the wharf, a dingy stern-wheeler, with the word "Warrior" painted
across the pilot house. My eyes and thoughts turned that way
wonderingly. The boat had tied up the previous evening, having just
descended from Prairie du Chien, and, it was rumored at that time,
intended to depart down river for St. Louis at daybreak. Yet even now
I could perceive no sign of departure. There was but the thinnest
suggestion of smoke from the single stack, no loading, or unloading,
and the few members of the crew visible were idling on the wharf, or
grouped upon the forward deck, a nondescript bunch of river boatmen,
with an occasional black face among them, their voices reaching me,
every sentence punctuated by oaths. Above, either seated on deck
stools, or moving restlessly about, peering over the low rail at the
shore, were a few passengers, all men roughly dressed--miners from
Fevre River likely, with here and there perchance an adventurer from
farther above--impatient of delay. I was attracted to but two of any
interest. These were standing alone together near the stern, a
heavily-built man with white hair and beard, and a younger, rather
slender fellow, with clipped, black moustache. Both were unusually
well dressed, the latter exceedingly natty and fashionable in attire,
rather overly so I thought, while the former wore a long coat, and high
white stock. Involuntarily I had placed them in my mind as river
gamblers, but was still observing their movements with some curiosity,
when Captain Thockmorton crossed the gangplank and began ascending the
steep bluff. The path to be followed led directly past where I was
sitting, and, recognizing me, he stopped to exchange greetings.

"What! have you finished your day's work already, Lieutenant?" he
exclaimed pleasantly. "Mine has only just begun."

"So I observe. It was garrison talk last night that the _Warrior_ was