"That is my business."
"Well, and I'm going to make it mine," cried the man, and pulled out a revolver. "Answer up, kid; it will be best for you."
He was a burly Kentuckian, all of six feet tall and with a bushy black beard and a breath which smelt strongly of whiskey.
"Don't—don't shoot us!" cried Lew Flapp, in terror. "Don't shoot!"
"I won't—if you'll treat me proper-like," answered the Kentuckian. "How many on board?"
"Four—two young ladies and ourselves," answered Dan Baxter. He was doing some rapid thinking. "Say, perhaps we can strike up a. bargain with you," he went on.
"A bargain? What kind of a bargain?" And the Kentuckian eyed him narrowly.
"We are looking for somebody to tow this houseboat down the river."
At this the Kentuckian gave a loud and brutal laugh.
"Thanks, but I ain't in that ere business."