ned to
volumes of river lore.

"You've been landing along down?" Doss asked.

"All along," Carline replied, "everywhere."

"Seen anybody?"

"I should say so; there was a fellow come down pretending to be a
reporter. He stopped over with me, got me full's a tick, and then robbed
me."

"Eh--_he_ robbed you?"

"Yes, sir! He got me to drinking heavy. I like my stew a little, but he
fixed me. Then he just went through me, but he didn't get all I had, you
bet!"

This was rich!

"Lucky he didn't hit you on the head, and take the boat, too!" Doss
grinned.

"I suppose so."

"Yes, sir! Lots of mean men on this river, they play any old game. They
say they're preachers, or umbrella menders, or anything. Every once in a
while some feller comes down, saying he's off'n some magazine. They come
down in skiffs, mostly. It's a great game they play. Everybody tells 'em
everything. If I was going to be a crook, I bet I'd say I was a hist'ry
writer. I'd snoop around, and then I'd land--same's that feller landed
on you. Get much?"

"Two--three hundred dollars!"

The little man laughed in his throat. He handled the boat like a river
pilot. His eyes turned to the banks, swept the sandbars, gazed into the
coiling waters alongside, and he whispered names of places as he passed
them--landings, bars, crossings, bends, and even the plantations and log
cuttings. He named the three cotton gins in Tiptonville, and stared at
the ferry below town with a sidelong leer.

Carline would have been the most astonished man on the Mississippi had
he known that nearly all his money was in the pockets of his guest. He
babbled on, and before he knew it, he was telling all about his wife
running away down the Mississippi.

"What kind of a boat's she in?" Doss asked.

"I don't know."

"How do you expect to find her if you don't know the boat?"

"Why--why, somebody might know her; a woman alone!"

"She's alone?"

"Why--yes, sir. I heard so."

"Good looker?"

Without a word Carline handed the fellow a photograph. Doss made no
sign. For two minutes he stared at that fine face.

"I bet she's got an awful temper," he half whispered.

"She's quick," Carline admitted, fervently.

"She'd just soon shoot a man as look at him," Doss added, with a touch
of asperity.

"Why--she----" Carline hesitated. He recalled a day in his own
experience when she took his own shot gun from him, and stood a fury,
flaming with anger.

"Yes, sir, she would