"Keep back of the crowd.
Wainwright will take the boy, and the rest of you see that nobody gets
near him."
"All right," said Wainwright, lifting the child in his arms. "It will
take a good man to get him away from me."
"Where's Abrams?" I asked, noting that only six of my men were at hand.
"You sent him forward," said Lockhart.
"Not for all day."
"Well, he hasn't been seen since you told him to find out who's
aboard."
I was a little vexed at the seeming neglect of my retainer, and as we
had come down the rear stairs to avoid the crowd and marched through
the driveway on the lower deck, I cast a glance into the bar-room with
the expectation of finding him engaged in the gentle art of fortifying
his courage. But no sign of the missing man met my eye.
"It's no use to wait for him," I growled. "But the next man that takes
French leave had better look somewhere else for a job, for by the great
horn spoon, he's no man of mine."
We marched off the boat in the rear of the crowd, I in no pleasant
humor, and the men silent in reflection of my displeasure. And with
some difficulty we found seats together in a forward coach. I arranged
my men in three seats on one side of the car and two on the other,
Wainwright taking the center of the three with the boy, guarded thus
front and rear, while I sat opposite and one seat behind, where I could
observe any attempt at interference, with Lockhart in front of me. I
judged that any one who tried to attack the position would have a
lively five minutes on his hands.
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