“WHY, George,” exclaimed the new-comer, “I thought you had turned in long ago.”

“O, no,” answered the young pilot. “I am going to stand my regular watch to-night. Mr. Black is at the wheel, I suppose? Mr. Scanlan, this is Bob Owens, the boy who saved my life.”

The pilot greeted Bob very cordially, and said a great many complimentary things to him, praising the courage he exhibited in jumping overboard to rescue one who was unknown to him.

“He will know me better before he sees the last of me,” said George. “I am going to take him to Texas with me.”

“I hope you won’t go,” said Mr. Scanlan. “You have made a good beginning, and you ought to stay with us until you learn the river. It will not take you more than a year longer, and then you can earn your two hundred and fifty dollars a month very easily.”

“I think from some things that have happened that I had better go home and see what is going on there,” replied the boy. “I am going into the pilot-house now, Bob, and you must go with me and see what a good steersman I am,” he added, hastily, as if he wanted to turn the conversation into another channel. “But before we go we’ll have a cup of hot coffee and a bite to eat.”

As George said this he stepped up to the table, and throwing back the cloth which covered it, disclosed to view a substantial lunch. It was placed there every night for the accommodation of the officers who were to stand the mid-watch. The exciting scene through which they had just passed had not taken away the boys’ appetites, and they disposed of a good share of the nice things the steward had provided. When they had eaten all they wanted George drew the cover over the table again, and led the way into the pilot-house. Mr. Black greeted them very cordially and was as profuse in his compliments to Bob as Mr. Scanlan had been.

“I don’t want you up here to-night, George,” said he, after he had spent a few minutes in conversation with Bob. “Go down, and turn in. Let Bob sleep in my bunk.”

“O, I have money enough to pay my fare, and secure a stateroom,” said Bob.

“The rooms are all full—we’ve got a big passenger list this trip—and so we shall have to take care of you,” replied George. “But you don’t want to go to bed now, and neither do I. I am going to take the wheel.”

“But I am afraid to trust you with it,” said the pilot.

“Why, don’t you suppose I know this part of the river?” demanded George. “I’ll hold her jackstaff on that clump of tall trees up there in the bend until her starboard smoke-stack bears on that clearing off there to the right, and then I’ll——”

“I understand all about that. You know the river here as well as I do; but there’s something besides snags and bars that we’ve got to look out for this trip.”

While this conversation was going on, Bob seated himself on the elevated bench in the back part of the pilot-house, and looked about him with the greatest interest. Everything was new and strange to him. He had never travelled on a steamboat before, and he felt much more uneasy and anxious now than he did when he was battling with the current two hours before. Guided by the skilful hands of Mr. Black, the Sam Kendall was plowing her way up the river through darkness so intense that one unaccustomed to such things would have supposed that her pilot must be blessed with more than ordinary powers of vision to be able to follow the channel. The tall trees on the bank loomed up darkly against the cloudy sky, throwing a sombre shade almost across the river, and leaving only a bright, silvery streak in the middle, which showed as plainly as the “night-hawk” on the jackstaff. Now and then the river, for a short distance in advance, would be illuminated for a moment by a bright glare from below, as the sooty, perspiring firemen threw open the furnace doors to replenish the roaring red-hot mass under the boilers, and then, their task done, and the doors closed again, the darkness, which seemed blacker than before, would once more shut out everything from view. It was long past midnight. The passengers, who had been awakened by the commotion which arose when it was discovered that the boy pilot had fallen overboard, had all retired to their staterooms again, and there was no one stirring on board the steamer except the firemen, two engineers, the watchman, who had just made his rounds, and our three friends in the pilot-house. Yes!—there was one other wakeful person, and he made his appearance a good deal sooner than he was wanted.

“You say we must look out for something besides bars and snags, this trip,” said George. “What else is there to stand in fear of?”

“Fire!” replied Mr. Black.

George opened his eyes and looked at the pilot.

“Yes. That’s worse than snags and bars; and when you have had one boat burned under you, you’ll never want to see a spark of fire again as long as you live. I don’t see why folks patronize such a tub as this, anyhow, and they wouldn’t if they knew as much as I do. She is a rotten old hulk, and when she is under way she shakes as if she was about to fall to pieces. She’s got a cabin full of passengers, a cargo worth sixty thousand dollars in the hold, and the captain owns a big share in it. More than that: the boat is insured for thirty thousand dollars, and she isn’t worth ten.”

“Well?” said George.

