At last, in the late afternoon of the second day, there was a shift in the wind and the clouds began to break, with hazy shafts of pink and gold streaming through. In the midst of their jubilation, Allen, who had the steering-oar, pointed a finger toward the Tennessee shore. “Look,” he cried, “a steamboat landin’ an’ houses! That’s Memphis, boys, sure as you’re born!” And leaning heavily against the sweep, he swung the flatboat’s bow over toward the town. CHAPTER X Memphis, in 1828, was little more than a raw hamlet straggling along the river. It had a big landing-stage for steamers and a series of smaller wharves where the arks and keel-boats from upstream could tie up. There were half a hundred craft of all sorts and sizes hitched to the mooring-posts when the _Katy Roby_ drew alongside, for nearly every flatboat crew made a stop of a day or a night at Memphis. It was the largest town between St. Louis and New Orleans and handled a considerable commerce with the back country. The boys worked the boat’s nose in between other broadhorns until they could get a rope fast, and Allen retired to the shelter amidships to shave and spruce himself up. “Reckon I’ll step ashore an’ see what prices they’re offerin’ fer corn an’ pork,” he remarked, endeavoring to part his hair with the aid of a piece of broken mirror. “Yes,” said Abe, “an’ don’t fergit to take note o’ the number o’ purty gals an’ the color o’ their dresses. Tad an’ me, we’ll stick along here an’ teach this no-’count Poke some new tricks.” They cooked supper, and as Allen did not return at dusk, they ate it, sitting together on the edge of the fore deck. There were numerous boatmen joking, swearing, and passing the time of day in the craft about them. Several of the crews were familiar to them from earlier meetings along the river, and there was much cheerful banter about Abe’s towering frame. He took it all with his customary grin and gave them as good as they sent. “Say, Hoosier,” yelled one jolly-looking, red-bearded keel-boat man, “how long are them shanks o’ yourn, anyhow?” “Jest the proper length,” Abe returned. “They’re jest exactly long enough to reach the ground.” Gradually the talk and laughter quieted down as darkness fell. By nine o’clock the river front was quiet except for the gurgle of the high water sweeping past and an occasional burst of song from roisterers in the town. Abe waited patiently until sometime close to midnight. Then he nudged the drowsy Tad awake and told him to mind the boat while he went ashore after Allen. Tad succeeded in propping his eyes open for half an hour, and at the end of that time he saw a huge, dim shape lurching along the dock. As it reached the bow of the _Katy Roby_ it became recognizable as Abe, carrying a limp body over his shoulder. Tad leaped up, startled. “What is it--is Allen hurt?” he whispered. “No,” Abe replied, quietly. “He’s drunk.”