"Well, I don't mean to give them half a chance. Just think what would become of us if such a thing happened. We'd have to go to work on a cotton plantation, sure, to make money enough to get further along. I've got the good old Marlin handy, Maurice, and just let any thief try to come aboard, that's all. I'll pepper his hide for him, and salt it in the bargain," declared Thad, resolutely. "I believe you would, boy," laughed his comrade, as he stepped from the deck to the shore. He had already noted that Morehead did not appear to be much of a place. Indeed, beyond the piles of cordwood, and a few scattered cabins, there did not seem to be anything of a settlement. "Only excuse it has for being on the map is that some steamers find it convenient to stop and wood up here. That woodyard is the whole thing," thought Maurice. He turned upon the negro who had whipped the cable around the post in an obliging way. "Where can I find the man who runs the woodyard?" he asked. "'Deed, I reckon he am in hees store dar, boss," came the reply. "A store, eh? Where is it situated?" continued Maurice, bent on following up the clue. "See dat flare up yander--dat am de light in de windy. Mars Kim he keep gen'ral 'sortment ob goods. On'y place to buy grits in ten mile," observed the other, pointing. "What is his name?" asked the boy, deeming it only right that he should be fully armed with this much information before starting in to interview the other. "Mars Kim, fuh sho'! Dat's wat we allers calls him, boss. Reckons, as how yuh haint gut sech a ting as some terbaccy 'bout yuh, now? I'se done clean out." Maurice shook his head in the negative. "I'm sorry, but you see, I don't smoke," he remarked. He would have willingly tossed the moke a nickel for his readiness to assist them; but truth to tell, even such small coin happened to be at a premium with the voyagers just then--although they carried a small fortune in yellowbacks, not for worlds would they think of making use of a single bill for their own benefit--it was a sacred trust in their eyes. He strode over to the building where the brilliant light in the window announced headquarters. Closer investigation disclosed the fact that the glow was caused by an acetylene lamp which piece of enterprise doubtless caused the storekeeper to assume a high place in the estimation of the lazy negroes, and shiftless "white trash" of the neighborhood. It was a general country store. Maurice had seen many such, though, as this one happened to be at a point much further south than the others, it doubtless contained features that stamped it unique in his eyes. But they had no money to spend in groceries just then; and it was an entirely different errand that caused him to venture into the establishment. Over the door he noticed a sign which he was just able to read. It at least gave him the name of the proprietor. Store, and Office of Woodyard. Kim. Stallings, Prop.