"Burned boats tell no tales," here called out young Yates sententiously.
"You hear," said Dunwody. "My men are not children."
"It's piracy, that's all," rejoined the young leader,
"Not in the least, sir," broke in Judge Clayton. "We'll burn her here, tied to this bank on Missouri soil. The river fell during the night—some inches in all—she's hard aground on the shore."
"Fall in, men!" commanded Dunwody suddenly. "Jamieson, fix up my leg, the best you can. It'll have to take its chances, for we're in a hurry. About the paroled men, get them in the rowboats and set them loose. Get your crippled men off the boat at once, Jamieson. This couple of prisoners I am going to take home with me. The rest can go.
"But there's one thing we've forgotten—where's that girl?" He turned to the northern leader.
"She's below, in the cabin."
"Go get her, Clayton," commanded Dunwody. "We'll have to be quick now."
Clayton found his way down the narrow companionway and in the darkness of the unlighted lower deck fumbled for the lock of the cabin. When he threw open the door he found the interior dimly lighted by the low window. At first he could make out nothing, but at last got a glimpse of a figure at the farther side of the little room. "Who's there!" he demanded, weapon ready.
There was no answer, but slowly, wearily, with unspeakable sadness in every gesture, there rose the figure of the girl Lily, around whose fortunes had centered all these turbulent scenes.