Apparently the fellow was engaged in oiling the machinery, for he had placed the lantern on deck, and held a long-spouted can in his fingers.

His back remained toward me as I drew near the stern, and, consequently, I no longer had a glimpse of his face.

The wooden wheel of the boat, a clumsy appearing apparatus, rested almost directly against the bank, where the water was evidently deep enough to float the vessel, and the single rope holding it in position was drawn taut from the pressure of the current.

Waiting until the man was compelled to bend lower over his work, utterly unconscious of my presence, I straightened up, and, pistol in hand, stepped upon the wooden beam supporting the wheel.

He must have heard this movement, for he lifted his head quickly, yet was even then too late; already I had gained the after-deck, and my weapon was on a level with his eyes.
"Don't move, or cry out!" I commanded, sternly.