Up the River Part 2

"Well, you go out, Sandy, and see where Nick's gone. I can't leave both bars without anybody to look out for 'em, for them n.i.g.g.e.rs will come in and steal the liquor as quick as they will chickens."

I was interested to know the meaning of what I had seen in the saloon, and I went out into Bay Street. A crowd of men were rus.h.i.+ng towards a narrow street leading down to the river. I followed them, and, near the landing-place of the Charleston steamers, I saw a colored policeman lay violent hands on the rough-looking person who had walked into the saloon, looked into the negro bar, and then retreated.

Nick was on the spot, hatless and coatless, almost as soon as the policeman had grabbed his victim. Mr. Peverell was only a moment behind. By this time I had framed an explanation of what had transpired in the saloon which satisfied me for the moment, whether it was correct or not. While Peverell was concocting his beverage--and he had seemed to me to be very dainty and particular in the preparation of it--he had almost turned his back upon the package on the counter.

I was not bestowing any particular attention upon the rough-looking visitor, but I had seen him pa.s.s close by the bank messenger. I concluded that he had s.n.a.t.c.hed up the package on the counter, and retreated with it from the saloon. Nick had either seen the man take the bundle, or had discovered that it was missing. No one could have taken it but the person who was pa.s.sing out of the door. On the impulse of the moment the young bar-tender had leaped over the counter to pursue the thief.

Of course a crowd quickly collected around the robber and the policeman, with Nick and the messenger in the inner circle. The bank official was very much excited, and I judged that the package contained a considerable sum of money. Nick was hardly less disturbed. I was interested enough to run all the way to the pier, and work myself into the centre of the crowd before it had become very compact.

"Dat's jes like you, Buckner," said the policeman, as soon as he could obtain breath enough to speak,--and he had not quite enough when he did speak. "I done cotch you doin' dat same ting before."

"Doing what thing, you black spider?" demanded Buckner, who appeared to be greatly astonished at his arrest.

"You done stole someting," protested the guardian of the peace. "What did you run for if you don't steal someting?"

"I didn't steal anything! I run because the rest of you did, to find out what the matter was," replied Buckner, stoutly. "What did I steal, you black Lazarus?"

"Donno what you 'tole. I 'pose dis gemman can told what you 'tole,"

replied the policeman, turning to Peverell.

"He stole a package of bank bills I laid on the counter; that is what he stole! And there was four thousand dollars in the package, too,"

gasped the messenger.

"Did you see me take the package?" demanded Buckner, indignantly.

"I did not; but you were the only person that came into the saloon and left it while I was there," replied Peverell, sharply; and it was evident that he had no doubt at all in regard to the guilty person.

"I didn't touch your package! I didn't see any package! I didn't go near you, or even know you were in the saloon!" protested Buckner, vehemently. "I'm a poor man, I know, and it is hard enough for me to get a living; but I never stole the value of a penny in my life."

"But I saw him take it!" broke in Nick, with almost as much earnestness as Buckner or Peverell, though he had no special interest in the animated discussion. "The moment he tried to get out of the saloon, I jumped over the counter and went for him."

"That's so!" added Peverell, with increasing energy. "But we are wasting time. Why don't you search your prisoner, and get the package?

If he stole it, he has the package now."

"Search me as much as you like!" replied Buckner, warmly.

"Search him!" "Overhaul him!" "Clean him out!" shouted the crowd, who were working themselves up to a fever-heat over the case.

"He's thrown it away before this time," suggested Nick.

"He couldn't have thrown it away without some one seeing him do it,"

replied Peverell. "Did any one see him throw it away?"

"No! no!" shouted the bystanders.

I had seen Buckner running down the middle of the narrow street, with the officer, Nick, Peverell, and others, within a few feet of him. It would have been almost impossible for him to get rid of the bundle in any way without being observed.

"He might have thrown it into the river," again suggested Nick.

"He done don't go widin twenty yards ob de riber; and he done don't frow no package in de riber when I don't see him. Dis chile hab his four eyes open all de time," added the policeman.

"Search him!" "Turn him inside out!" shouted the crowd again.

"Search me all you like!" cried Buckner, pulling out both the pockets of his pants, and throwing up his arms in readiness to submit to the operation. "I haven't got the package, and I never saw it."

"How big was de package, Mr. Peverell?" asked the officer, as he proceeded to examine the clothing of the prisoner.

"It was the size of a bank-bill, and about two inches thick," replied the messenger, very anxiously.

"I don't find noffin like dat on dis yere prisonder," said the officer, when he had felt his man all over.

"You won't find nothing if you search me all day and all night,"

protested Buckner; and there was something like a proud dignity in his manner, though he was not a good-looking man.

But it is possible to be honest without being handsome; and rogues a.s.sume virtues they do not possess. Certainly, the valuable package was not concealed upon the person of Buckner. The only alternative was, that he had thrown it away,--cast it into some hole, or pitched it into the river.

"There can be no doubt this is the man that took the package from the counter, for no one else came near me while I was in the saloon,"

reasoned Peverell, whose vehemence had calmed down, and given place to a deep anxiety.

"I've said all I have to say, and you can do what you like with me; but I will make it hot for some of you before you see the end of this business," said Buckner, doggedly. "I'm a poor man, but I'm not to be trodden on, any more than a n.i.g.g.e.r is!"

By this time the crowd had scattered to make a search in the holes and in the water for the missing package.

"What were you doing in the saloon?" asked the messenger, in a mild tone.

"I went in there to see if I could find a man to help me take up a couple of trunks to the St. James," replied Buckner. "I looked into the n.i.g.g.e.r bar, and then came out. I saw there was a man at the front bar; but I took no notice of him, and didn't see any package."

"Before you had reached the door, this young man had jumped over the counter, and was chasing you. He was sure you had taken the package; and no one else could have taken it," added Peverell, warming up again.

"But I didn't take it, and that's all I have to say about it," answered Buckner, decidedly.

"I saw him take it!" repeated Nick, with emphasis. "He must have thrown it into the river."

The policeman led his prisoner away to the lockup, while all the rest of us followed up the search for half an hour. The messenger said the bills were done up between two tin slabs of the size of the notes, and inclosed in brown paper. Some searched on the pier, and some went out in boats,--but no package could be found. The search was given up, and I went back to the saloon with Nick and Peverell.

Captain Boomsby's son told his father all about the affair from beginning to end. He was putting the whiskey-bottle back into its place under the counter, when he heard Buckner's step as he approached the front door. He looked up, saw that the package was gone, and that the departing visitor had it. "That was all he knew about it."

"But you said you saw Buckner take it," said Peverell.

"I saw him take it out of the saloon," replied Nick.

The circ.u.mstances pointed very strongly, to say the least, to Buckner as the guilty one. I had learned all I wanted to know, and was trying to say good-by to Captain Boomsby, when Peeks, the steward of the Sylvania, came into the saloon with a telegraphic dispatch in his hand.

CHAPTER III.