in the shape of hot tears. The others could not see them in
the darkness, and he would not have cared much if they could.

But Billy Brackett was not giving way to his grief. There was too much
to be done for that. He was trying to set up the overturned stove, and
make things more comfortable. At the same time his cheery tones were
raising the low spirits of his companions, and causing them to take a
brighter view of the situation.

The young engineer, with Glen and Solon to aid him, worked in darkness,
for the lamp had rolled from the table when the raft struck the stone
tower, and been extinguished in the water that flooded part of the
"shanty." In spite of this drawback, they finally succeeded in getting
the stove into position. Then they began to feel for fuel with which
to make a fire. Everything was wet. Some one proposed breaking up a
chair, but Billy Brackett exclaimed,

"Hold on! I have thought of something better."

With this he caught hold of one of the thin boards used by the
"river-traders" to ceil the room, and, with a powerful wrench, tore it
off. This particular board happened to be near where Winn was sitting
on the floor, so filled with his own sad thoughts that he paid but
slight attention to what was going on about him. As the board was torn
from its place several soft objects fell near him, and one of them
struck his hand. It seemed to be paper, and when Billy Brackett sung
out for some paper with which to start the fire, Winn said, "Here's a
wad that's dry," and tossed the package in the direction of the stove.
The young engineer slipped it under the wood, struck a match, and
lighted it. The next instant he uttered a startled exclamation,
snatched the package from the stove, and beat out the flame that was
rapidly eating into it.

"What is the matter?" asked Winn.

"Matter?" returned Billy Brackett. "Oh, nothing at all; only I can't
quite afford to warm myself at fires fed with bank-bills. Not just
yet. I wouldn't hesitate to dissolve all my spare pearls in vinegar,
if I felt an inclination for that kind of a drink, but I must draw a
line at greenback fuel. Where did you get them? Whose are they? And
why in the name of poverty do you want them burned up? Has your wealth
become a burden to you?"

"Are they really bills?" asked Winn, incredulously.

For answer Billy Brackett struck another match, and all saw that he
indeed held a package of bank-notes with charred ends.