The crowd of loafers did not seem disposed to take their champion’s defeat quite so good-humoredly. As Abe and Tad went back to the store to post the letter, these hangers-on followed at their heels. “Huh! Wrastle? Sure he kin. That ain’t nothin’,” said one of them. “But what’d he look like in a real ruckus--knock-down an’ drag-out?” The tall youth turned on the top step and deliberately rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. “Listen,” he said, quietly. “One Hoosier to one Sucker ain’t a fair fight. But if any two of ye want to tackle me at once, I’ll be pleased to accommodate. Step right up here, boys.” His words produced an immediate hush. For a moment he stood there eyeing them scornfully, while they shuffled their feet and looked sheepish. Then he entered the store. “Come on, Tad,” he said with a wink, “we’ll be a-goin’ now.” The boy gave his letter to the postmaster, got that worthy’s assurance that he would mail it on the steamboat _Nancy Jones_, from Louisville, likely to stop at Shawneetown in the next day or two, and followed Abe down the hill. Allen, who had heard the shouting, was filled with curiosity. “What’d ye see, boys--a fight?” he asked. “No,” said Abe, “it was jest a demonstration.” And chuckling, he went about the business of getting headway on the boat. Allen, however, was not satisfied till he had got a glowing account of the wrestling bout from Tad. “That’s right,” he nodded. “This yere Abe is the powerfullest critter ever I see. He kin outrun, outwrastle an’ outfight any man in our country, back home--yes, an’ outtalk any woman. He’s as fast as greased lightnin’ and tougher’n a white oak post.” It was early afternoon when they passed the broad mouth of a cave on the Illinois bank. Allen, who had once been as far as Paducah on the steamboat, pointed it out and told the gruesome story of the Wilson Gang, a notorious outlaw band which, twenty-five years earlier, had made the cavern its stronghold. “Thar was more’n a hundred of ’em,” said he, “an’ they used to rob boats an’ travelers all up an’ down the river. They say thar’s a sort o’ chimney goin’ up from that cave into another one over it, an’ after the gang was cleaned out, sixty skeletons of murdered folks was found up in that secret cave.” Tad gazed at the place in awe as they drifted past. It looked peaceful enough now. The sun slanted brightly across the gray face of the rock, and a flight of twittering swallows darted in and out of the dusky opening. They fished and talked, sang and whittled, with alternate spells at the oars, all afternoon, and toward sunset sighted a black cloud of smoke beyond the next bend.