know that a steamer could not run in the fog on the river. He was not yet familiar enough with river life to know that shantyboaters often cut loose when the wind goes down at sunset and sleep most of the night, fog or no fog, with a running light on the cabin to warn steamers to keep clear. He must needs sit awake when he might have been sleeping.
Morning began at last to diffuse light through the fog. The surface of the water became visible, and the dawn swept by, followed almost instantly by sunshine skipping across the top of the bank, light raining down through mist in white sheets.
Murdong, now hungry after his adventure and his vigil, rolled back the canvas covering his boat, took down the hickory hoops, and brought out his two little pump-jet blue-flame oil stoves. Putting them on the footboard, he lighted one and put on his coffee percolator. Then he sliced a round leaf from a smoked ham and put it into a frying pan over the other stove. Shortly the sizzle filled the air with fragrance. Around the slice of ham he placed coins of cold boiled potato to fry them. When they were browned on the bottom he turned them over. Having cooked a plenty, he broke two fresh eggs into the pan beside the meat, turned them quickly, and then his breakfast was ready.
A board eighteen inches wide with a cleat on the
