“They’ll make a mighty valuable addition to the population of whatever place they’re a-goin’ to,” he remarked between mouthfuls of johnny-cake. “Must be Illinois,” put in Allen. “That question sounded jes’ like a ‘Sucker.’” The latter scornful epithet, Tad discovered, was universally applied by the Hoosiers to their neighbors on the west. Although hundreds of families were moving from Indiana into Illinois every year and the people of the two States were often blood kin to each other, there was a vigorous rivalry that did not always confine itself to calling names. Something of this feeling Tad was soon to see, for they made a landing at Shawneetown on the Illinois shore, sometime during the forenoon. One of the first things he had asked his new friends was how he might send word of his safety to his father, in New Orleans. And it had been agreed that they should stop at the first town where steamboats touched and mail a letter. There were no writing materials aboard the _Katy Roby_. When Abe and Allen had calculations to make, they did it with a burnt stick on the deck planking. So, leaving Allen to guard the flatboat and her cargo, Abe and Tad climbed the muddy hill from the landing-stage and sought a place where paper and ink might be bought. One of the first buildings they reached was a rambling log house with a wide porch in front, which turned out to be a general store. They entered and made their purchases, and Tad started to write his letter, using the head of a barrel for a table. Briefly he described the attempt to put him out of the way and how he had made his escape. Basing his estimate on the average speed of the _Katy Roby_, he wrote that with good luck they would reach New Orleans within two or three weeks. He was just signing his name to the message when he heard a commotion of some kind outside. The group of loafers who had been hanging around the door when they entered now left the porch with a clatter of boots. A loud voice was raised tauntingly. “Wal, you long-legged, slab-sided, lousy Hoosier, want to see how it feels to git thrown?” it asked. Tad hastily pocketed his letter and went to the door. In the midst of a ring of spectators outside, a big, stocky, river-man was brushing the dirt off his hands, while a crestfallen youth in torn homespun lifted himself out of the mud. Abe’s long, awkward figure towered above the group of bystanders. Evidently the champion’s invitation had been addressed to him. He strolled forward into the ring. “Don’t keer ’f I do,” he said. There were roars of laughter from the Illinois men. “Them leather breeches is to scare off the varmints!” one cried. “What do they feed you on, Longshanks?” asked another. “Suckers,” answered Abe, with a grin, and pulled his belt a notch tighter. The river-man was broad-shouldered and powerful, with short, thick arms like a bear’s. He pounded himself on the chest with a huge fist and roared: