed his moustache.

“Pshaw, Ernest!” he said. “What next?”

“Yaas,” drawled a lean, sallow backwoodsman, who with his pack of hounds and flint-lock rifle had come aboard at Fort Smith. “Sometimes these boats air hung fast this-away for a week, when the water’s right low. An’ if the cap’n cain’t work ’em loose he jus’ natterly waits for a rain to riz the river under him.”

“But I can’t wait for a rain,” protested the lieutenant. “I’ve orders to put my men into Gibson.”