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diff --git a/75520-0.txt b/75520-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5557bab --- /dev/null +++ b/75520-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5839 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75520 *** + + + + + +LONGSHANKS + +[Illustration: HE LIFTED HIM CLEAR OF THE GROUND] + + + + + Longshanks + + _by_ + STEPHEN W. MEADER + + ILLUSTRATED BY + EDWARD SHENTON + + HARCOURT, BRACE AND COMPANY, NEW YORK + + + + + COPYRIGHT, 1928, BY + HARCOURT, BRACE AND COMPANY, INC. + + PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + + HE LIFTED HIM CLEAR OF THE GROUND _Frontispiece_ + + HE PULLED A PISTOL OUT OF THE BOX 58 + + HE COULD SEE THE BEAST ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE POOL 154 + + HE SAW THE PRINT OF A NAKED FOOT 178 + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +Down the last long hill into Wheeling Town came the stage, its four +lean horses at a canter and its brakes squealing under the heavy foot +of Long Bill Mifflin. + +The early April sun, which had been promising Spring all day, was gone +now, and a chill rose with the dusk from the river. The boy on the seat +beside the driver pulled his cloak around him. + +“Le’s see, now,” said Long Bill, unwinding the lash of his sixteen-foot +whip. “Ye say ye hain’t got no friends in the town, here, but I reckon +ye got plenty o’ money. So it ’pears like a public house is the thing. +Which one? Well, thar’s three or four good taverns. The one we put +up at is the Gin’ral Jackson. Then thar’s the Injun Queen, an’ Burke +Howard’s place, only I wouldn’t counsel ye to go thar. Good licker, +good beds, an’ bad company. Most all of ’em will be full now, though, +with the steamboat leavin’ tomorrow.” + +Tad Hopkins thanked the driver for this information and looked down +from his perch with interest as the big coach lurched through the ruts +of Wheeling’s main thoroughfare. Soon they came to a stop in the yard +of the General Jackson Inn. Tad climbed down, pulled his portmanteau +out of the great leather “boot” at the back of the coach, said good-by +to his comrade of the past two days, and went into the tavern. + +“No beds--not even half a bed,” said the inn-keeper with a gesture of +finality. + +Tad went down the street, jostling his way through crowds of river-men, +backwoodsmen, drovers, and traders. Occasionally he passed an elegantly +dressed dandy, but for the most part the people he saw were rough and +uncouth. + +Wheeling, he now realized, was a frontier town of the great West, and +he felt a tingle of excitement at the thought that he had come to the +gate-way of his adventure. + +Finding a place to sleep in this alluring outpost seemed a difficult +matter, however. The landlord at the Indian Queen was as short in his +refusal of lodgings as the first man had been, and at two other taverns +where he inquired Tad was met with the same answer. Then, down close to +the river front, he saw a big white-painted frame building with a crude +sign that bore the letters “HOTELL.” Lights blazed in the downstairs +windows, and a sound of music came from within. + +Tad trudged up the steps and entered a large room with a sanded floor. +Two fiddlers were scraping away diligently at the farther end of the +place, and a crowd of thirty or forty men stood drinking and watching a +raggedly dressed old fellow do a buck-and-wing dance. + +At one end of the long and busy bar lounged a big, red-haired man in +shirt-sleeves. Tad crossed to him. + +“Could you put me up for tonight?” he asked. + +The man eyed him shrewdly. + +“I’ve got a cot in one of the rooms, but it’ll cost ye dear,” he +answered at length. “Two dollars for the night. An’ I doubt ye’ve that +much money.” + +“Yes,” said Tad. “It’s high, but I can pay it.” + +“Let’s see your cash,” the other replied coldly. + +Tad hesitated a second, then pulled a purse from under his belt. The +big handful of Government notes and silver which he held up seemed to +satisfy the tavern-keeper. + +“Two dollars--in advance,” he said, with a nod. “That’ll cover supper +an’ breakfast.” + +Tad paid him and was stuffing the purse back into its place when he +saw a tall, dark man, who had come up during the conversation and was +standing a few feet away, leaning an elbow on the bar. He was a rather +handsome fellow of twenty-four or twenty-five, with a sweeping, dark +mustache and restless, sharp, black eyes. His clothes, beautifully +tailored and expensive, seemed to have been worn a little too long or +too carelessly. But it was his hands that Tad noticed first of all. +They were white and slim, with extraordinarily long fingers. And on the +middle finger of the right hand was a queer-shaped silver ring with a +dull green stone. + +The man shifted his gaze quickly, as Tad looked up, and the next moment +he was ordering a drink from one of the bartenders. + +“Here, you, Rufus,” cried the landlord to a negro boy who emerged just +then from the kitchen, “take this feller up to Number Four--lively.” + +“Yassah, Marse’ Burke,” was the reply, and Tad, hearing the name, +remembered the stage-driver’s warning. + +“Burke Howard,” he thought. “Yes, that was the name. But I’ve got to +sleep somewhere, and at any rate I’ll keep my eyes open.” + +The darky led him upstairs to a large, bare room with two beds and a +small cot. One of the beds was already occupied by a snoring guest, and +the other had a shabby pair of boots beside it. Tad left his satchel +under the cot and returned to the lower floor. In the great kitchen +just back of the bar he found a long table at one end of which a few +river-men were noisily finishing their supper. And sitting down at +the other end, he was soon served with hot beef stew and potatoes. +The long, cold ride had made him hungry. He did full justice to the +meal and arose feeling better. The fiddlers were still playing when he +returned to the main room. He watched awhile, then took his cloak and +went out of the stuffy atmosphere of the bar into the cool night. A few +steps down the hill brought him to the river front, and just below was +the big gray shape of a steamboat, tied up at the landing. There were +a few lights aboard her, and an occasional rumble of barrels came from +the lower deck where sleepy stevedores were loading the last of her +cargo for the long voyage down river. + +Tad saw a small, lighted office at the landward end of the dock and +picked his way through and around the scattered piles of freight till +he reached it. + +“I want to take passage to New Orleans,” he said to the sour-visaged +clerk. + +The man continued to write an entry in his book, scowling importantly. +Then he cast a slow, scornful glance in the boy’s direction. + +“To New Orleans,” he replied, “the fare is forty-five dollars-- +_forty-five--dollars_--with yer stateroom an’ meals, that is. I reckon +you mean Cincinnati or maybe Louisville, don’t you?” + +“No, New Orleans,” Tad repeated patiently and drew forth his wallet. +“Here’s fifty. The name is Thaddeus Hopkins of New York.” + +Subdued, the clerk gave him his change and his receipt, and Tad climbed +the hill once more to Burke Howard’s place with a great sense of being +a man of the world. + +It was not until a half hour later, when he lay in his cot in the big, +dark bedroom at the Inn, that his lonesomeness returned. + +The man in the farther bed snored steadily with a purring sound, and +Tad could not go to sleep, try as he would. Instead he lay there +thinking of the events of the last few days and of the journey ahead of +him. + +It was amazing to realize that less than a week had passed since he +received his father’s letter. Back at the Academy for Young Gentlemen +in southern Pennsylvania, where he had spent the last two winters, +it had seemed, five days ago, as if the long routine of lessons would +never end. And then, one morning, had come the long envelope from New +Orleans, addressed in his father’s big, bold hand, and in it had been +news! + +It was in the breast pocket of his coat now, but he did not need to +look at it, for he knew it by heart. + + “Dearest Tad,” his father had written: + + “I hear from Master Lang that you have been doing well in your work. + Otherwise I would hesitate to suggest the plan I have in mind. As it + is, I believe there can be no harm to your education in leaving the + school before the end of the term. + + “I shall be sailing for England in a short time, to look after some + business, and it has occurred to me that it would make a pleasant + vacation for us both if you were to accompany me. There is now a + steam-packet leaving Wheeling every fortnight for the South, and I + wish you to make ready as soon as possible, so as to sail by the next + vessel, on the sixth of April. + + “A draft on my bankers is enclosed, which Master Lang will cash for + you, and this should provide ample funds for the journey to New + Orleans. + + “I am looking forward with great joy to our voyage together, + and shall be waiting for you at the levee on the arrival of your + steamboat. + + “Lovingly, your father, + “JEREMIAH HOPKINS. + “March 12, 1828.” + +Tad’s preparations for departure, watched enviously by the other boys +in his form, had filled the next two days. And at daybreak of the third +morning he had boarded the Baltimore-to-Wheeling stage. + +Crossing the mountains on the great creaking coach, listening to Long +Bill Mifflin’s stories and watching the road ahead for signs of the +deer and bear and mountain lions that the driver assured him filled the +woods--all this had made it a journey he would never forget. And now he +was in Wheeling with the mighty river running past, not a hundred yards +from his bed, and the steam-packet _Ohio Belle_ waiting to carry him on +the long southward slant of nineteen hundred miles to New Orleans. + +Tad was genuinely fond of his father, though they had seen little of +each other for the past two years. Jeremiah Hopkins was a New York +cotton broker of considerable wealth. His interests frequently took +him into the South and to Europe, and after Tad’s mother died, he had +left the boy in the care of school-masters. + +The prospect of a whole long Spring and Summer spent in voyaging with +his father made Ted’s heart thump joyfully. He was just drowsing off, +with rosy thoughts of the future filling his head, when the door of the +room was opened quietly. + +A tall figure entered and crossed the room with slow steps, lurching +a little as he walked. There was no lamp in the place, but a ray of +moonlight, reflected from the wall, lighted the man’s face dimly. As +Tad watched, he moved a few paces toward the cot and stood motionless, +looking down at the boy with a somber expression as if he were deep +in thought. Tad looked up from under lowered lids, pretending to be +asleep, and after a moment the figure turned away and went over to the +vacant bed. It was the gentleman with the long white fingers he had +seen below in the bar. + +For some reason he could not quite define, Tad was frightened. Surely +there was nothing strange about the man’s actions. A little drunk +perhaps, but incidents like that were to be expected in a river-front +tavern. He watched him partially undress and tumble into the bed, where +presently his snores began to mingle with those of the first sleeper. +And not till then did Tad draw a full breath. + +Stealthily he felt beneath his pillow for the purse. It was there, safe +and sound. He wound the leather thong tightly about his fingers and lay +quiet, too much disturbed to sleep. + +An hour crept by. Somewhere off in the woods back of the town a fox +barked, and hound dogs answered with a frenzy of baying. A tipsy +roisterer went past, mouthing a river song. Then gradually the noises +of the night subsided, and Tad dropped off to sleep. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +Bright April sunshine, streaming in the window of the room, flooded the +bare walls with matter-of-fact daylight. It shone in Tad’s eyes, and he +woke up with a start. + +The steamboat! It left at eight. He reached for his big silver watch +under the pillow, and found to his relief that it was only a few +minutes after six. At the same time he discovered the purse, still +firmly attached to his hand. The terror of the night seemed ludicrous +now. He chuckled at his own timidity and began dressing rapidly. + +The two other occupants of the chamber were still heavily asleep +when Tad doused his face and hands in the wash basin, strapped his +traveling-bag, and went out. + +In the front bar there was only a single customer--a humorous-faced +little Irishman in brass-buttoned blue clothes, who sat beside a table +with a glass of hot toddy in one hand and a pipe in the other. + +He looked at Tad jovially. “Bedad, an’ it’s glad I am the last barrel +is aboard!” he said, quite as if they had known each other for years. + +“Are you one of the steamboat men?” the boy asked. + +“I am that, lad--first mate of the _Ohio Belle_, an’ a terrible tired +one. We’ve been takin’ cargo for two days an’ nights on end. An’ now +I’ve got a half hour ashore while they’re a-gettin’ up steam.” + +“Does she sail in half an hour?” asked Tad. + +“Or sooner,” replied the Irish mate. “Th’ ould man’s a driver whin his +cargo’s once loaded. If it’s breakfast ye’re thinkin’ of, wait and +have it aboard with me. I take it ye’re bound down river. I’ve bread +and butter and a cold chicken in me locker, and we’ll get coffee from +that black son o’ Ham in the galley. The passengers ain’t supposed to +begin gettin’ their meals aboard till dinner time. But we’ll have a +breakfast, or my name’s not Dennis McCann.” + +The plan sounded like a good one to Tad. He waited while the mate +finished his glass and paid his score; then, shouldering the bulky +portmanteau, he followed him down the hill. + +“Ye see,” said McCann, “this steamboatin’ is only a bit of a change +like, for me. Me real business is deep-water sailin’, as ye may tell by +the roll o’ me legs.” + +Already, by twos and threes and singly, people were going aboard. +Tad and his companion shouldered through the crowd that had assembled +to witness the great event of the week, and crossed the gayly painted +gangplank. + +Instead of climbing the broad stairway to the deck above, McCann led +the boy forward through a narrow alleyway just inside the paddle-box +amidships. A blast of heat struck them as they emerged, and Tad found +himself facing a row of glowing doors, where sweating darkies fed the +boiler-fires with cordwood. + +“That’s prime, seasoned hickory,” shouted the mate above the roar of +the fires. “Don’t take long to get a head o’ steam with wood like this. +But wait till ye see the dirty green stuff they give us down along the +lower river.” + +They went through another passage where the heat was almost stifling +and came out on the forward cargo deck, solidly piled with merchandise. +Climbing a steep, ladder-like companionway, they reached the main +passenger deck. Higher still, Tad could see the “Texas,” or upper deck, +with the pilot-house perched atop, and just aft of it the two tall +stacks, with clouds of smoke pouring from them. + +“Rest here awhile, me lad,” said McCann, “whiles I rustle that +breakfast.” + +Tad sat down on his portmanteau, close to the rail, and watched the +spectacle below. The passengers made a colorful assemblage. There were +plain pioneer folk in linsey-woolsey and butternut cloth, going back to +their homesteads in Indiana or Illinois. There were wealthy planters +from the cotton States, resplendent in fine raiment and attended by +retinues of colored body-servants. Small tradesmen, drovers and the +like, from the nearer river towns, made up a fair proportion, and Tad +saw two or three lonely-looking hunters in buckskin, with their long +rifles and little packs of provisions, bound for the wild western +country. One oddly dressed man, with an eyeglass, who was constantly +asking questions and jotting down notes in a little book, Tad decided +must be an English tourist. + +There remained a little group which he found it harder to identify. +Three or four men in fashionable frock-coats, their pearl-gray beaver +hats cocked at a rakish angle, and clouds of smoke rolling up from +their cigars, idled and jested by the landward end of the gangplank. +Either they had no luggage, or it was already stowed aboard. Tad did +not care for their looks, and he liked them still less when he saw +them joined by a companion--the tall, dark fellow whom he had already +encountered twice in his brief stay at Wheeling. + +The friendly mate returned just then with a steaming pail of coffee and +led Tad off to his bunk in the officers’ cabin. Breakfast over, McCann +rose and put on his mate’s cap. + +“There goes the ‘all ashore’ call,” said he. “I’ll take ye down to the +purser, an’ ye can get yer room from him.” + +Tad found the stateroom assigned to him and put his bag inside. It was +a tiny cubicle with a single bunk, its window opening on the deck far +aft. Outside, the boy joined a group of passengers at the rail. + +The last hurried arrivals had rushed aboard, and final preparations for +departure were now in progress. Negro deck hands stood by the mooring +ropes at bow and stern. At a signal from the pilot-house the cables +were cast off and the darkies burst into song as they hauled them in +and coiled them down. + +Bells rang sharply in the engine-room. With a creak and a splash the +tall paddle-wheels began to turn, and the steamboat, catching the swift +current, swept grandly out into the Ohio. A long, bellowing blast of +the whistle bade farewell to the waving throngs astern. + +That day and those that followed were full of experiences for Tad. +Hour after hour he sat by the rail, or stood on the Texas with his +friend the mate, watching the valley unfold. The river was running +bank-full, fed by the April freshets; and added to the eight or ten +miles an hour of which the steamer was capable, the strong current gave +them a speed that seemed almost dizzying. + +They shot past dozens of loaded broadhorns and keel-boats, drifting +down with a single long steering-oar directing their course. The +boatmen would cheer the _Ohio Belle_ or curse her, depending on their +humor and whether or not their craft misbehaved when her wash hit them. + +Some of these rude arks held all the worldly possessions of a +family--homesteaders setting out to conquer the wilderness in Missouri +or Iowa. Many of them had chicken coops on their half-decks, and once +Tad saw a yoke of red steers chained to a post amidships and watching +the water with rolling, frightened eyes. + +He tried to imagine what sort of life the people led, aboard those +homely, slow-moving boats. Almost he envied the freckled youngster +he saw fishing over the side of one weather-beaten broadhorn. If he +weren’t going to New Orleans to see his Dad--well, he couldn’t help +thinking what a lazy, carefree, interesting voyage one could take in +an Ohio River flatboat! + +To Tad, raised in the more thickly populated country along the Atlantic +seaboard, the forest-covered hills that rolled back from the river as +far as the eye could see were satisfyingly wild and mysterious. And yet +he was surprised at the feeling of bustle and activity that pervaded +the valley. + +Little settlements of new log houses were continually appearing along +the shore, and in many places sheep and cattle were grazing in freshly +cleared pastures. Ferry-boats, rowed by lusty river-men, plied back +and forth between the West Virginia and Ohio villages. Trading scows, +loaded with calico, tools, and manufactured goods from the East, put in +at the farms and hamlets to exchange their merchandise for produce. + +“This is a great country, lad--a great country,” Dennis McCann would +say. “Some day, belikes, ’twill be almost as great as Ireland!” + +Tad watched the pilot spin the huge wheel to left and right, as +the _Ohio Belle_ splashed her way down through the shallows. There +was plenty of water and fairly easy steering, but the skill of the +gray-bearded old keel-boat man in the pilot-house seemed uncanny +nevertheless. He could sense a sunken snag farther away than Tad could +see a floating one. And he seemed to mind steering at night no more +than in the daytime. + +They stopped at Marietta and later at Parkersburg that first afternoon, +and as darkness fell, the chief pilot came up to relieve his assistant, +who had had the wheel most of the day. Tad, before he turned in that +night, had the thrill of standing in the pilot-house and watching the +old-time river-man take his craft down through the inky blackness, +swinging the bends like a race horse. + +The little stateroom was clean and comfortable in spite of its tiny +size, and the boy slept so soundly that not even the hoarse wail of the +whistle awoke him. + +The _Ohio Belle_ made a stop of several hours at Cincinnati to load and +unload freight the morning of the third day. And again the following +forenoon at Louisville there was a long delay. + +The weather, which had been fine up till then, turned cloudy with spits +of rain that morning, but Tad, as usual, spent his time on deck with +the mate. The river was high enough to make the passage of the Falls a +possibility, and the _Ohio Belle_, shallow of draft like all the river +steamers, took the white water safely. + +The rain increased in the afternoon, and Tad was finally driven inside +out of the wet. He had paid very little attention to his fellow +passengers on the voyage so far. But now, for something to do, he +strolled down the inside passageway to the main saloon. It was just +before he reached the cabin companion that he passed a door standing +ajar and heard men talking angrily. Suddenly one voice rose to a +shout and a chair was pushed back with a violent scraping noise. Then +the door opened, and in it, with his back to Tad, stood a tall man +in shabby, well-cut clothes. The fellow swayed a little and caught +the door-jamb with one hand. With the other he flung a pack of dirty +playing-cards back into the room. Then he spoke in a thick, choking +voice. + +“You’ve cleaned me,” he said. “You’ve got my last cent, curse you! But +I’ll be back, and don’t you forget it!” As he turned to leave he almost +fell over Tad, and the boy was startled by the look of ferocity on his +white, drawn face--a face he knew and had begun to fear. + +With long strides the man reached the end of the passage, then checked +himself in the act of turning the corner, and glanced back at Tad as if +he remembered something. An instant later he was gone. + +The other gamblers in the stateroom were silent for a moment after his +departure. Then one of them burst into a loud guffaw. + +“So he’ll be back, eh!” he cried. “That’s a good ’un. Who’d lend him a +plugged nickel on board here?” + +They resumed their game, and some one slammed the door shut. Restless, +Tad roamed about the interior of the vessel, went down to watch the +darkies firing the boilers on the lower deck, watched the Indiana +bluffs to the northward slide past in the rain, ate supper with the +other cabin passengers, and finally went back to his stateroom. When he +had undressed he bolted the door, opened the window a few inches for +fresh air, and went to bed. Lulled by the steady beat of the rain, he +was soon asleep. + +It must have been hours later when he woke, for the downpour had ceased +and a gusty wind was blowing. Was it the wind rattling his door that +had wakened him? Rubbing his eyes he rose on one elbow and peered over +the edge of his bunk. And there, just climbing through the window, was +the black, looming figure of a man. