THE boys had no trouble in following the road that led to the little collection of houses known as White River Landing. The ten miles did not seem very long to them, for George beguiled the way with many thrilling and amusing incidents drawn from his own experience, and the journey was completed almost before they knew it.

They found the little settlement in a state of intense excitement. The news of the burning of the Kendall had spread through the country for miles around, and the planters had come in by dozens to learn all the particulars. No sooner did the boys appear in sight than they were surrounded by a crowd of men who asked questions much faster than they could answer them. George told their story, making Bob out a perfect hero (the latter was not a little abashed when he found himself stared at as if he had been some curious wild animal, and could not help asking himself what these men, who complimented him so highly, would have thought of him if they had known how he came to be on board the Sam Kendall); and when the narrative was finished one of the listeners, who proved to be the storekeeper, seized Bob by the arm and led him away. “Come with me,” said he. “A brave boy like you shall not be allowed to run around in his shirtsleeves on a cold day like this.”

He conducted Bob to his store, one side of which was filled with clothing, and told him to help himself to the best coat he could find. Bob objected, declaring that he had money enough to buy all the clothing he needed, but the merchant would not listen to him. He had made up his mind to do something for the boy, and he had his own way. When Bob came out of the store a few minutes later he wore a much better coat than the one he had lost. He found George still in conversation with the planters. They told him that every canoe and yawl that could be found had been brought into service; that a good many of the passengers and crew had been rescued while they were floating by the landing; that the wharf-boat was loaded with furniture and portions of the cargo that had been picked up; that some of the passengers had gone to New Orleans on the Silver Moon and another boat whose name they did not mention, to make a new start for St. Louis; and that those who remained at the landing were being cared for by the settlers while waiting for a boat bound up the river. Then George made inquiries concerning his partners. They were well-known pilots, and some of the planters said they were personally acquainted with them; but they had seen nothing of them.

“I am afraid I shall not find them,” said George, sadly, as he and Bob made their way toward the wharf-boat, which they found filled with the charred remains of the Kendall’s cargo.

“They may have been picked up before they reached the landing, or they may have floated by without being seen,” said Bob.

“There is some consolation to be found in that,” replied George, brightening. “If they are alive, I’ll see them some day. I owe a great deal to them.”

During the two hours that they remained on board the wharf-boat the boys were never left alone. They had a crowd of eager listeners around them all the time. They talked until they were tired, and were glad, indeed, when some one announced that a steamer, bound down, had just come in sight. A strip of canvas was stretched around the railing of the hurricane deck, bearing the words “For New Orleans,” and that told the boys that she was the boat they were waiting for. They boarded her as soon as her gang-plank was shoved out, and were at once surrounded by another crowd of people, who, having seen the smoking wreck of the Kendall (which was still fast on the bar), wanted to know how it came there. George told the captain all about it, and put a stop to further inquiries from the passengers by elbowing his way to the office and asking for a stateroom, to which he and his companion were promptly shown. When they had closed the door behind them they both gave a sigh of relief, and Bob began to pull off his coat.

“Are you tired enough to go to bed?” asked George. “I shall not wait until night. I am going into the pilot-house to keep watch. We may pick up somebody, you know.”

“I am not going to bed,” answered Bob. “I want to take out money enough to pay our passage. Have you any idea how much it will be?”

“Passage!” repeated George. “Why, man, we’re shipwrecked. Who would take money from us? We are not supposed to have any.”

“But, they might ask us for some.”

“No, they won’t. You’ll see that we will get the best of everything, and not a word will be said to us about money. Hold fast to all you’ve got. You’ll need it, if you are going to buy repeating rifles and revolvers, and hunting-knives, as you said you were, when we reach Galveston. You can’t get a Winchester rifle for less than forty-five dollars, and you will find that the cartridges for it will cost you a snug sum too.”

Bob put on his coat again, and the two boys sat on the lower bunk and waited until the steamer was under way, and the passengers had had time to disperse about the boat, and then they opened the door and hurried into the barber shop. They washed their hands and faces, brushed their hair and clothing, blacked their boots, and, having thus greatly improved their appearance, made their way toward the pilot-house. At the head of the stairs which led to the hurricane deck, George stopped and pointed down the river.

“Do you see that long point running out from the left-hand bank?” said he. “If we make a landing within the next fifty miles, without being hailed, we shall make it there. It is Rochdale.”

