An Oregon Girl Part 21

"Well, all I seen was three swabs that said they was from the Sailor boardin' house, chuck you aboard about two bells," replied the mate, indifferently, as he straightened himself up.

Corway then noted the huge proportions of the fellow and thought: "What a terrorizing bully he could be to the poor sailors that chanced to anger him at sea."

"But I never was in a sailor boarding house in my life."

"Oh, tryin' to crawfish from your bargain, eh?" laughed the big fellow. "It won't go; s.h.i.+p's bally well short-handed, long vige, too, and the capt'n had to do it!"

"Do what?" Corway sharply snapped.

"Why, he pays over the money afore they'd h'ist ye over the rail.

Better talk to the capt'n. He's comin' for'ard now," and the mate stepped over and leaned on the bulwark.

Corway at once turned and moved toward the captain, who was approaching with his first officer, from amids.h.i.+ps, smoking a cigar.

"Yes, I am the captain. What do you want?"

"To be put ash.o.r.e!" Corway demanded. "I've been sandbagged and robbed, and evidently sold to you for a sailor, which I am not."

"Not a sailor, eh," the captain said, taking the cigar from his mouth and looking sharply at Corway. "What did you sign the articles for?"

"I never signed any articles." By this time Corway was fully alive to his position and spoke with rising heat and ill-suppressed indignation.

"Oh, yes you did!" sneered the first officer, "but you were too drunk to remember it."

"Repeat that, and I'll choke the words back down your throat," and Corway stepped menacingly toward him.

The captain held up his hand warningly and looked at Corway as if he was daffy, then said slowly and meaningly: "Be careful, young man; that is insubordination; a repet.i.tion will land you in irons. The boarding-house master swore that he saw you sign the articles, and he had other witnesses to your signature to satisfy me before I paid him your wages for six months in advance on your order."

"I signed no articles, and I know nothing about it," fumed Corway.

"And I again demand, as an American citizen, that you put me ash.o.r.e, or I shall libel this s.h.i.+p for abduction."

"Ah, ah, ah," sneered the first officer, who was unable to conceal his ill-will to Corway since the latter's threat to choke him. "Give the dandy a lady's handkerchief, and he'll believe the s.h.i.+p's a jolly good wine cask."

Corway struck him square on the mouth. "Take that for your insolence, you contemptible puppy," and following him up with clenched fists, as the officer stumbled back, said wrathfully: "If you speak to me that way again, I'll break in your anatomy."

"Here, Judd," called the captain to the mate on the forecastle. "Take this fellow to the strong room and keep him there on 'hardtack' for three days."

"Aye, aye, sir," replied Judd.

Hearing the captain's orders, and seeing the commotion he had created, Corway saw that his only chance for escape was to go overboard, and without further hesitation sprang toward the side of the s.h.i.+p for a plunge, but his toe caught on the edge of a warped board and down he went sprawling.

The big mate jumped on him, and though he fought desperately, he was overpowered, and the last he remembered was being dragged by the collar over the lumber toward the forecastle.

When he next got on deck the s.h.i.+p was far out to sea and bowling along in a stiff breeze.

It is said that it is an ill wind that doesn't blow somebody good.

So with Mr. Corway, for though the boarding-house toughs had nearly given him his quietus and sent him on a long journey, they had conveniently done him the effective service of quas.h.i.+ng an encounter with John Thorpe.

CHAPTER VIII.

When Sam regained consciousness it was to find himself on a couch in his uncle's home, with the odor of ammonia in his nostrils. For a couple of minutes he lay very still, collecting his scattered senses, and then, as the clouds that darkened his brain cleared away, the events of the night dawned upon his memory.

Two men were in the room conversing in low tones. They were standing near the dressing-case, back of the couch, which had been drawn out to the middle of the room to facilitate examination of his injuries. One of the speakers he recognized by the voice as his uncle. The other he soon made out to be the family doctor.

"Then you are quite satisfied he is not badly hurt?"

"So far as I have been able to examine him, yes. The concussion, when he struck the hard roadbed, produced insensibility. The cut of the cuticle covering the left parietal bone, just above the ear, is not dangerous, since there is no fracture. I do not antic.i.p.ate any serious result, fortunately. It might have been worse--it might have been worse!"

"Quite true; still we should have more confidence in his recovery if we were certain the worst has pa.s.sed."

"All pa.s.sed, Uncle--I guess so!" spoke up Sam, in cheery tones, and he sat up on the couch.

"Ha, ha, Sam, my boy; not so fast. Glad to hear your voice again, but you must rest; you must rest. You need it. The doctor insists," and Mr. Harris hastened to his side to urge him again to lie down.

Nevertheless Sam arose to his feet and remarked: "All right, Uncle! A little sore up there," and he motioned to the sore side of his head.

"But that's all--I guess."

"You must avoid excitement," cautioned the doctor. "And I advise you at once to take to your bed and remain there until I make a thorough diagnosis of your case, which I shall do in the morning."

"Not if I know it. Not much--I guess not!" mentally noted Sam.

Turning to Mr. Harris, he asked: "How long have I been unconscious, Uncle, and who brought me home?"

The question was put by Sam with an eagerness bordering on excitement.

It was noticed by both the gentlemen.

"I insist that you go to bed, Sam," pleaded Mr. Harris.

"The very best thing you can do, sir," added the doctor.

"Of course, Uncle, I shall do so to please you; but the only soreness I feel is on the side of my head, and I've often felt worse. But you have not answered my questions."

"You were unconscious for about two hours. My Lord Beauchamp brought you home in an automobile. It seems he was returning from a spin out on the Barnes road and accidentally ran his machine against you. He, like the perfect gentleman he is, immediately stopped and went to your aid. He recognized you and brought you home with all speed."

"Ah! Very queer!" exclaimed Sam, significantly.

"What is queer, Sam?" Mr. Harris interrogated, with a keen, penetrating, yet puzzled look.

"Why, that fellow," and Sam checked himself from making a grave charge, by indifferently remarking: "Oh, it seems queer to be run over," and then he looked up and continued: "Doctor, I thank you for your attention; good night.

"Uncle, good night; I'm going to bed."

"Very sensible, Sam; good night."