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +For three or four seconds Tad was too terrified to move. Then he +recovered his presence of mind and scrambled up, drawing a deep breath +to shout for help. But before he could utter a sound the intruder had +dropped, cat-like, to the floor of the stateroom and was on him in a +bound. + +A powerful hand closed on his windpipe, and a gag of some sort was +stuffed into his mouth. + +Tad, strong and wiry for his fifteen years, fought back at his tall +antagonist savagely, but it was an unequal struggle. With a swift skill +that argued previous experience, the prowler pulled a cord from under +his coat, and twisting the lad over on his stomach, he caught his +wrists in a tight hitch behind him. Half a dozen quick passes of the +cord, and Tad lay trussed up on the bunk, helpless as a baby. + +Then the man rose leisurely, produced a tinder-box from somewhere, and +lit a candle, which he stuck on the lid of the box and set down on the +floor. Tad, getting a good look at him for the first time, saw that +he was masked. A black handkerchief with holes cut in it covered the +whole upper part of his face. + +With quick fingers the fellow went through Tad’s clothes, taking his +father’s letter, his watch, and a few other trifles, and putting them +in his own pocket. + +The boy, struggling desperately to get his hands free, had to lie there +in anguish and see his treasures taken. At last, as the robber paused, +baffled for a moment, Tad felt the knots that held him slip a little. +He bent his knees up to loosen the tension between ankles and wrists, +and worked his arms cautiously back and forth. One hand slid through, +then the other, but he lay still and gave no sign. + +The man had opened the portmanteau and was rummaging through it +swiftly, but still he did not find what he was after. As he rose, the +candle’s beam shone full on his right hand and Tad had a momentary +glimpse of a ring--silver, with a dull green stone. It was the gambler +from Wheeling, who had seen him open his purse to pay for his lodging. +Would he give up the search and leave as he had come? It was a foolish +hope. At that very instant the fellow turned and stepped over to the +bunk, his slim, sure fingers feeling under the pillow where the purse +was hidden. + +Tad could restrain himself no longer. With a cry, muffled by the gag, +he pulled his arms from behind him and leaped upon the thief. Together +they went sprawling across the tiny cabin. The candle was kicked over +and extinguished and the struggle went on in the dark. Suddenly the +gambler shifted his position, and Tad felt an arm tighten about his +head with a grip like a vise. His ears began to sing, and all his +senses were numbed by the pain of the head-lock. He was powerless to +move. Then he became dimly aware that his antagonist was using his +other hand to open the door. A draft of cold air struck him and he was +pulled out upon the deck. With a suddenness that gave him no time for +terror, he felt himself swung up and outward over the rail. And then, +as in a bad dream, he was falling--falling. + +The shock of the icy water brought him out of his stupor. For a second +or two his whole energy was concentrated on getting back to the air +again, for the fifteen-foot drop had plunged him deep. As he came up, +choking, he pulled the gag out of his mouth and tried once more to call +for help. But the stern of the _Ohio Belle_ had already gone past, and +there was nothing around him but watery blackness. + +What should he do now? He was a good swimmer, but the water was almost +as cold as in winter, and he knew he could not last long in it. The +steamer had been running close to the Indiana shore most of the day, +and he had been thrown from the starboard side of the vessel. Something +told him to try for the north bank. With the river sweeping down upon +him at five or six miles an hour, it was easy to keep his sense of +direction. He struck out almost at right angles to the current and swam +steadily, saving his strength. + +The task seemed endless. As far as he could tell, he might still be +miles from land, and he was numb with cold. Twice he had such an attack +of shivering that he could not take a stroke for several seconds. His +short cotton night-shirt was not much of an impediment to swimming, but +the trailing cord was still tied fast to one of his feet, and he used +up some of his strength in a vain effort to get rid of it. + +Some last reserve of pluck kept his arms and legs going despite the +achy weariness that was in them. He thought he saw a blacker mass +rising in the blackness ahead, but it seemed to draw no nearer, and he +lost hope. Then his toe struck something soft that frightened him. He +lashed out desperately to get away from it and struck it again. It was +mud. He could stand up, half out of water, and wade. The looming bulk +ahead of him must be trees. In another minute or two he was crawling up +the bank, so nearly exhausted that he seemed hardly able to move, yet +filled with an indescribable sense of happiness at being alive. + +Another attack of shivers made him realize that he must try to get +warm. Rising, he half stumbled, half ran along a sort of path that +followed the top of the bank. And a moment later, to his joy, he saw +a small cabin set in a clearing ahead of him. Hurrying forward, he +approached the front of the shack and was about to rouse its inmates +by knocking on the door, when two huge dogs came running around the +corner and rushed at him. They growled and snapped so viciously at his +bare legs that Tad made a hasty retreat, beating them off with the cord +which he had removed from his ankle and was still carrying. + +“Hello, the house!” he cried. + +But the people inside either could not or would not hear him, and after +a moment of hesitation a renewed attack by the dogs caused him to keep +on his way westward along the bank. The damp twigs and briars slapped +and scratched his naked legs, but he was past paying any attention to +such trifles. If only he could find a sheltered corner of some sort +where he could curl up and rest without perishing of cold! + +The path opened after a while on another clearing, bigger than the +first, and he made out the shapes of half a dozen scattered houses off +to the right, away from the river. There was something depressing in +their silent blackness, and after his experience at the last place, he +had little heart to approach them. Instead he followed a deeply rutted +road that led forward to the bank of what seemed to be a good-sized +creek flowing into the Ohio. + +Tad groped his way to the door of a log shanty which stood by the +water--a store-house of some kind, he thought. But here again he was +disappointed, for a heavy padlock secured the latch. + +As he stood there, shivering and desperate, his eye fell on a long, +dark bulk beside the landing-stage. It was a boat--a clumsy broadhorn +of the kind he had seen drifting down the river. + +He drew closer and saw a roofed shelter covering the after part. It +looked warm and dry. Surely there could be no harm in resting there +until daylight. He would come ashore before the owners appeared, he +told himself. And a moment later he was scrambling aboard. There +were rough, warm burlap bags and a heavy tarpaulin in the shelter. +Shivering, he made a place for himself in a deep, snug corner and +pulled the canvas cover about him. After a moment or two his body began +to warm the nest, and a heavenly peace seemed to soothe his weariness +like a drug. Before another minute passed, he had fallen into a slumber +far too deep for dreams. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + “Hard upon the beach oar-- + She moves too slow. + All the way to Shawneetown, + Lo-o-ng time ago-o.” + + +The song came sifting into Tad’s consciousness pleasantly, to the +accompaniment of a snapping, sizzling noise and a most appetizing +smell. He opened his eyes and tried to think where he was, but +everything was dark around him--dark and strange. He put out a hand +and felt bags close by. Then he remembered in a flash all the details +of the catastrophe that had brought him there. With a start he sat +upright, looking out over the tops of bales and boxes. + +It was not only morning but bright, broad daylight. And the boat +was moving. He could see the line of trees on shore marching past. +Painfully, for he was very stiff and sore, he changed his position so +that he could look out ahead. There in the waist of the broadhorn, just +forward of the shelter, was a small fire blazing cheerfully on a rough +clay hearth. Over it crouched a young man in a cap and “store clothes,” +holding a frying-pan full of bacon, which gave forth the pleasant +aroma he had already noticed. + +The tuneful cook resumed his song, adding a verse that took his crew +on the next stage of their journey, and Tad, looking beyond him, +discovered that there was still another person aboard the flatboat. +Up on the half-deck, forward, a big, loose-jointed young fellow of +nineteen moved back and forth. In each brown fist he gripped the handle +of a fifteen-foot sweep-oar trimmed out of an ash sapling, and pulled +steadily and powerfully, walking two steps forward and two back at +each stroke. He was dressed in a coarse butternut shirt and fringed +leather hunting-breeches, which made a quaint contrast to the more +pretentious costume of the man by the fire. He was a tremendously +tall youngster--as tall as any one Tad had ever seen--and his gaunt, +big-featured, homely face, with the quirk of humor at the corners +of his mouth, attracted the boy instantly. He had a mop of tousled, +rusty-black hair and deep-set gray eyes that were fixed, at that +moment, on the Kentucky shore. + +The singer’s voice ceased abruptly, and Tad, glancing in his direction, +found the man’s eyes looking straight into his own. + +“Well, I’ll be tee-totally--” he began, and rose, almost dropping the +pan. “Looky here, Abe! Leave go them oars an’ come a-runnin’.” + +The young giant in the bows landed amidships in a single long jump. + +“What is it? Snakes?” he cried. + +For answer the other pointed a finger at Tad, as the boy crawled out of +his hiding-place. The look of open-mouthed astonishment on the cook’s +face had changed now to one of outraged wrath. + +“See here, you--you dirty, thievin’ skunk!” he blustered. “What in the +nation do ye think ye’re a-doin’ aboard of our--” + +His voice was drowned by a roar of good-natured merriment from his +tall companion. And Tad, looking down at himself for the first +time, realized what a grotesque appearance he presented. The brief +night-shirt he had worn when the gambler entered his stateroom had +been torn to ribbons in the fight which followed. And after being +covered with mud and further ripped by the briars, it was no longer +recognizable as a garment. From head to foot he was smeared with dirt +and dried blood, and his hair was matted with twigs. + +“All right,” he grinned, “I don’t blame you for laughing, or for +thinking I’m a thief, either. But you don’t have to worry. I just +crawled in here to sleep last night, and--” + +“What do ye mean by makin’ free with other folks’ property?” began the +smaller of the two boatmen. The one called Abe put a restraining hand +on his shoulder. + +“Shut up, Allen,” he said. “Let the boy tell his story. You’re cold, +ain’t you, son? Here, wrap yerself up in this.” + +Gratefully, Tad pulled around him the heavy blanket which was offered, +and proceeded to give them an outline of his adventure, while Allen +continued cooking the breakfast. + +“Humph!” grunted that individual, still sourly, when Tad had finished. +“How much was you robbed of?” + +“Not quite two hundred dollars,” answered the boy. + +“Ha, ha!” chuckled the doubter. “That’s a likely yarn!” + +“Wait a minute, Allen,” Abe interrupted. “I don’t know how much money +he had an’ don’t keer. But I do know when a boy’s tellin’ the truth. +What’s your name, sonny?” + +“Thaddeus Hopkins,” answered the boy. “People generally call me Tad.” + +“All right, Tad,” the tall young backwoodsman continued. “I reckon the +fust thing you’re interested in is breakfast. After that we’ll see +about dressin’ you and make some plans. + +“Now, Allen, if the viands are prepared you may serve our frugal +repast.” + +There was such a comical dignity in his stiff bow as he made the +last remark that both his hearers laughed in spite of themselves. +Without more ado they attacked the smoking pile of bacon and cornmeal +johnny-cake, and Tad thought no food he had ever eaten had tasted +quite so good. There had seemed to be a prodigious lot of it when they +started, but the giant sweep-oarsman had an appetite quite in keeping +with his huge, gaunt frame, and in fifteen minutes the pans were empty. + +“Thar,” said Abe as he wiped the last of the bacon grease from his tin +plate with a piece of corn-bread, “now maybe we can give some attention +to navigatin’ the good ship _Katy Roby_.” + +He winked at Tad as he pronounced the name, and Tad, glancing at Allen, +saw him flush with embarrassment and turn quickly to the business of +cleaning the breakfast utensils. + +Abe looked at both banks, to make sure the broadhorn was drifting +on the right course, and rummaged in a pine box under the shelter, +astern. From it he pulled forth presently a pair of woolen breeches, +worn and shrunken, and a clean white cotton shirt. + +“These may fit ye a bit long,” he said to Tad, “but rollin’ up the legs +an’ sleeves won’t hurt a thing. Maybe ye’ll grow into ’em.” + +Tad was really touched, for he could see that the gangling young +boatman had given him his own “best clothes.” + +“Thanks,” he said. “That’s mighty good of you. And if you don’t mind, +I’m going to wash before I put them on.” + +There was a length of new rope for mooring, tied to one of the +bow-posts, and when Tad had stripped off his rags he threw the rope +over the side and let himself down into the river. In the bright +morning sun it felt warmer than the night before, but there was no +temptation to stay in long. He scrubbed off as much of the grime as he +was able, holding on by one hand, and then clambered back aboard. Five +minutes later he was warm, dry, and decently clad, at least according +to the simple standards of the river. + +“Now, Allen,” said Abe, resting on his oar-handles, “what are we +a-goin’ to do with this young rooster?” + +Allen was frowning in perplexity. + +“Got any folks along this part o’ the river?” + +“No,” Tad said. “I don’t know a soul between here and New Orleans. But +if you want to put me ashore, I suppose I could get something to do and +earn my keep until Father comes for me.” + +Abe shook his head. “That don’t seem to me exactly reasonable,” he +said. “We’re a-goin’ down to New Orleans ourselves, an’ we could maybe +use a spare hand. What d’ye say, Cap’n?” + +Allen seemed a trifle dubious. “Think the rations’ll hold out?” he +asked. + +“Sartin they will,” Abe replied. “We can make it quicker’n we planned, +by runnin’ nights sometimes. An’ with a real dead-shot rifleman like +you along, we ought to jest about live on b’ar an’ turkey meat, anyhow.” + +The other member of the crew was somewhat mollified by these words. +“Wal, maybe so,” said he. “I reckon we can’t help ourselves. What can +ye do, boy? Cook?” + +“I’m sorry,” Tad hesitated, “I--I don’t think I can, but perhaps I +could learn.” + +“I b’lieve Allen, here, would condescend to give ye a lesson,” put in +Abe, seriously. + +“Hm,” said Allen. “Can ye ketch fish, or chop wood?” + +“I never tried,” answered Tad, “but I’d like to.” + +Abe, who had been rowing hard during this questioning, leaned on his +oars again. + +“Now see here,” he said, “you don’t have to worry about this yere boy. +Any youngster with the spunk to wrestle with a robber, an’ be dropped +off a steamboat into cold water at midnight, an’ swim across the Ohio +River, an’ run three miles, naked, with mean dogs after him--can look +out for himself. He’ll be cookin, fishin’, _an’_ choppin’ wood long +’fore he gits to New Orleans.” + +With these words Tad was officially admitted to membership in the +crew of the home-made flatboat _Katy Roby_ and set forth on one of +the strangest and most interesting adventures that ever befell a +fifteen-year-old school boy. + +All that fine April day they made steady progress down the swollen +river. Part of the time Abe and Allen worked at the oars, adding a +mile or two an hour to the speed of the current. Part of the time they +loafed in the sun on the half-deck, asking Tad questions about the +politer world of the Eastern cities and swapping yarns about their own +great frontier country. + +“You mean to tell me they _all_ wear shoes in New York?” asked Abe +incredulously. + +“Yes,” said Tad, “all but a few poor children. I’ve never gone barefoot +since I was a baby.” + +“Gosh!” the lanky backwoodsman exclaimed. “Look at _my_ feet!” He +pulled off his moccasin and showed a sole covered by a single vast +callus. “Outside of about five months in winter when I wore hide boots, +I never had a shoe on my foot till last year. Pap always figgered it +was cheaper to let me grow my own leather,” he added, with the twinkle +in his gray eyes that Tad was learning to expect. + +Piecing together what the two boatmen told him and what he picked up +from their conversation, he learned that Allen Gentry was the son of a +merchant living in the settlement at the mouth of Little Pigeon Creek, +where Tad had first sought shelter in the flatboat. His father, James +Gentry, was the owner of the craft, and was sending Allen to sell the +corn, pork, and potatoes which made up its cargo in the great produce +market of New Orleans. + +Abe, as he himself told Tad, was merely a “hired hand,” sent along +to do the heavy work and to “take keer” of Allen. But it was quite +apparent that the long-limbed country boy with his quaint humor and his +common sense was the real leader of the expedition. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +When the lingering spring sunset came, the flatboat was bowling along +so merrily that Abe decided to make a long day’s run of it. He left +the bow sweeps and stretched his long bulk on the little after deck +with the steering-oar under his arm. Allen pulled out a home-made banjo +from some mysterious hiding-place and proceeded to strum it softly. His +pleasant tenor voice, floating out across the reaches of the river, was +joined by a bass bellow from another broadhorn astern, and for several +miles they drifted to the mellow harmony of “Skip to My Lou,” “Weevily +Wheat,” “Down the Big River,” and “Wabash Gals.” + +The afterglow dimmed out of the sky, and bright stars filled it. And +Tad, yawning drowsily, was sent to bed. Rolled up in a blanket on the +hard deck planks and lulled by the murmur of the river, he slept as +soundly as he ever had in his life. + +The sun had already risen when he woke, and he was surprised to see +the budding branches of a big sycamore overhanging the deck of the +flatboat. Abe was up on the bank chopping wood for the breakfast +fire, and Allen was casting off the stern mooring-rope which had been +fastened around the tree. Tad threw off his blanket, pulled up a +bucket of water from over the side, and hastily performed his morning +ablutions. + +By the time he had finished, the boat was well on its way again. + +“Wal, youngster,” chuckled Allen, “how’s this? You awake an’ ready to +eat again?” + +The truth was, Tad did have a fine appetite for breakfast, and he +admitted it with a grin. “I feel as if I ought to work for it first, +though,” he said. + +“So you can,” Abe put in. “Here’s the ax. S’pose you split some o’ this +wood up in nice fine kindlin’, while I go up forrard an’ persuade her a +little with the oars.” + +Tad, willing enough, picked up the ax and started clumsily to hack away +at the chunk of pine. By dint of hard work he managed to split away a +cross-grained sliver from one side and was attacking the larger piece +again when a smothered choking sound reached his ears. There lay Allen, +rolling on the planks and holding his sides with laughter. + +In a country where children learned to use an ax almost as soon as they +could walk and supplied the house with firewood before they knew their +A-B-C’s, the sight of Tad’s awkwardness was enough to provoke any man’s +mirth. + +But Abe did not laugh. He left his oars and came down to Tad’s side. + +“Watch,” he said. “You’ll git the knack of it in no time.” And swinging +the ax one-handed, with no apparent effort, he cleft the log cleanly +through the center, then into quarters. His arm rose and fell steadily, +and in an amazingly short time there was only a neat pile of slender +pine splints lying by the hearth. + +As they breakfasted, a big keel-boat, piled with farm implements and +furniture and with half a dozen lively-looking children swarming over +and through everything, steered close to them. + +“Movers,” said Allen. + +A bearded man with a cross, discontented face appeared at the gunwale +of the keel-boat and hailed them. + +“Where are we? Can you tell me?” he shouted. + +“This is the Ohio River,” Abe replied cheerfully. + +“Yes, but whereabouts--what part?” fretted the mover. + +“Jest now,” said Abe, considering, “you’re in Indianny. But in five +more minutes your bow-end’ll be in Illinois. Thar’s the Wabash, now.” + +He pointed to the right bank a mile or so below, and Tad saw a wide +river emptying into the Ohio from the north. + +The bearded man muttered something that might have been thanks and went +back to the tiller of the keel-boat, while Abe resumed his breakfast. + +“They’ll make a mighty valuable addition to the population of whatever +place they’re a-goin’ to,” he remarked between mouthfuls of johnny-cake. + +“Must be Illinois,” put in Allen. “That question sounded jes’ like a +‘Sucker.’” + +The latter scornful epithet, Tad discovered, was universally applied +by the Hoosiers to their neighbors on the west. Although hundreds of +families were moving from Indiana into Illinois every year and the +people of the two States were often blood kin to each other, there was +a vigorous rivalry that did not always confine itself to calling names. + +Something of this feeling Tad was soon to see, for they made a landing +at Shawneetown on the Illinois shore, sometime during the forenoon. +One of the first things he had asked his new friends was how he might +send word of his safety to his father, in New Orleans. And it had +been agreed that they should stop at the first town where steamboats +touched and mail a letter. + +There were no writing materials aboard the _Katy Roby_. When Abe and +Allen had calculations to make, they did it with a burnt stick on the +deck planking. So, leaving Allen to guard the flatboat and her cargo, +Abe and Tad climbed the muddy hill from the landing-stage and sought a +place where paper and ink might be bought. One of the first buildings +they reached was a rambling log house with a wide porch in front, +which turned out to be a general store. They entered and made their +purchases, and Tad started to write his letter, using the head of a +barrel for a table. Briefly he described the attempt to put him out +of the way and how he had made his escape. Basing his estimate on the +average speed of the _Katy Roby_, he wrote that with good luck they +would reach New Orleans within two or three weeks. + +He was just signing his name to the message when he heard a commotion +of some kind outside. The group of loafers who had been hanging around +the door when they entered now left the porch with a clatter of boots. +A loud voice was raised tauntingly. + +“Wal, you long-legged, slab-sided, lousy Hoosier, want to see how it +feels to git thrown?” it asked. + +Tad hastily pocketed his letter and went to the door. In the midst of a +ring of spectators outside, a big, stocky, river-man was brushing the +dirt off his hands, while a crestfallen youth in torn homespun lifted +himself out of the mud. + +Abe’s long, awkward figure towered above the group of bystanders. +Evidently the champion’s invitation had been addressed to him. He +strolled forward into the ring. “Don’t keer ’f I do,” he said. + +There were roars of laughter from the Illinois men. + +“Them leather breeches is to scare off the varmints!” one cried. + +“What do they feed you on, Longshanks?” asked another. + +“Suckers,” answered Abe, with a grin, and pulled his belt a notch +tighter. + +The river-man was broad-shouldered and powerful, with short, thick arms +like a bear’s. He pounded himself on the chest with a huge fist and +roared: + +“Here I am! I’m ‘Thick Mike’ Milligan o’ Kaskaskia! I kin drink more +likker an’ walk straighter, chaw more terbakker an’ spit less juice, +break more noses an’ swaller less teeth, than any man on the rivers. I +eat wildcat fer breakfast an’ alligator fer supper. I’m a ragin’ hyena! +I’m a terror to snakes! Look out, fer I’m a-comin’!” + +As he shouted the last words, he jumped in the air and clapped his +heels together. Then with a rush he charged at Abe. + +There was nothing awkward about the tall Hoosier now. He took a quick +sidewise step, springy as a cat on his moccasined feet. One long arm +shot out and caught Milligan by his thick neck, spinning him about so +that he dropped on one hand and one knee. The river-man was up in an +instant, roaring like a bull. But now he came on more warily, trying +to get in close, where he could come to grips with his opponent. Abe, +circling and retreating constantly, held him out of reach with those +long, sinewy scarecrow arms of his. + +The onlookers began to hoot and jeer. “They call that wrastlin’ in +Indianny?” yelled one. And another edged close to Abe to trip him. + +“Look out!” cried Tad, but his warning was unnecessary. The lanky +young flatboatman had seen the movement out of the corner of his eye, +and instead of falling over the outthrust foot he suddenly leaped +backward, seized the tricky bystander by the collar, and hurled him +through the air, straight at Milligan. Then, without the loss of a +second, he was after the two of them. Catching the river bully off his +balance, he lifted him clear of the ground and slammed him on his back, +piling the dazed and gasping meddler on top of him before either could +collect his wits. + +“Thick Mike” picked himself up angrily, while the crowd howled its +desire for the “best two out o’ three falls!” + +Abe seemed to have undergone a change. He was mad now--mad clean +through--and his gray eyes blazed as he trod lightly forward to meet +Milligan’s attack. + +The river-man tried a new plan. Waiting till Abe was close, he suddenly +plunged in low, hoping to get a crotch-hold and upset the lanky +Hoosier. This time Abe wasted no time in dodging. Before the other’s +hands were fairly on him, he had seized him with both arms around the +middle and whirled him, feet in air, over his shoulder. Milligan landed +heavily on the small of his back, and with a panther-like spring Abe +was on him, pinning his shoulders flat. + +There was no longer a question as to which was the better wrestler, +and the stocky Kaskaskia man was the first to admit it. He rose, still +a little dizzy from the force of his fall, and shook Abe’s hand. + +“They ain’t many kin do that,” he grinned. “How tall air ye, lad?” + +“Six foot four,” said Abe. + +“An’ how old?” + +“Nineteen,” answered the flatboatman. + +“Great sufferin’ catfish!” the other exclaimed. “Ye’d oughter be a +good-sized feller when ye grow up!” + +The crowd of loafers did not seem disposed to take their champion’s +defeat quite so good-humoredly. As Abe and Tad went back to the store +to post the letter, these hangers-on followed at their heels. + +“Huh! Wrastle? Sure he kin. That ain’t nothin’,” said one of them. “But +what’d he look like in a real ruckus--knock-down an’ drag-out?” + +The tall youth turned on the top step and deliberately rolled up the +sleeves of his shirt. + +“Listen,” he said, quietly. “One Hoosier to one Sucker ain’t a fair +fight. But if any two of ye want to tackle me at once, I’ll be pleased +to accommodate. Step right up here, boys.” + +His words produced an immediate hush. For a moment he stood there +eyeing them scornfully, while they shuffled their feet and looked +sheepish. Then he entered the store. + +“Come on, Tad,” he said with a wink, “we’ll be a-goin’ now.” + +The boy gave his letter to the postmaster, got that worthy’s assurance +that he would mail it on the steamboat _Nancy Jones_, from Louisville, +likely to stop at Shawneetown in the next day or two, and followed Abe +down the hill. + +Allen, who had heard the shouting, was filled with curiosity. “What’d +ye see, boys--a fight?” he asked. + +“No,” said Abe, “it