treated, and the old river ship carpenter had built and well found her boat for her.
She retired on this night with a new feeling of satisfaction, and with no qualms of fear. Her thirty-eight calibre automatic guaranteed her against intrusion. Her experience had proved that she could take care of herself without question.
She yielded to an impulse to say a prayer which was of thanks, blew out her light, and retired. For a time she listened to the spattering and pattering of the waves along the hull, and then drifted into sleep from which she did not awaken till after sunrise in the morning.
When she stepped out to look at the gay river from the stern deck, she was surprised to see the gasolene crusier still moored to the bank. She had expected it to be gone.
"Why—why, he must have—perhaps he's drowned!" she whispered, her imagination bringing up the possibility that she had shot too well.
Then she wondered if he might not have crawled back on board the motorboat and be lying there injured. This thought worried her, and she hurried down the bank, not neglecting to take her automatic with her.
She hailed the cruiser from the bank several times, and hearing no reply she climbed on board. It was
