"Forrard--forrard! One of 'em's up!" Then he put, his mouth to the speaking-tube, and screamed to the engineer: "Let her drop down a little, Billy!"

The sounding party headed toward a black speck, apparently a hundred yards below them, and the great steamer slowly drifted down-stream. The speck moved toward shore, and the boat, rapidly shortening distance, seemed to scrape the bank with her port oars.

"Safe enough now, I guess!" exclaimed Judge Turner, of one of the Southern Illinois circuits.

The Judge had been interrupted in telling a story when the accident occurred, and was in a hurry to resume.

"As I was saying," said he, "he hardly looked like a professional horse-thief. He was little and quiet, and had always worked away steadily at his trade. I believed him when he said 'twas his first offense, and that he did it to raise money to bury his child; and I was going to give him an easy sentence, and ask the Governor to pardon him.

The laws have to be executed, you know, but there's no law against mercy being practiced afterward. Well, the sheriff was bringing him from jail to hear the verdict and the sentence, when the short man, with red hair, knocked the sheriff down, and off galloped that precious couple for the Wabash. I saw the entire--"

"The deuce!" interrupted the pilot, again dropping his glass.

The Judge glared angrily; the passengers saw, across the shortened distance, one of the Chums holding by a root to the bank, and trying to support the other, whose shirt hung in rags, and who seemed exhausted.

"Which one's hurt?" asked the captain. "Give me the glass."

But the pilot had left the house and taken the glass with him.

The Judge continued:

"I saw the whole transaction through the window. I was so close that I saw the sheriff's assailant's very eyes. I'd know that fellow's face if I saw it in Africa."

"Why, they're _both_ hurt!" exclaimed the captain. "They've thrown a coat over one, and they're crowdin' around the other. What the--They're comin' back without 'em--need whisky to bring 'em to, I suppose. Why didn't I send whisky down by the other boat? There's an awful amount of time being wasted here. What's the matter, Mr. Bell?" shouted the captain, as the boat approached the steamer.

"Both dead!" replied the officer.

"Both? Now, ladies and gentlemen," exclaimed the captain, turning toward the passengers, who were crowded forward just below him, "I want to know if that isn't a streak of the meanest kind of luck? Both the Chums gone!

Why, I won't be able to hold up my head in New Orleans. How came it that just those two fellows were knocked out?"

"Red tumbled out, and Black jumped in after him," replied the officer.

"Red must have been caught in an eddy and tangled in the old tree's roots--clothes torn almost off--head caved in. Black must have burst a blood-vessel--his face looked like a copper pan when he reached shore, and he just groaned and dropped."

The captain was sorry, so sorry that he sent a waiter for brandy. But the captain was human--business was business--the rain was falling, and a big log was across the boat's bow; so he shouted:

"Hurry up and bury 'em, then. You ought to have let the second boat's crew gone on with that, and you have gone back to your soundings. They _was_ the Chums, to be sure, but now they're only dead roustabouts.

Below there! Pass out a couple of shovels!"

"Perhaps some ladies would go down with the boat, captain--and a preacher, too, if there's one aboard," remarked the mate, with an earnest but very mysterious expression.

"Why, what in thunder does the fellow mean?" soliloquized the captain, audibly. "Women--and a preacher--for dead roustabouts? What do you mean, Mr. Bell?"

"Red's a woman," briefly responded the mate.

The passengers all started--the captain brought his hands together with a tremendous clap, and exclaimed:

"Murder will out! But who'd have thought _I_ was to be the man to find out the secret of the Carmi Chums? Guess I'll be the biggest man on the New Orleans levee, after all. Yes, certainly--of course some ladies'll go--and a preacher, too, if there's such a man aboard. Hold up, though--we'll _all_ go. Take your soundings, quick, and we'll drop the steamer just below the point, and tie up. I wonder if there's a preacher aboard?"

No one responded for the moment; then the Judge spoke.