was jest a demonstration.” And chuckling, he went +about the business of getting headway on the boat. Allen, however, was +not satisfied till he had got a glowing account of the wrestling bout +from Tad. + +“That’s right,” he nodded. “This yere Abe is the powerfullest critter +ever I see. He kin outrun, outwrastle an’ outfight any man in our +country, back home--yes, an’ outtalk any woman. He’s as fast as greased +lightnin’ and tougher’n a white oak post.” + +It was early afternoon when they passed the broad mouth of a cave on +the Illinois bank. Allen, who had once been as far as Paducah on the +steamboat, pointed it out and told the gruesome story of the Wilson +Gang, a notorious outlaw band which, twenty-five years earlier, had +made the cavern its stronghold. + +“Thar was more’n a hundred of ’em,” said he, “an’ they used to rob +boats an’ travelers all up an’ down the river. They say thar’s a sort +o’ chimney goin’ up from that cave into another one over it, an’ after +the gang was cleaned out, sixty skeletons of murdered folks was found +up in that secret cave.” + +Tad gazed at the place in awe as they drifted past. It looked peaceful +enough now. The sun slanted brightly across the gray face of the rock, +and a flight of twittering swallows darted in and out of the dusky +opening. + +They fished and talked, sang and whittled, with alternate spells at the +oars, all afternoon, and toward sunset sighted a black cloud of smoke +beyond the next bend. + +“Steamboat comin’,” remarked Abe. A long, mournful whistle-blast came +up the river, and they saw a man, at work in a stump-filled clearing, +suddenly drop his plow handles and run down to the shore. He leaped +in the air, waving his hat frantically as the tall stacks and shining +upper works of the craft appeared around the bend. His horses eyed the +approaching monster with alarm, snorted, reared, and would have dashed +off if the plow had not buried itself and anchored them. + +The steamer passed within a dozen yards of the flatboat and they read +her name, _Amazon_, in gilded letters across her paddle-boxes. The big +wheels thrashed and churned with a mighty uproar as the vessel forced +her way up against the current at all of four or five miles an hour. +The foamy wake that rolled out from her paddle-wheels caught the _Katy +Roby_ at an awkward angle and made her pitch like a steer. Bracing his +feet, Abe pulled on the oars with all his strength to keep the craft +from swinging sidewise. A roar of laughter went up from the deck of the +_Amazon_ where two or three of the crew were gathered. + +“Hold her, bean-pole!” shouted one of them. + +Abe dropped the oars, picked up a four-foot stick of firewood, and sent +it whirling after the steamer, already many yards away. He threw so +hard and so true that the billet bounced off the rail a foot from the +fellow’s head, and the steamboat men retreated hastily. + +Abe grinned as he handled the sweeps again. “I’m willin’ to take their +wash,” he said, “but not their sass.” + +That night, when Allen was tuning up his banjo, Tad went aft to lie by +the steering-oar with Abe. He looked at the long, easy frame of the +backwoods youth and thought of that morning’s wrestling-match. + +“Jiminy, but you’re strong!” he said, admiringly. + +Abe shifted his position, looking off at the low stars. + +“That’s nothin’!” he said gruffly. “I was born big. There’s no credit +in that. What I’d like is to be able to sing an’ play the banjo like +Allen. I can’t carry a tune any more’n a crow. Or I’d like to go to an +academy like you. I bet you’ve read a power o’ books!” + +Tad was truthful. “Not such a terrible lot,” he said. “They’ve got a +whole library full at school, but when you have to read them, there’s +no fun in it.” + +“Gee,” murmured Abe, and was silent for a little. Then he turned toward +the younger boy, his rugged, homely face serious in the starlight. + +“I couldn’t git much schoolin’, back whar we lived on Little Pigeon,” +he said. “But I’ve read some--books like the Life o’ Washington, an’ +the Fourth Reader an’ the Bible, an’ _Æsop’s Fables_, an’ the Laws of +Indiana, an’ _Pilgrim’s Progress_, an’ _Robinson Crusoe_, an’ the +Almanac. Guess I’ve read about all the books I could borrow from any +one ’round Gentryville. + +“’Course I learned to write an’ cipher in the log school. An’ I used +to work out the accounts for folks--neighbors--an’ write letters for +’em if they had to send news off. I fixed me up a quill pen out of a +turkey-buzzard’s feather, an’ the ink I made out o’ blackberry-briar +roots an’ copperas. + +“I’d rather have book-learnin’ than all the muscle in the world. They +say there’s a new University goin’ to open in Indiana next Fall. If +I was rich, maybe I wouldn’t go up thar in a hurry! But I guess I’ll +likely stay workin’ ’round on farms an’ boats.” + +“I should think you’d want to,” Tad put in. “If I was as big and husky +as you, and could do the things you can, I’d never go back to school.” + +“Thar,” chuckled Abe, “you’ve put your finger on it. I seem to be a +born corn-husker. An’ that’s all right, too. I like an ax. I like to +work with an ax, splittin’ rails, buildin’ things. An’ I like to plow, +an’ hoe, an’ take care o’ cattle. Only,” he paused, frowning, “some +way, that ain’t enough.” And for many minutes thereafter he sat buried +in thought, his chin in his hand. Tad, respecting the stern, almost sad +expression on the older boy’s face, rose quietly and joined Allen up +forward. + +Allen finished his song and greeted him. “What’s the matter--Abe +got one of his silent spells?” he asked. “Don’t mind him. He’s all +right--jes’ shiftless an’ dreamy sometimes.” + +And striking a chord or two, he launched into the stanzas of “Old Aunt +Phoebe.” + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +They were peeling potatoes for the noon meal on the fourth day of the +flatboat’s voyage when Tad chanced to look off to the southward and +stood up suddenly, with an exclamation of wonder. Above the Kentucky +bluffs a cloud was rising swiftly--a living cloud of beating wings. + +“Pigeons!” said Abe. And Allen, springing to his feet, ran back under +the shelter to get his fowling-piece. + +The great flight of birds came swiftly. Before Allen could finish +loading the long-barreled shotgun, the first of them were winging +over--twos and threes and fifties, and then thousands--so many that +they seemed to cover the sky. A vast, vibrating hum of wings filled the +air. + +Allen rammed home his charge and lifted the gun. Taking aim was hardly +necessary. He pointed where the flock seemed thickest and fired. At the +loud report a sort of eddying movement went through the nearer part of +the cloud of birds, but there was no change in the speed or direction +of the flight. + +Then bodies of dead and wounded pigeons began dropping like feathered +hailstones into the river. They sent up little splashes of water. There +must have been a dozen at least. + +Only one pigeon fell aboard the _Katy Roby_. Tad picked up the +warm, plump body and held it, watching the eyes glaze. The sleek +brownish-gray feathers were ruffled, and a shot had carried away part +of the long tail. + +Allen was grumbling. “One pigeon! I hit plenty, but they all fell +in the water. We’d oughter have a dog along to fetch ’em.” He was +reloading rapidly while he talked, and raised the gun again, looking +for the likeliest place to shoot. + +Abe’s voice came from the bows. + +“Don’t kill any more of ’em, Allen,” he said with something like a +command in his tone. “Spose’n you _should_ git one or two more to fall +in the boat. It takes more’n three pigeons to make a meal for this +crew. You ain’t jest shootin’ ’em for the fun of it, are you?” + +“Well, why not?” replied young Gentry with a scowl. “Thar’s millions +an’ millions. Look at ’em!” He waved his arm in a wide arc. “They’re so +thick they’re ’most a nuisance.” + +“No, sir,” Abe answered. “They never harm crops, do they? An’ they’re +pretty, an’ hev a right to live. They’re bein’ killed off too fast as +it is. My Pap says when he was a boy in Kaintuck’ there used to be +four or five flights every year when the pigeons would make the sun +dark for a whole day. You don’t see that now. This flock here is ’most +over now. That’s what comes o’ killin’ ’em by the bushel jest for the +sport of it.” + +Even as he spoke, the rear guard of the flock swept over, leaving the +sky clear once more. The dark cloud of beating wings drew away rapidly +to the north, and in a moment the only traces of the event were the +stiffening body in Tad’s hand and the acrid smell of burnt powder as +Allen sulkily set about cleaning his gun. + +When dinner was over, the long-legged backwoods boy rose, stretched and +climbed to the forward deck. Before picking up the oars he shaded his +eyes with his hand and looked away south-westward. + +“Boys,” he said, “unless I’m mighty mistook, we’ll pass Cairo an’ be +sailin’ down the Mississippi before night.” + +“Huh,” snorted Allen, “what do _you_ know ’bout it? This ain’t the +headwaters o’ Little Pigeon Creek ye’re a-navigatin’!” + +“Reckon I’m as wise an ol’ barnacle as any aboard this packet,” Abe +replied with a twinkle. “Whar do _you_ figger us to be, Cap’n Gentry?” + +“Wal, le’s see, now,” said Allen. “We sighted Paducah jes’ before noon. +Now I fergit how many miles it is from thar, but seems like they told +me it was a full day’s run, that time I was down thar I told ye about.” + +The argument went on spasmodically for the balance of the afternoon. +But Abe, as usual, was right. + +An hour after sunset, in the calm blue dusk, they floated out of the +Ohio with the broad current of the Mississippi sweeping down in a +resistless muddy tide from the northwest. They knew the power of that +flood a moment later when another broadhorn, just below them, was +caught in an eddy and whirled end for end like a twig in a brook. + +Abe pulled with might and main on the starboard oar, and Allen swung +the steering-sweep to bring them over toward the Kentucky shore. “We +might’s well stay this side whar it ain’t so yaller, long as we kin,” +said the big bow-oarsman. “I feel sort o’ more at home in water that +might ha’ come down from Little Pigeon.” + +They tied up to the Kentucky bank while it was still light enough to +find a good mooring-place. Not much singing or hilarity aboard that +night. Something of the vast, brooding mystery of the river had +got into them. Tad didn’t feel afraid, or even lonesome, exactly. +He just wasn’t in a mood for talking. The immense distances, the +wildness of the country, the hurrying, watery sounds of the mile-wide +flood--perhaps it was none of these, or all of them combined, that +weighed down their spirits. + +“Spooky, ain’t it?” said Allen, shaking himself uneasily, and he went +to his blankets without taking out the banjo. + +Tad followed soon and left Abe sitting hunched in dark silhouette +against the stars, his big hands gripped around his knees and his eyes +on the shadowy line of willows and cottonwoods across the river. He was +used to spells of sadness. This one seemed no worse than usual. + +Morning made a difference. The sun shone on budding leaves of tender +green and sparkled on the dimpling surface of the water. A perfect +riot of bird-song filled the air. In the big trees that overhung the +mooring-place there must have been hundreds of warblers, finches and +song-sparrows, and several times Tad caught the red flash of a cardinal +among the branches. + +Allen sang and Tad whistled intermittently while they cooked and ate +breakfast, and even Abe hummed something that might have been “Turkey +in the Straw” and danced a home-made double shuffle on the fore deck, +as he cast off. + +“Make the most of it, boys,” he laughed. “This is all the Spring we’re +a-goin’ to see. By day after tomorrer we’ll ketch up with Summer, at +this rate.” + +The sun was warm enough that day to give truth to the tall boy’s words. +They passed islands where the dogwood, at the height of its bloom, made +a white canopy almost to the water’s edge. And in fields along the +shore there were bare-footed children running about in calico frocks. + +The river did not seem lonesome in daylight. Above and below them they +could see busy specks that were keel-boats and barges. They overtook +one of these toward noon--a shabby old trading-scow. On its after part +was built a little house, or “caboose,” from which a length of rusty +stove-pipe projected. And a dingy bit of what had once been bright +cotton print waved in tatters at the top of a pole. Despite the forlorn +appearance of the craft, cheerful sounds came from it, as the Indiana +flatboat drew alongside. + +A squat, broad-shouldered old man with a bushy gray beard and merry +eyes was sitting on a box, forward of the caboose, scraping away +lustily at a backwoods fiddle, and thumping time with one foot on +the deck. And sitting facing him, apparently entranced by the hoarse +squeaking of the fiddle, was a fine red setter dog. + +The old fellow finished his tune with a flourish and swung about on his +box. + +“Howdy, boys!” he cried. “I’m Moses Magoon o’ the Big Sandy, peaceful +trader an’ musician by choice, but a bad ’un when raised. Mebbe you’ve +heard o’ these half-horse, half-alligator fellers. I’m one-third +horse, one-third alligator, an’ the other third mixed catamount an’ +copperhead. What d’ye find yerselves in need of today? I’ve got calico, +buttons an’ sewin’ thread, extra fine pantaloons, shoe leather an’ +wheaten flour, pots an’ pans, powder an’ lead, candles, salt, nutmegs, +an’ red pepper.” + +All this had been said in a loud, hearty voice and without any apparent +pause for breath. Mr. Magoon was about to continue when Abe interrupted +by laying an oar across the bow of the trading-boat and pulling the two +craft together, side by side. This maneuver was not to the liking of +the setter, which jumped up, growling, teeth bared for action. + +“Be still, Fanny,” said the old man quietly. With a dexterous motion he +pulled an old-fashioned horse pistol out of the box beneath him and +laid it across his knees. At the sight of this weapon, fully eighteen +inches long, Abe’s jaw dropped comically. + +[Illustration: HE PULLED A PISTOL OUT OF THE BOX] + +“Hol’ on!” he exclaimed, and hastily withdrew the foot he was about to +set aboard the scow. “’Pears like we’d better introduce _our_selves, +too. We’re the law-abidin’est, softest-spoke flatboat crew betwixt +this an’ the Falls o’ the Ohio. We’re two-thirds fishin’ worm an’ +three-quarters turtle-dove. All we want’s a chance to trade some good +salt pork an’ ’taters fer a pair o’ them extra fine pantaloons--boy +size--’bout big enough fer young Tad here. Ef you’ll jes’ put away that +blunderbuss an’ explain the purpose of our visit to Miss Fanny, we’ll +come aboard an’ do business.” + +Magoon’s whiskers parted to display a set of strong, even teeth. He +tipped his head back and reared with laughter. “So ye shall,” he +said at last, and wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of a +weather-browned hand. “Durned ef I ever heerd sech a brag as that on +any o’ the rivers,” he chuckled. “But I’ll guar’ntee the fishin’ worms +an’ turtle-doves kin take keer o’ theirselves when they hafter.” + +He rose, thrust the pistol back into its hiding-place, and limped over +to the gunwale with outstretched hand. “Make yerselves to home,” he +said. + +They lashed the two boats loosely with a length of rope, and Allen +stayed aboard the _Katy Roby_ to steer, while Abe and Tad made their +purchase. They picked out a pair of serviceable brown homespun breeches +from the merchant’s stock, and for them traded two flitches of bacon +and a barrel of apples. + +Allen, with an eye to the profit of the voyage, started to raise some +objection, but Abe merely answered, “I’ll pay fer ’em when I git my +wages,” and went on rolling out the barrel. + +When the transaction was completed, the genial trader looked up at +the sun and whistled. “What about dinner?” he asked. “I’ve got a big +catfish here--more’n Fanny an’ me could eat in a week. S’pose I make +some hot coals an’ we’ll broil him on a plank.” + +The Hoosier crew were in hearty agreement with this idea, and while Abe +relieved him at the steering-oar, Allen set about making corn-bread as +their share of the feast. + +Tad, who had no special chores to perform, stayed aboard the scow and +got better acquainted with Magoon and the red setter. + +The old river-man had an ingenious sort of Dutch oven built into the +wall of the caboose. Adding dry wood to his fire, he soon had a brisk +blaze roaring up the chimney. Meanwhile he proceeded to clean and split +the catfish, and peg it out on a piece of plank which had evidently +been used before for the purpose. + +“That pistol,” said Moses Magoon, “my ol’ Pap toted over the mountings +from North Caroliny in ’seventy-nine. It’s old an’ rusty an’ ain’t been +fired fer fifteen year. ’Tain’t even loaded now, but I keep it handy to +persuade some o’ these thievin’ river toughs with. + +“I been cruisin’ up an’ down the Mississip’ an’ the Ohio ever since I +was a young feller, an’ I’ve run afoul of ’em all, one time or another. +Jes’ last week here, a big keel-boat with half a dozen men on deck come +up alongside, somethin’ like you did. It was Little Billy, an’ his +gang, from up the North Fork o’ Muddy Run, an’ I figgered I was in fer +trouble. + +“But this yere Little Billy has only got his eye out fer two +things--money an’ whisky--an’ I don’t carry neither one of ’em. I +let him come aboard an’ look, an’ he never laid hand on any o’ my +goods--jes’ as polite as you please. ‘Well,’ says he, ‘long as ye ain’t +got no Kaintucky red-eye, what’ll ye take fer the dog?’ + +“‘Sorry, Mister,’ I says, an’ I was scairt. ‘She ain’t no ways fer +sale,’ I says. ‘She’d break her heart an’ die if I let her go.’ An’ +Little Billy, he jes’ grins an’ says, ‘Right, I had a good dog myself, +once.’ An’ with that he steps back on his keel-boat an’ off they go. + +“I had a bad time, couple o’ years back, with Mike Fink--him they +call ‘The Snag,’” the old trader went on. “I landed at New Madrid one +night an’ went up to the store. When I come back, with my arms full o’ +provisions, I see another boat tied up, close above. An’ jest as I was +goin’ to step aboard mine, eight or ten men that had been layin’ low +under the bank stood up thar in the dark. One of ’em says, ‘All right, +stranger, we’ll take keer o’ this,’ an’ he grabs the provisions. Then +they march me aboard o’ my own craft an’ tell me to show ’em whar my +money is an’ no monkey business. I acted like I was plumb scairt to +death--teeth a-chatterin’ an’ knees a-shakin’. + +“‘All right,’ I finally whispers, ‘I’ll show ye whar it’s hid, only +thar ain’t room fer but two to go in.’ + +“Mike Fink swings ’round to his gang. ‘Git back on shore, ye lousy +varmints!’ he bellers. When they’re all up on the bank, he pulls out +his knife an’ holds it in his teeth, an’ I lead the way into the +caboose here. It’s a right dark night an’ Mike he strikes a light an’ +holds up a candle, while I’m rummagin’ round in the corner. Pretty soon +I undo the ketch o’ this leetle trap door down here in the bulkhead, +an’ open her up. ‘Whar’s that go?’ says the Snag. ‘That’s my secret +hidin-place,’ I says--‘want me to go first, or you?’ An’ I’m still +lettin’ on to be tremblin’ so I kin hardly talk. + +“‘You,’ says Mike, ‘an’ by the ol’ ’Tarnation I’ll cut you into stewin’ +meat if you try any tricks.’ + +“So I crawls through the hole on my hands an’ knees, an’ waits fer him +to follow.” + +Magoon opened the little trap door as he spoke, and Tad laughed when he +saw a two-foot ledge of deck and then the river beyond it. + +“Wal,” the old man went on, “Mike didn’t come through, right off, an’ I +tell you I _was_ scairt. ’Twas so durn dark outside, I knew he couldn’t +see, but he stayed thar an’ tried to figger if I was up to anything. +Finally he says, ‘Bring the money out here in the cabin.’ I’m workin’ +at the moorin’-rope all this time, an’ now I make a noise like I’m +tuggin’ an’ liftin’. ‘Can’t,’ says I. ‘It’s too heavy!’ + +“That fetched him, sure ’nough. Here he comes on all fours, with the +knife still in his teeth. I gives the rope one last pull an’ it comes +away, an’ then ’fore he rightly sees whar he is, I ketches him by the +scruff o’ the neck an’ heaves him overboard. + +“You can bet I didn’t wait to see whether he was drowned, neither. I +give a big shove with the oar an’ got out o’ reach o’ the bank, an’ +then I stood by the gunwale with an ax, ready to cut the hands off +anybody that tried to swim out an’ climb aboard. + +“It must have took Mike a few minutes to crawl out an’ git organized +again. Anyhow they never follered me.” + +The last part of the story had been told out on the open deck, and Abe +and Allen were listening with rapt attention. + +“Is that the same Mike Fink they call the ‘Snappin’ Turtle’ up our +way?” asked Abe. + +“That’s him,” the old man nodded. “He’s called that above the Wabash. +Both names is too good fer him. Wal, boys, how’s the dinner comin’ +along?” + +Tad’s mind was filled with questions about the river pirates, but he +postponed asking them long enough to do full justice to the planked +catfish. When the meal was over he perched himself on the gunwale of +the trading-boat and waited for the grizzled river-man to get his cob +pipe going. + +“Mr. Magoon,” he said, when the blue smoke-clouds were rising at last, +“who do you think is the worst outlaw you ever ran across?” + +The old man puffed in silence for a moment. “Reckon the worst I ever +see with my personal eyes was ol’ Jericho Wilson o’ the Cave Gang,” he +replied at length. “Him an’ Black Carnahan an’ Earless Jake Rogers was +a bad bunch. They had more’n a hundred men to back ’em up, an’ kep’ +the whole Ohio Valley scairt fer a while. When that posse of up-river +hunters wiped ’em out, I know mighty well we all breathed easier. + +“But listen to me, boy. Fer real cold-blooded, cutthroat deviltry, +nobody on any o’ the rivers kin touch this man John Murrell. He an’ his +gang hang out on an island somewhere down beyond Natchez. He started +as a gambler, hoss-thief, an’ murderer, but his main trade nowadays is +stealin’ niggers. They say he’s killed twenty-eight men himself, an’ +gosh knows how many the rest o’ the gang have put away. Mostly he works +along the lower river, but once in a while, when things git too hot +around the plantations, he stays out o’ sight fer a while, mebbe up the +Ohio, or over in Alabama.” + +“Did you ever see him?” asked Tad. + +“Not me, an’ I hope the day don’t soon come!” said Magoon, fervently. +“They tell me he’s a tall, pale-faced sort o’ feller, with dead black +hair like a Frenchman. But the chances are you’ll never run afoul of +him. He don’t bother with flatboats much. He’s out for bigger game.” + +He got up from his box and looked over at the eastern shore, shading +his eyes with his hand. Some one on the bank was waving a white cloth +to and fro. + +“That’s a signal fer me to land,” he said. “The folks along the river +know a tradin’-scow by the calico flag, an’ wave to us when they want +us.” + +Tad got back aboard the _Katy Roby_, and they cast off the tie-rope. + +“Wal, so long, Hoosiers,” said Magoon. “Reckon I won’t see ye again, +less’n I ketch ye in New Orleans. Take keer o’ yerselves. Ho, ho! +Fishin’ worms an’ suckin’ doves! Heh, heh!” And he was still chuckling +over Abe’s words and repeating them to Fanny, the setter, as the two +boats drifted apart. + +Tad watched the odd little craft until its owner was no longer visible +in the distance. Then he looked down at the coarse, homely pantaloons +that covered his legs. In spite of himself he could not help a little +smile as he thought of the spectacle he would present to one of his +carefully attired schoolmates. + +Abe saw the smile, and his face lit with pleasure. + +“Like ’em, Tad?” he asked. + +“You bet,” said Tad stoutly. “But listen, Abe, you oughtn’t to do this +for me. How much does Mr. Gentry pay you, anyway?” + +“That’s all right,” replied the big backwoodsman, grinning proudly. “I +git eight dollars a month an’ my steamboat passage home.” + +And with that he vaulted to the fore deck and picked up the oars. