Figger skipped to the water-gage and grinned triumphantly. “She’s all right,” he yelped. “Is you keepin’ yo’ eye on dat ole steam-gage?” Skeeter was. In fact, he was gazing at that steam-gage with hypnotic fascination. He swallowed a succession of Adam’s apples like a string of smoked sausages before he could speak. Skeeter knew precious little about machinery. Pipe Smash’s solemn and impressive warning about the steam-gage of the _Mud Hen_ had scared him. His experience on the river with the two big boats had fortunately not upset the _Mud Hen_, but it had considerably upset Skeeter’s mind and his judgment. What Skeeter thought he saw that steam-gage doing is a mechanical impossibility, but his announcement had a startling effect. “Come here, fellers, an’ look at dis steam-gage!” he wailed. “Dat indicator is done gone plum’ aroun’ de face of dat clock five times an’--she’s--gwine--aroun’--again!” “My Gawd!” Vinegar Atts whooped. “Dis _Mud Hen_ is gittin’ ready to bust! Jump! Jump fer yo’ lives!” Four negroes went over the side into the middle of the river. The _Mud Hen_, paddling busily, kept to the current and moved serenely down the river. Then, while the four frightened negroes got the shore, frog-fashion, Pipe Smash climbed out from his hiding place in front of the engine, and laid his experienced hand upon the pilot-wheel of the _Mud Hen_. He glanced at the steam-gage, and the indicator pointed steadily at sixty degrees of steam. Skeeter’s terrified eyes had played a trick on him! “Gosh!” Pipe Smash exclaimed with a wicked grin. “I never had no idear dat steam-gage wus gwine skeer dem coons. I had a notion dey would leave dis boat when dey got kotch in de big wash of de steamboat gwine up de river. I wus plannin’ on dat.” He stooped and threw a shovelful of coal into the furnace, and chuckled aloud: “I fergot to tell Skeeter dat de furnace of dis engine wus so little dat nobody cain’t git up mo’ dan sixty pounds of steam--’tain’t no danger of dis engine bustin’ onless de b’iler runs dry. Excusin’ dat, dis here indicator cain’t slip aroun’ five times like Skeeter said it done--after it gits past dat biggest number on de gage, it hits a peg! I figger dat Skeeter was skeart!” Pipe walked to the stem of the boat and shading his eyes looked up the river to the Tickfall landing. He waved his hat in the air and whooped, making more noise than his steamboat whistle. Standing upon the shore, dripping puddles from their water-soaked garments, the Tickfall quartet heard that ironical whoop. Broken-hearted and disconsolate, they watched their boat move serenely around the lower bend and pass out of sight in the gold and purple haze of the setting sun. Returning to Tickfall in the automobile, the four negroes made much talk over the loss of the _Mud Hen_. “We bought dat boat good an’ hones’ wid real money,” Skeeter mourned. “Pipe Smash stole it from us.”