“Well,” repeated the pilot, “it is a singular fact that every boat, and two or three valuable cargoes in which Captain Chamberlain has been interested, have come to some bad end. Now mark my words, George: The old Sam Kendall has run out the full length of her rope. She’ll lay her bones between here and St. Louis.”

“Nonsense!” exclaimed George. “I know why you say that. There isn’t a word of truth in it.”

“George,” said Mr. Black, solemnly, “I am a good deal older than you are, and know just what I am talking about. Now you know why I don’t want to trust you alone with the wheel. But I’m pretty hungry, that’s a fact, and would like a cup of coffee.”

“The lunch is all ready. Bob and I have just come up from there.”

“Then I guess I’ll run down for just a minute, and while I am gone don’t you let that wheel go out of your hands for anybody except Ed. Scanlan. Do your hear?”

“I do,” replied George, as he laid hold of the spokes, “and I’ll remember, too.”

Mr. Black went out of the pilot-house, and Bob and George were left to themselves. The former was in his glory now. He loved a steamboat, as some boys love a horse, and others love a dog and gun. A sense of the responsibility that rested on him made his heart thrill. There was that big steamer, swaying and groaning as she tore up the river as fast as her powerful engines could send her, a hundred and more passengers sleeping quietly in their berths below, sixty thousand dollars worth of freight stowed away on the lower deck and in the hold, and this mighty craft, with her cargo of precious lives and valuable property, was in his keeping, and moved obedient to the slightest motion of his puny arm. What confusion he could create, and what a waste of life and money he could cause in one short minute, if he chose to do so!

“Now, Bob, isn’t this glorious?” exclaimed George, with great enthusiasm.

“I——yes: but what makes her shake so? and how awful dark it is!” replied Bob, who trembled a little in spite of himself. To his inexperienced eyes it looked as though George were heading the boat squarely toward the bank.

“O, every steamer shakes more or less, but none quite so badly as this one. She is almost ready to die of old age. Her hull is not half strong enough for her engines.”

“I can’t understand how you can see where you are going. Can you see the water?”

“Not very plainly; but I can see the trees on the bank, and they are what I go by.”

“I wish I was out there among them,” said Bob. “I’d rather camp out alone than be here. What did Mr. Black mean by saying that this boat is going to lay her bones between here and St. Louis?”

“O, is that what troubles you? Well, it is all moonshine.”

“But what did he mean by it?”

“I am almost ashamed to tell you. I don’t know whether you know it or not, but river men are just as superstitious as sailors. I once heard a seafaring man in New Orleans say that if rats deserted a ship, it was a sure sign that something was going to happen to her. River men have some equally absurd ideas. One of their sayings is, that a minister and a gray horse will sink any boat that floats. If that is the case we are bound to go down, for a minister who owned a gray horse boarded us at New Orleans and went with us as far as Donaldsonville. That’s what troubles Mr. Black; but it doesn’t trouble me half as much as this bad piece of river does that we’re coming to now. There is a sawyer about here somewhere that has been doing a good deal of damage of late. The John Barleycorn went down in this very bend about two weeks ago, on just such a night as this, and twenty-five of her passengers and crew went down with her. I’ll ring the bell, and when we touch the bar I shall know just where to look for the snag.”

Attached to a ring in the roof of the pilot-house was a long rope leading out of the window to the tongue of the huge bell which stood on the forward part of the hurricane deck. This rope was for the use of the pilot, who, when he wanted to know how much water there was in the channel through which his boat was passing, struck the bell once or twice, according as he wanted the lead thrown on the starboard or port side of the forecastle. George laid hold of the rope, and just then the door opened and the captain came in. The young pilot did not take a second look at him after he found out who he was, for he was a man he did not like. He rang the bell for the lead, and moved over to the other side of the wheel; the captain seated himself by Bob’s side on the elevated bench, and looked out of the window; and the watchman came up and took his stand on the hurricane deck, near the bell, to pass the word.

“Where is Mr. Black?” asked the captain.

“Gone down to lunch,” answered George; and just then the watchman sang out: “No bottom.”

“This is Dogtooth bend, isn’t it?” asked the captain.

“No, sir; it is Drayton’s.”

“Deep four!” shouted the watchman. (Twenty-four feet.)

“And did Mr. Black leave you here alone to take the boat through this bad river?” continued the captain.

“Yes, sir; for he knows that I am man enough to do it. I have taken her through here on a worse night than this, and during a worse stage of water, too.”

“Quarter less three!” shouted the watchman. (Seventeen feet and a half.)

