LF BONHAM, ferryman, stood on his flatboat, gazing down the river. The river-bed was four or five hundred yards from bank to bank; but the water, which covered scarcely a third of this space, had dug itself a deeper, serpentine channel. Two hundred yards below the ferry was a ford, where a sandy road could be seen leading into and out of the water.

The noise of wheels came from the woods to the north, and a white-topped wagon soon appeared on the river-bank, following the ford road. The wagon halted, and the driver stood up and gazed around, then got out and came down the hill, accompanied by a little bobtailed black dog. After tramping across the sand and taking a look at the river, he came up the water's edge toward the ferry.

Though old and somewhat stooped, he walked as nimbly as a boy. His trousers, the legs of which were stuffed into his boots, were held close up to his arms by cloth "galluses." He had a thin face, high cheek-bones, prominent ears, and a bushy tuft of gray beard. His sharp eyes looked the young ferryman over critically.

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"Howdy! What is that thing ye 're standin' on?" he called out in a playful way.

Alf smiled responsively: "A ferry-boat."

Set people acrost with it when the river 's boomin', don't ye?"

"Yes; or any other time."
"How much for a wagon?"
"Fifty cents."

"Fifty cents!" the old man fairly screeched, throwing up his hands. "D' ye to tell me that anybody 's fool enough to pay you a whole half-dollar to put 'em acrost that creek?"

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"I've ferried one wagon over this morning. That 's how I happen to be here. Live on the other side."

"Ye did!" scoffed the traveler. "Why, with a good runnin' start I could jump clean acrost that."

"Then you must be a lively jumper. It's a hundred and fifty yards, if it's an inch."

"The old woman could take a mop-rag and mop that puddle-hole dry. If I just had time to wait till the sun gits up good, guess it soon would n't leave anything but a damp place."

Alf only smiled at the old fellow's sarcasm. After a brief silence, the traveler inquired, but seriously now:

How deep's the water down there at the crossin'?

"Look here, old man, my business is to run the ferry, not the ford. I don't mind telling you, though, that the water is only about hub-deep."

"Hub-deep! And you try to make me believe that anybody pays you ruther than ford hub-deep water!"

"Only one price, Mr. Smoot." "Times is downright hard now," suggested the traveler.

“If you 're hard up, my friend, blurt it out, and across you go-free! Father never charges widow women a cent; and as you 're an old man, if you 're short of cash, I'll pass you over in the same gang with the widows."

"Oh, nothing but quicksand."

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'Quicksand!" The traveler gave an incredulous, indignant snort. "Now looky here, young feller, there ain't a bit of use tryin' to pull the wool over my eyes, specially after I seed all them wagon-tracks goin' in and comin' out. Maybe ye know who I am? Then I'm goin' to tell ye. My name 's John Thomas Smoot. And before I started to Texas-me and the old woman-I was one of the fo'most citizens of Taney County, Missouri. Now don't try to cram any more big yarns down me."

Alf nodded cheerfully. "Howdy, Mr. Smoot! Glad to make your acquaintance. My name's Bonham. I can't lay claim to anything much myself, but my father sometimes brags that he 's the red-headedest man in north Texas. Says that 's why he settled on Red River; feels at home here. My hair did n't happen to be quite as red as his. As for that quicksand, you need n't take my word for it unless you want to."

"No; I guess I won't take yo'r word for it, young man-not after all them tracks. I've been away from home before, and I've heared people talk before. Reckon, though, ye think ye 've got to tell folks some yarn to git 'em up to your boat, and that 'll do as well as any. Let them swaller it that don't know no better. Why, I'll just bet ye that river 's got a hard, gravelly bottom. Now own up; hain't it?

Alf's florid face flushed, but he answered quietly: "Try it and see.'

"Now, young feller, I'll tell ye what I'll do. One of my mules is a little tenderfooted, and ruther than pull 'im acrost the river and hurt his feet on them gravel, I'll give ye twenty cents to ferry us."

