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and eyed Marsh unpleasantly, until the other shouted something at him and drew him back into conversation. "Whiskey," Marsh demanded, leaning against the bar.

"This whiskey will rot a hole in your stomach, Abner," the barkeeper said softly, his quiet voice penetrating right through the din. Abner Marsh let his mouth fall open. The man behind the bar smiling at him wore rough-woven baggy trousers held up by a cord belt, a white shirt so dirty it was almost gray, and a black vest. But the face was the same as it had been thirteen years before, pale and unlined, framed by that straight white hair, a bit messy now. Joshua York's gray eyes seemed to shine with their own light in the dimness of the dance hall. He extended his hand across the bar, and clasped Marsh on the arm. "Come upstairs," he said urgently, "where we can talk."

As he came around the bar, the other barkeep stared at him, and a wiry weasel-faced man in a dark suit charged up to him and said, "Where the hell you goin'? Git back there an' pour them whiskeys!"

"I quit," Joshua told him.

"Quit? Ill hev yer damned throat slit!"

"Will you?" said Joshua. He waited, looking around the suddenly hushed room and challenging them all with his eyes. No one moved. "I'll be upstairs with my friend if any of you care to try," he said to the half-dozen bouncers who lined the bar. Then he took Marsh by the elbow and led him through the dancers to a narrow back stair. Upstairs was a short hall lit by a single flickering gas jet, and a half-dozen rooms. Noises were coming from behind one closed door, grunting and moaning. Another door was open, and a man was sprawled in front of it, face down, half-in and half-out of the room. As he stepped over him, Marsh saw that it was the red-shirted man from downstairs. "What the hell happened to him?" Marsh said loudly.

Joshua York shrugged. "Bridget probably woke up, clubbed him, and took his money. She is a real darling. I believe she's killed at least four men with that little knife of hers. She carves notches on that heart." He grimaced. "When it comes to bloodshed, Abner, my people have very little to teach your own."

Joshua opened the door to an empty room. "In here, if you will." He shut it behind them, after turning on one of the lamps.

Marsh sat heavily on the bed. "Goddamn," he said, "this is a hell of a place you got me to, Joshua. This is as bad as Natchez-under-the-hill was twenty, thirty years ago. Damned if I ever expected to find you in a place like this."

Joshua York smiled and sat down in a frayed old armchair. "Neither will Julian or Sour Billy. That is the point. They are searching for me, I know. But even if they think to search Gallatin Street, it will be difficult. Julian would he attacked for his obvious wealth, and Sour Billy is known here by sight. He has taken off too many women who have never returned. Tonight there were at least two men in the Green Tree who would have killed him on sight. The streets outside belong to the Live Oak Boys, who might beat Billy to death just for the fun of it, unless they decided to help him." He shrugged. "Even the police won't come to Gallatin Street. I am as safe here as I would be anywhere, and on this street my nocturnal habits draw no notice. They are commonplace."

"Never mind about that," Marsh said impatiently. "You sent me a letter. Said you'd made your choice. You know why I come, but I ain't sure why you sent for me. Maybe you better tell me."

"I scarcely know where to begin. It has been a long time, Abner."

"For both of us," Marsh said gruffly. Then his tone softened. "I looked for you, Joshua. For more goddamned years than I care to think about, I tried to find you and that steamboat of mine. But there was just too goddamned much river and not enough time nor money."

"Abner," said York, "you might have had all the time and money in the world, and you would never have found us on the river. For the past thirteen years, the Fevre Dream has been on dry land. She is hidden near the old indigo vats on the plantation that Julian owns, some five hundred yards from