"Before I went into the law I was the regularly settled pastor of a Presbyterian Church," said he. "I'm decidedly rusty now, but a little time will enable me to prepare myself properly. Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen."

The sounding-boat pulled away, and the Judge retired to his stateroom.

The ladies, with very pale faces, gathered in a group and whispered earnestly with each other; then ensued visits to each other's staterooms, and the final regathering of the ladies with two or three bundles. The soundings were taken, and, as the steamer dropped down-stream, men were seen cutting a path down the rather steep clay bank. The captain put his hands to his mouth and shouted:

"Dig only _one_ grave--make it wide enough for two."

And all the passengers nodded assent and satisfaction.

Time had been short since the news reached the steamer, but the _Bennett's_ carpenter, who was himself a married man, had made a plain coffin by the time the boat tied up, and another by the time the grave was dug. The first one was put upon a long handbarrow, over which the captain had previously spread a tablecloth, and, followed by the ladies, was deposited by the side of the body of Red. Half an hour later, the men placed Black in the other coffin, removed both to the side of the grave, and signalled the boat.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen," said the captain.

The Judge appeared with a very solemn face, his coat buttoned tight to his throat, and the party started. Colonel May, of Missouri, who read Voltaire and didn't believe in anything, maliciously took the Judge's arm, and remarked:

"You didn't finish your story, Judge."

The Judge frowned reprovingly.

"But, really," persisted the colonel, "I don't want curiosity to divert my mind from the solemn services about to take place. Do tell me if they ever caught the rascals."

"They never did," replied the Judge. "The sheriff hunted and advertised, but he could never hear a word of either of them. But I'd know either one of them at sight. Sh--h--here we are at the grave."

The passengers, officers, and crew gathered about the grave. The Judge removed his hat, and, as the captain uncovered the faces of the dead, commenced:

"'I am the resurrection and the life'--Why, there's the horse-thief now, colonel! I beg your pardon, ladies and gentlemen. 'He that believeth in--'"

Just then the Judge's eye fell upon the dead woman's face, and he screamed:

"And there's the sheriff's assailant!"

LITTLE GUZZY.

Bowerton was a very quiet place. It had no factories, mills, or mines, or other special inducements to offer people looking for new localities; and as it was not on a railroad line, nor even on an important post-road, it gained but few new inhabitants.

Even of travelers Bowerton saw very few. An occasional enterprising peddler or venturesome thief found his way to the town, and took away such cash as came in their way while pursuing their respective callings; but peddlers were not considered exactly trustworthy as news-bearers, while house-breakers, when detained long enough to be questioned, were not in that communicative frame of mind which is essential to one who would interest the general public.

When, therefore, the mail-coach one day brought to Bowerton an old lady and a young one, who appeared to be mother and daughter, excitement ran high.

The proprietor of the Bowerton House, who was his own clerk, hostler, and table-waiter, was for a day or two the most popular man in town; even the three pastors of the trio of churches of Bowerton did not consider it beneath their dignity to join the little groups which were continually to be seen about the person of the landlord, and listening to the meagre intelligence he was able to give.

The old lady was quite feeble, he said, and the daughter was very affectionate and very handsome. He didn't know where they were going, but they registered themselves from Boston. Name was Wyett--young lady's name was Helen. He hoped they wouldn't leave for a long time--travelers weren't any too plenty at Bowerton, and landlords found it hard work to scratch along. Talked about locating at Bowerton if they could find a suitable cottage. Wished 'em well, but hoped they'd take their time, and not be in a hurry to leave the Bowerton House, where--if _he_ did say it as shouldn't--they found good rooms and good board at the lowest living price.

The Wyetts finally found a suitable cottage, and soon afterward they began to receive heavy packages and boxes from the nearest railway station.

Then it was that the responsible gossips of Bowerton were worked nearly to death, but each one was sustained by a fine professional pride which enabled them to pass creditably through the most exciting period.