One day, A came down on B's ground to get his rails.

B said, 'I'll kill you!' and proceeded for him with his revolver.

A said, 'I'm not armed.' So B, who wished to do only what was right, threw down his revolver; then pulled a knife, and cut A's throat all around, but gave his principal attention to the front, and so failed to sever the jugular.

Struggling around, A managed to get his hands on the discarded revolver, and shot B dead with it--and recovered from his own injuries.
Further gossip;--after which, everybody went below to get afternoon coffee, and left me at the wheel, alone, Something presently reminded me of our last hour in St.Louis, part of which I spent on this boat's hurricane deck, aft.

I was joined there by a stranger, who dropped into conversation with me--a brisk young fellow, who said he was born in a town in the interior of Wisconsin, and had never seen a steamboat until a week before.