use. In a pinch green cottonwood sometimes had to be used, but it could be burned only by adding pitch or resin.

Nowhere on the river was a navigation mark, for nowhere was the channel permanent enough to allow one to be placed. It was primitive, pioneer navigation with a vengeance, requiring intelligent, sober, quickwitted and courageous men to handle the boats. On the Missouri the word "pilot" was a term of distinction.

The river was high at this time of the year, caused less by the excessive rains and melting snows in the mountains, being a little early for them, than by the rains along the immediate valley; bottom lands were flooded, giving the stream a width remarkable in places and adding greatly to the amount of drift going down with the current.

The afternoon waned and the wind died, the latter responsible for the pilot's good nature, and the shadows of evening grew longer and longer until they died, seeming to expand into a tenuity which automatically effaced them. But sundown was not mooring time, for the twilight along the river often lasted until nine o'clock, and not a minute was wasted.

When St. Charles had been left astern Tom had led his companion up onto the hurricane deck and placed two chairs against the pilot house just forward of the texas, where the officers had their quarters. The water was now smooth, barring the myriads of whirling, boiling eddies, and from their elevated position they could see the configuration of the submerged bars. The afterglow in the sky turned the mud-colored water into a golden sheen, and the wind-distorted trees on the higher banks and ridges were weirdly silhouetted against the colored sky. Gone was the drab ugliness. The finely lined branches of the distant trees, the full bulks of the pines and cedars and the towering cottonwoods, standing out against the greenery of grass covered hills, provided a soft beauty; while closer to the boat and astern where sky reflections were not seen, the great, tawny river slipped past with a powerful, compelling, and yet furtive suggestion of mystery, as well it might.

Tom was telling of the characteristics of the river when the boat veered sharply and caused him to glance ahead. A great, tumultuous ripple tore the surface of the water, subsided somewhat and boiled anew, the wavelets gold and crimson and steel blue against the uniform lavender shade around them. The many-fanged snag barely had been avoided as it reached the upward limit of its rhythmic rising and falling.

Soon a bell rang below and the boat slowed as it headed in toward a high, wooded bank. Nudging gently against it the packet stopped, men hurried lines ashore, made them fast to the trees and then set a spring line, which ran from the stern forward to the bank ahead of the bow, so as to hold the boat offshore far enough to keep it afloat in case the river should fall appreciably during the night. The pilot emerged behind them, glanced down at the captain overseeing the mooring operations, and then spoke to Tom, who made him acquainted with Patience and invited him to join them. He gladly accepted the invitation and soon had interested listeners to his store of knowledge about the river. Darkness now had descended and he pointed at the stream.

"There's somethin' peculiar to th' Missouri," he said. "Notice th' glow of th' water, several shades lighter than th' darkness on th' bank? On the Mississippi, now, th' water after dark only makes th' night all th' blacker; but on this stream th' surface can be seen pretty plain, though not far ahead. We take full advantage of that when we have to sail after dark. We would be goin' on now, except that we got news of a new and very bad place a little further on, an' we'd rather tackle it when we can see good."

"Oh," murmured Patience. "A ghost road leading through a void."

A long, dark shape appeared on the "ghost road" and bore silently and swiftly down upon the boat, struck the hull a glancing blow, scraped noisily, ducked under, turned partly and scurried off astern. It was a trimmed tree trunk, and by its lowness in the water it told of a journey nearly ended. Before long one end would sink deeper and deeper, finally fastening in the alluvial bottom and, anchoring securely, lie in wait to play battering ram against some ill-fated craft surging boldly against the current.

The lanterns on shore began to move boatward as the last of the wooding was finished and the fuel boxes again were full. Farther back among the trees some trappers had started a fire and were enjoying themselves around it, their growing hilarity and noise suggesting a bottle being passed too often. Gradually the boat became quiet and after another smoke the pilot arose and excused himself, saying that it was expected that the journey would be resumed between three and four o'clock in the morning.

"How long will it take us to reach Independence Landing?" asked Patience.

The pilot shook his head. "That depends on wind, water, and th' strength of th' current, though th' last don't make very much difference sometimes."

Tom looked up inquiringly. "I don't just understand th' last part," he confessed. "Mebby I didn't hear it right."

"Yes, you did," replied the pilot, grinning in the darkness. "When she's high she's swift; but she's also a hull lot straighter. Th' bends of this river are famous, an' they add a lot of miles to her length. They also cut down th' slant of her surface, which cuts down th' strength of th' current. At lower water we'd have a longer distance to sail, but a gentler current. When she rises like she is now she cuts off, over or behind a lot of th' bends an' makes herself a straighter road. An' th' shorter she gits, th' steeper her pitch grows, which makes a stronger current. She jest reg'lates herself accordin' to her needs, an' she gits shet of her floods about as quick as any river on earth. Oh, I tell you, she's a cute one; an' a mean one, too!"

"She's shore movin' fast enough now," observed Tom, watching the hurtling driftwood going spectrally down the almost luminous surface. "How long will this high water last, anyhow?"

"Considerable less than th' June rise," answered the pilot. "She's fallin' now, which is one of th' reasons we're tied to th' bank instid of goin' on all night. This here rise is short, but meaner than sin. Th' June rise is slower an' not so bad, though it lasts longer. It comes from th' rains an' meltin' snow in th' mountains up above. Down here th' current ain't as swift as it is further up, for this slope is somethin' less than a foot to th' mile; but if it warn't for th' big bottoms, that let some of th' water wander around awhile instid of crowdin' along all at once, we'd have a current that'd surprise you. Jest now I figger she's steppin' along about seven miles an hour. Durin' low water it's some'rs around two; but I've seen it nearer ten on some rises. There are places where steamboats can't beat th' current an' have to kedge up or wait for lower water. About gittin' to Independence Landin', or what's left of it, I'll tell you that when we pass Liberty Landin'. Miles through th' water ain't miles over th' bottom, an' it's th' last that counts. Besides, th' weather has got a lot to say about our business. I hope you ain't gittin' chilled, Miss Cooper, this spring air cuts in amazin' after sundown."

"I am beginning to feel it," she replied, arising, "I'll say good night, I believe, and 'turn in.'"

Tom escorted her to the lower deck and watched her cross the cabin and enter her room, for he had no illusions about some of the men on board. As her door closed he wheeled and went to look at the engines, which were connected directly to the huge paddle wheel. The engineer was getting ready to climb into his