"I reckon I'm kind of a daddy to your gal, and I'm goin' to be in at the finish." Back and forth paced the Lieutenant restlessly, pausing every now and then to peer down the river.

Suddenly he uttered a cry, and with a bound Gale was beside him, Lee at his shoulder.
"Look! Over the point! Down yonder! I saw smoke!" The three stared at the distant forest fringe that masked the bend of the river until their eyes ached, and the dark-green grew black and wavered indistinctly.
"You're tired, my boy," said Gale.
"Wait!" They obeyed, and finally over the tree-tops saw a faint streamer of black.
"It is! It is!" cried the soldier.

"I'm going for my war bag." And before the steamboat had hove into sight he was back with his scanty bundle of baggage, behaving like one daft, talking and laughing and running here and there.

Lee watched him closely, then went behind the bar and poured out a stiff glass of whiskey, which he made Burrell drink.

To Gale he whispered, a moment later: "Keep your eye on him, John--he'll go mad at this rate." They waited, it seemed interminably, until at last a white hull slowly rounded the point, then shaped a course across the current towards the other bank, where the water was less swift.