ering them?" asked Winn.

"The Government offers the first, Sheriff Riley the second, and the
third is offered by some one named Brickell. 'W. Brickell,' the bills
are signed. I saw them up at the printing-office, but they are being
distributed all over the place."

Sure enough, in that wretched little printing-office the compositor had
made "Brickell" out of Brackett, and as he was his own proof-reader,
the mistake was not discovered.

"Brickell," repeated Winn, slowly. "That is a queer name, and one that
I never heard before."

"Yes, it is one that has puzzled me a good deal," said Cap'n Cod. "I'm
sure I never heard Major Caspar mention any such person."

"You know this Major Caspar, then?"

"Know him! Well, I should say I did. We were in the same regiment all
through the war, and a better officer never commanded men. Know him!
I know him to the extent of a leg, lost when I was standing so close
beside him that if I hadn't been there the ball would have taken his
instead of mine. Know him! Didn't I know him for three months in the
hospital, where he came to see me every day? Indeed I do know Major
Caspar, and I should be mighty glad to know of any way in which I could
help him out of his present trouble."

"It is strange that I never heard father speak of any Aleck Fifield,"
thought Winn. He was about to ask some more questions, but was
restrained by the remembrance of his present peculiar position. The
same thought checked his inclination to say, "I am Winn Caspar, sir,
the son of your friend Major Caspar, of Caspar's Mill." Instead of
that he said to himself, "I will wait until we get away from this
place; or, at any rate, until I can receive a letter from home that
will prove who I am. Otherwise he might find out about the Sheriff's
skiff, and think I had made up the story to escape arrest as a thief."

So Winn held his peace, and only asked his host if he would furnish him
the materials for writing a letter home. Provided with these, he wrote
to his mother as follows:

"MANDRAKE, IOWA.

"MY OWN DEAR MOTHER,--I write to you instead of to father, as I suppose
he must be somewhere on the river hunting for me by this time, though I
have not seen him yet.

"I am all right, and having a fine time, but have lost the raft. I am
on board a boat called the _Whatnot_, with some very kind people--a
gentleman named Fifield, a girl named Sabella, a funny old darky named
Solon, and a monkey named Do