Bob Burton started on his trip down the river quite unaware that he carried a passenger; Clip's peculiar nervousness attracted his attention, and he wondered at it, but finally was led to attribute it to the whisky, of which he credited Clip with having drunk a considerable amount. We know that he was mistaken in this, but those who practice deception are apt to be misjudged, and have no right to complain.

One more discovery puzzled Bob. Clip happened to have a hole in the pocket in which he carried the money given him by the mysterious passenger. At first it was not large enough to imperil the safety of the coin; but Clip thrust his hand so often into his pocket, to see if the money was safe, that he had unconsciously enlarged the opening. As a result of this, as he was walking the deck, a two-dollar-and-a-half gold piece, obtained in change, slipped out, and fell upon the deck. Bob happened to be close at hand, and instantly espied the coin.

Clip walked on without noticing his loss.

Bob stooped and picked up the coin.

"A gold piece!" he thought, in amazement. "Where can Clip possibly have got it?"

He had not missed any of his own money. Indeed, he knew that none of it was in gold. Certainly the case looked very mysterious.

"Clip," he said.

"What, Massa Bob?" returned Clip, innocently.

"Is this gold piece yours?"

Clip started, and, if he had been white, would have turned pale.

"I reckon it is, Massa Bob," he answered, with hesitation.

"Where did it come from?"

"From my pocket," he answered.

"But how did it come into your pocket, Clip?"

"I put it there."

"Look here, Clip," said Bob, sternly. "You are evading the question."

"What's dat, Massa Bob?"

"You are trying to get rid of telling me the truth. Did you steal this money?"

"No, I didn't," answered Clip, indignantly. "I nebber steal."

"I am glad to hear it. Then, if you didn't steal it, how did you get it?"

Clip scratched his kinky hair. He was puzzled.

"I done found it," he answered, at length.

"Where did you find it?"

"In de—de street."

"When and where?"

"Dis mornin', when I was comin' from breakfast."

"If you found it, there would be no objection to your keeping it," he said, "provided you could not find the original owner."

"Can't find him now, nohow," said Clip, briskly.

"Come here a minute."

Clip approached, not understanding Bob's reason for calling him.

Bob suddenly thrust his hand into Clip's pocket, and drew out two silver dollars, and a quarter, the remains of the five-dollar gold piece, Clip having spent a quarter.

"What's all this?" he asked, in amazement. "Did you find this money, too?"

"Yes, Massa Bob," he answered, faintly.

"Clip, I am convinced you are lying."

"No, I'm not."

"Do you mean to tell me you found all these coins on the sidewalk?"

"Yes, Massa Bob."

"That is not very likely. Clip, I don't want to suspect you of dishonesty, but it looks very much as if you had been stealing."

"No, I haven't, Massa Bob," asserted Clip, stoutly.

"Do you still tell me that you found all this money?"

Clip began to find himself involved in the intricacies of his lie, and his courage gave out.

"No, Massa Bob. Don't you get mad with me, and I'll tell you the trufe."

"Tell it, then."

"A gemman gave it to me."

"A gentleman gave you this money. What did he give it to you for?"

"He—he wanted to go down de ribber," stammered Clip.

"Wanted to go down the river? Suppose he did," said Bob, not yet understanding; "why should he give you money?"

"He wanted me to let him go as a passenger on de boat."

"Ha!" said Bob, a sudden light breaking in upon him. "And you agreed to take him?"

"Ye-es, Massa Bob."

"Where is he now?"

It was not Clip that answered this question. There was heard a noise from the corner as of some one moving about, and from his sheltered place of refuge, the mysterious passenger stepped forth. He coolly took out his silk handkerchief and dusted his coat and vest.

"Really," he said, "I can't say much for your accommodations for passengers. Have you got such a thing as a clothes-brush on board this craft?"

Bob stared at him in amazement, and could not find a word to say for the space of a minute.

"Who are you, sir?" he asked, at length.

"Who am I? Well, you may call me John Smith, for want of a better name."

"When did you come on board?"

"At the last landing. I made a bargain with that dark-complexioned young man"—with a grin at Clip—"who for the sum of five dollars agreed to convey me to St. Louis. It wasn't a very high price, if I had decent accommodations."

"Why didn't you tell me this, Clip?" demanded Bob.

"I—de gemman didn't want me to," stammered Clip.

"Quite right," corroborated the stranger. "I told Clip he needn't mention our little arrangement, as he thought you might object to it. I don't blame him for telling you at last, for you forced him to do so. I suppose you are the captain."

"I am all the captain there is," answered Bob.

"I am delighted to make your acquaintance, really. I assure you I am glad to get out of that dusty hole, and presume you will now allow me the freedom of the deck."

The stranger was so cool and self-possessed—cheeky, perhaps it might be called—that Bob eyed him in wonder.

"Why did you select my boat in preference to a regular passenger steamer?" he asked.

"A little whim of mine!" answered the other, airily. "The truth is, I am a newspaper reporter, and I thought such a trip as I am making would furnish the materials for a taking article. I mean to call it 'In the Steerage; or, a Boat Ride on the Missouri.' Good idea, isn't it?"

"Why, yes, it might be," said Bob, dryly; "but I think the owner of the boat ought to have been consulted."

"Accept my apologies, Captain Bob," said the passenger, with a smile. "If there was a saloon near, I would invite you to take a drink with me, but—"

"Never mind. I don't drink. Here, Clip!"

"Well, Massa Bob."

"You did wrong to take this man's money, and you must return it."

At these last words Clip's countenance fell.

Bob counted the money and handed it to the stranger.

"There are twenty-five cents missing," he said. "I will make that up from my own pocket."

"Let the boy keep the money. I don't want it back."

"I cannot allow him to keep it."

Clip's face, which had brightened at the stranger's words, fell again.

"What is your objection?" asked the passenger.

"I may as well be frank with you. I understand your reason for embarking on my boat in preference to waiting for a river steamer. You were in a hurry to leave the town."

"That's what I said."

"Shall I mention the reason?"

"If you like."

"Because you had been implicated in robbing a store—perhaps several. This is stolen money."

"I deny it. I may have been suspected. In fact, I don't mind admitting that I was, and that I thought it my best policy to get away. The good people were likely to give me a great deal of trouble. Thanks to you—"

"Not to me."

"To Clip, then, I managed to elude their vigilance. It makes me laugh to think of their disappointment."

Bob did not appear to look upon it as a joke, however.

"Of course I shall not allow you to remain on the boat," he said.

"I'll give you twenty-five—thirty dollars," said the stranger, earnestly.

"I decline. It would be making me your accomplice. I would be receiving stolen money."

"What do you propose, then?"

"I will steer the boat as near the shore as I can, and request you to land."

The stranger shrugged his shoulders.

"Very well," he said. "We must be eight or ten miles away from my accusers. I think I can manage for myself now."

In ten minutes the stranger stepped jauntily ashore, and, lifting his hat, bade Bob a cheerful good-bye.