In a few words Abe told Allen of Tad’s momentary glimpse of the man on the steamer. “Now the thing fer you to do,” said he, turning to the boy, “is to send another letter post-haste to New Orleans, so the folks thar kin reach him whar he’s gone.” “I’m goin’ ashore,” Allen volunteered. “He kin come along an’ fix up to send his letter whiles I transact some business.” Abe looked doubtful. “All right,” he agreed finally. But to Tad, as they prepared to leave the boat, he whispered, “Keep an eye on him now, an’ don’t let him go in any places he shouldn’t.” They clambered to the levee top and walked through the thick black mud up the main street of the lower town. It was nearly noon, and Natchez was waking up for the day’s work. Patrons by ones and twos were entering the various barrooms they passed. Gambling joints were rolling up shutters and dusting off tables. A few women, hard-faced and heavily painted, leered at them from doorways, and the dance-hall music droned on unceasingly. A negro teamster directed them to the post office on a side street a few blocks from the river. “Here you are,” said Allen as they reached the entrance, and Tad would have gone in at once if his eye had not been caught by a notice posted in the dusty window. With growing excitement he stood before it, staring at the boldly-printed words. What he read was this: To Whom it May Concern A _REWARD OF $5,000_ (Five thousand Dollars) will be paid for _Information_ leading to the recovery of my son, Thaddeus Hopkins, if alive, or of his body if dead. This boy is 15 years old, of medium height and weight for his age, with light brown hair, blue eyes, and a ruddy complexion. _DISAPPEARED_ from his cabin on the Steamboat _Ohio Belle_, somewhere between Owensboro, Kentucky, and the mouth of the Wabash River, on the night of April 8th, 1828. Any one having news of his whereabouts should communicate immediately with JEREMIAH HOPKINS, 26 St. Louis Street, New Orleans, Louisiana. “Allen!” Tad gasped. “Look at this!” There was no answer. Swinging about in surprise, he found the street behind him empty. Only a lean yellow dog scratched for fleas in the middle of the dusty road. Tad stared up and down the straggling rows of houses, bewildered at his companion’s disappearance. Then his eye lit on two saloons across the way, and he knew at once where Allen had gone. With Abe’s parting injunction still fresh in his mind, he darted to the other side of the street and stood a moment in hesitation before the two doors. There was no way to tell which place Allen had entered except to go in himself and find out. He decided to try the right-hand building first.