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +The current set over strongly toward the Kentucky shore that afternoon, +and soon they found themselves swinging around the outer side of an +immense bend. At noon they had been heading almost due south. By three +o’clock they were running northwest, and an hour later they were +carried over to the Missouri side as another great sweep began, this +time to the left. + +“That must be New Madrid,” said Allen. “The river makes a big S, an’ +the town lays right in the second bend.” + +They saw a settlement of twenty or thirty houses sprawled along the +bank, with a white church rising from trees above the landing. The +river ran fast around the bend, and Abe had left the oars to man the +steering-sweep. “Want to land?” he shouted. “Guess we don’t need +nothin’,” said Allen. “After hearin’ what happened to that trader +feller at New Madrid I’d jest as leave sleep farther down.” + +They shot past the drowsy town and swung southward again with the +hurrying brown flood. Instead of the wilderness of willow-clad banks +and reedy marshes past which they had been drifting, the Missouri shore +stretched away here in broad acres of plowed ground. + +At sunset they saw ahead of them a big, white-painted house set among +trees on a knoll. A broad, rolling lawn stretched down from it to the +river, and there were barns and outbuildings half hidden by shrubbery +at the rear. Beyond the expanse of lawn and nearer the river, was a +less pretentious house, flanked by a row of trim cabins. There were a +dozen or more of these, each with its small garden and a curl of blue +smoke coming from the chimney. + +“Golly,” said Abe, “ain’t that a pretty layout? S’pose we could git +some good clear water here? I’m all clogged up with yaller mud, +drinkin’ this river water. Let’s land anyhow.” + +He steered inshore and tossed a snubbing-rope over one of the piles at +the end of the little landing. When they had made the _Katy Roby_ fast, +Abe and Allen went up the path toward the smaller house at the end of +the line of cabins. + +A big man in riding-boots and a wide-brimmed black hat was sitting +on the veranda. He had a long, drooping mustache from which a black +cigar protruded at a ferocious angle. Altogether he did not look +particularly hospitable. Abe stood awkwardly at the foot of the steps. + +“Evenin’,” said he. “I reckon a place as fine an’ handsome as this must +have a good well o’ water. Ef it ain’t too much trouble, we’d like to +fill up a kaig or two.” + +The man got up and took the cigar from his mouth. Under the huge +mustache he smiled, and his whole expression grew more friendly. + +“No trouble whatsomever, stranger,” he answered. “We have to watch out +down yere on account o’ these river scalawags that steals our shoats +an’ chickens. But now I know ye ain’t that breed o’ varmints, fo’ they +won’t drink nothin’ but straight Mississip’ water, one-third mud an’ +two-thirds liquid. Bring yo bar’l right along up, an’ make yo’selves +free o’ the landin’, ef yo’re stayin’ all night.” + +They rolled their big water-keg up to the plantation well, where a +couple of grinning darkies filled it for them. + +As they came back past the row of slave shanties, a pleasant +smell of bacon and corn-pone drifted out to their nostrils. Half +a dozen negroes--strapping black field hands in cotton shirts and +trousers--lounged on the grass in front of the cabins. One drew weird +minor chords from a home-made banjo, and the others were “patting +Juba” as they swayed and sang. + +Rolling bass and rich husky tenor blended in a throbbing harmony that +sent shivers of delight up and down Tad’s spine. It was the first time +he had ever heard negroes singing a plantation song. After they had +reached the landing and were getting supper aboard the flatboat, the +words still came drifting down to them: + + “Oh, I long fo’ to reach dat heavenly sho’, + To meet ol’ Peter standin’ at de do’; + He say to me, ‘Oh, how you do? + Come set right yonner in de golden pew.’” + +“Gosh,” said Abe, “those boys shore can sing.” + +Allen nodded. “Ye’d oughter hear ’em when they git really worked up to +it,” said he. “That time I was down to Paducah, there was a big gang of +’em aboard the steamboat, bein’ took down to New Orleans. Sing! Boy, +you’d thought they was goin’ on a picnic!” + +“Pore things,” said Abe. + +“Aw, shucks,” Allen laughed. “Thar goes your tender-heartedness again, +Abe. ’Tain’t no use feelin’ sorry fer ’em, no more than cattle goin’ to +market.” + +Abe shook his head, thoughtfully. “It’s not exactly the same,” he +said. “They _ain’t_ cattle, no matter how much folks say so. You take +it on a plantation like this one an’ they look to be well kept an’ +happy enough. But s’pose this owner dies, or gits a new overseer. Right +off, mebbe inside a week’s time, they’re bein’ starved, or whipped, or +sold down the river--families broke up--everything changed. + +“Misery comes to white folks, too, but at least they’ve got somethin’ +to say about it. Looks like we have to have the slaves to raise cotton. +But we ought to make it more of a square deal.” + +“Oh, well,” yawned Allen, “what’s the use of arguin’? ’Tain’t likely +any of us’ll ever be bothered about it, one way or t’other.” + +They followed the overseer’s suggestion and spent that night tied up +at the plantation landing. The last thing Tad heard before he dropped +off to sleep was a broken strain of that barbaric music--a low, sobbing +croon, inexpressibly sad--borne down on the night wind from the slave +quarters. + +The crew of the _Katy Roby_ were up betimes next morning. + +“We’re runnin’ slow,” said Abe. “Got to do some rowin’ or we won’t be +in New Orleans on schedule. Come on thar, cooks an’ cook’s helpers, git +that fry-pan hot!” And he bent his long back to the oars with a vigor +that made the ash wood creak. + +Within an hour they had left civilization behind them again and +were slipping down through the wildest-looking country they had yet +encountered. There were many islands, some hardly more than sand-bars +where the twisting, gnawing river was depositing the tons of yellow mud +it had eaten away, farther up. Jungles of tall cane lined the banks, +and often, when the current bore them through a narrow cut, they would +pass so close that the cane rattled along the side of the boat. + +They were just entering one of these channels, sometime in the middle +of the afternoon, and Allen and Tad were speculating as to whether they +were yet in Tennessee, when Abe held up his hand for silence. + +“Listen,” he said, after a moment. “Dogs barkin’, down in the +canebrake. Mebbe we’ll see what they’re a-huntin’.” + +The others climbed to the fore deck and stood quiet, listening. Soon +they too heard the savage baying of the hounds, away to the south, and +as the current brought them nearer they watched the banks intently. + +The sound was much closer now, and seemed to have changed in tone. +There were short breathless barks and an undercurrent of fierce +snarling. + +“They’ve got somethin’, sure!” said Abe. “An’ if they ain’t too far +back from the river we’ll come in sight of ’em in a minute.” + +“Look!” cried Tad. + +As he pointed they saw a gaunt black bear, with two cubs running at her +side, dash across an opening in the canebrake not twenty yards away. + +Close on their heels came the dogs--big mongrel hounds that leaped +abreast of the hindmost cub and pulled him down with murderous jaws. +The old bear had started into the cane on the far side of the opening +but turned at a scream from her luckless baby. With a rumbling growl +she rushed back into the tangle of dogs, knocking them to right and +left with vicious blows of her great forepaws. + +The other cub had taken to the water and was swimming strongly out +across the channel. + +“Back water with the oars!” shouted Abe from the stern. And lifting +the long sweep from its chocks, he thrust it down into the mud like a +setting-pole. The flatboat slackened speed and came to a stop. Leaning +far out over the gunwale and stretching his long arm downward, Abe +gripped the young bear by the scruff of the neck and hauled him aboard, +dripping and gasping. + +Meanwhile events had developed swiftly on the shore. There was a noise +of running feet, and a hunter in deerskin burst out of the cane. As he +appeared, the mother bear left her dead cub and plunged into the river. +The next second the man came bounding after her, with no weapon but the +long hunting-knife he gripped in his right hand. + +The bear saw the flatboat, hesitated, and doubled back to the left, +only to meet the hunter, who sprang to bar her last path of escape. +With a grunt of rage the great black beast surged up on her hind feet +and faced this enemy, standing chest-deep in the water before her. + +There was something deadly about the slow advance of the bear, her +head sunk between hulking shoulders, and her lips curled back savagely +over her great, keen eye-teeth. Cool and tense, the man pulled off +his coonskin cap with his left hand. And at the moment when the bear +lunged toward him, he waved the furry headgear, with its big, flapping +tail, almost in her face. There was a great splash of water as the +enraged brute struck downward at the moving object. And so swiftly +that the boys’ eyes could scarcely follow it, the hunter’s foot-long +blade was driven home behind her left shoulder. A vivid spurt of +crimson tinged the water, and the huge animal made for the shore with +a convulsive bound that swept her adversary off his feet. He was up +the next instant, shaking the water out of his hair, and with the knife +held ready, he followed his victim up the bank. There was no need +for another blow. Halfway out of the water, the bear had coughed and +stumbled, and when he reached her there was only a limp furry bulk at +the edge of the cane. + +The crew of the flatboat had watched this encounter, speechless except +for a shout or two of encouragement. Now, as the victor drove off the +dogs and stooped to examine the slain cub, Allen looked around with a +grin of admiration. + +“Phew!” he breathed. “No wonder they call ’em half a horse an’ half an +alligator. Chase a b’ar ’cross country, ketch up with her, an’ kill her +with a knife in four foot o’ water! Glory be!” + +The man wrung some of the water out of his fringed buckskin shirt, then +turned toward the _Katy Roby_. Abe was still holding the boat against +the current, bracing his weight on the long steering-sweep. It was to +him that the hunter now addressed himself. + +“Wal, stranger,” he said, “who does that-air cub belong to--you or me?” +He spoke without heat, in a clear, drawling voice that had a steely +ring in its undertone. + +Abe was silent, looking back at him appraisingly. The man was +big-framed, powerfully muscled, lean as a stag. He had straight black +hair, worn long, after the fashion of the Tennessee hunters. His +strong, fearless face with its big hooked nose looked like an Indian’s. + +“Ye see, b’ar scalps is wu’th a dollar apiece in Nashville,” the hunter +proceeded. “The old un’s skin’ll bring mebbe four dollars more, but +I’ve been trackin’ these three fer nigh a week. That’s how I make my +livin’, mostly.” + +Abe looked down at the cub, which squatted between Tad’s knees, licking +its fur dry with a long pink tongue. + +“’Pears like the leetle feller got away, fair an’ square,” he replied. +“He’d have made the other bank if we hadn’t been thar to pick him up. +An’ I reckon the boy here would like to keep him. Tell ye what I’ll do. +I’ll wrastle ye fer him.” + +The man on the bank shot a keen glance at Abe. “Huh!” said he. “Good +’nough. Quick as I kin git this job done, we’ll slip on down to the +next cleared spot an’ see ’bout it.” + +With that he stooped and deftly cut a circle around the head of the +dead cub, lifting off its scalp with the ears attached. Then he set to +work on the big bear and in an incredibly short space of time, he had +stripped off the heavy pelt and rolled it up, hair inside. From the +haunches he cut some chunks of meat which he pierced with a sharp stick +and swung over his shoulder. And whistling to the hounds, he picked up +his rifle and powder-horn and set out along the bank. + +Abe kept the boat within sight of him except when the high cane +occasionally swallowed him up. The lanky Indiana boy had little to say +as he worked the boat slowly down-channel. + +“What about it, Abe?” chattered Allen. “Think ye kin throw him? He +looks powerful stout to me. Don’t you count on keepin’ that b’ar too +durn much, Tad.” + +But Tad, looking up into the weather-tanned countenance of the +steersman, saw a twinkle, deep in the gray eyes, that reassured him. + +“Why,” said he to Allen, “you told me yourself he could throw anybody +on the river.” + +“On Little Pigeon, that was,” Allen amended. “I didn’t say nothin’ +’bout the Mississippi.” + +Below them a sandy point thrust out from the Tennessee bank, where +the river was making land faster than the rank growth could cover it. +There the hunter paused and waved to them to come ashore. They tied the +flatboat to a stump a little way above, where there was water enough to +land, and strolled down to the sand-bar. Tad led the cub by a piece of +rope knotted about its neck. + +The stranger was already stripping for action. He pulled off his +leather hunting-frock and his inside shirt of wool and stood forth +naked to the waist, his big, muscular arms and mighty chest gleaming in +the sun. Abe made similar preparations. To Tad’s joy, the long-limbed +Hoosier appeared no less impressive than his rival. There was a look +of whalebone toughness in the tall lad’s physique that made up for any +difference in bulk. + +As they faced each other, the hunter seemed to swell, visibly, like a +ruffling rooster. + +“Whoopee!” he crowed. “I’m the high-an’-mighty boss b’ar-killer o’ the +Tennessee bottoms. When I open my mouth all the big b’ars an’ little +b’ars fer a hundred mile up an’ down the river start skedaddlin’. I’d +ruther wrastle than eat, an’ I give ye warnin’, I’m gwine ter git that +cub, or my name ain’t Davy Crockett!” + +He accompanied all this with a droll flapping of the arms, and as he +shouted the last words he launched himself through the air at his young +adversary. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +That was a wrestling-match that Tad never forgot. Abe met the opening +rush of the Tennesseean with an old trick, but a good one. Crouching +just at the right time, he caught the hunter around the knees and +lifted him, letting the momentum of his charge carry him on over Abe’s +shoulder. Instantly the young Hoosier spun about and gripped his +rival’s body almost before it touched the ground. But Crockett broke +the hold with a great writhing twist and rolled over to light on his +feet like a fighting cat. + +After that they came together more cautiously, each seeming to realize +that he was dealing with an opponent beyond the common run. They +stepped in and out with a swift padding of moccasined feet, their hands +sparring for grips. Twice they went down together, with Abe underneath, +for he was finding his antagonist tremendously fast and strong. But the +lanky flatboatman could turn quickly, too, and he refused to stay under +long enough to have his shoulders pinned to the sand. + +Minutes went by, and still the two kept up their furious pace. It +was hot in the sun. Sweat streamed from their bodies, and they panted +hoarsely each time they came to grips. But there was no easing off in +the ferocity of their attack. + +To Tad, watching breathlessly and shouting encouragement to his +champion, came the thought that here perhaps Abe had met his match. A +sudden lightning-like shift of the hunter’s grip and a sharp heave of +his shoulders brought the tall youngster to earth yet again, and the +watchers could see that this time Abe was hard put to it to defend +himself. He was on his right side, with the powerful Crockett partly on +top of him, struggling to turn him with a half nelson--a hold in which +the hunter’s left arm was used as a lever under Abe’s left arm and +around the back of his neck. + +The Hoosier’s long legs were spread in a wide V to brace him, and he +seemed to be making a last desperate resistance against a defeat he +could not avoid. + +“Gosh,” groaned Tad, as he saw Abe’s shoulders slowly giving. + +“Hol’ on!” Allen breathed. “He ain’t done yet.” + +And almost before the words had left his mouth, the whole complexion +of the bout had changed. With a sudden tremendous twist, Abe rolled +over to his right side, breaking the hold, and as he turned, his long, +strong legs wound themselves swiftly about the hunter’s middle. + +“Hooray!” yelled Allen. “I was waitin’ fer that. Watch, now, when he +puts the clamps on!” + +The Tennesseean strove fiercely to break loose, but those fence-rail +legs of Abe’s were as tough as hickory. He locked them at the ankles, +and as his knees straightened, the hunter’s breath came in short, hard +gasps. And slowly Abe began to turn him over. + +As the minutes passed, Crockett’s endurance ebbed. He made one final +try, fighting with the fury of a wildcat to escape from the vise in +which he was gripped. Then as his muscles relaxed, his young antagonist +pressed him downward with his shoulders squarely on the ground. + +“Say ‘’nough’?” panted Abe. But Crockett had no breath to speak. He +moved his head in a weary gesture of assent. + +The Indiana boy unwound his legs and got up, stiffly, reaching out a +hand to the defeated bear-hunter. Crockett stumbled to his feet and +stood feeling gingerly of his ribs. + +“Yuh-yuh--you keep the b’ar!” he gasped when enough of his wind +returned, and a sort of rueful grin wrinkled his leather-brown face. + +The wrestlers were both in such perfect condition that they were soon +feeling as fit as ever. Abe turned from his playful mauling of the bear +cub to speak to his late opponent. “We didn’t say, at the start-off, +whether this yere match was one fall or best two out o’ three,” he +said. “What say--want to try another?” + +“No, sir,” replied the hunter promptly. “That’s mighty square of you, +but I reckon I know when I’m beat. I’ve wrastled with plenty o’ good +ones an’ never been thrown till now. But I never tackled a feller as +strong as you, nor as long. All arms an’ legs--iron legs, at that. + +“Wal, boys,” he cried, “what are ye--hungry? How ’bout some b’ar steak, +cooked fresh, Injun fashion?” + +The sun was getting low and all of the flatboat hands had good +appetites. They went to work with a will, therefore, brought in dry +wood by the armful, and soon were broiling the meat on green sticks +over a hot fire. + +It was Tad’s first taste of bear, and he was not at all sure he liked +it at the start. But soon he was eating it like the rest, with gusto. +Allen brought a pan and some cups down from the boat, and they finished +with a round of tea. + +Crockett smacked his lips over the steaming beverage. “Boy, howdy!” +said he. “I ain’t had a cup fer close to a month. This b’ar-huntin’ is +a good trade, but it makes ye give up a lot o’ refinements. + +“Ye know,” he said, and hesitated, blushing a little, “I was up to +Washington fer the last term o’ Congress--sent up to represent the +folks in this part o’ Tennessee. But I never could git accustomed to +city ways. I’d git to feelin’ jest about starved fer a mess o’ b’ar’s +meat every once in so often. An’ it’s the same way now I’m back home +here, roamin’ through the woods an’ the canebrake; I git a hankerin’ +sometimes fer jelly-cake an’ tea. + +“Ever thought about goin’ in fer politics, Longshanks?” + +It was Abe’s turn to blush. “I’ve thought about a heap o’ things,” he +answered gruffly. “Politics, fer one, because I like to make speeches +an’ get a crowd to listen to me. What I’d like to be most, though, is a +good lawyer.” + +Allen haw-hawed loudly at this confession, but Davy Crockett listened +with respect. + +“I’ll wager you’ll git thar,” he nodded. “Though I don’t hold much +with lawyers, myself. They’re too slick--always up to some crooked +business.” + +Abe warmed up at once. “That’s exactly the reason,” said he. “I want +to be a good enough lawyer to beat some o’ the smart ones at their own +game. A good lawyer kin be a powerful lot o’ help to folks that’s in +trouble.” + +He settled down again in his place before the fire, crossing his long +legs and chuckling reminiscently as he looked at Allen. “Puts me in +mind of old Jeff Slocum,” said he. “A lot of us boys saw him lyin’ side +o’ the road one blizzardy night. He’d been thrown out o’ the tavern an +hour before an’ started fer home too drunk to stagger. We all thought +’twas jest a log o’ wood or some brush that the snow was beginnin’ +to cover, but I wasn’t dead sure an’ went back. Thar he lay, half +drifted over, an’ right on the edge o’ freezin’. So I threw him over +my shoulder an’ lugged him home to his cabin. I got a fire goin’ an’ +rubbed him with snow an’ finally thawed him out, an’ thanks to all the +red-eye he’d drunk, he was ’round in a week, right as ever. + +“But come summer he got in trouble again, an’ that time I couldn’t +help him a particle. Seems like some o’ his shoats got into Newt +Padgett’s bean-patch an’ dug things up pretty general. An’ Newt, bein’ +the meanest man on the whole creek, hauled Jeff into court. He got +a judgment fer more’n Jeff ever owned, spite o’ the fact that the +trouble all rose from Newt bein’ too mean to keep his fences up. + +“I sure wished right then that I was a lawyer,” Abe finished. “I +believe I could have saved Jeff’s bacon.” + +“You’ve got the right idee,” said the bear-hunter. “Whar the land is +bein’ settled up so fast, thar’s bound to be more an’ more law, and +with it more lawyers. An’ this country sure needs the kind o’ lawyers +that you aim to be, ’stid o’ the other kind. + +“Speakin’ fer myself, I don’t keer so much about law as I do about +independence. When I’ve got the ol’ rifle along I don’t need laws to +protect me. Here in Tennessee it’s gittin’ ’most too civilized now. I +don’t take no comfort when I shoot, fer fear I’ll hit some one. I’ve +been thinkin’ some about goin’ up the Missouri or down Mexico way. As +long as that’s more b’ars than people, I kin stand ’most any sort o’ +country. But soon as the folks ketches up on the b’ars, I figger it’s +gittin’ too crowded.” + +Crockett rose and stretched his powerful frame. + +“Sun’s a-settin’ an’ I’ve got ’most ten miles to travel back to my +camp,” he said. “Much obleeged fer your company an’ fer the wrastlin’ +lesson. If you aim to push on tonight, you’ll be out o’ this cut within +two mile, an’ it’s open river fer quite a ways below.” + +They bade him farewell and saw him slip into the tangled cane silently +as an Indian, the big dogs trotting at his heels. Then they boarded the +flatboat once more, and pushed off. + +Tad, searching among the gear in the _Katy Roby’s_ hold, found a light +chain which he substituted for the rope about the cub’s neck, and +fastened him to a staple amidships, with a pile of dry grass for a bed. + +The little black fellow pulled comically at the chain with his paws, +tested its length by prowling back and forth a few times, and finally +curled up in his nest for a nap. Tad left him snoring and tiptoed +forward where Abe was pulling at the oars. + +The tall Hoosier worked awhile in silence, his face somber in the +gathering dusk. Then a grin twisted the corners of his big mouth. +“Lucky thing fer me this Crockett feller didn’t take me up on another +fall,” said he. “I was closer to gittin’ my deserts that time than I +ever remember. He’d have thrown me sure, I reckon. Golly, what a man!” + +Tad stoutly pooh-poohed the idea that Davy Crockett, or any other +human, could take the measure of his hero. But Abe smiled and shook his +head. + +“’Tain’t jest that he was strong,” he explained. “There’s plenty o’ +big, powerful men. But I never hooked up with one that was faster on +his feet or had more grit.” + +Night had fallen when they reached the end of the cut, and they could +see little of the river below except a wide, shadowy expanse of water +with indistinct lines of shore receding on either hand. + +“Sleepy, Tad?” asked Abe. “If ye ain’t, we’d better keep a double +look-out fer snags an’ sand-reefs. I’m a-goin’ right on till Allen +wakes up an’ spells me.” + +The boy took up his position squatting in the bow, his gaze straining +into the dark ahead. There was no noise except the lap of the hurrying +river around the flatboat’s sides and the occasional soft creak of the +tholepins. The deck heaved slightly, with a steady, breathing motion, +as Abe’s moccasins trod backward and forward, and the long sweeps +pulled through the water. + +Tad, his fancy thrilled at first by the vast loneliness around them and +the sense of mystery and adventure in their silent downward voyage, +began to feel sleepy after an hour or two. He shifted his position +again and again, to shake himself awake, but his head would nod in +spite of all his efforts. + +Suddenly there came sounds from the left bank, half a mile away, that +made him start bolt upright, wide awake and listening. + +A shout carried across the water, menacing and sharp. There was an +interval of a few seconds and then an eager whimper reached them, +followed by a deep, bell-like tone--the baying of a hound. Lights +appeared, glimmering in jerky movements along the shore. Another shout +or two followed, and then everything was quiet. The lights disappeared +one by one, and the desolate, brooding dark settled once more over the +face of the river. + +“What was it, Abe?” whispered the boy. + +“Dunno,” said Abe. “No way o’ tellin’. But it sure did give me the cold +creeps; didn’t it you?” + +“Yes,” shivered Tad. He was no longer sleepy. With every sense on the +alert, he watched the dim banks and the dusky water ahead. Thoughts of +the terrible Murrell and other cold-blooded rogues of the river crossed +his mind. For nearly half an hour he expected momentarily to see danger +of some kind develop. Then, just as he was lulling himself into a sense +of security, another startling thing happened. + +Directly in their path ahead, Tad thought he made out a dark object +drifting with the current. He scrambled to his knees, peering fixedly +at the spot, and Abe stopped rowing. “What d’ye see?” asked the big +oarsman in a low voice. + +“Just a floating log, I think,” Tad whispered, “only I thought I saw it +move.” + +The dark object was only a dozen yards away now, and they could +distinguish the outline of an uprooted tree trunk. Abe was just +changing the flatboat’s course with a vigorous pull on the starboard +oar when Tad gave a sudden exclamation. A part of the log had seemed +to separate from the main trunk and had slid off with a considerable +splash into the river. + +“Look!” cried Tad, pointing to the other side of the floating snag. A +dark, round object which had been drawing rapidly away to the right +disappeared under water at the boy’s exclamation. And though they +watched intently while they passed the log, and for many minutes after, +they had no further glimpse of it. + +“That must have been a man, swimmin’,” said Abe at length. “Too big fer +a muskrat or a turtle. Didn’t look like a panther nor a b’ar. Runaway +slave, I reckon. Wal, the pore devil needn’t have been so scairt of +us.” + +Allen came forward, wakened by the talk, and heard their story. “That’s +probably what the commotion on shore was about,” he said. “You fellers +is both tired, so I’ll take her down awhile, jest driftin’. Won’t need +a look-out that way.” + +And Abe and Tad, going aft to their blankets, were soundly sleeping +within ten minutes. