Jingo Django by Sid Fleischman Page B

Django?”
    It was Mr. Peacock-Hemlock-Jones.
    I didn’t move. I only stared at him. Drops of rain blurred my eyes. Then I curled up tighter and turned my back to him.
    â€œCome, come,” he said. “Did you think I wouldn’t be back for you? I’m surprised at you, chavo.”
    I didn’t answer.
    â€œYou’ll drown in that fishnet,” he said. “Do get up.”
    â€œLeave me alone,” I muttered.
    â€œI’ve come to fetch you.”
    I turned my head and peered at him standing in the rain and grinning like the Devil himself. “Fetch your horses,” I said. “I aim to stay here.”
    It was a moment before he answered. “You like being a gypsy, I see. Splendid. But there’ll be time for that later. We’ve treasure to run for, and there’s not a moment to lose.”
    I shot another glance at him. “Don’t think you can fingle-fangle me again!” I declared. I almost had to shout through the roar of the cloudburst. “There was no map on the head of that pin you gave me. Nothing! I looked.”
    â€œCorrect. But didn’t it keep your hopes alive all these long weeks on the road? Admit it.”
    â€œWe have no map. I expect you’ve thrown in with Mrs. Daggatt and General Scurlock.”
    â€œWhat a preposterous notion! But I don’t intend to stand out here in the rain all night discussing the matter. Shake yourself out of that hammock and let’s be on our way. I have a boat waiting.”
    This news gave me a proper start. A boat! The very word set my thoughts jumping. But then I reminded myself that he was most likely humbugging me again.
    â€œYou didn’t so much as say good-bye when you ran off,” I declared. “You’re no better’n my own pa, and a whole lot worse!”
    â€œI did say good-bye. I just didn’t want to wake you.”
    â€œBut why?”
    The rain kept sloshing down off his hat. “After the weeks lost with that fool doctor I was in a decided hurry to reach New Orleans. I drove day and night, trading off for fresh horses. You would have wanted to come along. Now, that’s the truth, isn’t it, Django?”
    â€œBut I wouldn’t have been in your way,” I said.
    â€œWhat if they had caught sight of you?”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œMrs. Daggatt and General Scurlock. I meant to learn whether they had landed in New Orleans, as I suspected.”
    I sat up. “Did they?”
    â€œThey did. One glimpse of you would have put them on guard. They knew you had had a chance to examine the whale’s tooth. One glimpse of me and I’d have insisted you had run off long ago. And it almost came to that. I caught sight of them along the wharves trying to book passage to Mexico. But they didn’t lay eyes on me. I’m sure of that.”
    Despite myself I said, “Then they’ve got the jump on us!”
    â€œThey left yesterday morning. By wagon and a string of packhorses. I strongly suggest you stir yourself!”
    I hesitated. But then I got to my feet and began rolling up the hammock. “Why didn’t they take a ship, too?”
    â€œThey couldn’t find one. There’s not a chip of wood sailing to Matamoros for the next three months.”
    â€œBut you said there’s a boat waiting for us.”
    â€œIndeed there is. I expect to make good time on the water.”
    â€œBut how did you book passage?”
    â€œI didn’t. I bought the boat.”

19
    THE RIVER SWAN
    The boat was so old and weathered it looked like driftwood timbers someone had pegged together. It was broad and snub-nosed and seemed dreadful small to make a sea voyage in. There was a crooked pole that served as a mast, with traces of the bark still on it. The cabin was hardly worth mentioning. In the lantern light I made out a potbellied stove, a rail around the stern and what I took to be a cargo of wet sawdust leaking out from under a