Hunger drove them to their cabin-boat within an hour. They had thought they wanted to get some more birds, but in fact they knew they had enough. They went over to their boat, cooked up a big breakfast, and sat around the fire smoking and talking it over. They chattered like boys. They were gleeful, innocent, harmless! But only for a time. Then the hunted feeling returned to them. Once more they had a back track to watch and ambushes to be wary of. They wanted to go to Mendova, but again they didn't want to go there. They didn't know but what Mendova might be watching for them, the same as Memphis was. Certainly, they determined, they must go to Mendova after dark, and see a friend who would put them wise to actual conditions around town. They took catnaps, having had too little sleep, and yet they could not sleep deeply. They watched the shanty-boats which dropped down the river at intervals, most of them in the main current close to the far bank, and often hardly visible against the mottled background of caving earth, fallen trees, and flickering mirage. Their restlessness was silent, morose, and one of them was always on the lookout. Despard himself was on watch in the afternoon. He sat just inside the kitchen door, out of the sunshine, in a comfortable rocking chair. Two windows and the stern door gave him a wide view of the river, sandbars and eddy. It seemed but a minute, but he had fallen into a doze, when the splash of a shanty-boat sweeps awakened all the crew with a sudden, frightened start. Whispers, hardly audible, hailed in alarm. The three, crouching in involuntary doubt and dismay, glared at the newcomer. It was a woman drifting in. Apparently she intended to land there, and the three men stared at her. "His wife!" Despard said with soundless lips. The others nodded their recognition. Mrs. Carline had run into the great dead eddy at the foot of Yankee Lower Bar, turned up in the slow reverse eddy of the chute, and was coming by their boat at the slowest possible speed. Despard pulled his soft shirt collar, straightened his tie, hitched his suspenders, put on his coat, walked out on the stern deck, and, after a glance around, seemed suddenly to discover the stranger. "Howdy!" he nodded, touching his cap respectfully, and gazing with flickering eyes at the woman whose marksmanship entitled her to the greatest respect. "Howdy!" she nodded, scrutinizing him with level eyes. "Where am I?" "Yankee Bar. Them's Chickasaw Bluffs No. 1." "Do you know Jest Prebol?" "Yessum." Despard's head bobbed in alarmed, unwilling assent. "I thought perhaps you'd like to know that he's getting along all right." "I bet he learnt his lesson," Despard grimaced. "What? I don't just understand." "About bein' impudent to a lady that can shoot--straight!" A flicker moved the woman's countenance, and she smiled, oddly. "Oh, any one is likely to make mistakes!" "Darn fools is, Miss Crele. And you Old Crele's girl! He might of knowed!"