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +The little bear took very kindly to his new home. He slept well and +rose to stretch himself hungrily when the first beam of sunlight came +over the brown water. Softly he padded about the half circle of which +his chain was the radius, but there seemed to be nothing to eat within +reach. Rolled up in a blanket near by, however, he found one of the +queer-smelling two-legged creatures that had been kind to him the day +before, and being of an inquisitive turn of mind he immediately thrust +a moist little black snout between the blanket and the sleeper’s neck. + +Tad, awakened by the touch of the cub’s cold nose, let out a squeal and +rolled violently over on to Abe, who woke in his turn, and scrambled +up, reaching for an ax. + +“Haw!” roared Allen. “Haw, haw, haw! Might think the ol’ Scratch +himself was arter ye! Wal, he got ye up anyhow.” + +Abe and Tad rubbed their eyes and joined sheepishly in the laughter. +And the cub, after looking at them all solemnly, returned to his +investigation of Tad’s blanket. + +“This little feller’s got to have a name,” chuckled Abe. “He acts like +he’s adopted us fer keeps, an’ if he’s goin’ to be a full-fledged hand +we’ll have to call him somethin’.” + +“Let’s christen him Poke,” said Tad. “He’s always into everything.” And +Poke was his name from that moment on. + +Allen had tied up to the shore after midnight and risen to start again +at dawn. Now they were drifting steadily down the middle of a reach +where there was no immediate occasion for steering, and Allen sat down +with the others amidships at breakfast. He was weary and cross from his +vigil at the sweep. + +“See here,” he demanded as Poke looked up hopefully after his third +helping of johnny-cake, “how in Tarnation are we ever a-goin’ to feed +this brute? We ain’t provisioned fer but two hands, an’ this b’ar eats +more’n a grown man.” + +Abe went on calmly with his breakfast. “I didn’t save him an’ wrastle +fer him jest to throw him back in the river,” he said. “Here, he kin +have mine.” And placing his own piece of corn-bread in front of the +greedy little bear, he rose, whistling, to take up his morning’s labor +at the bow oars. + +“Tad,” he called, from the fore deck, “you’re the rightful owner of +this b’ar. S’pose you git out that hand-line an’ bait it an’ see if ye +can’t save the rations by puttin’ us on a fish diet fer a day or two.” + +The boy was only too glad to try. He had done some fishing farther up +the river, but without any notable results. + +“Ought to bite good, today,” said Allen, sniffing the breeze with a +knowing air. “Feels like it’s comin’ on to rain, soon--tonight, mebbe. +That’ll bring ’em up.” + +Tad dropped his baited hook over the side and sat down comfortably, +prepared for a tedious wait. But scarcely had the length of the line +run out, when he felt such a tug on the other end that it nearly pulled +him overboard. He held fast, bracing his feet, and shouted excitedly +for aid. Allen took hold with him. + +“Huh,” he grunted. “Must be snagged, I reckon. Wal, we can’t afford to +lose the hook. Nothin’ for it but pull her in.” + +Together they hauled the line aboard hand over hand. There seemed to be +a heavy, inert weight attached to it. + +“Golly,” growled Allen, “all this work jest to turn loose a durned ol’ +water-logged root or somethin’!” + +But Tad was still pulling manfully. “Look!” he cried. “It’s no +snag--it’s a fish--a catfish--great jumping catamounts, what a fish! +How’re we going to land him?” + +Allen gave one astounded glance over the side and dashed for the +bucket-hook, a stout sapling with an upward-forking branch at the lower +end. While Tad held the nose of the big fish at the surface, Allen +thrust down the wooden hook and brought it up under one of the gills. +“Now,” he cried, “both together, heave!” + +And out of the water came a great, grizzled mud cat, so heavy that it +took all their strength to haul him over the gunwale. The big fish +thrashed ponderously about for a moment and then lay quiet. + +“He’s more’n four-foot long,” estimated Allen, “an’ he’ll tip +seventy-five pound if he will an ounce. By gum, that’s the biggest ol’ +catfish I ever caught.” + +“_You_ caught!” snorted Abe, ambling aft to view the prize. “All the +claim you’ve got on this fish is that you’re goin’ to cook him. This is +Tad’s fish.” + +He looked the catch over with an appraising eye. “Pretty fair-sized +catfish for such a young one,” he remarked. “He’s only about forty year +old. You kin tell by the whiskers. His ain’t even turned gray yet.” + +“Humph!” grunted Allen suspiciously. + +“’Course,” Abe went on, “you ain’t had the opportunities for observin’ +catfish that I’ve been favored with. When I was workin’ on the Anderson +Creek ferry, up on the Ohio, there was an old fisherman that used to +set thar in his boat day after day. He had two half-inch hemp ropes +over the side. One was his anchor rope an’ the other was his line. He +never caught any small fish because on the end o’ this line he used the +hook off an ox-chain, baited with a half a ham. + +“One day he let out a holler we could hear clear across the Ohio, an’ +we saw him wavin’ his arms an’ workin’ like all git out. Then by ’n’ +by he come a-rowin’ over our way. It was slow pullin’, an’ the stern +o’ the skiff was ’way down in the water, with the bow half out. When +he got alongside we saw a real fish. The ol’ feller had hauled him in +till his nose was up against the stern, an’ then lashed the rope to a +thwart, an’ hit him in the head with an ax. We helped him reach the +landin’ an’ rigged a tackle an’ fall, an’ with two teams o’ horses we +managed to git the critter on shore. + +“Eh? What did he weigh? Wal, now I don’t jest quite recollect, but +it was either four hundred and eighty-five pound or five hundred and +eighty-four--my memory don’t run to figgers. The real interestin’ +part was his age. Riveted into his tail was a brass plate, marked +with a man’s name an’ the year 1705. Seems like this ol’ fisherman’s +grandfather had caught the fish ’way back more’n a hundred years ago +an’ marked him an’ turned him loose. + +“Talk about whiskers--why, this one had a full beard, jest as white as +snow, an’ I reckon his eyes had gone back on him in his old age, fer he +wore a pair o’ heavy-bowed spectacles.” + +“The fish?” asked Tad, gaping with astonishment. + +“No,” chuckled Abe, “the grandfather.” And he returned to his oars. + +“Humph!” said Allen again, this time with a real snort. “Whar you ever +got the name of ‘Honest Abe’ is more’n I know. Honest! Why, thar ain’t +a bigger liar from the Falls o’ the Ohio to the Gulf o’ Mexico!” + +They skinned the huge mud cat and cut it in two, putting the larger +part in a cool place, wrapped in wet weeds. Tad was just building +the fire preparatory to cooking the rest of the fish, when Abe spoke +suddenly from the forward deck. + +“Look astern, thar, boys,” he said. They stood up, their eyes sweeping +the river to the north. There were the usual two or three flatboats in +the distance and the smoke of a steamer above the last bend. But less +than a quarter of a mile behind them, and drawing rapidly nearer, they +saw a big rowboat with oars flashing in quick rhythm along its sides. + +As the craft approached, it swung out a little to one side, and they +saw that it was a good-sized barge, rowed by six powerful negroes. Four +white men sat in the stern sheets, cradling shot-guns in the crook of +their arms. They drew up alongside the _Katy Roby_, perhaps twenty +yards distant, and at a word of command the blacks rested on their +oars. For a moment the occupants of the two boats studied each other in +silence. The white men aboard the barge were dressed in the elegant, +careless fashion of southern planters. Their faces were unsmiling, very +polite, very hard-eyed. + +One of them nodded. “We’re out after a runaway nigger,” he said, in an +even tone. “Maybe you can tell us where he is, suh.” + +Abe straightened up, towering from the fore deck like a young Goliath. +His voice had the ring of steel in it, and his speech, as always at +tense moments, was singularly free from the slipshod backwoods dialect. + +“He’s not aboard here,” he answered, “and as far as we know we haven’t +seen him.” + +There were whispers among the men in the barge. Then the spokesman, +with another look at Abe, made an impatient gesture to the rowers, and +the craft was speedily under way once more. + +“What did I tell ye last night?” said Allen, when they were out of +earshot. “That’s what all the noise was about on shore. They must ha’ +tracked him to the river with bloodhounds. Gosh all fishhooks, Abe! I +figgered they was goin’ to search us, sure. Did ye see them guns!” + +“Yep,” said Abe. “They could ha’ done it fast ’nough if they’d wanted +to.” + +The _Katy Roby_ held her course all day, proceeding at the leisurely +gait that seemed so well suited to her buxom lines. The sky grew more +and more overcast, and by afternoon a steady drizzle of rain began to +fall. There was little to do but stay under cover as much as possible, +swap yarns, and play with Poke, now apparently quite at home in his new +surroundings. + +It was during Allen’s trick at the oars, when Tad and Abe were lying +under the shelter of a tarpaulin, that the younger boy brought up a +subject always close to the surface of his mind. + +“Abe,” he said, “how long ought it to take that letter of mine to reach +New Orleans?” + +Abe put down the tattered copy of Shakespeare’s tragedies he was +reading. “Let’s see,” he pondered. “That was a week ago yesterday we +went ashore, up thar. S’pose the steamboat happened along right off the +next day, like the store feller said. That would give a week--sartin +sure--that’s time enough fer ’em to git to New Orleans, easy. I’ll jest +wager your Paw is a-readin’ that letter an’ congratulatin’ hisself +right this minute.” + +“Gee,” sighed the boy, “I’ll feel better when I know for sure that he’s +got it and isn’t worrying any longer!” + +It was well on in the afternoon and the dismal sky was bringing an +early dusk when they sighted the barge once more, returning upstream. +It passed fairly close, the oars still beating in brisk time against +the current. But this time there was a fifth figure among the armed +white men in the stern. A big negro, his naked back and shoulders +gleaming darkly in the rain, crouched in the middle of the group. They +could not see his face, but there were terror and despair in every line +of his cowering body. + +As they watched the boat they saw it veer over in the direction of a +small island they had passed in midstream a mile or so above. + +“That’s whar they’ll fix him,” said Allen grimly. + +“What do you mean--kill him?” asked Tad. + +“Not a mite of it,” the other replied. “Ye don’t ketch them fellers +throwin’ away a thousand dollars. They’ll make him wish he hadn’t, +though. The way I’ve heard tell about it, they’ll likely start a +bonfire, thar on the island, an’ take a gunbar’l, or mebbe a reg’lar +iron made fer the job, an’ burn a big mark on to his chest an’ arms. +Arter he gits well that brand’ll allers be on him, so the overseers kin +watch him extra keerful an’ give him a double dose o’ the whip if he +looks sideways.” + +“Yes,” said Abe, sober-faced, “as fur as he’s concerned, he’d be a heap +better off dead.” + +They tied up to a big cottonwood on the Arkansas side, that night, and +Tad lay a long time awake, listening to the ceaseless thud of the rain +on wet planking and dripping canvas. The thought of the runaway negro, +captured after his break for freedom and dragged back to the torture, +seemed to haunt him. At last the monotone of the rain was broken by a +shivery squall--the cry of a wildcat, somewhere back in the brush. Poke +roused himself with an uneasy grunt, and Tad rolled over, pulling the +blanket tighter about him. + +“That you, Tad?” came Abe’s low voice. “I can’t git comfortable, +neither. That poor devil gittin’ caught that way ’pears to have upsot +me. Well, thar ain’t much we kin do about it. Let’s go to sleep.” + +And whether Abe was successful himself or not, his suggestion seemed to +be all that Tad needed, for he dropped off at once into deep slumber. + +The rain continued falling steadily for the next two days, and with it +the water began to rise. They watched it climb inch by inch as they +drifted south, till the yellow tide was swirling halfway up the tree +trunks and broadening into vast lakes in the lower lands. + +It was difficult, often, to pick out the course of the main river, for +except where lines of cottonwoods fringed the banks, it was all one +dreary expanse under the sullen beat of the rain. + +Everything was wet--clothes, blankets, food. Even Allen’s banjo was +temporarily out of commission. The boys’ spirits flagged, and if it had +not been for the antics of the little bear and an occasional story from +Abe, their party would have been glum indeed. + +At last, in the late afternoon of the second day, there was a shift in +the wind and the clouds began to break, with hazy shafts of pink and +gold streaming through. In the midst of their jubilation, Allen, who +had the steering-oar, pointed a finger toward the Tennessee shore. + +“Look,” he cried, “a steamboat landin’ an’ houses! That’s Memphis, +boys, sure as you’re born!” And leaning heavily against the sweep, he +swung the flatboat’s bow over toward the town. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +Memphis, in 1828, was little more than a raw hamlet straggling along +the river. It had a big landing-stage for steamers and a series of +smaller wharves where the arks and keel-boats from upstream could tie +up. There were half a hundred craft of all sorts and sizes hitched +to the mooring-posts when the _Katy Roby_ drew alongside, for nearly +every flatboat crew made a stop of a day or a night at Memphis. It +was the largest town between St. Louis and New Orleans and handled a +considerable commerce with the back country. + +The boys worked the boat’s nose in between other broadhorns until they +could get a rope fast, and Allen retired to the shelter amidships to +shave and spruce himself up. + +“Reckon I’ll step ashore an’ see what prices they’re offerin’ fer corn +an’ pork,” he remarked, endeavoring to part his hair with the aid of a +piece of broken mirror. + +“Yes,” said Abe, “an’ don’t fergit to take note o’ the number o’ purty +gals an’ the color o’ their dresses. Tad an’ me, we’ll stick along here +an’ teach this no-’count Poke some new tricks.” + +They cooked supper, and as Allen did not return at dusk, they ate it, +sitting together on the edge of the fore deck. There were numerous +boatmen joking, swearing, and passing the time of day in the craft +about them. Several of the crews were familiar to them from earlier +meetings along the river, and there was much cheerful banter about +Abe’s towering frame. He took it all with his customary grin and gave +them as good as they sent. + +“Say, Hoosier,” yelled one jolly-looking, red-bearded keel-boat man, +“how long are them shanks o’ yourn, anyhow?” + +“Jest the proper length,” Abe returned. “They’re jest exactly long +enough to reach the ground.” + +Gradually the talk and laughter quieted down as darkness fell. By nine +o’clock the river front was quiet except for the gurgle of the high +water sweeping past and an occasional burst of song from roisterers in +the town. + +Abe waited patiently until sometime close to midnight. Then he nudged +the drowsy Tad awake and told him to mind the boat while he went ashore +after Allen. + +Tad succeeded in propping his eyes open for half an hour, and at the +end of that time he saw a huge, dim shape lurching along the dock. As +it reached the bow of the _Katy Roby_ it became recognizable as Abe, +carrying a limp body over his shoulder. + +Tad leaped up, startled. + +“What is it--is Allen hurt?” he whispered. + +“No,” Abe replied, quietly. “He’s drunk.” + +They took off some of his clothes and wrapped him in his blanket. Then +Abe stretched his big arms and spat over the gunwale disgustedly. + +“There’s no law to stop a feller from makin’ a fool of himself,” he +remarked. “Only ye’d think plain common sense ought to tell him.” And +with that they went to bed. + +Allen made a very unheroic figure next morning. His complexion was a +sort of greenish yellow, and he refused all food with groans. + +“What about prices on the cargo?” Abe asked him. “Want to stay an’ +unload some?” + +Allen shook his head. “Too cheap,” said he. “Let’s hold the stuff +fer New Orleans an’ git thar as soon as we kin.” Whereupon he rolled +over once more and lay in a miserable heap while Abe and Tad made +preparations for departure. + +They needed sugar and white flour, and before casting off, Abe made a +hurried trip up into the town to get them. + +When he came back his face was grave. + +“They say there’s a heap o’ damage from the high water all along below +here,” he told Tad. “We’ll have to watch sharp and help folks out whar +we kin. An’ then I heard another piece o’ news. They say this outlaw +John Murrell is back from up river, an’ him an’ his gang are startin’ +to make life miserable fer the planters betwixt here an’ Natchez. The +storekeeper wanted to skeer me, I reckon. He claimed Murrell would sink +a flatboat an’ drown the crew fer a ten-dollar note. But I don’t pay +much heed to that sort o’ talk. + +“An’ anyhow, if he wants our ten dollars, let him try it. I’d sort o’ +like to see Mr. Murrell fer myself an’ find out if he’s such a terrible +feller.” + +Tad was not quite so sure he wanted to test the notorious outlaw’s +mettle, but he agreed that it might be thrilling to get a glimpse of +him. + +They got off before the morning was far advanced, and soon overtook +some of the other flatboats which had started before them. Abe took a +keen delight in overhauling them, one after another, and tossing back a +gibe or two at each vessel they passed. + +At length there was only one craft left in sight ahead of them--a long, +trimly-built keel-boat, with lines that were almost graceful compared +to those of the _Katy Roby_. She was making good headway, due to the +efforts of a husky bow-oarsman, but Abe’s extra-long sweeps and the +tremendous power he put into his stroke were rapidly eating up the +distance between the two boats. + +Just as the bow of the broadhorn drew even with her rival’s +steering-oar, another figure sprang to the fore deck of the keel-boat. +It was the big red-bearded river-man who had asked Abe about the length +of his legs. He swung an arm in vigorous gesture, and his voice roared +out across the water. + +“Git down from thar, ye lousy swab,” he cried to the oarsman. “Let +somebody pull that knows a sweep from a shovel.” + +The rower hastened to surrender the great, clumsy oars and scramble +down, out of the way. And then indeed began a race! The slenderer lines +of the keel-boat gave her a slight advantage, which Abe had to overcome +by the sheer force of his strokes. During that moment while the oars +were changing hands, the tall Indiana boy quickened the beat of his +swing and succeeded in pulling up till he was a shade ahead of the +other craft. From this point he could watch his rival without turning +his head, while the redbeard was forced to crane his neck in order to +see what Abe was doing. + +So they went, side by side, for the best part of a mile, the muddy +water churning in yellow foam behind them. The other four men in the +keel-boat’s crew bellowed constant encouragement to their mate, and one +of them seized the steering-sweep, sculling from side to side to help +them along. Tad saw this maneuver and promptly matched it by doing the +same thing with the _Katy Roby’s_ stern oar. + +At the end of ten minutes the furious pace began to tell on the +red-whiskered rower. He was wilting visibly, while Abe, who had been at +it for more than an hour, was still pulling as strongly as ever. + +One of the keel-boat men climbed to the fore deck and held a whisky jug +to the lips of his champion. This measure seemed to put new vigor into +him for about ten strokes. Then he stumbled and caught a crab, and the +race was over. + +Abe pulled far enough ahead so that there should be no doubt about it, +then waited, resting on his oars. + +He was panting hard, but his grin made him look anything but exhausted. +As Tad came forward, he mopped his forehead with his sleeve. + +“Son,” said he, between breaths, “don’t ever let the other feller know +you’re as tired as he is. If he thinks you’re still fresh he’ll quit.” + +After that they drifted for a while, and toward noon the big keel-boat +dropped down abreast of them again. The ruddy-bearded captain steered +close enough for conversation and grinned sociably as he spoke. + +“Whar you from?” he asked. + +Abe told him and came back with a similar question. + +“We’re bringin’ a load o’ furs down from St. Louis,” answered +the keel-boat skipper. “Ol’ Man Carillon, he’s scairt to ship by +steamboat--’fraid they’ll blow up. So he still sends his furs this way. +More’n a thousand prime beaver skins we’ve got, an’ plenty of other +kinds besides. That’d be a haul worth even John Murrell’s time, eh? +I’ve got two extra men in the crew jest ’count o’ him an’ his gang.” + +“They tell me he’s back,” said Abe. + +“Sure thing,” replied the other. “He was layin’ low fer a couple o’ +months, up river, but this last week he’s been seen ridin’ the roads +on that three-stockin’ boss o’ his--him an’ Bull Whaley an’ Sam Jukes. +That means thar’s some sort o’ devilment a-bilin’.” + +“Well,” Abe answered, “jes’ so he stays on horseback an’ don’t come +meddlin’ with river folks, he’ll mebbe keep a whole skin.” + +The keel-boat left them some distance astern while Abe was getting +dinner, but later in the day they sighted it again, and for the next +forty-eight hours the two craft were rarely more than a few miles apart. + +Allen did not wake up until nearly dark, and even then he had little +stomach for the sizzling hog meat that Abe was frying. Next morning, +however, he was feeling like himself once more, and was even ready to +brag about his experiences ashore in Memphis, if Abe’s cutting sarcasm +had not quieted him. + +They went down swiftly on the flood-water, twisting and turning +through new channels, and dashing through chutes where the river had +straightened its course and ran like a mill race. Occasionally they saw +the roofs of submerged cabins, and once or twice, when there seemed a +chance that people might be left in them, they stopped to see if they +could be of any help. In one house, floating with a gable end thrust up +at a crazy angle, they saw the body of a drowned woman caught by the +clothing to a window frame and trailing pitifully in the water. But +aside from that they found no human trace in all the desolate welter of +the river. + +On the third day after leaving Memphis they passed the mouth of a great +river--the Arkansas--a raging tide that bore witness to heavy floods in +the back country. + +For miles below, the surface of the Mississippi was littered with +gruesome débris. There were limbs of trees, parts of houses, bloated +bodies of farm animals. A huge flock of buzzards circled and settled, +on tilting black wings, and a stench of death filled the air. + +Once, when Tad was perched high astern, swinging the steering-oar, he +caught sight of the carcass of a pig a little distance off. And even as +he watched, it was suddenly yanked under, leaving only a gurgling eddy +in the stream. + +The St. Louis keel-boat was not far away, and her red-bearded captain +called across to Tad. + +“Did ye see that?” he cried. “Big alligator done it. We’ll find lots of +’em below here.” + +Sure enough, as they cast off next morning from the high bank topped +with cottonwoods where they had spent the night, a row of gnarled gray +logs below them came alive, turned with a swish of tails, and went +lumbering into the water. + +“Don’t reckon we’ll be so keen to go swimmin’, from here down,” Abe +chuckled. + +There were other signs that told them they had come into the real +South. Cotton plantations replaced the woods and squatters’ farms on +the higher ground. Broad, stout levees held the river in check for +miles along the steaming bottom lands. The weather was uncomfortably +hot, even in the scanty costumes which the boys wore. They kept out +of the sun as much as possible during the heat of the day, but their +faces, arms, and ankles were burned the color of an Indian’s. Abe, who +had been reading _Othello_, told Allen solemnly that he looked like the +Moor of Venice. + +Three days after they passed the Arkansas mouth, they sighted +Vicksburg, a white town nestled in the crook of a bend, with water +above the top of the landings and washing over the lowest street. + +Allen was ready for another adventure ashore, but Abe prevailed on him +to wait. + +“Ye don’t figger the price o’ pork has gone up much since we left +Memphis, do ye?” said the lanky bow-oarsman scornfully. “After the +spectacle ye made o’ yerself up thar, I should think ye’d want to look +the other way if a town so much as came in sight.” + +“That whisky must ha’ had pizen in it,” Allen muttered. But he had very +little more to say until they had left the landing astern. + +“Oh, well,” he remarked at length, “we’ll be down to Natchez in another +day or two, an’ I reckon we’ll need some more provisions by then. +Natchez-under-the-Hill!” He pronounced the name of the town with a +certain relish. “The toughest landin’ on the whole river. I sure aim to +see the sights of that place.” + +“The toughest sight you’ll see,” said Abe firmly, “will be the flat o’ +my hand, unless you behave yourself mighty well from here down.” + +The crest of the high water had passed, and the river was gradually +receding as they drifted southward. Along the bluffs on the Mississippi +side they watched a panorama of cotton plantations, half screened by +glossy-leaved magnolias in the gardens of the big white houses. + +This was a rich country--a land of fabulous ease and prosperity, it +seemed to the two Hoosiers. Even Tad, who had seen plenty of wealth +in the Eastern cities, was amazed by the glimpses they got of the +luxurious planters’ life. + +Once they passed a barge trimly painted in green and white, with +cushions and trailing silks over the stern. It was rowed by four +negroes, and its passengers were a lovely lady in a flowered bonnet, a +big, jolly, fair-haired man, and a little girl with golden curls. + +The barge stopped at a private landing where a shining barouche with +two high-headed bay horses was waiting. Other horses, saddled and +held by negro grooms, stood near, and an elegantly dressed gentleman +and lady strolled down to the landing to greet the visitors. The crew +of the flatboat, drifting out of sight, caught a chime of fairy-like +laughter that followed them around the bend. + +“Jiminy!” sighed Allen. “This is the section to live in, all right. +Niggers to wait on ye, an’ fine hosses, an’ summer all the year ’round!” + +“I dunno,” said Abe, thoughtfully. “It’s grand fer the folks that owns +the niggers, but how about these poor whites, along the bottoms an’ +back in the brush? They ain’t as well off as you an’ your Paw, by a +long shot. The South is fine, but it’s no country fer folks that ain’t +born rich.” + +There were two more drowsy, uneventful days of drifting, and then +at dusk they came in sight of Natchez. It was the beginning of an +experience that Tad was never to forget as long as he lived. + +There was a terrifying beauty over the river that night. A strange +green light had overspread the sky after sunset, and in it every +detail of the bank and the bluff stood out with unearthly clearness. +The air was sultry, with no hint of the breeze that usually ruffled +the water at evening. From a reedy place, shadowed by moss-draped live +oaks, a pair of great white egrets rose and winged silently away to the +northward. + +They saw a church spire above the trees at the top of the bluff, and +then, low in the shadow along the waterside, the outlines of shacks and +houses, with a swarm of flatboats moored to the levee. A thin tinkle of +music reached their ears, and as they drew closer it resolved itself +into the squeak of fiddles and the throb of banjos. + +They found a place to tie their craft, down at the lower end of the +line, near the steamboat landing, and hardly had they made the ropes +fast when a growl of thunder drowned out the music. A wind sprang up, +blowing from the south, and the sky grew dark with scudding clouds. + +A sudden foreboding filled Tad. From that instant he had a dread of +Natchez-under-the-Hill. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +The storm struck hard, lashing the muddy water high along the levee and +tossing the broadhorns at their moorings. After the furious wind came +rain in a deluge that drenched the boys under their hastily erected +tarpaulins. And after the rain a pitch-black, sodden night. + +A few lights glowed feebly in the town, and the music struck up again +after a while, but even Allen was too damp and dispirited to feel like +going ashore. They got a fire started on the wet hearth, and huddling +around it, finally went to sleep. + +The sun was shining in the morning and all along the water front +a bustle of activity began. Boatmen clambered across the decks of +neighboring craft to buy or sell goods or visit acquaintances. There +was a constant noise of laughing, shouting, swearing, and fighting. + +The fiddles began their monotonous squeaking once more in the levee +saloons, and Allen began to cast a restless eye shoreward, but Abe +found plenty for them all to do aboard the _Katy Roby_. They cooked and +ate breakfast, swabbed the decks, and spread out their bedding to dry +in the sun. They watched a big, new steamboat, the _Tecumseh_, swing in +to the landing, her bow a bare thirty feet from them when she made her +mooring. + +“That’s the fastest boat on the river,” they heard a near-by +ark-captain say. “She’s got new-fangled boilers with more steam +pressure on ’em than the _Amazon_, even. An’ they say her cap’n is out +to break all records to Louisville this trip.” + +From the speed with which her darky deck hands rolled molasses +hogsheads aboard, it could be seen that some of the excitement of her +race up river had got into their blood. + +A group of fastidiously dressed passengers, thronging her upper decks, +looked down with laughing interest at the scene on the landing. The men +were holding watches and laying wagers on the time of the steamer’s +departure. In less than half an hour the last huge barrel was in place +on the forward cargo deck and the mate cried his “All aboard,” as the +negroes ran the gangplank in. With a clang of bells the big boat’s +paddles churned the water and she backed out, wheeling into the current. + +Tad, looking up a little wistfully at her gleaming brass and freshly +painted upper works, watched her whole magnificent length sweep by. +And then suddenly he gripped the gunwale of the flatboat and stared +open-mouthed. For high up on the hurricane deck, astern, he had seen a +solitary figure--a big middle-aged man with a beaver hat and a familiar +set to the shoulders. The man was just turning to leave the rail and he +was unable to get a good view of his face, but he was almost sure.... +“Dad!” he screamed, with all the voice he could muster, “Dad!” + +There had been a feather of white steam up aloft on the _Tecumseh’s_ +funnel when he started to shout, and as he launched his cry a deafening +blast of the whistle came, drowning him out. + +Another long-drawn hoot and two short ones followed. Before they were +finished, the steamboat was a hundred yards away, and the man who +looked like Tad’s father had vanished down the companionway. The boy +had a great lump in his throat as he turned away. He stumbled aft and +sat down beside Poke, blinking his eyes fast to keep back the unmanly +tears. + +Abe had heard him shout and now came over to stand behind him, dropping +a big hand casually on his shoulder. + +“Reckon that was your father?” he asked. + +Tad nodded. “I couldn’t be sure,” he answered, “but it looked a lot +like him.” + +“Wal,” said Abe, “I know how ye feel, right enough, but don’t take it +too hard. He’ll be back in New Orleans to meet ye. Didn’t ye tell him +in yer letter that we’d be thar next week?” + +“Sure,” Tad replied. “Only he must be pretty worried, or he wouldn’t be +on his way up to try to find me, now.” + +Allen had been up on the levee, watching the _Tecumseh’s_ departure and +chatting with a crowd of flatboat men. Now he returned with the look of +one bearing news. + +“Hey, Tad,” he called as he jumped aboard, “what was the name o’ that +boat that was expected in Shawneetown--the one the postmaster said he’d +mail yer letter by?” + +“The _Nancy Jones_,” said Tad. + +“That’s what I thought,” Allen nodded. “Wal, they tol’ me up on the +bank jest now that the _Nancy Jones_ was blowed up two weeks ago in +Vicksburg bend, an’ lost with more’n half her passengers an’ crew.” + +Tad’s jaw dropped. “Then--then Dad doesn’t even know I’m alive,” he +stammered. “No wonder he’s on his way up the river.” + +In a few words Abe told Allen of Tad’s momentary glimpse of the man +on the steamer. “Now the thing fer you to do,” said he, turning to the +boy, “is to send another letter post-haste to New Orleans, so the folks +thar kin reach him whar he’s gone.” + +“I’m goin’ ashore,” Allen volunteered. “He kin come along an’ fix up to +send his letter whiles I transact some business.” + +Abe looked doubtful. “All right,” he agreed finally. But to Tad, as +they prepared to leave the boat, he whispered, “Keep an eye on him now, +an’ don’t let him go in any places he shouldn’t.” + +They clambered to the levee top and walked through the thick black +mud up the main street of the lower town. It was nearly noon, and +Natchez was waking up for the day’s work. Patrons by ones and twos were +entering the various barrooms they passed. Gambling joints were rolling +up shutters and dusting off tables. A few women, hard-faced and heavily +painted, leered at them from doorways, and the dance-hall music droned +on unceasingly. + +A negro teamster directed them to the post office on a side street a +few blocks from the river. + +“Here you are,” said Allen as they reached the entrance, and Tad would +have gone in at once if his eye had not been caught by a notice posted +in the dusty window. With growing excitement he stood before it, +staring at the boldly-printed words. What he read was this: + + To Whom it May Concern + + A + _REWARD OF $5,000_ + + (Five thousand Dollars) + will be paid for + _Information_ + + leading to the recovery of my son, Thaddeus + Hopkins, if alive, or of his body if dead. + + This boy is 15 years old, of medium height + and weight for his age, with light brown hair, + blue eyes, and a ruddy complexion. + + _DISAPPEARED_ + + from his cabin on the Steamboat _Ohio Belle_, + somewhere between Owensboro, Kentucky, + and the mouth of the Wabash River, on the + night of April 8th, 1828. + + Any one having news of his whereabouts + should communicate immediately with + + JEREMIAH HOPKINS, + 26 St. Louis Street, + New Orleans, Louisiana. + +“Allen!” Tad gasped. “Look at this!” + +There was no answer. Swinging about in surprise, he found the street +behind him empty. Only a lean yellow dog scratched for fleas in the +middle of the dusty road. + +Tad stared up and down the straggling rows of houses, bewildered at his +companion’s disappearance. Then his eye lit on two saloons across the +way, and he knew at once where Allen had gone. + +With Abe’s parting injunction still fresh in his mind, he darted to +the other side of the street and stood a moment in hesitation before +the two doors. There was no way to tell which place Allen had entered +except to go in himself and find out. He decided to try the right-hand +building first. + +The swinging half-door gave easily under his hand, and he stepped into +a square, half-darkened room, with stained wooden tables and a long +mahogany bar. There was no one in sight, and Tad hesitated a moment in +the middle of the sanded floor, looking about him, disappointed. Then +he caught the sound of voices and low laughter and saw that the door +leading into the rear room stood slightly ajar. He fancied that it was +Allen he heard, laughing over having given him the slip. Quickly he +crossed the floor, pushed open the door, and walked through. + +A glance showed him that there were only three men in the room, and +that Allen was not one of them. At the right of the table was a broad, +thick-necked, powerfully-built man with a tight stock and a red, +angry-looking face. Next him sat a thin, sallow, rat-eyed fellow with a +nervous affection that twitched one corner of his mouth downward into +a sneer every second or two. The third member of the party slouched in +his chair, a long, slim figure with a dark mustache, the upper part of +his face shaded by the broad brim of his hat. + +Each of the three had started slightly at the lad’s abrupt entrance, +and they now sat watching him with hostile eyes. + +“I--I beg your pardon,” said Tad. “I thought a friend of mine came in +here.” And he started to back out. + +Suddenly the tall man with the black mustache was on his feet. + +“Wait!” he ordered in a husky voice that struck terror to Tad’s heart. +“Stay where yo’ are, suh.” + +But waiting was the last thing in the boy’s mind. He had caught a +glimpse of the man’s face and his long, slim hands. It was the Wheeling +gambler who had thrown him overboard from the _Ohio Belle_. With a +sense of panic he turned and darted for the door, but he never reached +it. A stool came whirling through the air and struck him in the back of +the head, and down he went, his mind blanked out in a roaring gulf of +darkness. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +The next thing Tad knew was a sensation of intense physical discomfort. +His head throbbed fiercely, his wrists were chafed, and he lay, in a +very painful position, face down, across the saddle-bow of a galloping +horse. When his senses had cleared enough for him to remember what had +happened, he tried to figure out where these desperadoes were taking +him. But all that he could see, facing the ground, was the packed brown +earth of the roadside and the flashing green of undergrowth beyond. He +had a vague recollection of having been carried up a long, steep hill; +so he supposed they must have climbed one of the roads that ran up +along the bluff. + +One other thing he noticed, and that seemed to increase the hazards +of a situation which surely was already serious enough. As he swung, +head down, he could watch the rhythmic movement of the horse’s legs. +Both forelegs white up to the knee--one hind leg white above the hock; +three white “stockings.” Where had he heard, in the last few days, of a +“three-stocking” horse? + +Then he remembered, and it came over him with a sickening feeling that +his life was worth very little, indeed. For the black-haired man who +had once before tried to kill him and who now had him prisoner could be +none other than the terrible John Murrell himself. + +There were two other horses, one behind them and one ahead. +Occasionally one of the riders would speak in a guarded voice, but for +the most part they rode hard and in silence. + +It might have been only half an hour that they traveled, after Tad +regained consciousness. If so, it was the longest thirty minutes he had +ever spent in his life. + +At last, when it seemed as if he must cry out with pain if he were +jolted any farther, his captor pulled the big horse, lathered and +champing, to a stop. + +Without ceremony he caught Tad by his shoulder and dropped him in a +heap on the ground. The boy was helpless, his ankles and his wrists +bound tightly. But his brain was still working, and after the first +moment of relief he began looking around, to see, if possible, where he +was. + +Dense brush and tall trees flanked the narrow, grassy track on both +sides, and there was no view that would show him how far they had come +from the river. + +The riders had stopped in front of a house that stood at the left of +the road--a high, bleak frame building, with no trees in front to +soften its harsh outline. The shutterless windows leered down like evil +eyes on the unkempt, desolate dooryard. An unnatural silence hung about +the premises. There was no singing of birds, and in the flat gray light +of a cloudy noonday, the whole atmosphere of the place seemed lonely +and sinister beyond compare. + +The riders dismounted and talked together for a moment. + +“Here,” said the tall leader at length, “we can settle all that +presently. You ride back down the road, Sam, and you, Bull, keep watch +up the other way till I get him out of sight.” + +Tad heard the names with a shudder. He had guessed right, then. Bull +Whaley and Sam Jukes were the chief lieutenants of the famous outlaw. +He had heard of them and their cruelty from the keel-boat hands on the +river. + +Murrell stood looking down at him for a moment, an ironical smile +twisting his pale face. + +“I see you recall our havin’ met before, suh,” he said with his polite +Southern drawl. “That’s as it should be, fo’ you are goin’ to be my +guest fo’ a while. We’ll see, now, if there are any quarters ready to +receive you.” + +He put two fingers between his lips and gave a singularly piercing +whistle, so shrill that it hurt Tad’s eardrums. In a few seconds the +house door opened, and a gigantic negro, in the rough clothes of a +field hand, ran down the steps. + +Murrell looked from Tad to the huge negro and back at Tad again. He +seemed to relish the situation. “This,” he explained to the boy, “is +Congo, my bodyguard. He was the son of a great African chief, and when +they brought him off the slave ship he killed four men. They tortured +him so that he will never hear or speak again. But I rode by at the +right moment and saved him from death. At a sign from me he would pick +you up now and tear you into forty pieces.” + +The giant black seemed to sense what his master was saying, for he +flexed his mighty fingers, and his sides shook with a great, silent +laugh. Tad, looking into that cavernous mouth, saw that there was no +tongue back of the gleaming white teeth, and the negro’s ears had been +cropped and mutilated in horrible fashion. + +Murrell gestured toward the house and led the way to the steps, and +Congo picked the boy up as easily as if he had been a baby. Through the +doorway and along a narrow hall he carried him, and then at another +signal from Murrell, he climbed with him up a flight of steep, rickety +stairs. Opening a door at the top, he flung his burden down, and stood +awaiting the further commands of his master. + +Murrell nodded. When the negro had gone out, he stooped and dragged +Tad a few feet into a shadowy corner. Here he picked up a heavy iron +fetter attached to a three-foot chain, and clasped it around one of the +boy’s ankles. With a brass key taken from his pocket, he secured its +ponderous lock. + +“That and our hospitality,” he chuckled, “ought to be plenty to keep +you here. I’ll let you have the use o’ yo’ hands to keep the fleas +from bein’ too familiar.” So saying, he whipped out a clasp knife and +cut the cords that had bound Tad’s wrists and ankles. And with an +exaggerated bow he went out, closing the door after him. + +When the sound of his footsteps had died away at the bottom of the +stairs, Tad raised himself to a sitting posture and looked about at +his prison. In what he saw there was nothing to lighten the gloom of +his desperate situation. The room was a long, narrow garret, lighted +only by one window, at the farther end. Yellow, mildewed plaster was +dropping off the walls in flakes. The floor was a mass of filth. Around +him in the corner where he sat were dirt and grease and foul-smelling +rags, and the whole place had a close, sickly odor that nauseated him. + +But Tad was not one to give up easily. He had a stubborn sort of +courage that rose to occasions of this kind. And when he had conquered +his first feeling of illness, he set himself to test every possible +avenue of escape. + +The chain attached to his ankle-iron was heavy and strong--a +trace-chain from a wagon, he judged. At the other end it was fastened +to a huge iron staple, driven solidly into one of the timbers of the +floor. A tug or two convinced him of the utter futility of trying to +pull it out. The fetter, he was quite certain now, had been designed +to hold big, powerful men--the stolen slaves who were said to be the +special prey of Murrell and his outlaw gang. + +When he felt of the leg-iron itself, it seemed large and loose about +his ankle, though much too small to allow his heel to pass through. His +fingers moved over the surface of the fetter and paused suddenly in a +deep, rough notch at the back, near the hinge. With trembling hands he +turned it as far as he could and peered down at it through the dim +half-dusk. At some time or other the iron had been partly cut through +by a file. + +Tad’s pulses leaped as he made this discovery. For a moment he thought +he might finish what had been so well begun by some earlier prisoner. +But as he searched about the floor in his corner he realized that there +was nothing in sight that could possibly be used as an abrasive. + +The afternoon dragged by with sickening slowness. The heat of the +garret nearly suffocated him, and there was nothing to do but fight the +flies and wait--for what, he did not know. + +An intermittent drone of voices could be heard in the room downstairs. +Gradually they grew louder--as the bottle was passed, Tad supposed--and +he could even catch occasional words. Perhaps he would be able to +overhear some of their plans. Crawling as far as the chain would +permit, he stretched full length on his stomach, and laid an ear to +the floor. As he did so, one of the boards moved a trifle under his +hand. He touched it again and found it loose. By working his finger +nails into the crack at one end he was able to lift it. The board was a +short one that had been put in as a filler between two longer pieces. +When Tad put his head down over the hole there were only thin lath and +plaster between him and the room below. + +Lying still and listening, he could now catch quite distinctly the +louder parts of the conversation. There was a deep, angry voice which +he recognized as that of Bull Whaley, and a thin whine that he thought +must come from Sam Jukes. Murrell himself seemed to be saying very +little. + +“But five thousand dollars, man--why, that’s the price of four or five +good cotton niggers!” Whaley was roaring. “Don’t the notice say ‘dead +or alive’? He’s supposed to ha’ been drowned, ain’t he? Well,” he +finished triumphantly, “we kin fix that part of it easy enough.” + +“That’s too risky,” Jukes answered. “They’d be pretty sure to look +into it if he was brought in dead. What I say is, let him be rescued +by one of our New Orleans men. The boy won’t ever suspect, an’ his old +man will be so thankful that he was delivered out o’ the hands of the +ruffians--meanin’ you, Bull--that he’ll pay the five thousand without a +whimper. Let’s see, now, LeGrand would be the chap to put it through. +He’s a good Creole an’ stands well with the police.” + +“Huh!” Whaley grunted. “An’ what’d LeGrand want for the job? Half the +reward, if I know him. No, sir, take him in dead, I says. There’s more +in it fer us that way.” + +Then Tad heard the husky drawl of the chief. + +“Neither one of yo’ ideas is wu’th the powder to blow it up, +gentlemen,” he said. “You’re used to makin’ small plans an’ takin’ +small pickin’s. Five thousand dollars is all either of you can see in +this. I aim to get fifty thousand.” + +His words evidently left his hearers dumfounded. For a moment there was +no sound. Then--“_Fifty_ thousand!” both exclaimed together. + +“That was what I said,” Murrell returned. “This man Hopkins has offered +a reward of five thousand. That means he is rich. He could scrape up, +on his credit, all of fifty thousand dollars, and that is the sum I +shall ask him to pay fo’ the safe return of his son.” + +“Hold him fer ransom, eh?” said Whaley with a chuckle. “You win, Jack. +I reckon if you sign the letter, they’ll know they’ve got to pay or +they’ll never see him again.” + +“Yes, that’s the plan, right enough,” Jukes put in. “We’ll have to fix +up a good place for ’em to bring the money, though, so we can watch out +for tricks.” + +“As to that,” said Murrell, “I’ve worked out all the details. You know +that island--” And here he dropped his voice too low for Tad’s ears. +The rest of the conversation was evidently held in an undertone, heads +close together over the table, for try as he would, the boy could +catch only a stray word now and then. + +The sun had evidently broken through the clouds, for a slanting beam +came through the cob-webs of the room’s one window, which opened toward +the west. And this feeble ray of light chanced to fall just inside +the edge of the opening in the floor. It was a lucky chance for Tad. +Glancing into the hole as he was about to crawl away, he saw something +that made his heart jump into his throat. Quickly he reached down and +brought it up into the light--a big, three-edged file. + +The hole in the floor must have been the secret hiding-place used by +that other prisoner, who had been taken away before his work on the +fetter was finished. + +Eagerly Tad felt the edges of the file. It was still sharp. He was just +moving to a position where he could get at his ankle-iron when a step +sounded on the stairs, and he had barely time to replace the tool in +the aperture and cover it with the board. As he crawled back to his +rags in the corner the door was opened and the giant slave, Congo, came +in. + +The negro set down a plate on which were some thick slices of buttered +bread and a tin cup full of coffee. Tad waited for him to go, but he +pointed down at the food and evidently expected to stay until it was +finished. The boy had very little appetite, in spite of having tasted +nothing since breakfast. He did manage, however, to eat two pieces of +bread and gulp down the strong black coffee. Then an idea came to him. +He had been wondering how he was to file his leg-iron without making +too great a noise. If he could save the butter on the remaining piece +of bread he might use it as a lubricant. + +Picking up the slice he pretended to take a mouthful, meanwhile pushing +the plate and cup toward Congo. The giant black stooped, picked them +up, and stood for a moment grinning that terrible grin of his. Then +he drew a forefinger slowly across his throat and rolled up his eyes +till only the whites showed, in a ghastly pantomime of death. With this +little token of farewell, he slipped through the door and bolted it on +the outside. + +Tad wasted no time in worrying over the meaning of the negro’s signs. +As soon as the footsteps had reached the bottom of the stairs he crept +to his loose board and took the file from its hiding-place. In the +fading twilight he could barely see the notch in the fetter, but it was +easy to find by touch, and he soon turned it into a position where he +could move the file back and forth comfortably. By rubbing a little +butter along the cutting edge, he found that the noise was scarcely +audible--certainly too slight to be heard on the first floor. + +For the best part of an hour he worked, stealthily but with hardly a +moment’s rest. He could feel the notch in the iron growing deeper. It +must be two-thirds of the way through, he thought. And then catastrophe +overtook him. He was just reaching for the piece of bread, to get more +butter, when suddenly it was snatched from under his hand. The biggest +rat he had ever seen had seized it and scurried away across the floor. + +Tad was more than startled. For a moment his nerves were shaken, and he +sat there trembling with weariness and fright. Then the ridiculous side +of the situation struck him and he rocked back and forth with smothered +laughter. When the spasm was over he tried to work on the fetter again +and found that the scraping of the dry file was becoming more and more +noisy. Saliva would quiet it for a stroke or two, but it dried too +quickly. At last he gave up the effort. He put the file away, dropped +the board back in place and curled up exhausted in his corner, wishing +desperately for his snug blanket aboard the _Katy Roby_. