there were statutes in both Missouri and
Illinois, but no enforcement. Indeed the gambling fraternity was so
firmly intrenched, through wealth and influence, that no steamer
captain even, autocratic as he often was, would dare encroach on their
prerogatives. Interested as Thockmorton would be in serving
Beaucaire's dependents, and as much as he cordially disliked Kirby, all
I could rely upon from him in this emergency would be a certain moral
support, and possibly some valuable advice. He would never dare ally
himself openly, for the cost of such action would be too high. On the
other hand, from my knowledge of Kirby's desperate character, and
previous exploits, I seriously doubted the efficacy of threatening him
with lynch law. He would be far more liable to defy a mob than yield
to its demands. Yet memory of those two helpless girls--more
particularly that one over whose unconsciousness there hung the
possibility of slavery--urged me strongly to attempt even the
apparently impossible. I had it in my mind to fight the man personally
if, in no other way, I could attain my end; at least I would face him
with every power and authority I could bring to bear.

With no other object in mind, and unarmed, never once dreaming of
attack, I advanced alone along the dark, narrow strip of deck, leading
toward the ladder which mounted to the wheelhouse. There were no
lights, and I was practically compelled to feel my way by keeping one
hand upon the rail. The steamer was sweeping around a great bend, and
a leadsman forward was calling the depth of water, his monotonous voice
chanting out strange river terms of guidance. I had reached the foot
of the ladder, my fingers blindly seeking the iron rungs in the gloom,
when a figure, vague, indistinct, suddenly emerged from some denser
shadow and confronted me. Indeed the earliest realization I had of any
other presence was a sharp pressure against my breast, and a low voice
breathing a menacing threat in my ear.

"I advise you not to move, you young fool. This is a cocked pistol
tickling your ribs. Where were you going?"

The black night veiled his face, but language and voice, an spite of
its low grumble, told me the speaker was Kirby. The very coldness of
his tone served to send a chill through me.

"To have a word with Thockmorton," I answered, angered at my own fear,
and rendered reckless by that burst of passion. "What do you mean by
your threat? Haven't you robbe