The Yazoo Mystery

The Yazoo Mystery

CHAPTER I


THE harbor-master entered briskly but dubiously the room of the ship's
first officer.

"What about the five men for the _Domus_?" he bellowed.

"All ready to sign, sir," assured the manager of the employment agency,
pointing toward two saddle colored negroes, a Spaniard, and a limp
figure half asleep, slouching in the corner on a narrow bench, one hand
clutching an expensive leather bag.

"It is the best I could do on such short notice," assured the agency man
in an undertone, noticing that the first officer's inventory was not
very encouraging.

"Get them up here to sign. We're anchored in the stream, losing two
thousand dollars every hour we stay here. We need five more
firemen--anything that looks human," he added impatiently, spreading
the ship's articles on the counter that reached across the smelly
water-front den.

"Come on and sign up, boys," said the agency man with assumed good
nature.

While the two negroes and the Spaniard were signing, the ship's first
officer went to the sleeping figure in the corner, took up his free hand
and felt of the palm, then dropped it disgustedly as he took the man by
the shoulders and shook him vigorously.

"Come on and sign up, Strong," he shouted into his ear.

Strong labored with himself, still holding to his bag, half staggered to
the counter and signed on the line indicated--"Hiram Strong, Jr."

The signature was plain and businesslike. Evidently the Candidate had
known better days.

"He's been kicked out or disowned," muttered the first officer to me
while he was signing up. "He won't be worth a cuss. Look--those hands
never did a lick of work--but he will fill the list," he added, walking
about nervously and sizing me up with apparent approbation.

The agency man came up at once and held the pen towards me, and without
hesitation I signed "Ben Taylor" on the line beneath. While I was thus
engaged Hiram leaned against the counter weak and listless, his bag
between his feet. We had both signed as firemen or stokers on the
steamship _Domus_ for a round trip to an unnamed Gulf, or Mexican port.

Although pretty well awake by this time Strong did not resent my taking
his arm and helping him a bit. He made no comment at first, but after he
got used to the lively walk along the dock, he began to show signs of
saying something.

"Old pal," he began, without turning his head, "I--I've got a
headache--top's coming off--and my stomach is all jelly. It shakes as I
walk and makes me sick," he ended under his breath.