Fortunately for Bob, George just then turned his back and started toward the pilot-house, so he did not see the sudden start the runaway gave when these words fell upon his ear. He was going toward his home again as fast as a strong current and a swift boat could take him. Suppose the steamer should make a landing there! He would conceal himself, of course; but what good would that do? Some of the many idlers who were always to be found about Silas Jones’s store would come aboard, and they would be sure to hear all about the burning of the Kendall. They would be equally sure to hear his name mentioned, for George had given it with his own to the captain, in the hearing of all the passengers. That would excite their wonder, and would be almost certain to lead to an investigation; and how would he feel when he was hunted up and pulled out of his hiding-place, with David Evans’s hard-earned money on his person, and five dollars of it gone? How heartily he wished now that he had given it into the hands of its lawful owner! If he had done that, he would have made himself famous in the settlement, and everybody would have thought he was the best fellow in the world.

“Come on, Bob,” exclaimed George. “What are you standing there for?”

As Bob could not leave the boat unless he jumped overboard, he had nothing to do but to go on with her, and trust to luck; so he followed George into the pilot-house, and, with his companion, was warmly welcomed by the man at the wheel. He sat on the bench by George’s side, while the latter related the story of their adventures in detail, and, fastening his eyes on the point before him, thought of the little settlement there, and the people who lived in it. When there was a pause in the conversation he managed to say to the pilot:

“Do you stop at—I mean—what is your next landing?”

“I don’t know,” was the reply; “but I can soon find out. Who-whoop!” shouted the pilot, through the trumpet that led down to the office.

“Ay! ay!” shouted the clerk.

“Anything for Rochdale?”

“Nary thing,” was the encouraging response.

The pilot then went on to tell what the name of their next regular landing was, and how far down the river it was located, but Bob heard none of it. He had learned that the boat was not going to stop at Rochdale, and that was enough for him. But, would she be signaled from the shore? That was the question he kept asking himself, and it was answered about two hours afterward, when they came within sight of the landing. How his heart throbbed as he drew near to the familiar place, and how glad he would have been if he could have gone back there with everything just as it was before he stole that money! He noticed, with no little uneasiness, that there was a larger number of idlers than usual congregated on the levee, and he gazed anxiously at them, expecting every moment to see a white handkerchief waved in the air. But his fears proved groundless. The steamer held steadily on her course, and in a quarter of an hour more Rochdale was out of sight. Bob was very miserable and gloomy after that. He did not recover his usual spirits until the steamer landed at New Orleans; and then the sights and sounds of the city, which were new to him, seemed to draw his attention to other matters, and to put a little life into him.

As soon as the boat was made fast to the levee the two boys went ashore, and George led the way to a hotel, which was much frequented by steamboat men. He seemed to be well acquainted there, for he had scarcely entered the door before he was surrounded by pilots and engineers, who were eager to hear more about the burning of the Kendall than the newspapers had been able to tell them. George talked until he was tired, and then he and Bob signed their names to the register, and went in to dinner. When they had disappeared through the door of the dining-room, a man who had followed them unnoticed from the steamboat-landing to the hotel, and who had taken care to keep in the back-ground while George was talking with his friends, stepped up to the desk, looked at the register, and turned and went out.

Having disposed of a good dinner, the boys left the hotel, intent on seeing as much of the city as they could in one short afternoon. They intended to remain in New Orleans that night, and take the steamer which sailed for Galveston the next evening. They roamed through the streets until dark, George pointing out to his country friend all the objects of interest they passed, and, after purchasing a few necessary articles of clothing (which required the outlay of ten dollars more of David Evans’s money), they returned to the hotel. When they wanted to go to bed Bob placed his money in the hands of the clerk, and was shown to a room adjoining the one his friend George was to occupy. He went to sleep, thinking of the folks at home, and bemoaning the folly of which he had been guilty in leaving them, and, about midnight, was awakened by a rapping at his door—a whispered rapping, so to speak, as if the person who was outside wanted to arouse him and no one else. Bob started up in some alarm, and, when the sound was repeated, called out:

“Who’s there?”

“Watchman, sar,” replied the person outside.

“What do you want?”

“I’se got a letter for you, sar.”

“A what?”

“A letter what a gemman gave me to give you, sar.”

“A letter!” thought Bob. “Who in the world can be writing to me? It isn’t George, of course, for he knows that I am in the room next to his own. It can’t be that——great Moses!”

Bob was frightened by something that just then occurred to him. Could it be possible that his father had learned of his whereabouts, and that he had come to the city by rail to intercept him and take him home again? Bob trembled all over, as he asked himself the question, and recalled the fact that David Evans’s money was fifteen dollars short. As he could see no other way out of the difficulty, he resolved that he would not receive the letter at all. He would wait until the watchman went down stairs, and then he would put on his clothes, and leave the hotel with all possible haste. He lay down again, and, as he drew the quilts over him, exclaimed:

“You’ve made a mistake, boy. That letter is for somebody else.”