“I don’t like this arrangement,” said the captain. “You are not a licensed pilot, and if you sink the boat I shall lose my insurance.”

“Mark twain!” (Twelve feet.)

“You’ll be on the bar the first thing you know,” exclaimed the captain, jumping to his feet. “The water is shoaling rapidly. Slow down at once.”

“I’ll be safe over it in two minutes more, for there is water enough where I am going,” replied George, who wished the captain would mind his own business and let him give the whole of his attention to steering the boat.

“Nine feet!” shouted the watchman.

“Stop her!” commanded the captain.

“No need of it, sir, for we are over now,” said George; and so it proved, for the next word was, “no bottom.” George rang the bell to show that he was done with the lead, and the captain continued:

“The snag the Barleycorn picked up is about here somewhere, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir, two hundred yards above; and worse than that, a portion of the Barleycorn’s wreck lies right in the channel.”

“Well, you had better go down and tell Mr. Black to come up here. I’d rather trust him than you. I’ll take care of her until he comes,” said the captain, moving toward the wheel.

“I am able to take care of her myself,” replied the young pilot.

“But I don’t think it safe to trust you. This is my boat, and I’ve got considerable at stake. Give me the wheel.”

“I’d rather not do it, sir. Mr. Black told me particularly to give it into the hands of nobody except himself or Mr. Scanlan.”

“Well, Mr. Black is under my orders and so are you. Let go of the wheel!”

The captain made an effort to push George away from his post, but the boy clung to the spokes with all his strength, and looked out of the window for the watchman, intending to send him below to call Mr. Black; but the watchman having performed the duty of passing the word had gone his way, and George was left to fight his battles alone.

“Will you let go of that wheel?” demanded the captain, in savage tones.

“No, I will not,” replied George, firmly. “I know what you want and so does Mr. Black. You want to sink this boat and get the insurance money on her; but you can’t do it while I am in the pilot-house!”

This bold declaration arrested the arm which the captain had raised to strike the young pilot. He stood motionless and speechless for a moment with his clenched hand in the air, and then the blow fell, and the boy dropped to the deck. He lay stunned and bewildered for a moment and then staggered to his feet and looked out. The dreaded snag could be dimly seen through the darkness, and, worse than that, the Sam Kendall was out of the channel and heading toward it at full speed. George thought of the sleeping passengers below, and made a desperate effort to save them and the boat. He seized one of the ropes leading from the post which supported the wheel down to the engine-room, and gave it a furious jerk. It was the stopping-bell, and the engineer was quick to respond to it. George then tried to reach the backing-bell, but the captain turned fiercely upon him and struck him to the deck again. But George had saved the boat. The port engine was stopped almost immediately, while the one on the starboard side continued to work as rapidly as ever; and although the captain threw the wheel over as quickly as he could, he was not able to make the helm overcome the tremendous power of the huge paddle-wheel. The bow of the steamer swung rapidly away from the snag, and the passengers slept on, all unconscious of the danger they had so narrowly escaped.

George scrambled to his feet again in a sadly demoralized condition. The captain’s last blow was almost too much for him. He leaned upon the bench for a few seconds, and when he had somewhat recovered himself he saw that the pilot-house door was open, that there was no one at the wheel, and that the steamer was swinging around toward the bank with fearful velocity. To spring to his post, stop the starboard engine, start the other, and bring the boat back into the channel with her head up the stream was the work of but a few minutes. Just as he had succeeded in doing it Mr. Black hurried in and seized the wheel.

All these incidents occupied but a very short time in taking place. The captain was not in the pilot-house more than three or four minutes, and during that time Bob sat on the bench, alternating between hope and fear, and watching the singular scene that was transpiring before him. He looked on with mouth and eyes wide open, but could do nothing. He expected every instant that the boat would blow up, or fall in pieces, or do some other equally dreadful thing, and he would have given everything he possessed to have been safe on shore. He breathed easier when he saw Mr. Black come in; but if he had only known it, there was another and a harder test of his courage close at hand.

“What are you ringing so many bells for, George?” asked the pilot. “Did she take a sheer on you?”

“No, sir; but I made her take a sheer on the captain, I guess,” was the faint reply.

“The old man!” exclaimed Mr. Black. “He hasn’t been in here!”

“Hasn’t he, though? My head tells me a different story. He knocked me away from the wheel because I wouldn’t give it up to him, and tried to run the boat on the snag that sunk the Barleycorn.”

