"J'ai un papier dans mon soulier". Hughie Lafitte was on the back trail to the Canadian border. The River boat where he had lived for years was sailing down the Mississippi without him. Almost everything he owned was in his pack. He seldom went on shore where he could spend his winnings; a lot of money was sewn into various parts of his clothes.

When The Golden Eagle sank in murky water about 80 miles below St. Louis, it was not the boat where he resided, but Hughie was superstitious; it was an omen. On the Mississippi River, too many changes were in the air. The climate for Riverboat gamblers was changing; mid-River legal protections could no longer be guaranteed. He had been advised that crossing the border into Canada was a good idea.

Pictures of his great-granddaughter had arrived at Christmas. Her name was Anne-Merry, and he was on his way to see her. His papers weren't precisely in his shoes. Forgeries that good were not stored in shoes.

According to family legend, long ago a pirate's brother and his mistress had sired Hughie's forefather, but there were no records. This was not Hughie's fault. He himself had made sure that his own son had a legitimate-looking birth certificate.

Hughie could afford sumptuous hotel dinners, But until he got to the Canadian border, at night it would be best to sleep near the trail. For this purpose, a bedroll was tied beneath his backpack.