"I hope to have some, Captain Norton. Granted that an organization exists, we may presuppose it to be composed of white men. Negroes or Indians would be sure to let out the secret. Given, then, white men: these might be scattered settlers, or they might be a small band of determined men down-river, whose friends and directors work from Louisville or some such point. We may take it, I trust, that one or two members of the gang ship on the designated boats and act as accomplices in the crime." Ayres paused, in order to absorb a huge pinch of snuff--after which he allowed the waiter to get out of hearing, and prepared to attack his dinner. "You are aware," he went on calmly, "that the richer cargoes go down in a fleet, under an experienced commodore. Invariably, one or two boats vanish overnight--but never at the same point in the river. It would be easy for a member of the crew to untie the moorings and let the boat slip down the stream. Now, remember these points; and remember also that if there is a down-river band, they must have a hiding-place where the stolen cargoes can be stored away until disposed of." Concluding his speech with extreme haste, Ayres abruptly began his dinner as the nearer seats were filled up. Gathering that the discussion was ended for the present, Norton applied himself to dinner also. Whisky was circulating freely, and while they ate, the rivermen filled the room with tales of river life, most of which were more spicy than refined. "Gen'lemen, yew hear me!" broke out one of two men opposite Norton--a big, hairy man of immense build. His companion was bronzed, gloomy-eyed, and stern-faced, and both had been absorbing vast quantities of white whisky. "Gen'lemen," boomed the big fellow, glaring around, "thar's gwine to be war. I'm tellin' yew! War! Yew hear me!" "We hear ye all right," piped up a shrill voice. "Who's the war with?" "Gen'lemen, your health!" And the big man emptied his glass. "Thet thar feller they call the Prophet--the one-eyed crazy dog, he's a-stirrin' up the Injuns. Yew hear me, gen'lemen, ol' man Harrison he's gwine to need Kaintuck rifles afore long! Who said ol' Dan'l Boone was in town?" Whereupon there followed an excited discussion of Boone. In the midst, the gloomy-eyed companion of the big man brought down his fist with a crash on the table. "This here generation's got to suffer for its sins!" he roared out in a vibrant voice, fastening his eye on Norton. "Friends, read the prophecies of the inspired Richard Brother! There'll ye find set forth about the Injun war, and the cursed Federals ruining the country! That there inspired man, he was a prophet. Damnation to the Federals, say----" The gloomy-eyed man said no more, for a roar went up at his words. "Ye drunken Democrat," cried some one, "take that!"