the most
part devoted to a whole-hearted rendition of "Home, Sweet Home," in his
thin and bell-like tenor, when he broke off in the middle of a stanza
to chuckle.

"Say, Chief," he exclaimed, "I've got news for you that'll just fill
you plumb full of happiness and good cheer. I hired another hand
to-day who'll be a distinct addition to our gang up-river. Just to
while away the dark hours I'll let you guess for a while who he is.
I'll let you guess from here to Last Oak, above the cypress bend at the
rapids. One, two, three--and the contest is on!"

The man beside Fat Joe stirred and opened his eyes. Fat Joe couldn't
see it, for it was too dark, but Steve frowned somewhat at the levity
which had interrupted him. He had just been thinking about the tight
grip of a slender hand which had fallen upon his arm that afternoon
when a red-headed riverman lurched drunkenly from a doorway ahead.
Joe's words were exactly coincident with that thought and the answer
came mechanically.

"Harrigan," grunted Steve.

And in the darkness Fat Joe sighed mournfully.

"Bull's-eye," he whimpered, "and there goes the whole evenin's
entertainment! Why didn't you cast around, sort of fruitless for a
while, and prolong the excitement? But you're right. Harrigan, that's
him! He'd just met up with that fat party who owns the plaster palace
on the hill--just met up with him, down the road a piece, and Allison
had fired him for keeps, he said. He asked me if we didn't have room
for a nice steady hand, so I hired him. And I'll leave it to you if it
ain't Harrigan's feet that's mostly unsteady, at that. He seemed awful
cheerful for a man who'd just been allowed to resign, but who was I to
entertain dark doubts? I hired him; I thought you might like the touch
of color his hair'll lend to the landscape. It'll be comfortin', too,
havin' him around where we can have a look at him any time we take the
notion. Don't you think so?"

Steve's grunted reply was hardly intelligible, but it seemed to satisfy
Fat Joe. The latter had long before learned to read the signs; he knew
when his best efforts were only wasted words, and once more he gave his
attention to the jogging horses and his neglected melody.

Caleb Hunter, wondering after Steve had gone just how much he might
have seemed to insinuate, regretted that he had spoken at all.
Recollection of Allison's bluff cordiality with O'Mara only made him
the more ashamed of his suspicion, an