[Illustration:  “That’s the law, too”]

“My God!  My God!” exclaimed Josephine St. Auban, her eyes dilating with horror, forgetting her own plight as she looked at the spectacle before her.  “Can these things really be in America!  You submit to this, and you are men?  Law?  Is there any law?”

She did not hear the step behind them, but presently a voice broke in.

“If you please, Captain Rogers,” said Warville Dunwody, “I think it will not be necessary to restrain this lady in any way.  By this time she knows it will be better not to make any attempt to escape.”

Jeanne, the maid, was first to see the distress in the face of her mistress.

“Infame! Infame!” she cried, flying at them, her hands clenched, her foot stamping.  “Dogs of pigs, you are not men, you are not gentlemen!  See now!  See now!”

Tears stood in the eyes of Jeanne herself.  “Come,” said she, and put an arm about her mistress, leading her back toward the door of the cabin.

“This is bad business, sir,” said the older man, turning to Dunwody.  “I don’t understand all this case, but I’m almost ready to take that girl’s part.  Who is she?  I can’t endure much longer seeing a woman like that handled in this way.  You’ll some of you have to show me your papers before long.”

“You ask me who she is,” replied Dunwody slowly, “and on my honor I can hardly tell you.  She is temporary ward of the government, that much is sure.  You know very well the arm of the national government is long.  You know, too, that I’m a state senator and also a United States marshal in Missouri.”

“But where do you come into this case, Senator?”

“I came into it last night at a little after nine o’clock,” rejoined Dunwody.  “Her former guardian has turned her over to me.  She does not leave the boat till I do, at Cairo, where I change for up-river; and when I go, she goes.  Don’t pay any attention to any outcry she may make.  She’s my—­property.”

Captain Rogers pondered for a time, but at length his face broke out into a sort of smile.  “There may be trouble ahead for you,” he began.  “It is like my old friend Bill Jones in there.  He buys him a young filly last spring.  Goes over to bring the filly home, and finds she isn’t broke, and wild as a hawk.  So he puts a halter on her and starts off to lead her home.  The filly rears up, falls over and breaks her neck; so he’s out his money and his pains.  Some sorts of women won’t lead.”

“They all do in time,” rejoined Dunwody grimly.  “This one must.”  The old boat captain shook his head.

“Some of them break their necks first,” said he.  “This one’s got blood in her too, I tell you that.”

Dunwody made no answer except to turn and walk down the deck.  The captain, pondering on matters entirely beyond his comprehension, but forced to accept the assurances of men such as these who had appeared as guardians of this mysterious young woman, now returned to his own quarters.  “I reckon it’s none of my business,” he muttered.  “Some high-class forger or confidence worker that’s beat the government somehow, maybe.  But she don’t look it—­I’ll be damned if she looks it.  I wonder—?”