Leej had stepped behind the door as the Gambler had worked his magic, the cigar clamped in his cotton-dry mouth. When the derringer was suddenly produced, he had stepped out onto the deck, drawing his own revolver. He was certain that someone in the room was about to suffer a violent death, and determined it would not be him. It was then that he detected, as if in anticipation of the gunfire, the familiar odor of burning gunpowder. Yet it seemed to come from beneath him, from below the deck. Moving away from the drama unfolding in the cabin, he found the hatch that lead to the cargo storage. When he kicked open the heavy door, the odor increased in strength. Stepping through, he could see a faint glow at the bow-end of the compartment, detect a low hiss coming from the same direction. Scrambling in the near dark, he found his way blocked by stacks of crates taken on at Memphis, but he realized the flare was coming from the area where he and the Southrons had deposited the contraband barrels of whiskey. As he stared at the sparkling flame, it began to elevate in the air- 12 inches, 18 inckes off the floor. It was then he could see by the glow of the flare....it was a burning wick, now just 6 feet from a cask of what had to be gunpowder!