is called the Grand Chain--a succession of hidden
rocks, one of the most dangerous places on the river. There were two
rocks there only about seventy feet apart, and you've got to go exactly
between them or wreck the boat. There was a time when I could have done
it without a tremor, but that time wasn't now. I would have given any
reasonable sum to have been on the shore just at that moment. I think I
was about ready to drop dead when I heard a step on the pilothouse stair;
then the door opened and the pilot came in, quietly picking his teeth,
and took the wheel, and I crawled weakly back to the seat. He said:

"'You thought you were playing a nice joke on me, didn't you? You
thought I didn't know who you were. Why, I recognized that drawl of
yours as soon as you opened your mouth.'

"I said, 'Who the h--l are you? I don't remember you.'

"'Well,' he said, 'perhaps you don't, but I was a cub pilot on the river
before the war, when you were a licensed pilot, and I couldn't get a
license when I was qualified for one, because the Pilots' Association was
so strong at that time that they could keep new pilots out if they wanted
to, and the law was that I had to be examined by two licensed pilots, and
for a good while I could not get any one to make that examination. But
one day you and another pilot offered to do it, and you put me through a
good, healthy examination and indorsed my application for a license. I
had never seen you before, and I have never seen you since until now, but
I recognized you.'

"'All right,' I said. 'But if I had gone half a mile farther with that
steamboat we might have all been at the bottom of the river.'

"We got to be good friends, of course, and I spent most of my time up
there with him. When we got down below Cairo, and there was a big, full
river--for it was highwater season and there was no danger of the boat
hitting anything so long as she kept in the river--I had her most of the
time on his watch. He would lie down and sleep, and leave me there to
dream that the years had not slipped away; that there had been no war, no
mining days, no literary adventures; that I was still a pilot, happy and
care-free as I had been twenty years before."

From the book we gather that he could not keep out of the pilot-house. He
was likely to get up at any hour of the night to stand his watch, and
truly enough the years had slipped away. He was the young fellow in his
twenties again, speculating on the