The boats of the Sparling fleet had been moving steadily downstreamfor several hours, their passengers, in the majority of instances, soundasleep, lulled by the gentle motion and the far away "spat, spat, spat," ofthe industrious paddle wheel at the stern of each craft.

　　Teddy had prudently kept away from the main cabin for the rest ofthe evening; when Phil turned in, Teddy was sleeping sweetly. His activepart in the affair in the cabin had not caused him any loss of sleep.

　　With the pilot, Cummings, however, matters had been different. Mr.

　　Cummings had been steadily at the wheel of the "Marie" since the boatshad sailed shortly after one o'clock in the morning.

　　The pilot's temper had suffered as the result of his experience in thecabin, and the jeers aud laughter of the circus people had not added to hispeace of mind. At intervals he would break out into a tirade of invectiveand threats against Teddy Tucker, who had so humiliated him.

　　"I'll get even with that little monkey-face! They ought to put him inthe monkey cage where he belongs," growled the pilot, giving the wheel athree-quarter turn to keep the boat from driving her prow into the bank, forwhich he had been steering to avoid a hidden sand bar.

　　"I'll tell the manager tomorrow, that if he doesn't keep that boy awayfrom me, I'll take the matter into my own hands and give that kid atrouncing that will last him till we get to New Orleans."The darkness of the night, just before the dawn, hung over the broadriver. Doors and windows of the pilot house were thrown open so thatthe wheelman might get a clear view on all sides.

　　All at once Cummings seemed to feel some presence near him. Hethought he caught the sound of a footfall on the deck. To make sure heleft the wheel for a few seconds, peering out along the deck, on both sidesof the pilot house.

　　He saw no one. The air was filled with a black pall of smoke fromthe "Marie's" funnel, the smoke settling over the boat, wholly envelopingher from her stack to the stern paddle wheel.

　　"Huh!" grunted the pilot, returning to his duties.

　　Yet his ears had not deceived him. Something was near him, astrange shape, the like of which never had been seen on the deck of the"Fat Marie", in all her long service on the Mississippi.

　　"If that fool boy comes nosing around here I'll throw him overboard-that'swhat I'll do," threatened Cummings. "I'll show him he can't foolwith the pilot of the finest steamboat of the old line. I--"The pilot suddenly checked himself and peered out to starboard.

　　"Wha--what?" he gasped.

　　Something darkened the doorway. What he now saw was a strange,grotesque shape that looked like a shadow itself in the uncertain light ofthe early morning.

　　"Get out of here!" bellowed the pilot, the cold chills running up anddown his spine.

　　The most frightful sound that his ears had ever heard, broke suddenlyon the quiet of the Mississippi night.

　　"It's the lion escaped!"Cummings grabbed a stout oak stick that lay at hand--the stick thatnow and then, when battling with a stiff current, he used to insertbetween the spokes of the steering wheel to give him greater leverage.

　　With a yell he brought the stick down on the head of the strangebeast. The roar or bray of the animal stopped suddenly.

　　Whack! came the echo from the club.

　　Cummings sprang back. He slammed the pilot-house door in the faceof the beast, and closed the windows with a bang that shook the pilothouse. In his excitement the pilot rang in a signal to the engineer for fullspeed astern.

　　About that time something else occurred.

　　With a terrific crash one of the windows of the pilot house wasshattered, pieces of glass showering in upon the pilot like a sudden stormof hail.

　　Crash!

　　Another window fell in a shower about him. He tried to get the dooron the opposite side of the pilot house open, but locked it instead anddropped the key on the floor.

　　All this time the "Fat Marie's" paddle wheel was backing water and thecraft, now swung almost broadside to the stream, was working her wayover toward the Iowa shore.

　　Bang!

　　A section of the pilot-house door fell shattering on the inside, and whatsounded like a volley of musketry, rattled against the harder woodwork ofthe pilot house itself.

　　Frightened almost out of all sense, Cummings began groping excitedlyfor his revolver. At last he found it, more by accident than through anymethodical search for it.

　　The pilot began to shoot. Some of his bullets went through the roof,others through the broken out windows, while a couple landed in the door.

　　At last the half-crazed Cummings was snapping the hammer onempty chambers. He had emptied his revolver without hitting anythingmore than wood and water.

　　The fusillade from the outside still continued.

　　By this time the din had begun to arouse the passengers on the boat.

　　Phil Forrest was the first to spring up. He shook Teddy by the shoulder,but, being unable to awaken his companion, jerked the boy out of bed andlet him drop on the floor.

　　"Get a net! What's the matter down there!" yelled Teddy. "Hey, hey,did the mule kick me? Oh, that you Phil? What's the row--what hashappened?""I don't know. Come on out. Something has gone wrong. Hearthose shots?""Wow! Trouble! That's me! I knew I couldn't dream about angelswithout something breaking loose."Phil had thrown the door open and bounded out to the deck. Just ashe did so the pilot leaped from the front window of the pilot house,climbed over the rail and dropped to the deck below. The volleying,the thunderous blows still continued.

　　A loud bray attracted their attention to the other side of the boat.

　　"What's that?" demanded Phil, starting off in that direction.

　　"It's January! It's January!" howled Teddy Tucker. "I would knowthat sweet voice if I heard it in the jungles of Africa. Where is he?""Over here somewhere. Come on.............