Fifteen minutes after Sam and Clip had left him Bob's attention was drawn to a man of somewhat flashy appearance, who, while leaning against a tree on the bank, seemed to be eying him and the boat with attention. He wore a Prince Albert coat which was no longer fit to appear in good society, a damaged hat, and a loud neck-tie. His eyes were roving from one point to another, as if he felt a great deal of interest in Bob or the boat. Our hero was not favorably impressed with this man's appearance.

"I wonder what he sees that interests him so much?" he thought.

"I say, young man, is this here boat yours?" he asked.

"Yes," answered Bob, coldly.

"What have you got on board?"

Bob felt under no obligation to answer, but reflecting that there was no good excuse for refusing, he said, briefly: "Wheat."

"Humph! How much have you got?"

This clearly was none of the questioner's business, and Bob replied by another question:

"Do you want to buy?"

"I don't know," said the stranger. "What do you ask?"

"I can't say till I get to St. Louis."

"How much do you calc'late to get?"

"Two dollars and a quarter," answered Bob, naming a price beyond his expectations.

"Ain't that a high figger?"

"Perhaps so."

"Come, young feller, you don't seem social. Can't you invite me aboard?"

"I don't think you would be paid for coming," said Bob, more and more unfavorably impressed.

"Oh, I don't mind. My time ain't valuable. I guess I'll come."

The stranger stepped across the gang-plank, which Bob had laid from the boat to the shore, and entered without an invitation. Bob was tempted to order him off, but the intruder appeared much stronger than himself; and while he was alone it seemed politic to submit to the disagreeable necessity of entertaining his unwelcome visitor.

The latter walked from end to end of the boat, examining for himself without asking permission, or appearing to feel the need of any. He opened the bins and counted them, while Bob looked on uneasily.

"I say, young feller, you've got a smart lot of wheat here."

"Yes," said Bob, briefly.

"Got a thousand bushels, I reckon?"

"Perhaps so."

"And you expect to get two dollars and a quarter a bushel?"

"Perhaps I shall have to take less."

"At any rate, you must have two thousand dollars' worth on board."

"You can judge for yourself."

"I say, that's a pile of money—for a boy."

"The wheat doesn't belong to me."

"Who owns it, then."

"My mother."

"What's your mother's name?"

"I have answered all the questions I am going to," said Bob, indignantly.

"Don't get riled, youngster. It ain't no secret, is it?"

"I don't care about answering all the questions a stranger chooses to put to me."

"I say, young chap, you're gettin' on your high horse."

"What is your object in putting all these questions?"

"What is my object?"

"That is what I asked."

"The fact is, youngster, I've got a ranch round here myself, and I've got about five hundred bushels of wheat I want to market. Naturally I'm interested. See?"

Bob did not believe a word of this.

"Where is your ranch?" he asked.

"About two miles back of the town," answered the stranger, glibly. That lie was an easy one. "I'm thinkin' some of runnin' down to the city to see if I can't sell my wheat in a lump to some merchant. Mebbe I could strike a bargain with you to carry me down."

Bob had even more objection to the new passenger than to the old lady, and he answered stiffly:

"I have no accommodations for passengers."

"Oh, I can bunk anywhere—can lie on deck, on one of the bins. I'm used to roughin' it."

"You'd better take passage by the next steamer. This is a freight boat."

"There ain't anybody but you aboard, is there?"

"Yes; I have two companions."

The stranger seemed surprised and incredulous.

"Where are they?" he asked.

"Gone into the village."

The visitor seemed thoughtful. He supposed the two companions were full-grown men, and this would not tally with his plans. This illusion, however, was soon dissipated, for Sam and Clip at this point crossed the gang-plank and came aboard.

"Are them your two companions?" asked the stranger, appearing relieved.

"Yes."

Sam and Clip eyed him curiously, expecting Bob to explain who he was, but our hero was only anxious to get rid of him.

"Then you can't accommodate me?" asked the man.

"No, sir; but if you'll give me your name and address, I can perhaps sell your crop for you, and leave you to deliver it."

"Never mind, young feller! I reckon I'll go to the city myself next week."

"Just as you like, sir."

He re-crossed the plank, and when he reached the shore took up his post again beside the tree, and resumed his scrutiny of the boat.

"What does that man want?" asked Sam.

"I don't know. He asked me to give him passage to St. Louis."

"You might make money by carrying passengers," suggested Sam.

"I wouldn't carry a man like him at any price," said Bob. "I haven't any faith in his honesty or respectability, though he tells me that he owns a ranch two miles back of the town. He came on the boat to spy out what he could steal, in my opinion."

"How many days do you think we shall need for the trip, Bob?" asked Sam.

"It may take us a week; but it depends on the current, and whether we meet with any obstructions. Are you in a hurry to get back to your uncle?"

"No," said Sam, his face wearing a troubled look. "The fact is, Bob, I don't mean to go back at all."

"You mean dat, Massa Sam?" asked Clip, his eyes expanding in his excitement.

"Yes, I mean it. If I go back I shall have to return to my uncle, and you know what kind of a reception I shall get. He will treat me worse than ever."

"I am sure, Sam, my mother will be willing to let you live with us."

"I should like nothing better, but my uncle would come and take me away."

"Would he have the right?"

"I think he would. He has always told me that my poor father left me to his charge."

"Do you think he left any property?"

"Yes; I feel sure he did; for on his deathbed he called me to him, and said: 'I leave you something, Sam; I wish it were more; but, at any rate, you are not a pauper.'"

"Did you ever mention this to your uncle, Sam?"

"Yes."

"What did he say?"

"It seemed to make him very angry. He said that my father was delirious or he would never have said such absurd things. But I know he was in his right mind. He was never more calm and sensible than when he told me about the property."

"I am afraid Sam, your uncle has swindled you out of your inheritance."

"I think so, too, but I can't prove anything, and it won't do to say anything, for it makes him furious."

"What does your aunt say?"

"Oh, she sides with Uncle Aaron; she always does that."

"Then I can't say I advise you to return to Carver, although Clip and I are sure to miss you."

"'Deed I shall, Massa Sam," said Clip.

"I think I can pick up a living somehow in St. Louis. I would rather black boots than go back to Uncle Aaron."

"I am sure you can. Perhaps some gentleman will feel an interest in you, and take you into his service."

"I want to tell you, Bob, that Uncle Aaron hates you, and will try to injure you. You will need to be careful."

"That's no news, Sam. He has shown his dislike for me in many ways; but I am not afraid of him," the boy added, proudly.

At nine o'clock the boys went to bed. They were all tired, and all slept well. It was not till seven o'clock that Bob awoke. His two companions were asleep. He roused them, and they prepared for the second day's trip.