The boys looked in at the supper-table. They only looked; for although the short autumnal afternoon had fled swiftly by while they were chatting with their new friends or exploring the steamboat, they felt that they could not possibly take another repast so soon after their first real "tuck-out" on the "New Lucy." The overloaded table, shining with handsome glass and china and decked with fancy cakes, preserves, and sweetmeats, had no present attractions for the boys. "It's just like after Thanksgiving dinner," said Oscar. "Only we are far from home," he added, rather soberly. And when the lads crawled into their bunks, as Sandy insisted upon calling their berths, it would not surprise one if "thoughts of home and sighs disturbed the sleeper's long-drawn breath." Time and again, in the night-watches, the steamer stopped at some landing by the river-side. Now it would be a mere wood-pile, and the boat would be moored to a cottonwood tree that overhung the stream. Torches of light-wood burning in iron frames at the end of a staff stuck into the ground or lashed to the steamer rail shed a wild, weird glare on the hurrying scene as the roustabouts, or deck-hands, nimbly lugged the wood on board, or carried the cargo ashore, singing plaintive melodies as they worked. Then again, the steamer would be made fast to a wharf-boat by some small town, or to the levee of a larger landing-place, and goods went ashore, passengers flitted on and off, baggage was transferred, the gang-plank was hauled in with prodigious clatter, the engineer's bell tinkled, and, with a great snort from her engines, the "New Lucy" resumed her way down the river. Few passengers but those who were to go ashore could be seen on the upper deck viewing the strange sights of making a night-landing. And through the whole racket and din, three lads slept the sleep of the young and the innocent in room Number 56. "Just the number of the year with the eighteen knocked off," Sandy had said when they were assigned to it. When the boys had asked in Leavenworth how long the trip to St. Louis would be, they were told, "Three or four days, if the water holds." This they thought rather vague information, and they had only a dim idea of what the man meant by the water holding. They soon learned. The season had been dry for the time of year. Although it was now November, little or no autumnal rains had fallen. Passengers from Fort Benton said that the lands on the Upper Missouri were parched for want of water, and the sluggish currents of the Big Muddy were "as slow as cold molasses," as one of the deck-hands said to Sandy, when he was peering about the lower deck of the steamboat. It began to look as if the water would not hold.