he wood on board, or carried the cargo ashore, singing
plaintive melodies as they worked. Then again, the steamer would be
made fast to a wharf-boat by some small town, or to the levee of a
larger landing-place, and goods went ashore, passengers flitted on and
off, baggage was transferred, the gang-plank was hauled in with
prodigious clatter, the engineer's bell tinkled, and, with a great
snort from her engines, the "New Lucy" resumed her way down the river.
Few passengers but those who were to go ashore could be seen on the
upper deck viewing the strange sights of making a night-landing. And
through the whole racket and din, three lads slept the sleep of the
young and the innocent in room Number 56. "Just the number of the year
with the eighteen knocked off," Sandy had said when they were assigned
to it.

When the boys had asked in Leavenworth how long the trip to St. Louis
would be, they were told, "Three or four days, if the water holds."
This they thought rather vague information, and they had only a dim
idea of what the man meant by the water holding. They soon learned.
The season had been dry for the time of year. Although it was now
November, little or no autumnal rains had fallen. Passengers from Fort
Benton said that the lands on the Upper Missouri were parched for want
of water, and the sluggish currents of the Big Muddy were "as slow as
cold molasses," as one of the deck-hands said to Sandy, when he was
peering about the lower deck of the steamboat. It began to look as if
the water would not hold.

On the second afternoon out of Leavenworth, as the "New Lucy" was
gallantly sweeping around Prairie Bend, where any boat going down
stream is headed almost due north, the turn in the river revealed no
less than four other steamers hard and fast on the shoals that now
plentifully appeared above the surface of the yellow water. Cautiously
feeling her way along through these treacherous bars and sands, the
"New Lucy," with slackened speed, moved bravely down upon the stranded
fleet. Anxious passengers clustered on the forward part of the
steamer, watching the course of events. With many a cough and many a
sigh, the boat swung to the right or left, obedient to her helm, the
cry of the man heaving the lead for soundings telling them how fast
the water shoaled or deepened as they moved down stream.

"We are bound to get aground," said Oscar, as he scanned the wide
river, apparently almost bare to its bed. "I suppose t