ng ships, their black sawdust-burners, and
above all the pure-white, triumphant banners of steam that shot straight
up against the gray of the sky.

Tally followed the direction of his gaze.

"Modern work," he commented. "Band saws. No circulars there. Two hundred
thousand a day"; with which cryptic utterance he resumed his walk.

The opposite side of the river proved to be a smaller edition of the
other. Into the first saloon Tally pushed.

It resembled the others, except that no card game was in progress. The
barkeeper, his feet elevated, read a pink paper behind the bar. A figure
slept at the round table, its head in its arms. Tally walked over to
shake this man by the shoulder.

In a moment the sleeper raised his head. Bob saw a little, middle-aged
man, not over five feet six in height, slenderly built, yet with broad,
hanging shoulders. His head was an almost exact inverted pyramid, the
base formed by a mop of red-brown hair, and the apex represented by a
very pointed chin. Two level, oblong patches of hair made eyebrows. His
face was white and nervous. A strong, hooked nose separated a pair of
red-brown eyes, small and twinkling, like a chipmunk's. Just now they
were bloodshot and vague.

"Hullo, Dicky Darrell," said Tally.

The man struggled to his feet, knocking over the chair, and laid both
hands effusively on Tally's shoulders.

"Jim!" he cried thickly. "Good ole Jim! Glad to see you! Hav' drink!"

Tally nodded, and, to Bob's surprise, took his place at the bar.

"Hav' 'nother!" cried Darrell. "God! I'm glad to see you! Nobody in
town."

"All right," agreed Tally pacifically; "but let's go across the river
to Dugan's and get it."

To this Darrell readily agreed. They left the saloon. Bob, following,
noticed the peculiar truculence imparted to Darrell's appearance by the
fact that in walking he always held his hands open and palms to the
front. Suddenly Darrell became for the first time aware of his presence.
The riverman whirled on him, and Bob became conscious of something as
distinct as a physical shock as he met the impact of an electrical
nervous energy. It passed, and he found himself half smiling down on
this little, white-faced man with the matted hair and the bloodshot,
chipmunk eyes.

"Who'n hell's this!" demanded Darrell savagely.

"Friend of mine," said Tally. "Come on."

Darrell stared a moment longer. "All right," he said at last.

All the way across the bridge Tally argued wit