"You impydent young rascal! I'll give ye to understand that I 've got money— oodles of it!" shouted the irascible old fellow, hopping about on the sand wrathfully. "And I'll give ye to understand, too, that if ye call me a widow woman any more, I 'll-I 'll—”

"Mr. Smoot, I did n't call you a widow woman or any other kind of a woman. I only said that if you could n't pay I'd set you across free. But as you 're a moneyed man, of course you 'll have to fork over half a dollar.”

"I won't!" snapped Mr. Smoot. “Fifteen cents is every cent ye 'll git. And if ye want that ye 'd better say so quick."

"Fifteen!" laughed Alf. "Why, only just now you offered me twenty."

"But the water 's dried up lots. Ain't nothin' much left but a damp place now. If I stand here jawin' you any longer, the whole river-bed will be dry and dusty."

Alf laughed. "I see you 've made up your mind to try the ford, Mr. Smoot. I hope you'll get across safely. But don't let your team stop, especially if you 're heavy-loaded.”

The old man had started away, but he turned angrily, and cried:

"I'll let ye know that I don't need any advice from young snips like you!" Then he tramped on.

A sharp-featured woman occupied a chair in the fore end of the wagon. As her husband drew near, she inquired:

"Well, pap, what did ye find out?" "We're goin' to ford it, if we have to swim," answered the man, gruffly. He sprang into the wagon, seized the reins, and started the mules.

But did ye find out how deep-"

"Look here, ma, ye 'd better not bother me! If ye do, just like as not I'll sass ye. That bigoty-feelin' young chap up there has got me all riled up."

The woman looked at her husband, but discreetly kept silent. Wagon and mules trotted down the bank till they struck the sand. Then came hard pulling, for the wheels cut deep into the loose, dry stuff. The old man shook the reins, and sometimes struck the mules smartly with a dog

wood switch. Near the water he stopped them. While they were resting he remarked:

"What d' ye think, ma? That scamp of a ferryman tried to make me believe there 's quicksand in this river."

"Well, don't ye reckon there is, pap? "Not a bit. Don't ye see all these tracks? How could people cross over quicksand?"

"Maybe they know the right place, pap.

Would n't it be awful if we got stuck? If that feller would set us acrost cheap, b'lieve I'd let 'im."

The man considered. Finally he stood up, leaned out, and shouted:

"What 'd ye say? Twenty cents?" "Half a dollar," came back. "B'lieve I 'd offer 'im a quarter, pap." "Two bits?" yelled the old man, interrogatively.

Four bits."

"Go to Guinea with your old boat!" Mr. Smoot sat down so hard that the whole wagon creaked. "I'll show 'im he cain't rob me."

He urged the mules into the water. Though angry, he remembered the ferryman's advice, and kept lashing them with his dogwood and scolding them sharply. The sand under the water seemed much firmer than the dry sand; but the wheels kept grinding, and the whole wagon trembled as with an ague. The water gradually deepened, though the deepest part scarcely covered the fore hubs. The wagon pulled heavily, but moved well enough till it reached midstream. Here the mules somehow got a taste of the water.

Though not particularly thirsty, they were salt-hungry, and Red River is decidedly brackish. No sooner had the animals discovered that there was salt in the water than they stopped and began to suck it up greedily.

The driver shouted, and lashed them with the dogwood. The thick-skinned animals kept moving their feet, switching their tails, and shaking their ears, but not an inch would they budge till they had drunk their fill. All the time the wagon kept settling down.

When the mules were ready to pull, the wheels seemed grown to the bottom. The excited driver scolded and shouted and stormed, plying his switch mercilessly. The mules, frightened now, pulled with all their might; but the bottom gave way under their feet, and, in spite of their tuggings and strainings, the heavy wagon, clutched in the quicksand's relentless grip, stood calmly in its place. Finally the driver sat down in his chair, leaned back, and looked about helplessly.

"Well, ma, we 're stuck!"

"So I see, old man. Nice fix ye 've got us in! What ye goin' to do 'bout it?" Her tones sounded severe.

