and the deck
arose under their feet as a huge log smashed up through it. They were
torn apart and thrown down, and as Tom scrambled to his feet, calling
his companion's name, he felt a great relief surge through him as he
heard her answer.

CHAPTER VII

THE WRECKING OF THE MISSOURI BELLE

Tom grasped his companion's arm and hurried her toward the place where
the yawl was tied as shouts, curses, tearing wood and a panic-stricken
crowd of passengers pouring out of the cabins and rooms turned the night
into a pandemonium, over which the hysterical blasts of the whistle
bellowed its raucous calls for help far and wide across water and land.
There came a rush of feet and several groups of passengers dashed toward
the yawl, but stopped abruptly and hesitated as the Colt in Tom's hand
glinted coldly in the soft light of a cabin window.

"Women first!" he snarled, savage as an animal at bay. "I'll kill th'
first man that comes any closer! Get those bullboats overside, an'
somebody round up th' other women an' bring 'em here! Keep cool, an'
everybody'll be saved--lose yore heads an' we'll all die, _some_
quicker'n others! Not another step forward!"

"Right ye air, friend," said a voice, and Zack, pistol in hand, dropped
from the deck above and alighted at Tom's side like a fighting bobcat.
"Put over them bullboats--an' be shore ye get hold o' th' ropes when ye
do. _Lady!_" he shouted, catching sight of an emigrant and his wife.
"Come hyar! An' you," he commanded her husband, "stan' by us--shoot ter
kill if ye pulls trigger. Fine bunch o' cattle!" he sneered, and the
rapidly growing crowd, finding that the guns facing them did not waver,
turned and stampeded for the bullboats, every man of it bellowing orders
and getting in the way of everyone else. There came a splash, a chorus
of curses as a bullboat, thrown overboard upside down, slipped away in
the darkness.

"Right side up, ye tarnation fools!" roared a voice, accompanied by a
solid smash as a hunter near the boats knocked down a frantic freighter
and took charge of the mob. "I'm fixin' fer to kill somebody!" he
yelled. "Hang onter that rope or I'll spatter yer brains all over
creation! Right side up, damn ye! Hold her! Thar! Now then, put over
another--if ye git in that boat till I says so ye won't have no need fer
it!"

Friends coming to his aid helped him hold the milling mob, and their
coolness and determination, tried in many ticklish situations, stood