“Quick, Abe!” Tad implored him. “Get down here out of sight, if you’re going to look like that. There’s three of Murrell’s men watching on the landing.” The big Hoosier crouched obediently, but Allen started up with an oath. “Whar’s that gun o’ mine?” he asked in a belligerent tone. “Hold on,” said Abe. “Don’t be a dum fool, Allen. This is no time to git mixed up in a fight. Now we’ve got Tad back, our job is to take him out o’ here safe. Let’s see, now--Tad, you’d best crawl in under the edge o’ that tarpaulin, jest in case o’ trouble. “Allen, you act unconcerned-like, an’ go on gittin’ some dinner together. I’m goin’ to shove off. Wait, now, till I git to lookin’ glum ag’in.” With a comical effort, he twisted his gaunt face into a heavy frown. “That ought to fool ’em,” he muttered, and stood up, with a dejected stoop to his shoulders. Slowly he mounted the forward deck, swung over in a long stride to the next craft, and so reached the mooring-stakes along the levee. As he cast off the rope and proceeded slowly to coil it over his arm, a keel-boat man hailed him, three or four boats away. “What’s up, Longshanks? Gwine to leave without the youngster?” he asked. Abe shrugged his shoulders. “’Tain’t no use to try any more,” he replied, gloomily. “They’re all afraid to move, up in the town. I reckon we might better be gittin’ our cargo to market.” “Yeah,” agreed the other, and spat over the rail. “It’s tough luck, though. ‘Good-by, five thousand dollars,’ eh?” An angry blaze lit Abe’s gray eyes. He started to speak, then changed his mind. Dropping the coil of rope on the fore deck, he picked up one of the rowing-sweeps and planted it on firm bottom. Then with a heave of his mighty shoulders, he drove the _Katy Roby_ straight out from the levee. As the current caught them they were swung close to the corner piles of the wharf. Abe put his oars in the chocks and began rowing, strongly but without haste. “Keep hid, now,” came Allen’s whisper. “Thar’s a feller watchin’ us up thar on the landin’. Big, tall feller with his hat over his eyes. ’Pears like he’s mighty interested in what we’ve got aboard.” “Wal,” he called out derisively, “think ye’ll be able to reco’nize us next time?” There was no answer from the man on the wharf. “Allen,” said Tad, when they had dropped the landing well astern, “do you know who that was you hailed? I do. It was Jack Murrell.” Allen’s face went pale. “No-o!” he said, in an awe-stricken whisper. “You don’t tell me--_Murrell_!” “He’ll recognize you, all right,” Tad could not help chuckling. “He never forgets a face.”