It had happened, however, that ever since the night when the one-eyed man had suddenly perished in a controversy with one Wharton, which controversy touched on points of etiquette appertaining to the game of draw-poker, Long Mike had been unable to steady his nerves, despite his persistent efforts to do so by a liberal use of the one specific in which he had faith. Being unusually irritable, therefore, he had resented Gallagher’s latest impertinence more bitterly than usual, and, in addition to discharging him, had attempted also to kill him. This he would undoubtedly have succeeded in doing with his bare hands, for he had the strength of seven men, but, fortunately for the foreman, there was considerable uncertainty in his movements, and his intended victim had eluded him by a quick movement which was continued in a panicky flight. The flight had taken him across the gangplank of the _Pride of the River_, just as the deck-hands were hauling it aboard, and he had gone down the river on the boat, a fact not yet known to his employer. There was a Mrs. Gallagher, but she had found refuge with a sympathetic neighbour, and took no part in the events of the day. In the barroom there was an atmosphere of doubtful expectancy. Just what Long Mike would do when he found his rage balked in the direction of Gallagher, no one could tell, and in truth none was anxious to see. The consequences of any fresh accession of fury might be decidedly unpleasant. It was therefore with considerable anxiety that the crowd listened for Sam’s answer, Sam being the bartender, when Long Mike questioned him. “Where is that man Gallagher?” he demanded, thickly. “I’m lookin’ for him every minute,” said Sam, in a matter-of-fact way, as he placed bottles and glasses on the bar. No order had been given, but Long Mike’s ways were known, and a round of drinks at his expense seemed to be an appropriate ceremony. The due performance of this engrossed the general attention for a few minutes, and then Long Mike again demanded to know where Gallagher was. “I’m lookin’ for him every minute,” said Sam in the same tone as before. And to the same question, repeated at irregular intervals for the next quarter of an hour, he replied in the same words. After each answer Long Mike stood, apparently satisfied, looking as steadily as he was able to do toward the door, with the evident expectation of seeing his foe appear, but abstaining from speech. Slowly, however, he seemed to gather the idea that he was being trifled with, and presently he said, with a violent hiccough: “Where is that man Gallagher?” “I’m lookin’ for him every minute,” said Sam, imperturbably. Long Mike turned and look at him with a scowl. “Ye said that before,” he exclaimed. “I was lookin’ for him before,” said Sam. This seemed to divert the big man’s mind to a new channel of thought, and he pondered it awhile, uncertain whether to laugh or be angry.