The crowd stood about impatiently. The operator still held the horse, and Joe stood near, looking confident and very earnest. Presently a steam-launch came puffing up the canal, gave two shrill whistles, and was quickly made fast to the dock. A heavy, well-built man, with a closely cropped beard and a kindly face, stepped from the deck to the tow-path. He was followed by a man who carried a heavy valise, and by one or two other men. They were the canal superintendent and the paymaster and their assistants. “What’s the matter here, Matthew?” asked the superintendent, approaching the group. “This boy is charged with stealing this horse,” replied the operator. “Here’s the message.” The superintendent took the telegram and read it. “Is this Bill Rosencamp’s horse?” he asked, turning to Joe. “No, sir!” repeated Joe. “He isn’t. He’s my father’s horse.” “But he acknowledges having taken him from Rosencamp,” the operator explained. “Well,” said the superintendent, “Rosencamp is coming. When he gets here we shall find out whose horse it is.” “But I don’t want to stay here till he comes,” said Joe. “Probably not,” remarked the operator, sarcastically. The superintendent, who seemed to perceive that this was not an ordinary case of horse-stealing, now looked more closely at Joe, and noticed the boy’s haggard, hungry look. “He won’t hurt you,” he said. “Rosencamp’s a rough fellow, but he won’t hurt any one around here; and if it turns out that the horse is yours or your father’s, you will get possession of him, of course. Meantime we shall have to find out the exact truth of the matter. Have you had any breakfast?” “No, sir,” replied Joe, “I haven’t had any, nor Old Charlie either.” The superintendent smiled. “Matthew,” he said, “tell the stable-man to take this horse up to the barn and feed him and rub him down. And you,” turning to the boy, who was not a little bewildered by the invitation, “come with me.” He led the way across the street into a large boarding-house. There, in a warm and pleasant dining-room, Joe ate the first good meal he had taken in several weeks. Under its cheering influence his heart warmed, his tongue was loosened, and to Mrs. Jones, the kind landlady, who sat by and served him, he told the story of his folly, his suffering, and his desire. When he had finished his breakfast, Mrs. Jones went with him to the office, and calling the superintendent aside, said,-- “This boy is no thief. He is honest and right in what he has done.” “We shall soon find out about it,” was the reply. “Here comes Rosencamp.” Captain Bill rode up to the office door, dismounted, and tied his horse. To the group of men and boys who quickly surrounded him he told, with many threats and much rough language, the story of his night ride, and denounced the wickedness of Joe. “Ef I once git my hands on ’im,” he muttered, “he’ll never want to see another hoss agin as long as _he_ lives!”