still kept her eyes upon the scene. Beyond she could see the smoke
rising from the buildings in the city of Albany, where they were to draw
the boat up for the night. On each side of the river bank, behind clumps
of trees, stood the mansions of those men for whom, according to Scraggy
Peterson's belief, the world had been made. Finally her gaze dropped to
the scow, where little rivers of water made crooked paths across the
deck. Piles of planks reared high at her back, and edged the scow with
the squareness of a room. Scraggy knew that hauling lumber was but the
cover for a darker trade. Yet as she glanced at the stolid, indifferent
man trudging behind the mules a lovelight sprang into her eyes.

Later, by an hour, the mules came to a halt at Lem's order.

"Throw down that gangplank, Scraggy," stammered Crabbe, "and put the
brat below! I want to get these here mules in. The storm'll be here in
any minute."

Obediently the woman hastened to comply, and soon the tired mules
munched their suppers, their long faces filling the window-gaps of the
stable.

Lem Crabbe followed the woman down the scow-steps amid gusty howls of
the wind, and the night fell over the city and the black, winding river.
The man ate his supper in silence, furtively casting his eyes now and
then upon the slender figure of the woman. He chewed fast, uttering no
word, and the creaking of the heavy jaws and the smacking of the coarse
lips were the only sounds to be heard after the woman had taken her
place at the table. Scraggy dared not yet begin to eat; for something
new in her master's manner filled her with sudden fear. By sitting very
quietly, she hoped to keep his attention upon his plate, and after he