CHAPTER XIX.
A MISSOURI TAVERN.
The next day Tom started on his way. His new companion, Donald Ferguson,was a sedate Scotchman, and a thoroughly reliable man. He was possessedto the full of the frugality characteristic of the race to which hebelonged, and, being more accustomed to traveling than Tom, saved ourhero something in the matter of expense. He was always ready to talk ofScotland, which he evidently thought the finest country in the world. Headmitted that Glasgow was not as large a city as London, but that it wasmore attractive. As for New York, that city bore no comparison to thechief city of Scotland.
"You must go to Scotland some time, Tom," he said. "If you can't visitbut one country in the Old World, go to Scotland."
Privately Tom was of opinion that he should prefer to visit England; buthe did not venture to hurt the feelings of his fellow-traveler by sayingso.
"I wonder, Mr. Ferguson," he could not help saying one day, "that youshould have been willing to leave Scotland, since you so much prefer itto America."
"I'll tell you, my lad," answered the Scotchman. "I would rather live inScotland than anywhere else on God's footstool; but I won't be denyingthat it is a poor place for a man to make money, if compared with a newcountry like this."
"There are no gold-mines, I suppose, sir?"
"No; and the land is not as rich as the land here. It is rich inhistorical associations; but a man, you know, can't live on those," headded shrewdly.
"No, I should think not," said Tom. "It would be pretty dry diet. Howlong have you been in the country, Mr. Ferguson?"
"A matter of three months only, my lad. It's the gold-mines that broughtme over. I read of them in the papers at home, and I took the first shipacross the Atlantic."
"Have you a family, Mr. Ferguson?"
"I've got an old mother at home, my lad, who looks to me for support. Ileft fifty pounds with her when I came away. It'll last her, I'mthinkin', till I can send her some from California."
"Then Mr. Ferguson, you are like me," said Tom. "I am going toCalifornia to work for my father and mother. Father is poor, and I havebrothers and sisters at home to provide for. I hope I shall succeed, fortheir sake."
"You will, my lad," said the Scotchman, in a tone of calm confidence."It is a noble purpose, and if you keep to it God will bless you in yourundertaking, and give you a good fortune."
"I hope we shall both be fortunate."
"I have no fear. I put my trust in the Lord, who is always ready to helpthose who are working for him."
Tom found that Mr. Ferguson, though his manner was dry and unattractive,was a religious man, and he respected and esteemed him for his excellenttraits. He was not a man to inspire warm affection, but no one couldfail to respect him. He felt that he was fortunate in having such a manfor his companion, and he was glad that Mr. Ferguson appeared to likehim in turn.
He also found that the Scotchman, though a man of peace, and very muchaverse to quarreling, was by no means deficient in the trait of personalcourage.
One evening they arrived at a small tavern in a Missouri town. NeitherTom nor his companion particularly liked the appearance of the place norits frequenters, but it appeared to be the only place of entertainmentin the settlement.
The barroom, which was the only public room set apart for the use of theguests, was the resort of a party of drunken roisterers, who wereplaying poker in the corner, and betting on the game. At the elbow ofeach player was set a glass of whisky, and the end of each game wasmarked by a fresh glass all around.
Tom and Mr. Ferguson took a walk after supper, and then sat down quietlyat a little distance from the card-players, attracting at first butlittle attention from them.
Presently, at the close of a game, glasses were ordered for the party,at the expense of those who had suffered defeat.
"What'll you have, strangers?" inquired a tipsy fellow, with an Indiancomplexion and long black hair, staggering toward Ferguson.
"Thank you, sir," said the Scotchman; "but I don't drink."
"Don't drink!" exclaimed the former, in evident surprise. "What sort ofa man, pray, may you be?"
"I am a temperance man," said Ferguson, adding indiscreetly, "and itwould be well for you all if you would shun the vile liquor which isdestroying soul and body."
"---- your impudence!" ejaculated the other, in a rage. "Do you dare toinsult gentlemen like us?"
