“Are you quite sure that Sam Davidge is on board, Walt?” asked one.
“I’d know him among a whole city-full, let alone a cabin-full,” answered Walter Jordan. “And I’ve seen him three times to-day.”
The other boy frowned and looked out over the wide river toward the Arkansas shore.
“It’s queer,” said he. “It’s very queer that he should just happen to be going down the river at the same time we are.”
Walter Jordan gave his friend a quick look.
“Ned,” said he, “chance has nothing to do with it—as I think you know.”
Ned Chandler nodded.
“He’s on board because we are; he’s trying to find out where we are going.” The boy ran his fingers through his short light hair, and his blue eyes snapped. “I never did think much of Davidge; and I think less of him now than I did before.”
Walter Jordan leaned back in his chair and clasped one knee with his hands. He was a tall, well-built young fellow of eighteen with a broad chest and shoulders, and a good-looking, resolute face.
“When we boarded the ‘General Greene’ at Louisville,” said he, “I thought I saw Davidge in the crowd. But you know what a miserable, wet night it was and how the lamps on the pier flickered. So I couldn’t be sure.”