"Ma," he appealed meekly, "hain't I done ev'rything that mortal man can do?" "Huh!" was the doubtful response.

"If somebody would come along, I 'd git 'im to double teams and pull us out. Reckon I'd better take the mules loose before they bog down, too."

The mules were trampling restlessly to keep their feet out of the sand. Their owner, after reaching down and unhooking the traces, drew the team back, and succeeded in mounting the off mule from behind. Then, dropping the tongue from the breast-yoke, he brought them around, with the near mule by the fore wheel.

Why, ma!"

"How deep will the wagon go?"

"Jedgin' from the way it 's settlin' down, it won't stop much this side of Chiny.”

The woman looked angry. "I did n't want to come to Texas, but nothin' else would do ye. Now ye see what ye git by it!" She gave no sign of relenting.

The man started the mules. Ma," he called back, "I'm goin' on to Texas. Air you goin' to Chiny?"

"Just lieve go one place as t' other."

Her husband clucked to the team and splashed away. On reaching the dry sand, where the little dog, which had swum the river, was waiting, he got down, separated the mules, and turned one loose. Then, after unharnessing the other, he mounted again and came splashing toward the wagon.

"Ma, I 've been to Texas and come back. If you 're bound to stay here, let me have that feather bed. No use gittin' that wet."

The woman got up and disappeared. Soon the huge bed, with its faded striped tick, was pushed out. The man took the big armful in front of him, and rode away. After depositing the bed on the sand, he returned. Only a few inches of the fore wheels were now above the water. The woman was squatting on her chair.

"Ma, if ye 'll let me take ye out, I'll call that ferryman down and see what he can do. Seems like nobody ain't comin' along."

The woman consented, and mounted behind her husband. When they had reached dry sand, she slid off. After beckoning to the ferryman, Mr. Smoot turned and rode back, the little dog swimming in the mule's wake. Alf walked down, and the two met at the north edge of the stream. The old man's face wore a sheepish expression as he dismounted.

"Well, there is some sand under this water. Reckon maybe I druv a little too fur up-stream to hit that gravel."

He expected to hear "I told you so"; but Alf, though he smiled at the old fellow's way of putting the matter, only remarked:

"That 's not the first wagon I've seen stuck in this ford."

"I just knowed ye 'd be tickled to see me bog down, specially after the way I'd sassed ye; but-"

But I'm not tickled, Mr. Smoot. I don't blame you for saving half a dollar if you can. The ford 's safe enough with an empty wagon, or even with a moderately loaded one if the team keeps moving."

"How did them other fellers git out?" "When they could, they spliced teams. But some of 'em had to unload. I brought my boat down and took one man out last week."

"How much will ye charge to git my wagon and things to dry land, me helpin' ?" "Five dollars."

The old man started and gasped. cain't pay that much."

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"It's your wagon, Mr. Smoot. You know whether it 's worth five dollars or not."

Drawn by Martin Justice. Half-tone plate engraved by R. C. Collins "SIX? JUST NOW YE SAID FIVE! WHAT-'"

"The wagon 's settling down fast, and every minute we wait, the harder it 'll be to get out."

The old man argued and protested, concluding with: "I'll give ye five, cash down-what ye said at first." He drew out his buckskin bag and untied the strings. 'Seven is the least I can take now, Mr. Smoot. The wagon 's still going down." The traveler pleaded, but Alf said: "A minute longer, and it 'll be eight."

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"I'll pay ye seven as quick as I can," the old man answered hastily. "For mercy's sake, don't make it any more!"

With trembling hands he counted out the money. His drawn face showed that he realized now what serious trouble he had got into. Alf, watching him closely, suspected that his "oodles" of money was a rather inconsiderable sum.

'Here 's the seven dollars, if ye cain't do it for any less."

Alf pocketed the money cheerfully. "I'll get the boat down here right away," he said, and started off on a run.

The old man climbed upon his beast and splashed back across the shallow river. Dismounting, he let the mule go. Then he