Anchored in the curving channel of the river were sailing-ships, big and little, flying the flags of all the world. There were heavy British merchantmen, Dutch and Danish brigs, fast-sailing, tall-masted ships from Boston and New York and Baltimore, French barques, trim West Indian schooners, and slovenly little lateen-rigged boats from the bays and inlets along the Gulf. And then Tad saw the flatboat fleet. For the better part of a mile they lay along the levee, four, six--sometimes ten deep--a solid mass of keel-boats, broadhorns, and scows. It was impossible to count them, but there must have been not less than four or five hundred in sight. And the noise that rose from them was terrific, as newcomers hailed each other and fought for places. “Whew!” said Abe in some dismay. “Thicker’n ants at a camp-meetin’ picnic, ain’t they? How in time are we goin’ to git nigh this town?” At that moment, almost opposite the _Katy Roby’s_ bow, a keel-boat was working its way out of the tangle of craft, and Abe backed water and stood by, ready to enter the space she was about to leave. By skillful jockeying he worked the nose of the flatboat into the hole and succeeded in getting in until only one broadhorn separated them from the shore. The stout Kentuckian who owned her looked the newcomers over without any signs of welcome. “Hyah you-all come a-crowdin’ in,” he grumbled, “an’ next I s’pose you’ll want to fasten yo’ worm-eaten tub on to mine. Is that so?” “I’m askin’ you,” grinned Abe. “Will you do us that favor?” The Kentucky man eyed the big Hoosier from his worn moccasins to his rugged, fighting face still topped by the blood-stained bandage. “I reckon so,” said he, and grinned in his turn. “Whar’bouts you from?” While Abe was telling him he passed the _Katy Roby’s_ line across the deck of the other boat and took a hitch around one of the mooring-posts on shore. “I was born in your state, myself,” Abe told the Kentuckian. “My Paw moved us across the river when I was seven.” “Too bad--too bad!” commiserated the stocky flatboatman. “Still, it’s somethin’ to have come from Kentucky, even if you had the misfortune not to stay thar.” He offered Abe a drink from his jug of red-eye, and when it was politely declined he seemed surprised, but not offended. From that time on he regarded the Hoosier crew as friends and allies. “Now then, Tad,” said Abe when all was snug, “we’ll go straight ashore an’ see if we kin locate your Pappy’s office. Allen’ll take keer of the cargo fer a spell, won’t ye, Allen?” The young man in question appeared sheepishly from under the tarpaulin, with his razor and brush in his hand. “Sure,” he answered. “I jes’ thought I’d shave me up a little, first off, so when I go ashore I kin talk to the commission merchants ’thout lookin’ too much like a backwoods jay.”