Ramsay Cartou leaned on the rail of the ponderous side-wheeler, the _H. H. Holter_, and watched without interest while a horse-drawn truck brought another load of cattle hides on board. The sweating stevedores who were loading the _Holter_ and the belaboring mate who supervised them began stowing the hides into the hold. The _Holter's_ winch, either ruined by an inexpert operator or about to fall apart anyhow, was broken. All the work had to be done by hand. Ramsay turned to breathe the clean air that swept in from Lake Michigan. It was impossible, anywhere on the _Holter_, to get away from the smell of the hides, but at least he did not have to look at them.…
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