shoulders for another instant, then doggedly pursued their work. Being so engrossed with the damsel of the smile, Old Reliable failed to observe a colossal Golo negro who sneaked down the narrow passageway between the gunboat and the barge, and halted at the comer of the woodpile. There he stood, glowering at Zack, and touched his knife significantly—which shut up the women and switched off their smiles.
If Zack had seen that Golo, he might not have rested so nonchalantly upon his sack of onions; he would have gone straight to the Colonel. The Golo's head was shaven smooth, except for a space the size of a biscuit, where frizzles grew in a bunch. Zack already knew him as the donkey-keeper, and called him "Top-Knot," it being perfectly safe to call him anything in English.
Top-Knot did not utter a syllable with his lips, but his fierce eyes said a plenty. He eyed Zack, then grudgingly put back his knife into its sheath. Old Reliable held his head debonnairely to one side, listening to the twang of a courbee and the chatter of women's voices that came down through the cubby hole above his head.
"Huh!" he sneered; "dat's a mighty po' banjo picker. Wonder who dat is a playin'?" Zack wondered and wondered until his curiosity could stand it no longer; then he sauntered carelessly to the foot of the ladder. The moment he took
