Someday, thought Alvin, someday a body could get on such a boat as Pride of the Hio and just float away. Out to the West, to the wild lands, and maybe catch a glimpse of the place where TaKumsaw and Tenskwa-Tawa live now. Or upriver to Dekane, and thence by the new steam train that rode on rails up to Irrakwa and the canal. From there a body could travel the whole world, oceans across. Or maybe he could stand on this bank and the whole world would someday pass him by.

But Alvin wasn't lazy. He didn't linger long at riverside, though he might want to. Soon enough he went into the porthouse and turned in Makepeace Smith's chit to redeem the iron packed in nine crates on the dock.

“Don't want you using my hand trucks to tote those, now,” said the portmaster. Alvin nodded– it was always the same. Folks wanted iron bad enough, the portmaster included, and he'd be up to the smithy soon enough asking for this or that. But in the meantime, he'd let Alvin heft the iron all himself, and not let him wear out the portmaster's trucks moving such a heavy load. Nor did Makepeace ever give Alvin money enough to hire one of the river rats to help with the toting. Truth to tell, Alvin was glad enough of that. He didn't much like the sort of man who lived the river life. Even though the day of brigands and pirates was pretty much over, there being too much traffic on the water now for much to happen in secret, still there was thievery enough, and crooked dealing, and Alvin looked down hard on the men who did such things. To his way of thinking, such men counted on the trust of honest folks, and then betrayed them; and what could that do, except make it so folks would stop trusting each other at all? I'd rather face a man with raw fighting in him, and match him arm for arm, than face a man who's full of lies.

So wouldn't you know it, Alvin met the new teacher and matched himself with a river rat all in the same hour.

The river rat he fought was one of a gang of them lolling under the eaves of the porthouse, probably waiting for a gaming house to open. Each time Alvin came out of the porthouse with a crate of iron bars, they'd call out to him, taunting him. At first it was sort of good-natured, saying things like, “Why are you taking so many trips, boy? Just tuck one of those crates under each arm!” Alvin just grinned at remarks like that, since he knew that they knew just how heavy a load of iron was. Why, when they unloaded the iron from the boat yesterday, the boatmen no doubt hefted two men to a crate. So in a way, teasing him about being lazy or weak was a kind of compliment, since it was only a joke because the iron was heavy and Alvin was really very strong.

Then Alvin went on to the grocer's, to buy the spices Gertie had asked him to bring home for her kitchen, along with a couple of Irrakwa and New England kitchen tools whose purpose Al could only half guess at.

When he came back, both arms full, he found the river rats still loitering in the shade, only they had somebody new to taunt, and their mockery was a little ugly now. It was a middle-aged woman, some forty years old by Alvin's guess, her hair tied up severe in a bun and a plain hat atop it, her dark dress right up to the neck and down the wrist as if she was afraid sunlight on her skin might kill her. She was staring stonily ahead while the river rats had words at her.

“You reckon that dress is sewed on, boys?”

They reckoned so.

“Probably never comes up for no man.”

“Why no, boys, there's nothing under that skirt, she's just a doll's head and hands sewed onto a stuffed dress, don't you think?”

“No way could she be a real woman.”

“I can tell a real woman when I see one, anyway. The minute they lay eyes on me, feal women just naturally start spreading their legs and raising their skirts.”

“Maybe if you helped her out a little, you could turn her into a real woman.”

"This one? This one's carved out of wood. I'd get splinters in my oar, trying to row, in such waters. "

Well, that was about all Alvin could stand to hear. It was bad enough for a man to think such thoughts about a woman who invited it– the girls from the gaming houses; who opened their necklines down to where you could count their breasts as plain as a cow's teats and flounced along the streets kicking up their skirts till you could see their knees. But this woman was plainly a lady, and by rights oughtn't to have to hear the dirty thoughts of these low men. Alvin figured she must be waiting for somebody to fetch her– the stagecoach to Hatrack River was due, but not for'a couple of hours yet. She didn't look fearful– she probably knew these men was more brag than action, so her virtue was safe enough. And from her face Alvin couldn't guess whether she was even listening, her expression was so cold and faraway. But the river rats' words embarrassed him so much he couldn't stand it, and couldn't feel right about just driving his wagon off and leaving her there. So he put the parcels he got from the port grocer into the wagon and then walked up to the river rats and spoke to the loudest and crudest talker among them.

“Maybe you'd best speak to her like a lady,” said Alvin. “Or perhaps not speak to her at all.”

Alvin wasn't surprised to see the glint these boys all got in their eyes the minute he spoke. Provoking a lady was one kind of fun, but he knew they were sizinghim up now, to see how easy he'd be to whup. They always loved a chance to teach a lesson to a town boy, even one built up as strong as Alvin was, him being a blacksmith.

“Maybe you'd best not speak to us at all,” said the loud one. “Maybe you already said more than you ought.”

One of the river rats didn't understand, and thought the game was still talking dirty about the lady. “He's just jealous. He wants to pole her muddy river himself.”

“I haven't said enough,” said Alvin, “not while you still don't have the manners to know how to speak to a lady.”

Only now did the lady speak for the first time. “I don't need protection, young man,” she said. “Just go along, please.” Her voice was strange-sounding. Cultured, like Reverend Thrower, with all the words clear. Like people who went to school in the East.

It would have been better for her not to speak, since the sound of her voice only encouraged the river rats.

“Oh, she's sweet on this boy!”

“She's making a move on him!”

“He wants to row our boat!”

“Let's show her who the real man is!”

“If she wants his little mast, let's cut it off and give it to him.”

A knife appeared, then another. Didn't she know enough to keep her mouth shut? If they dealt with Alvin alone, they'd set up to have a single fight, one to one. But if they got to showing off for her, they'd be happy enough to gang up on him and cut him bad, maybe kill him, certainly take an ear or his nose or, like they said, geld him.

Alvin glared at her for a moment, silently telling her to shut her mouth. Whether she understood his look or just figured things out for herself or got plain scared to say more, she didn't offer any more conversation, and Alvin set to turning things in a direction he could handle.

“Knives,” said Alvin, with all the contempt he could muster. “So you're afraid to face a blacksmith with bare hands?”

They laughed at him, but the knives got pulled back and put away.

“Blacksmith's nothing compared to the muscles we get poling the river.”

“You don't pole the river no more, boys, and everybody knows that,” said Alvin. “You just set back and get fat, watching the paddlewheel push the boat along.”

The loudest talker got up and stepped out, pulling his filthy shirt off over his head. He was strongly muscled, all right, with more than a few scars making white and red marks here and there on his chest and arms. He was also missing an ear.

“From the look of you,” said Alvin, “you've fought a lot of men.”