Mr. Black was profoundly astonished. He looked toward Bob, who nodded his head significantly, and then began to inquire into the particulars of the case. By dint of much questioning (the boys could not tell their story connectedly, one being somewhat muddled and the other greatly excited and alarmed), he finally gained a pretty good idea of what had happened in the pilot-house during his absence. He made no comments, but, having learned all he wanted to know, devoted himself entirely to the work of steering the vessel, and at the same time he seemed to be thinking busily. George sat by Bob’s side on the bench, gradually recovering from the effects of his struggle with the captain, and at the end of half an hour declared that he was all right, with the exception of a slight headache.

“Well, you had better go down and sleep it off,” said the pilot.

“O, no!” replied George; “I want to steer. You must remember, Mr. Black, that I shall not have many more opportunities to handle the wheel. As soon as we reach St. Louis, I shall——What’s that?”

The pilot and the two boys held their breath and listened.

“That’s so; what is it?” exclaimed Mr. Black; and had there been light enough in the pilot-house to enable the boys to distinguish his features, they would have seen that his face was as pale as death. There was the sound of a terrible commotion below, which was plainly heard above the puffing of the exhaust pipes, and the pounding of the paddle-wheels. Hoarse voices shouted out hurried commands, and uttered cries of alarm; heavy feet ran to and fro; and then suddenly a greater uproar arose in the cabin, as if the passengers had been aroused from their sleep to find themselves confronted by some terrible danger. A moment afterward one of the engineers on watch shouted one word through the trumpet leading from the lower deck to the pilot-house, which almost paralyzed two of those who heard it, and explained it all.

“Fire!” shouted the engineer.

The two boys sprang to their feet in great dismay, and, for a few seconds, stood looking at each other, without possessing the power to move or speak. Bob knew, instinctively, that something dreadful had happened, but he did not fully realize the danger of their situation.

“He don’t—he can’t mean to say that the boat is on fire!” he managed to gasp, at last.

“That’s just the trouble,” answered Mr. Black.

“Why, how—how——”

“There’s no telling how the fire started, if that is what you want to know. What did I tell you, George? I am not surprised at it, for I have been looking for this, or something just as bad, to happen to the old tub for a long time. It is a wonder to me that she has stayed above water as long as she has. But she’s a dead duck now. She’ll go like a tinder-box.”

“Well, we don’t want to go with her,” cried George, in great excitement. “Turn her toward the bank. Run her ashore!”

He sprang forward to assist Mr. Black in swinging the boat around, but no sooner had they laid out their strength on the wheel than something seemed to give away all at once, the wheel flew out of their grasp, and George fell to the deck all in a heap, while Mr. Black only saved himself by clinging to a stanchion.

“What’s the matter?” cried George, as he scrambled to his feet.

“The tiller-rope has parted and the boat is unmanageable,” was the appalling reply. “She’ll burn and sink in the deepest part of the channel, and I can’t swim a stroke.”

When Bob heard these words he sank down on the bench almost overcome with terror. Just then Mr. Scanlan came bounding up the steps to the hurricane deck, carrying his boots in his hand and his coat over his arm. “What’s the matter with you in there?” he demanded. “Are you both asleep? Don’t you know that we are all in a blaze below? Run her ashore.”

“We can’t. The tiller-rope is burned off!”

“Burned off,” repeated Mr. Scanlan, as he came rushing into the pilot-house. “I thought the watchman said the fire was in the galley. Well, I swan!” he added, as Mr. Black gave the wheel a turn to show that the rope was no longer connected with it. “We must be burned half in two already.”

“Who-whoop!” shouted George, through the trumpet.

“Hallo!” shouted one of the engineers in reply.

“We have no control over the rudder, and will have to do the best we can with the wheels,” said George.

“All right,” was the engineer’s answer. “It is getting smoky, but we will stay as long as we can.”

Mr. Black rang to stop, and then to back the port engine, leaving the other still working ahead, and this brought the Sam Kendall around until she lay directly across the channel, her bow pointing toward the left bank. Then he slowed down on the starboard engine, came ahead strong on the port, and the boat shot rapidly across the river, while the three pilots stood awaiting the result with no little anxiety. If there was water enough to float the steamer, her bow would soon touch the shore; but scarcely had this thought passed through their minds when there was a concussion that almost knocked them off their feet, rattled the smoke-stack guys furiously, and caused the tall chimneys to reel and sway about as if they were on the point of falling overboard. The boat had run on the bar, two hundred yards from the bank, and gone on, too, with sufficient force to remain wedged fast; for, although the engines were backed with their full power, they could not start her an inch.