“De gemman done tol’ me to give it to Mr. Owens, in number twenty-six,” was the reply.

Bob groaned. Very reluctantly and with much fear and trembling he got out of bed, and having hunted up his candlestick—knowing that he was inexperienced, George had told the clerk that it might not be quite safe to trust him with the gas—he struck a light, and as he opened the door a black hand holding a small piece of paper was thrust in. It was a very small piece of paper, but still it was large enough to contain words that might almost knock Bob over. He closed the door, hurried to the light and unfolding the note, read as follows:

“I have just found a steamer that will sail for Galveston within half an hour. I am on board of her now. Get your money from the clerk and come at once. You will find a carriage at the door and the driver knows where to take you!”

Bob drew a long breath of relief, and with an exclamation of surprise he dropped the note and began to pull on his clothes. He was relieved to know that the note was not from his father, and surprised to learn that George had so suddenly changed the plans he had formed the day before. What had happened to induce him to leave the hotel at that time of night to hunt up a steamer?

It took Bob but a few minutes to dress, and when he had put the note into his pocket he blew out the candle and hurried from his room. He lost his way two or three times by turning into the wrong halls and going down the wrong stairs, but he managed to find his way to the office, at last, and asked for his money and his bill. The clerk handed out the greenbacks, which were enclosed in an envelope, and Bob was waiting to learn how much his bill amounted to, when he was greatly astonished to hear a familiar voice behind him exclaim:

“What in the world are you doing here?”

Bob turned and saw the cub pilot standing before him. He had no collar or vest on, and it was plain that he had dressed in something of a hurry before he left his room.

“Where are you going?” asked George, seeing that Bob held his money in his hand.

“Why, I was going out after you,” answered Bob, as soon us he could speak.

“And where did you expect to find me? I haven’t been out of my room before to-night.”

“Didn’t you write me a note stating that you had found a steamer that was going to sail for Galveston inside of half an hour?”

“I!” exclaimed George, in great amazement. “No, sir.”

“There!” said Bob. “I told the watchman he had made a mistake. Here’s the note.”

George read the note, and so did the clerk; and then the watchman, who happened to pass by at that moment, was called upon for an explanation. “Where did you get this note?” asked the clerk.

“From dat gemman out dar in de carriage, sar,” was the prompt reply.

“Let’s go and see if it is any one we know,” said George.

The two boys hurried to the sidewalk, and, when they reached it, found there was no carriage there. The watchman, who had followed close at their heels, seemed to be very much astonished.

“The gentleman, whoever he was, found that he had made a mistake, and so he drove off,” said George, as he tore the note into the smallest possible fragments, and put them into his pocket. “It is of no consequence. Let’s go back to bed, Bob.”

They stopped for a few minutes at the desk, to compare notes with the clerk and the watchman; and, when everybody was satisfied that it was the man in the carriage, and not the darkey, who had made the mistake, Bob saw his money put back into the safe, and he and George went up-stairs. The latter went into Bob’s room, and, when he had closed and locked the door, proceeded to explain how he had happened to follow Bob to the office.

“I heard some one pounding on your door,” said he; “but I couldn’t hear what he said to you. Knowing that you had no friends in the city, my curiosity was excited, and so I came out to see what was going on; but I found your room empty. It was lucky that I followed you to the office, for I learned something by it. You remember that rescued passenger we found in the old trapper’s cabin, don’t you? That was my Uncle John.”

Bob looked bewildered, but said nothing.

“He overheard every word of our conversation,” continued the young pilot. “He wasn’t asleep at all. He knows that we are going to Texas together, and he means to prevent it, if he can.”

“What would he have done with me, if he had got me into that carriage?” asked Bob, drawing a long breath. “And why does he want to trouble me? I never did anything to him.”

“No, but you carry the purse,” replied George. “If he could manage to send you back up the river to St. Louis, or across the gulf to South America, it would leave me in a bad fix, for I have no money. He wants to keep me away from home, and he thinks he can do it by separating us. Now, Bob,” added George, earnestly, “we must never lose sight of each other until we reach Texas, if we can help it!”

