telling him that that
pile of trunks and guns on the levee was theirs, and that they would
leave them on board when they got to St. Louis until they had found
their uncle and secured the money for their fares.

The handsome clerk looked sharply at the lad while he was telling his
story. "You've got an honest face, my little man. I'll trust you.
Bring aboard your baggage. People spar their way on the river every
day in the year; you needn't be ashamed of it. Accidents will happen,
you know." And the busy clerk turned away to another customer.

With a light heart Sandy ran ashore. His waiting and anxiously
watching comrades saw by his face that he had been successful, before
he spoke.

"That's all fixed," he cried, blithely.

"Bully boy!" said Younkins, admiringly.

"Car' yer baggage aboard, boss?" asked the lively young darky.

"Take it along," said Sandy, with a lordly air. They shook hands with
Younkins once more, this time with more fervor than ever. Then the
three lads filed on board the steamboat. The gang-plank was hauled in,
put out again for the last tardy passenger, once more taken aboard,
and then the stanch steamer "New Lucy" was on her way down the turbid
Missouri.

"Oh, Sandy," whispered Charlie, "you gave that darky almost the last
cent we had for bringing our baggage on board. We ought to have lugged
it aboard ourselves."

"Lugged it aboard ourselves? And all these people that we are going to
be passengers with for the next four or five days watching us while we
did a roustabout's work? Not much. We've a quarter left."

Charlie was silent. The great stern-wheel of the "New Lucy" revolved
with a dashing and a churning sound. The yellow banks of the Missouri
sped by them. The sacred soil of Kansas slid past as in a swiftly
moving panorama. One home was hourly growing nearer, while another was
fading away there into the golden autumnal distance.

CHAPTER XIX.

DOWN THE BIG MUDDY.

It is more than six hundred miles from Leavenworth to St. Louis by the
river. And as the river is crooked exceedingly, a steamboat travelling
that route points her bow at every point of the compass, north, south,
east, and west, before the voyage is finished. The boys were impatient
to reach home, to be back in dear old Dixon, to see the mother and the
fireside once more. But they knew that days must pass before they
could reach St. Louis. The three lads settled themselves comfortably
in the narrow limits of