"I never insult anybody," said the Scotchman calmly. "What I have saidis for your good, and you would admit it if you were sober."
"Do you dare to say I'm drunk?" demanded the man, in a fury.
"Mr. Ferguson," said Tom, in a low voice, "I wouldn't provoke him if Iwere you."
But the Scotchman was no coward, and, though generally prudent, he wastoo fond of argument to yield the point.
"Of course, you're drunk," he said calmly. "If you will reflect, youshow all the signs of a man that has taken too much liquor. Your face isflushed, your hand is unsteady, and----"
He was interrupted by a volley of execrations from the man whom he wascoolly describing, and the latter, in a fit of fury, struck theScotchman in the face. Had the blow been well directed it would, forthe time, have marred the small share of personal beauty with whichnature had endowed Mr. Ferguson; but it glanced aside and just struckhim on his prominent cheek-bone.
"A ring! a ring!" shouted the men in the corner, jumping to their feetin excitement. "Let Jim and the Scotchman fight it out."
"Gentlemen," said Mr. Ferguson, "I don't wish to fight with your friend.He is drunk, as you can see plainly enough. I don't wish to fight with adrunken man."
"Who says I am drunk?" demanded the champion of whisky. "Let me get athim."
But his friends were now holding him back. They wanted to see a squarefight, according to rule. It would prove, in their opinion, a pleasantlittle excitement.
"I meant no offense," said Ferguson; "I only told the truth."
"You are a ---- liar!" exclaimed the man, known as Jim.
"I do not heed the words of a man in your condition," said the Scotchmancalmly.
"Pull his nose, Jim! Make him fight!" exclaimed the friends of thebully. "We'll back you!"
The hint was taken. Jim staggered forward, and, seizing the Scotchman'sprominent nose, gave it a violent tweak.
Now there are few men, with or without self-respect, who can calmlysubmit to an insult like this. Certainly Mr. Donald Ferguson was not oneof them. The color mantled his high cheek-bones, and anger gaineddominion over him. He sprang to his feet, grasped the bully in hisstrong arms, dashed him backward upon the floor of the barroom, and,turning to the companions of the fallen man, he said, "Now come on, ifyou want to fight. I'll take you one by one, and fight the whole of you,if you like."
Instead of being angry, they applauded his pluck. They cared little forthe fate of their champion, but were impressed by the evident strengthof the stranger.
"Stranger," said one of them, "you've proved that you're a man of honor.We thought you were a coward. It's a pity you don't drink. What may yourname be?"
"Donald Ferguson."
"Then, boys, here's to the health of Mr. Ferguson. He's a bully boy, andno coward."
"Gentlemen," said the Scotchman, "it's a compliment you mean, no doubt,and I'm suitably thankful. If you'll allow me, I'll drink your health ina liquor which will not injure any one. I'll wish you health andprosperity in a glass of cold water, if the barkeeper happens to haveany of that beverage handy. Tom, join with me in the toast."
Tom did so, and the speech was well received.
"As for this gentleman," said Mr. Ferguson, addressing Jim, who hadstruggled to his feet, and was surveying the scene in rather abewildered way, "I hope he won't harbor malice; I've only got even withhim. We may as well forgive and forget."
"That's the talk! Jim, drink the stranger's health!"
Jim looked a little doubtful, but when a glass of whisky was put intohis hand he could not resist the seductive draft, and tossed it down.
>
"Now shake hands!" said one of the players.
"With all my heart," said Ferguson, and the two shook hands, to thegreat delight of the company.
"You got off pretty well, Mr. Ferguson," said Tom, when they retired forthe night.
"Yes, my lad, better than I expected. I thought once I would have tofight the whole pack. Poor fellows! I pity them. They are but slaves totheir appetites. I hope, my lad, you'll never yield to a liketemptation."
"No fear for me, Mr. Ferguson. I feel as you do on the subject."
The journey continued till one day, about noon, they reached the town ofSt, Joseph, popularly called St. Joe.