, at least, a man could know who were his friends and
who were his enemies.

He saw boats passing on the turbid, brown current of the Mississippi and
he heard snatches of strange, foreign songs. The night had fully come and
heavy darkness hung over land and water, but New Orleans did not sleep.
The smugglers, the adventurers, the former galley slaves, the riff-raff of
Europe, and the mixed bloods of the West Indies were abroad in pursuit of
either business or pleasure, each equally favored by the dusk.

Shif'less Sol and Long Jim were already asleep, but Paul was restless and
slumber would not come. Henry, too, was wakeful, and Paul at last
suggested that they walk in the city. Henry accepted, and with a word to
Tom Ross they sprang ashore.

New Orleans was even more interesting to them by night than by day, as it
had now a peculiarly uncanny look added to its other qualities. The night
was close, heavy, and warm, and the brown current of the river showed but
dismally through it. Lights were still moving on the Mississippi, but the
boats that bore them were invisible. From the side of the river pleasant
odors came to their nostrils, the clean, sweet scents of vast, undefiled
woods and prairies, the flavor of a wind blowing over wild flowers, but
from the side of the city the smells were as variegated and repellent as
ever.

Nevertheless the two youths turned into the city, lit faintly by the
flaring oil lanterns, and walked along through one street and another
seeing what they could see. The night life was active and much of it was
sodden. Oaths played a great part in the talk they heard and intoxication
was a prevalent note. Sounds of strife, either without or within, arose
now and then, but Henry and Paul, wishing to keep clear of all trouble,
never stayed to see the result. They more than suspected that knives shone
too often in these orgies.

They stopped a few moments by the old church in front of the Place
d'Armes. The church was flanked on one side by a low brick building, very
white with roof of red and yellow tiles, while to the left of the church
stood a villa-like house half hidden among the trees. They admired the
effect of the moonlight on the tiles, and then, passing through the wooden
fence that enclosed it, they entered the deserted Place d'Armes.

"I can breathe better here," said Henry. "I know that I shall never be
fond of towns."

But the imaginative Paul shuddered.

"Look," he said, "the ga