The boys spent an hour or more in talking the matter over, and then George went into his own room. Bob locked and barricaded his door, and tumbled into bed again, but not to sleep. Thinking of the trap he had so nearly run into, kept him awake. It was anything but pleasant for him to know that he had an enemy in a man with whom he was not acquainted, whom he would not have recognised if he had walked into his room at that moment, and who might at any time, when he was off his guard, get him into his power and ship him off to South America, or some other out-of-the-way place. Bob did not ask himself what his favorite border men would have done under similar circumstances, and in fact he never thought of them now. He no longer looked upon them as objects worthy of emulation. He and George were very careful after that. They were scarcely out of sight of each other during the following day, and it was not until they were safe on board the steamer, bound for Galveston, and George had searched high and low, to make sure that his uncle was not on board, that they began to breathe easily.

The journey across the gulf was made without the occurrence of any incident that was worthy of note. Neither of them enjoyed it, for the sail grew monotonous after a while, and, as they had nothing to read, and had exhausted almost every topic of conversation, they could only sit and think—one, of his happy boyhood’s home, toward which he was hastening, and where he knew he would not be welcomed by those in possession, and the other of the loved ones he was leaving behind, and whom he might never see again. He hoped he might see them again, however, and laid plans accordingly. He wouldn’t spend any of David’s money for a hunter’s outfit, as he had intended to do. If he had had it all in his possession, and could have reached home without spending any of it, he would have turned about at once; but, as that was impossible, he would go on, and seek employment as soon as he reached his journey’s end. George had told him that herders received forty dollars per month, and that, in Bob’s estimation, was a large sum of money. At that rate it would take him but a little over four months to earn as much as he had stolen from David Evans. As soon as he could save the amount he would send it to David, and, as soon after that as he could earn enough to pay his expenses, he would start for home. “And when I get there, if ever I do,” added Bob, with tears of penitence in his eyes, “I’ll stay, if I have to live on a crust of bread a day.”

This was the way Bob talked to himself while he was sailing from New Orleans to Galveston, and he meant every word of it. But he had not yet reaped the full reward of his folly, and something happened to prevent him from carrying out his plans.

It was night when they reached the end of their journey, and the long wharf at which the steamer landed was so dark that the boys, after getting out of the circle of light made by the dim lanterns that hung over the gang-plank, could hardly see where they were going. There was a crowd on the wharf, too, and in passing through it the companions became separated for so long a time that Bob began to fear that they should never find each other again. He was so greatly bewildered by the noise and confusion, and was jostled about so roughly that he became completely turned around and came near walking off the wharf into the bay; but at last, to his great joy, he ran into the arms of George, who was in search of him, and following in his lead, soon found himself standing on solid ground once more. Then George came to a stand-still.

“I am not at all acquainted with the city, although I have been here a number of times,” said he, “so we will wait for a guide. Here comes one now.”

As George spoke a wagon heavily loaded with trunks rattled off the wharf and turned up the street.

The boys followed it, and by keeping it always in view, were finally led to the railroad depot, which was the place they wanted to find. Their route now lay by rail to Austin, the capital of the state, and thence by stage to the little Spanish town of Palos, which was within a few miles of George’s home.

When the boys entered the depot they found a train all ready to start. The engine was hissing, baggage-men were banging trunks about in the most approved style, and a crowd of people, all anxious to purchase tickets, were gathered about the window of the office. “Pitch in with the rest,” said George. “Push and crowd as hard as you can. It’s our only chance of getting off to-night. But hold on! perhaps you had better give the money to me. I am more experienced in such matters.”

Bob had found it very inconvenient to go to his money-belt every time he wanted a bill, so just before the steamer landed he had transferred all the greenbacks to his pocket-book and thrown the belt overboard. Being quite willing that George should take the responsibility of procuring tickets for them, he thrust his hand into his pocket, and to his intense amazement and alarm found it empty. He felt in the other, but there was nothing there either. Then he examined his clothes everywhere, but nothing in the shape of a pocket-book could be found. All this while George stood holding out his hand, and looking first at the crowd about the window, and then at the train, as if mentally calculating their chances for getting away on it. Wondering at last why Bob was so long in finding the pocket-book, he turned to look at him, and found that he had backed up to a truck, on which he was sitting with his chin resting on his breast and his hands hanging by his side.

“What’s the matter?” cried George, springing forward. “Are you sick?”

“No; but my money is gone!” was the faint reply.

“Gone!” gasped George.

Bob could only nod his head.

“Why, it can’t be possible. Are you sure of it? Have you looked in all your pockets? Try again.”

The thought that perhaps he might have overlooked the pocket-book infused a little hope and energy into Bob, who sprang to his feet and went through the search again, George lending assistance. But there was nothing to be found. While they were thus engaged the crowd about the window grew smaller and smaller, and finally, just as the last man seized his ticket and started on a run for the cars, the bell rang and the train moved slowly out of the depot, leaving the two boys sitting on the truck and staring blankly at each other.