The steamboat landing toward which Godfrey Evans bent his way, was looked upon as a very important place by the settlers in that part of the state. The little collection of houses that had sprung up there contained a post-office, a few dwellings, and the only grocery and drug store to be found within a circle of twenty miles. The mail was brought there twice each week by a mounted carrier, who made regular trips between the landing and the county seat, which lay fifteen miles from the river. No particular packet stopped there, but there was considerable business done by the neighboring planters with the city of Memphis, in the way of plantation supplies and farming implements, and some steamboat called at the landing every week. Its arrival was regarded as an event of great consequence. Whenever five long whistles announced that a steamer was approaching, all the negroes and unemployed whites within hearing of the sound would hasten to the landing to see her come in, and watch the unloading of the cargo she brought. The sight was not a new or novel one to them, but the life they led there was so monotonous that any event, however trivial, that furnished them fresh topics for an hour’s conversation, was gladly welcomed. Godfrey Evans never missed a boat rain or shine. He was there nearly every day, and if he chanced to be absent some of the hangers-on always noticed it, and wondered what could be the matter. Toward the landing Godfrey hastened after parting from his son, and entering the street which ran from the river back into the country, found himself in front of the grocery, and in the midst of a group of men who were congregated there. They all carried rifles in their hands, and the sharp, whip-like reports which now and then came from a little grove situated a few rods up the river bank, told that the shooting match was in progress. Godfrey entered the store and drawing up before the counter, rapped on it with his knuckles to attract the attention of the proprietor, who was busy in the little room that opened off the rear. The rap quickly brought him out, but when he saw who his customer was, he stopped and asked:-- “What’s the matter, Godfrey?” “I’ll take a plug of that amazin’ fine ole Virginy of your’n, if ye please, sir,” said Godfrey, leaning his rifle against the counter and thrusting his hand into his pocket. The grocery keeper whistled softly to himself, but made no move to produce the required article. He wanted first to see what would be the result of his customer’s investigations. Godfrey continued to search his pockets--every one of them had a hole in it that he could have run his hand through--and his movements grew quicker, as his impatience to find something in them increased, and then slower, as the fact appeared to dawn upon him that there was nothing there. “You don’t seem to pull out anything, Godfrey,” said the merchant.