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +There may have been worse nights in history than the one Tad spent in +that garret, but in all his experience he never was to know a longer or +more nerve-racking one. + +Rats scampered everywhere, in the walls and up and down the floor. He +could hear them gnawing, squealing, fighting all about him. + +Once or twice, when he drowsed off for a moment, their furry bodies +brushed against his skin, waking him with a start. He had heard of rats +attacking men in places like this. What if one of them should bite him +there in the dark? He sat, tense and waiting, for hours on end, and +shook his chain and thumped his hands on the floor to keep them away. + +The lesser vermin in the rags about him were not so easily frightened +off. He had discovered, almost as soon as he was put in the room, that +Murrell’s mention of fleas was more than idle chatter. Now, under cover +of the darkness, they came in swarms to feast upon him. In a way, +perhaps, they were a blessing, for they gave him little time to dwell +on his graver troubles. + +Nevertheless he was haunted all night by the thought of Abe’s distress. +What had the big flatboatman thought of him when he failed to return +at noon? Allen, doubtless, had stayed ashore drinking and enjoying +himself, and Abe must have felt that Tad had betrayed his trust. At +least so the boy pictured it to himself. Then he realized that the +long-shanked Hoosier would be far more concerned with finding him than +with blaming him. Just what would Abe do, he wondered. For he was +positive that he would do something. Murrell and all his gang went +armed to the teeth. If Abe should run afoul of some of them he would +almost certainly be killed. Tad thought of the strong, homely, kindly +face of his big friend and came near sobbing. + +At last, toward dawn, he was too weary to fight the fleas, and hardly +cared whether the rats bit him or not. Tumbled in a heap on the floor, +he slept the sleep of sheer exhaustion. + +The reflected light of a bright morning sun was in the room when he +awoke. A clatter of pots and pans and an odor of cooking came up from +below. Presently he heard boots thumping and the scrape of chairs and +knew that the outlaws were sitting down to breakfast. + +Rubbing his eyes, he looked about the dirty room and saw that there +was a little heap of iron filings on the floor where he had worked. +Hastily he lifted the loose board and swept the tell-tale gray dust +into the hole. He was none too soon, for a moment later he heard the +pad of bare feet outside, and the sliding of the bolt on his door. +Congo entered bearing his breakfast. + +The meal this time was an unappetizing kind of cornmeal mush without +milk. Tad had hoped to get some more butter. He hid his disappointment, +however, and ate as much of the stuff as he could, knowing that he +would need all his strength if he was ever to escape. There was also a +cup of water which he drank eagerly. + +When he had finished, Congo took the bowl and cup and paused in the +doorway as before to grimace at him. This time the huge negro changed +his gesture. With one hand he made the sign of a noose about his neck, +winding up behind his left ear with a horrible jerk of the head and +more silent laughter. + +Tad, with a sick feeling at the pit of his stomach, wondered what other +varieties of sudden death he would see illustrated before he left that +filthy place. + +The morning was well along--it must have been after ten o’clock, Tad +thought--when there was a sound of heavy hoofs galloping up the road, +and several riders dismounted in the yard. The boy could hear them +swearing at the horses and then greeting Murrell and his companions as +they approached the door. + +These newcomers seemed to be members of the outlaw gang, for they spoke +freely of Tad’s capture and asked the chief what he planned to do with +his prize. As they came into the room below, one of them was roaring +with laughter. Tad took up the board in order to hear better and found +he could make out nearly everything that was said. + +“But the blankety-blankedest thing I ever saw, suh,” one of the new +men was remarking, “was this big Hoosier broadhorn steerer comin’ +up the Main Street. Seven foot if he was an inch--yes, suh, I’m not +exaggeratin’ a particle--seven foot tall! He marches up to the first +saloon he sees and asks the bar-keep if he knows anything about a boy +that’s missin’. The man gives him some sort of a sassy answer, and next +thing he knows this long-legged river hand has grabbed him by the neck +and flung him out in the middle of the road. + +“Fight? No, there was no fight. The Hoosier just goes along and leaves +him there. At the next place the same thing happens, only the bartender +saves his skin by apologizin’ mighty quick when he sees that long arm +comin’. So it goes all the way up the street. + +“Finally he gets to Nolan’s place. By this time there’s quite a crowd +of flatboat and keel-boat men followin’ along to see the fun. An’ +drinkin’ at Nolan’s bar is some ark hand that pipes up and says yes, +indeed, he saw the boy. He was bein’ carried off by three men on +horseback, ridin’ hell-for-leather up the South Bluff road. + +“‘What did they look like?’ asks Longshanks, and the fellow tells him +that the one holdin’ the boy was tall and rode a big sorrel horse with +three white stockin’s. + +“At that, half the river-men in the crowd shout ‘Jack Murrell,’ and +there’s a grand howdy-do. The big Hoosier tries to find out where you’d +be likely to take the boy, but of course no one knows a thing. + +“I understand he’s gone up to Natchez-on-the-Hill this mornin’, to try +to raise a posse.” + +Tad heard Murrell’s lazy laugh. “Huh,” said the leader, “he won’t get +far there. What say, Carson, want to have a look at the youngster?” + +There was a sound of boots that warned Tad to put the board back in +position. He crawled back into the corner where the shadows were +deepest and turned the filed place in the fetter carefully under his +ankle. + +When the door opened he sat there sullen-faced, picking at the ragged +edges of his shirt sleeve with listless fingers. + +Murrell was accompanied by a big, florid young man in the dapper dress +of a planter, who slapped the dust from his boots with a riding-whip as +he stared down at the boy. + +“Haw, haw! Fifty thousand--for that?” he laughed. “Here, step up, boy, +and let’s have a look at you!” And he flicked the stinging lash of his +whip into the lad’s neck. A sudden flush spread over Tad’s face, but +he sat perfectly still. Angrily, Carson threw up his arm for a full +stroke, but Murrell detained him with a sharp word. + +“Careful,” he said. “He’s mine, you know.” For a moment Carson faced +the cold gleam of the chief’s eyes. Then his own eyes dropped. He gave +an uneasy laugh and turned toward the stairs, and after another glance +at Tad, Murrell followed him. + +The time dragged by interminably. Buzzing flies made the daylight +hours seem as unbearably long as the night had been. Sometime in the +afternoon the boy dozed off and was finally awakened by the arrival of +his supper. To his joy there was bread and butter. He was so hungry +that there was a real temptation to gobble all of it, but he saved the +last piece, pretending to eat it, as before. + +Just as Congo stooped to pick up the plate, there came that +ear-splitting whistle that Tad had heard once before, and the big negro +leaped as if he had been shot. Without even a backward look he slipped +through the door, fastened it, and hurried down the stairs. + +Other horsemen had arrived, it seemed. Tad heard strange voices below, +and after removing the board caught Murrell’s answer. + +“If they do come, it will be in daylight,” he was saying. “We’ll have +to run him back to a safer place in the morning, and lie low for a few +days.” + +The boy’s heart sank. Tonight, it seemed, was his last chance. If he +did not get away before morning he was to be taken off to some new +stronghold where there would be even less hope of escape. + +Quickly he took the file out of the hole and set to work. Before +darkness had completely fallen he could see that another hour’s labor +would sever the broad iron ring. He rested a few minutes and then +went on, pushing the file steadily back and forth. This time he took +no chances with his bread and butter, but kept it tucked away in the +bosom of his shirt. + +From the noise in the room below he judged that there must be five or +six men at least gathered about the table. They seemed to be playing +cards and drinking, for he heard frequent orders for rum punch shouted +at a servant they called Juba. + +What game they were playing he could not tell, but the stakes must have +been high. A loud voice, made thick by many potations, reached the boy +distinctly through the garret floor, + +“You goin’ to stick along, Murrell?” the voice was saying. “You goin’ +to stick? Gettin’ in pretty deep, ain’t you? That’s fifteen hundred +you owe me now. All right, I’m raisin’ it two hundred more. What d’ye +say--want to put the boy up? Eh? That gilt-edged prisoner o’ yours? I +aim to back these cards all night; so you better unlimber some cash or +else put up the boy.” + +Tad bent harder to his work, and the sweat streamed from his face as he +filed. If they were making him a stake in their game and the cards went +against Murrell, his new owner might come up at any moment to claim +him. The file was almost through. He gave it a last stroke or two, and +the fetter fell open with a sudden clank of metal. + +Holding his breath, the boy waited to see if they had heard, but it +appeared that all in the lower room were too absorbed in what was going +on there to notice any such trifling sound. With all possible care +he lifted his ankle out of the broken clasp and stood up, feeling an +exhilarating sense of freedom. + +Cautiously, in the darkness, he moved across the room. The door was +secured on the outside, as he had expected. He left it and turned +toward the window, treading very softly and testing each board with his +bare toes. + +There had been a momentary lull in the voices downstairs. Now, with +startling suddenness, some one ripped out an angry oath, and there was +a commotion of chairs being pushed back. Two pistol shots rent the air, +close together, and then all was quiet again except for a single low +groan. + +Tad stood still, trying to control the shaking of his knees. + +“He’s dead,” came the heavy voice of Bull Whaley. “Well, we can’t leave +him here. Come, give me a hand, some one.” + +The house door opened and closed again, and then there was a short, +ugly laugh, followed by a call for Juba and another round of drinks. +Tad tiptoed forward to the window. + +Where he had feared to find a complicated system of fastenings, there +was only a big square nail driven part way into the frame above the +lower sash. It was solidly imbedded in the wood, but by moving it up +and down until it had a trifle of play, he was able at last to pull it +out with his fingers. + +To the boy’s relief, the sash was loose enough to raise without too +much effort. He lifted it an inch at a time, easing it past the +squeaks, and braced it open with a two-foot length of stick which had +been lying on the sill. + +A young moon, partly obscured by clouds, shed a faint light over the +dooryard. Tad could see the ground, fifteen feet below, with a tangled +mass of rank weeds growing against the house. A score of yards beyond +was the road, and then woods, black and dense, stretching away to the +west. A little night breeze came in the window with refreshing coolness. + +Tad stood there for a while, wondering what time of night it was and +how late it would be before the outlaws went to sleep. He was afraid +they might stay a long time over their liquor. Climbing down past the +window of the room in which they sat seemed a foolhardy plan, but Tad +grew restless at the thought of a long wait. + +At last he decided to go back to his hole in the floor and listen to +their talk. Treading lightly but swiftly, he retraced his steps. The +garret was as dark as pitch, but he believed he knew his way. He must +be nearing the place now. And even as this thought crossed his mind he +stepped directly into the opening. There was a crackle of breaking lath +and a crash of plaster, and Tad’s foot went through the ceiling of the +room beneath. He withdrew it instantly and stood there trembling, his +heart pounding with terror and with fury at his own clumsiness. + +A sound of startled swearing came from below, and through the aperture +he caught a glimpse of flushed faces staring upward. For a long moment +they stood so. Then the faces disappeared and there was a rush of feet +through the hallway leading to the stairs. + +Only one course lay open for Tad, and he took it. Darting across the +garret, he scrambled through the window and let himself down, his hands +gripping the sill, till his feet touched the ledge above the ground +floor window. Would they see him? He had no way of telling how many had +stayed in the room below. But he could already hear shouts at the top +of the stairs, and some one was fumbling at the bolt. + +With a deep intake of breath the boy let go one hand, swung outward and +jumped. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +The ten-foot drop to the ground jarred Tad from head to toe but did +not really hurt him. He was up in an instant, and without even a +backward glance at the house he made for the trees across the road. As +he started to run he tripped over something bulky in the grass and saw +with a shudder that it was the body of the man called Carson, still and +cold, a ray of moonlight falling on his white, upturned face. Tad sped +onward, cleared the road in a long leap, in order to leave no track +in the dust, and plunged into the brush on the farther side. The dark +wall of leaves closed behind him, and he knew that for the moment at +least he was beyond the outlaws’ reach, but he did not slacken speed. +Tumbling over fallen logs, diving headforemost through thickets, +dashing forward wherever an opening showed between the tree trunks, he +kept on. Weak as he was from scanty food and lack of sleep, he must +have traveled a good half mile through the woods before he fell, too +exhausted to pick himself up. + +For a long time he lay there, panting, till the vast ache inside his +ribs grew less painful and finally departed. Then at last he rose on +wobbly legs and went forward. When he was a prisoner in the outlaws’ +garret he had made no definite plans beyond escaping from the house. +But now he saw quite clearly that some sort of intelligent planning +would be necessary if he wanted to avoid getting lost or recaptured. + +To reach the river was his first problem. If he could strike the bank +he was sure he could find Natchez, somewhere a few miles to the north. +So he went on, searching for a more open space where he might get his +bearings. + +For what seemed like an age he plowed through dense timber, where +he could see only an occasional gleam of moonlight, much less a +recognizable star. But finally the trees opened out in front of him and +he found himself in the edge of a small clearing, full of stumps and +brush, but giving a clear view overhead. A few clouds still covered +part of the sky, but he made out the Dipper, and following the two +pointers, located the North Star. It was ahead of him and a little to +the right, so that he knew his general direction had been good. What he +wanted now was to bear toward the left, shaping a westerly course, and +so reach the river bluffs. + +At the farther side of the clearing he struck into what seemed to be +a wood path leading westward. Rough as it was, he found he could walk +along it with much less difficulty than through the trackless brush, +and as long as it continued fairly straight he had no fear of losing +his direction. + +For more than a mile he followed this trail, and came at length to a +narrow little valley where the path led off to the right along the +brink of the ravine. As he paused, undecided, a faint sound of water +came to him from somewhere below in the undergrowth. He had been +desperately thirsty for hours. In a moment he had scrambled down the +bank and was bending above a shallow little stream. Down he went on +hands and knees and drank his fill of the clear, cold water. And then, +just as he was getting to his feet, there came a sound that fairly +froze his heart with fear. Still far off, it was, but unmistakable--the +deep, bell-like baying of a hound. + +Until that moment Tad had not thought of dogs. Yet it was natural +enough that Murrell should have them. In his trade of slave-stealing, +he must often find use for bloodhounds. + +The muffled note rang out again. Was it nearer this time? On his +trail--_his_ trail! They were after him with dogs! For an instant Tad +felt the panic terror that makes the hunted rabbit run in circles. His +only impulse was to rush off blindly, somewhere--anywhere. + +Then some measure of sense returned to him and he began thinking, +swiftly. Up to that point the scent would be fresh and strong, easily +followed. His pursuers would make far better time than he had made, +thrashing through the brush. From now on he must baffle them, or he was +lost. + +The stream was hardly more than a rivulet, a few feet wide, but it +offered him his only chance to cover his scent. Plunging in, he found +it less than knee-deep, with a fairly smooth, sandy bottom. He followed +it downstream, wading fast, and keeping an eye on the direction it was +taking, when the leaves overhead permitted a view of the stars. + +Once or twice he had to climb out to get around fallen trees, and this +gave him an idea. Wherever there was a likely opening on either bank, +leading away from the stream, he left the water, ran a few steps into +the woods and returned, as nearly as possible in the same tracks. Then +he waded on with all the speed he could muster. + +Occasionally the wind bore to him the cry of the hound, sometimes +clearer, sometimes fainter, but always a sound that chilled his blood. + +Tad had long since passed the winded stage. He went on steadily, his +breathing a succession of gasps that no longer seemed to hurt, a +deadness in his legs and a queer ringing in his ears. He had no idea +how long he had been running so, when suddenly the brook deepened and +his numbed senses were shocked wide awake by a plunge into cold water. + +He realized, as he floundered up again, that the sky overhead was open. +He was standing up to his neck in a broad marshy pool that stretched +away to left and right for a long distance. Under the ghostly moon it +lay dark and mysterious, wholly silent except for the muffled plash of +a heron hunting frogs. Like every boy, Tad had a horror of swimming in +strange water at night. He stood there, shivering, trying to make up +his mind. The opposite bank was not so far away, but sluggish ponds ... +water moccasins.... + +The bay of the bloodhound came to him again, unexpectedly close this +time. He waited no longer but threw himself forward, swimming with +all his might. The pool was only thirty or forty yards across at this +place, and in a few strokes he was halfway over. Then a vicious cramp +caught at the big muscles in the back of his thigh--twisting him with +pain till he almost went under. He managed to straighten the leg and +struggled on, kicking only with the other, till he felt ooze under his +toes, and crawled out somehow through slimy reeds and lily-pads to the +soft black earth of the bank. + +There for a while he lay, his exhaustion so complete that he scarcely +cared what happened. Both his legs were cruelly knotted with cramps, +and his whole body ached with weariness. Rest he must have if he were +ever to reach the river. He crept a little farther into the reeds +and lay on his back, staring up at the stars and listening to the +intermittent baying of the hound. + +At last the cramps left him and he thought he had recovered his wind +sufficiently to go on. But just as he was rising to his knees there +came a thrashing in the underbrush near the mouth of the brook and he +heard men’s voices. A light breeze was blowing across the pond from +them to him so that he caught some of the words plainly. + +“What’s the matter with ol’ Red-eye--lost the scent again?” came Bull +Whaley’s panting bass. And as if in answer the bloodhound spoke--a +full-throated, menacing challenge that fairly lifted the hair on Tad’s +head. Through the screening reeds he could see the beast on the other +side of the pool, gray and gigantic in the moonlight, its long ears +trailing the ground as it nosed here and there along the bank. + +[Illustration: HE COULD SEE THE BEAST ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE POOL] + +Behind, in the shadow, was the broad, squat figure of Whaley, and +another man whom Tad did not recognize was holding the hound’s leash. + +A stream of profanity came from this second man. “Lost him!” he +growled. “Must have swum across. What d’ye say--want to send the dog +over?” + +“No use,” returned the other. “The boy’s most likely a long ways off +by now. An’ even if Red-eye got over without bein’ bit by a snake, I +wouldn’t foller him. The nearest place to cross is Cordle’s Bridge, a +mile away. What I say is we’d best git back to the horses an’ make it +down to the river road in a hurry. We’d ought to head him off there, +sure.” + +They stood there arguing for a while, then turned back into the woods, +dragging the huge, unwilling hound. And Tad, feeling that he had at +least a momentary respite from pursuit, started toward the setting moon +once more. + +The rest had helped both his legs and his courage. Now that he knew how +the outlaws expected to capture him, he believed he had a chance to +outwit them, while if he had not overheard their plans, he might have +walked straight into their ambush on the river road. + +The shore of the pond was fringed with a sparse growth of saplings and +brush, through which Tad made his way without much difficulty. Beyond +it he could catch glimpses of a broad open space, gleaming palely +in the moonlight. At first he thought it was water--a larger pond, +perhaps--and his heart sank at the idea of having to swim again. But +when he reached the edge of the trees he saw that what lay before him +was a great cotton field, white with opening bloom. Easily half a mile +wide, it stretched back to the north and east so far that his eyes lost +it in the moonlit haze. + +Crossing the waist-high cotton was dangerous, Tad knew. He veered to +the left, skirting the end of the field, and at its farther corner +came on a well-defined path leading into the woods. It bore a little +north of west, in the direction he wished to follow, and he could see +from the grass and brush in the track that it was little used. After +a careful scrutiny of the cotton field for pursuers, he went forward +along the path as fast as his weary legs would carry him. + +Once the whir of a rattler, behind him, made cold chills run down his +spine and gave speed to his feet. And half a mile farther on he was +frightened almost out of his wits when a partly-grown razor-back boar +leaped up, grunting, from its bed beside the path, and dashed off into +the woods. + +When the moon set, Tad had no choice but to stay where he was and +rest. He tried to feel his way along in the inky dark, but after he had +stumbled against trees and nearly lost the path, he gave it up. There +were still two or three hours till dawn, and he was very tired. A few +yards off the path he found a place where he could sit, with his back +against a tree. And in thirty seconds he was asleep. + +Fortunately the cramped position he was in woke him before daylight and +he staggered up, stiff and sore, but with his strength renewed. A faint +grayness was beginning to show through the trees, so that now he had no +trouble in following the path. He had a feeling that the river could +not be far off. + +A moment later the cheerful blast of a steamboat whistle sounded, close +at hand. Tad’s heart pounded with joy, and he pushed forward almost at +a run. Within a hundred yards he came to a place where he could glimpse +the road, brown and dusty in the increasing light, bending south along +the crest of the bluff. + +He abandoned the path and cut into the brush, striking northward with +the highway and the river below on his left. He was looking for a good +place to cross the road and make the descent of the bluff. Just as +he thought he had found such a spot, and was preparing to leave the +shelter of the undergrowth, his ears caught a faint clink of metal. He +crouched where he was, waiting. Soon the sound was repeated, and with +it he heard the musical jingle of a bridle chain. Then came a man’s +voice, muffled, quieting a restless horse, and a moment later he heard +the soft thud of hoofs on grass. + +Three mounted men came down the road from Natchez, riding silently in +single file, their lathered horses at a walk. They were wrapped in +cloaks and their hats were pulled low over their faces, but Tad knew +them. The leader rode a big sorrel with three white legs. + +Almost opposite Tad they pulled up and talked in low tones for a +minute. He could not hear their words, but their gestures were short +and angry. Hunched there in their saddles, they looked like ruffled +birds of prey. + +The leader jerked his horse around, motioned to one of the riders to +stay where he was, and with the other at his heels, set off down the +road. The man who remained looked after them grouchily for a moment, +then swung down from his horse, pulled the reins over his arm, and sat +down with his back against a stump. + +As quietly as he knew how, Tad crawled back a dozen yards or more into +the woods. When he was sure the rank growth screened him completely, he +got up and started northward again, fairly holding his breath in his +effort to make no noise. + +After a while he knew he was out of earshot of the watcher by the road +and could move faster. The sun rose, bringing beauty to the woods. He +heard negroes singing, and soon a big mule-cart creaked by, with half a +dozen plantation hands on their way to the fields, and a white overseer +riding abreast. Birds made a background of music for all the other +sounds of the waking day. + +Tad passed a bend in the road and worked himself down into the bushes +that fringed the ditch beside it. He looked long and listened carefully +in both directions. Then with his heart in his mouth, he made the +dash for the opposite side. Three seconds, and it was done. The brush +whipped shut behind him. He waited a little to see if any one was in +pursuit, then turned and pushed his way through the tangle of vines and +creepers that crowned the edge of the bluff. + +There, a hundred feet and more below, was the vast, muddy tide of the +river that had made him feel so lonely and depressed three short weeks +ago. How he welcomed it now! Spread out in a great sunlit panorama, he +saw the little arks and keel-boats go gliding down, no bigger than +chips on the yellow flood. And those tiny black figures, like ants, +that worked at the sweeps or sat about the breakfast fires--those were +his friends. He belonged to their brotherhood now. Old Trader Magoon +and the jolly red-bearded captain from St. Louis, big, brave, awkward, +kind-hearted Abe, and even Allen, with his human failings--they would +all fight for him. + +Something like a sob rose in his throat, and he had to choke it back. +What was the matter with him anyway? It must be hunger. He remembered +that he hadn’t eaten much for two days. Well, it was time he was moving. + +With another look around, to make sure no one watched him from the +road, he started scrambling down the face of the bluff. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +As he descended, Tad could see the levee, below, and half a mile to the +northward the huddled houses of Natchez-under-the-Hill. There was the +big steamboat landing, piled with freight, and beyond it the swarming +flatboat fleet, so close, now, that he almost fancied he could pick out +the little _Katy Roby_ at her moorings. + +Clinging by roots and creepers, sliding from one grass tuft to the +next, the boy went swiftly down. At the foot of the steep slope was a +narrow marshy tract hemmed in by the levee. There was no road except +the footway along the levee top, but a few shanties were scattered +here and there--the cabins of free negroes, Tad thought--and among the +evil-looking pools of green water, paths ran from one clump of great +mossy live oaks to the next. He followed one of these, skirting a +stagnant pond where the whole surface was covered with a weedy scum. An +alligator moved lazily, thrusting up its long snout within a yard of +Tad’s heel, and great swarms of mosquitoes rose on all sides to meet +him. He broke into a run. + +Beyond the first clump of trees he passed the door of a squalid shack +where dogs yapped at his heels and a frightened black woman wrapped +her skirts about a child that screamed when it saw him. After he had +driven the curs away with a stick, he went on more slowly. The morning +was growing hot, and a desperate thirst possessed him. He thought of +stopping at one of the negro cabins and asking for a drink, but the +sight of the unspeakable filth around them decided him against it. +After all, he was almost there. He could stand another ten minutes. + +As he neared the town, the path ran through a dense clump of scrub +willows that reached from the levee almost back to the foot of the +bluff. Tad prudently slipped into this willow thicket as he drew close +to the landing, and squirmed forward till he could command a view of +the big dock, the street, and the flatboats beyond. His first glance +told him it was lucky he had reconnoitered. For in addition to the +handful of negroes who were rolling bales and barrels in the sleepy +sunshine, he saw three horses tied to the rail before a corner tavern, +and three men with hats pulled low over their faces, lounging in the +shadows. One sat on the tavern veranda, watching the street. One +patrolled the landing in leisurely fashion. And one stood idly under a +tree with his eye on the movements of the flatboatmen. + +If Murrell was one of them--and Tad thought the tall figure on the +landing was he--he had changed horses since daybreak. The famous +three-stocking sorrel was not among the mounts at the hitching-rail. + +All this was a blow to Tad’s hopes. Where he had expected to reach the +haven of the _Katy Roby_ in another moment or two, he saw that he might +now have to wait for hours. His thirst was becoming almost unbearable. +The whole inside of his mouth and his tongue felt parched and swollen. +Mosquitoes in myriads came to sing their shrill refrain around his +head, and other pests, he knew, would soon discover his hiding-place. + +At last he could stand the torture of sitting still no longer. He got +to his feet, peering through the willow branches. There, not a hundred +yards away, he could see Allen standing on the forward deck of the +flatboat, smoking his pipe and looking up the town’s main street as if +he were waiting for some one. + +If only he could signal him in some way! But there were the three grim +watchers--desperate men, as Tad knew--who would not hesitate to use +their pistols with a fifty-thousand-dollar prize in sight. It might +cost his friends their lives if he showed himself. + +He had thought of swimming under the landing, but there would still be +a sixty-foot stretch of water to cross under the hawk eyes of that tall +man, slouching in the shade of a pile of boxes. Still, he reflected, +he could hardly be worse off in the water than dying a slow death by +thirst and mosquitoes here. + +Very quietly he made his way through the willows to the levee. The +piling of the dock rose close by--almost close enough to touch. On +his stomach, he crawled over the top of the embankment and slid like +a muskrat into the yellow water beyond. In a few quick strokes he was +under the landing and hidden from view. + +He held on to one of the big cypress piles and gulped a swallow or two +of river water to take the edge off his thirst. Then he made his way +forward under the shadowy planking of the wharf. + +Suddenly there was a shout, somewhere above, and a pounding of many +feet that went by over his head, shaking dust down through the cracks. +He stayed where he was, his heart beating fast. Then there came the +loud blast of a steamboat whistle, and he understood the reason for the +stampede. + +Alternately swimming and stopping to listen, he made his way to the +outer end of the wharf. There, holding to one of the great clumps +of mooring piles, he watched the slim white prow of the pride of the +river--the _Natchez_ herself--come sweeping in to the landing. With +a swiftness at which he marveled, the great paddles swung her into +position, and amid the shouts of deck hands he heard the heavy cable +drop with a crash on the planks over his head. In another moment the +big steamer was moored, side-on to the wharf, and the gangplanks were +run out. The steady rumble of loading began. + +From where Tad was he could see forward under the broad overhanging +deck of the _Natchez_ to the low patch of daylight at her bows. And +as he looked, an idea came to him. He remembered how the forward end +of the _Tecumseh_, jutting well beyond the landing, had seemed to +be almost within arm’s reach of the flatboat, that first morning in +Natchez. Under the shelter of the steamer, he could get many feet +closer to his goal without being seen. + +He let go of the post to which he had been holding, and swam out under +the boat’s deck. It was like being in a long, low-roofed, watery +tunnel. The deck was only two or three feet above the level of the +river and was built out from the hull a good ten feet. It was shored up +by a row of diagonal braces, and to these Tad clung, pulling himself +slowly along. When he reached the end of the wharf he could see that +his hopes were at least partly justified. The steamer’s prow extended +at least thirty feet nearer to the moored flatboats, and he was certain +that for the best part of that distance he would be well hidden from +eyes on the landing. + +Keeping as far as possible under the projecting shelf, he pulled +himself forward by the bracing timbers. Finally he came to a point +where the deck narrowed rapidly toward the bow and no longer afforded +any cover. As nearly as he could judge, about fifteen yards still +separated him from the _Katy Roby_. He was close enough to see every +homely plank and seam of the little craft, even to the familiar marks +of Abe’s mighty ax on the hewn corner posts. + +A sudden fear seized him now--a fear that Abe or Allen might appear at +the gunwale and see him. That would be dangerous, he knew. + +Obviously, he could not stay where he was. Something had to be done, +and done at once. With desperation in his heart, the boy again measured +the distance to the flatboat, then drew a deep breath, and took off +from the steamer’s side in a long plunge. He had swum under water many +times before, but never when he was so tired, or with so much at stake. + +Five strokes he took--ten--twelve, with his lungs ready to burst +for air--thirteen--fourteen--fifteen--sixteen--he _must_ come +up--seventeen--eighteen, and his hand touched planks! He was there, +safe under the flatboat’s counter. For a moment he lay with mouth and +nose just out of water, gasping in the breaths he so sorely needed. A +stray end of rope, hanging from the stern, gave him something to hold +on to. + +From the tall, white _Natchez_ there came a jangle of bells and a +thrashing of the water as her paddles turned over. This was Tad’s +chance. All eyes would be on the steamer for the next minute or two. +He took a firm grip on the rope and went up with a kick of his feet. +At the gunwale he had just strength enough left to fling up a leg and +pull himself over. Five seconds later he rolled over the edge of the +after deck and dropped without ceremony into the middle of Allen’s +preparations for dinner. + +If Tad had not instantly signaled him to silence it is certain that +the _Katy Roby’s_ cook would have yelled aloud in terror. As it was he +toppled over backward on the planking and sat there looking comically +pale. + +“Great--hallelujah--fishhooks!” he choked out, at last. “I shore never +looked to see your face ag’in, boy! How in Tarnation did ye git away?” + +“I’ll tell you--pretty soon,” grinned Tad, still too weary to talk. +“Where’s Abe?” + +“Up thar in the town--Natchez-’top-o’-the-Hill,” said Allen. “He’s been +tryin’ to git ’em to send a sheriff’s posse arter you. But gosh, boy, +look at them feet!” + +Tad was bleeding from half a dozen cuts and bruises that he had got in +the course of his flight. Until now he had not even noticed them. His +shirt was in tatters, and even the stout homespun trousers, in addition +to being heavy with mud and water, had been torn in several places. +Gaunt with hunger and fatigue and wet as a drowned kitten, he looked +little like his usual sturdy self. + +But Poke knew him. The gangling baby bear stretched his chain as far as +it would go and licked with a warm pink tongue at Tad’s face. Chuckling +with delight, the boy rolled over to scratch his pet’s inquisitive +round ears. And at that moment a long shadow fell across the deck and +they heard the tread of moccasined feet. + +Abe, still frowning and preoccupied with the business that had taken +him ashore, dropped down from the fore deck and almost stepped on Tad +before he saw him. + +“Wal, I’ll be--” he began. But his vocabulary, for once, was totally +inadequate to the occasion. + +“Quick, Abe!” Tad implored him. “Get down here out of sight, if you’re +going to look like that. There’s three of Murrell’s men watching on the +landing.” + +The big Hoosier crouched obediently, but Allen started up with an oath. +“Whar’s that gun o’ mine?” he asked in a belligerent tone. + +“Hold on,” said Abe. “Don’t be a dum fool, Allen. This is no time to +git mixed up in a fight. Now we’ve got Tad back, our job is to take him +out o’ here safe. Let’s see, now--Tad, you’d best crawl in under the +edge o’ that tarpaulin, jest in case o’ trouble. + +“Allen, you act unconcerned-like, an’ go on gittin’ some dinner +together. I’m goin’ to shove off. Wait, now, till I git to lookin’ glum +ag’in.” + +With a comical effort, he twisted his gaunt face into a heavy frown. + +“That ought to fool ’em,” he muttered, and stood up, with a dejected +stoop to his shoulders. Slowly he mounted the forward deck, swung over +in a long stride to the next craft, and so reached the mooring-stakes +along the levee. As he cast off the rope and proceeded slowly to coil +it over his arm, a keel-boat man hailed him, three or four boats away. + +“What’s up, Longshanks? Gwine to leave without the youngster?” he asked. + +Abe shrugged his shoulders. “’Tain’t no use to try any more,” he +replied, gloomily. “They’re all afraid to move, up in the town. I +reckon we might better be gittin’ our cargo to market.” + +“Yeah,” agreed the other, and spat over the rail. “It’s tough luck, +though. ‘Good-by, five thousand dollars,’ eh?” + +An angry blaze lit Abe’s gray eyes. He started to speak, then changed +his mind. Dropping the coil of rope on the fore deck, he picked up one +of the rowing-sweeps and planted it on firm bottom. Then with a heave +of his mighty shoulders, he drove the _Katy Roby_ straight out from the +levee. + +As the current caught them they were swung close to the corner piles of +the wharf. Abe put his oars in the chocks and began rowing, strongly +but without haste. + +“Keep hid, now,” came Allen’s whisper. “Thar’s a feller watchin’ us +up thar on the landin’. Big, tall feller with his hat over his eyes. +’Pears like he’s mighty interested in what we’ve got aboard.” + +“Wal,” he called out derisively, “think ye’ll be able to reco’nize us +next time?” + +There was no answer from the man on the wharf. + +“Allen,” said Tad, when they had dropped the landing well astern, “do +you know who that was you hailed? I do. It was Jack Murrell.” + +Allen’s face went pale. “No-o!” he said, in an awe-stricken whisper. +“You don’t tell me--_Murrell_!” + +“He’ll recognize you, all right,” Tad could not help chuckling. “He +never forgets a face.” + +But as the boy rose from his place under the tarpaulin and looked +astern, he wondered if perhaps his jest had been ill-timed. At the +hitching-rail in front of the water-front saloon he could see three men +mounting their horses. They turned, in a swirl of dust, as he watched, +and spurred away up the town’s main street toward the bluff. And +wherever they were going, they evidently meant business. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +Tad kept his misgivings to himself as the flatboat voyaged southward. +Both of his companions were so genuinely happy over his safe return +that nothing else really seemed to matter. They fed him and pampered +him, dried and mended his clothes, and treated him in general like a +long-lost brother. + +Tad responded with a full heart. He ate the feast of corn-bread, bacon, +and coffee that Allen prepared, and had no need to feign an appetite. +And to the delighted ears of his companions he unfolded, bit by bit, as +his strength returned, the tale of his capture and escape. + +When he described how he first happened to run afoul of the outlaws he +saw Allen redden uneasily, and the baleful glance that Abe turned on +the son of his employer told Tad how deeply the matter must have been +discussed. + +He went on to tell of the ride, of the lonely house in the woods, and +of the great black deaf-mute who was Murrell’s servant. + +“I’ve heard o’ him,” put in Allen, his eyes wide with excitement. +“Some ark hand from up the Yazoo said he’d done caught a sight of him +once. Most o’ the keel-boat men, though, say they’re sartin he ain’t no +nigger at all, but some sort of a gorilla.” + +Tad did not laugh. The horror of those silent visits that Congo had +paid him was still too fresh in his memory. + +“No,” he answered. “He’s a man, all right. But, gosh! I believe I’d +_rather_ have a gorilla after me than that big black devil. Ugh!” And +he shivered a little in spite of the noonday heat. + +He told them of the arrival of the strangers at the house, and how he +had heard their talk of the doings in Natchez. + +“That’s what I was afeared of,” said Abe, with a nod. “Every move I +made in the town, I had a feelin’ there were spies a-watchin’. I was +sure that if we did git a posse together, they’d have wind of it long +’fore we got thar. An’ added to that, all the head folks in Natchez +were either scairt o’ Murrell or else in cahoots with him. I didn’t +rightly know whar to turn next.” + +The tall lad’s voice grew gruff, and he shook his head as he looked at +Tad. “That shorely was a mean two days,” he said. + +“All over now, though,” replied the boy, with an understanding grin. +And he went on with the recounting of his adventures. + +Sometime past the middle of the afternoon they were running eastward on +the outer edge of a great ox-bow bend where the strong current bit deep +into the Mississippi side. Floating swiftly as they were, with the bank +only sixty or seventy yards away, Abe was rowing, and Allen was at the +steering-sweep watching for possible snags. Suddenly Abe pointed at the +top of the bluff, high above them and a little distance upstream. + +“Look a’ thar!” he exclaimed. “They’re out o’ sight now, but you’ll see +’em in a jiffy past that clump o’ trees.” + +Tad watched with all his eyes, and even Allen turned to look where the +big fellow was pointing. But the seconds passed and nothing happened. + +“Ye’d ought to have a sunshade,” the steersman remarked solicitously. +“This heat’s makin’ ye see things.” + +Abe frowned in puzzlement. “It beats me,” he said. “I’d ha’ sworn I saw +three men on horseback, gallopin’ along that road on the bluff. What +the ’Nation do ye s’pose become of ’em?” + +“Probably thought that long arm o’ your’n was a gun aimed at ’em,” +Allen suggested. But Tad was less inclined to take the incident as a +joke. He approved Abe’s judgment that evening when the lanky oarsman +pulled over toward the western shore. + +“I sort o’ feel the need of a change o’ climate,” was Abe’s comment. +“Reckon we’ll find the night air a bit healthier over here in +Louisiana.” + +Weary as he was, Tad fell asleep ten minutes after supper was over and +never opened his eyes again until the smoke from the breakfast fire +blew into them next morning. But he knew without being told that his +two friends had stood guard by turns, all night. + +“With a good start this mornin’,” said Abe, cocking an eye at the +rising sun, “we’d ought to be ’most a hundred mile from Natchez by +nightfall. I reckon we made thirty-five yesterday. Suits me to git as +far away from that ’ar town as we kin--an’ as fast.” + +The rest of the crew being in complete agreement with this idea, they +finished breakfast in a hurry and were soon spinning downstream again. +By noon they had put another thirty miles between them and the scene +of Tad’s capture, and all of them began to breathe easier. But in his +desire to add to the _Katy Roby’s_ speed, Abe pulled a trifle too hard +on one of the forward sweeps, and the deeply-worn handle broke with a +snap. + +There was nothing to do but land and make a new one. Abe took the +stern oar and swung over to the Louisiana bank. After they had tied +up it took the two flatboatmen the best part of an hour to find the +kind of tree they liked in this unfamiliar, half-tropical forest. +When at last they had chosen a good-sized sapling, Abe whetted his ax +and hewed swiftly away, first shaping a blade at the butt of the log, +then cutting a long, rough handle out of the straight-grained center. +Finally, with his clasp knife, he smoothed up the inequalities along +the shaft, and before sunset they had a new oar as good as the old one. + +Tad, looking out across the river while the others worked, saw what he +took at first for a log drifting down rapidly along the Mississippi +side. It was not until he caught the flash of a paddle that he realized +it was not a log but a dugout canoe. Once, when the little craft was +silhouetted for a moment against a lighter background, he made out a +single dark figure paddling strongly in the stern. The next instant the +canoe vanished past the end of an island. + +If Tad had not been nervously keyed up by what he had been through, +it is probable he would hardly have noticed the occurrence. Canoes +were not very common along the lower river, but he had seen them +occasionally, manned by Indians or white trappers, coming down from the +smaller streams. + +It was not the craft itself but something swift and furtive in the +motions of the paddler that gave the boy an odd feeling of uneasiness. +However, he did not even mention the canoe to Abe and Allen, for he was +a little ashamed of his vague fears. + +When the oar was finished they pushed on for another hour or two, and +Abe was in favor of making up the time they had lost by traveling part +of the night. But the sky, which had been clear most of the afternoon, +had started to cloud up at sunset and was now heavily overcast. + +“She’ll be black as yer hat in another hour,” Allen counseled. “With no +moon to help, ye’ll never be able to steer betwixt all these islands.” + +“All right,” Abe agreed grudgingly. “But we’ll have to make it watch +an’ watch ag’in tonight, if we tie up here.” + +Though Allen could see little sense in this precaution, he finally +consented, provided he could take the first turn, and they made their +mooring for the night. Tad offered to stand one guard, but the others +would not hear of it. Probably he would have made a poor watchman, for +as it turned out he slept again like a log from dark to daylight. + +“What d’ye say _now_?” Allen called cheerfully from the breakfast fire +next morning. “Not a sound all night. We jest wasted four hours o’ +sleep apiece.” + +But Abe, who had gone ashore for more wood, did not reply. He was +stooping over something on the ground, examining it intently. + +“Come here a minute,” he said, finally, and both the others went to +join him, sensing a discovery of some kind. + +His face wore a curious expression when he looked up. “If I was a real +crackajack at this sort o’ thing,” he said, “I’d tell ye jest when this +yere was made, an’ by what. The way things are, I kin only guess.” + +He was kneeling before a little bare patch of black earth. At first Tad +thought there was nothing there. Then he got down beside Abe, and when +he peered closely he saw, very faint across the firm surface, the print +of a naked foot. + +Allen whistled softly. “Big b’ar, ain’t it?” he asked. + +“Look again,” said Abe, laconically. + +The track was long and immensely broad, and the impressions of all five +toes were visible at the end farthest from the river. But Tad, even +with his slight knowledge of woodcraft, knew that a bear track would +show the claw-points beyond the toes. + +[Illustration: HE SAW THE PRINT OF A NAKED FOOT] + +“It’s a man, isn’t it?” he said, almost in a whisper. + +“If it’s a man,” Abe answered slowly, “he’s got the biggest foot I ever +hope to see. It’s as long as mine, an’ most half ag’in as wide. What’s +more, I should say he’d never had a pair o’ shoes on in his life. Look +at them splay toes.” + +Tad saw that the print of the great toe was separated by a full inch +from that of the second. + +“Who--who do you think made it?” he asked. + +Abe considered a moment. “I think it was a nigger,” he said. “Most +likely a runaway slave, but anyhow a mighty big feller--one o’ the +biggest. What I really want to know, though, is when he come by here. +If ’twas last night it must ha’ been in the first few hours, ’cause--” + +“No, sirree!” Allen spoke up indignantly. “Everything was quiet ’round +yere in _my watch_--outside o’ the noise you made snorin’.” + +Abe grinned. “Wal,” said he, “thar’s no way I know of to settle it. An’ +he didn’t do us much harm that I can see. The sensible thing fer us to +do is head south an’ leave him.” + +With a last look at the mysterious footprint, they boarded the _Katy +Roby_ once more and shoved out into the current, eating breakfast as +they went. + +“Anyhow,” said Allen, casting a sidelong look at the landing-place, “he +was headed away from us when he made that track.” He took a mouthful of +bacon, and then--“I hope he keeps on goin’,” he chuckled. + +None of them felt very talkative that morning. They took their turns +at the oars and tiller and kept the flatboat moving at her best +speed, which now averaged four to five miles an hour. The current was +perceptibly slower as they went farther south, and the channel seemed +deeper, with fewer sand-bars. There were numerous jungle-clad islands, +however, and in some of the narrow cuts through which they passed, the +giant creepers and the long festoons of Spanish moss came trailing +across the deck with a cool, slithery sound. + +At noon they came into the head of a long open reach, and Abe stopped +rowing to mop his sun-burned forehead. + +“Whew!” he breathed. “Hotter’n corn-hoein’ time up home. It takes +somethin’ to make me sweat, too. Wal, we don’t have to work so hard +from now on. Let’s see--” he did some counting on his fingers--“we must +be ’most a hundred an’ ten mile below Natchez right now. We’ll be down +to Baton Rouge ’fore night, an’ I’m told thar’s good landin’s all along +the Sugar Coast, below thar.” + +They had left the region of pine forest behind them now and had come +fairly into the heart of old Louisiana. On both sides of the river +were the great Creole plantations with their stately white houses and +stately French names. Sometimes when the flatboat ran close inshore, +they caught intimate glimpses of lovely formal gardens and verandas gay +with laughing girls. + +Allen, staring open-mouthed at these creatures of a different world, +turned to Abe at length with a wag of the head. + +“By the ol’ jumpin’ sassafras,” he said, “I b’lieve Tad was tellin’ +us the truth ’bout wearin’ shoes, back east. Did ye see them two +women-folks jes’ now? White stockin’s _an’_ slippers on, right in the +heat o’ the summer!” + +They went past the town of Baton Rouge, late that afternoon. Tad +remembered, as he saw the landing and the stores, that his letter to +his father had never been sent, and asked if he might land. + +“Sure ye kin,” said Abe. “But we’ll be in New Orleans ourselves in +another two days--maybe as quick as the mail. Why not wait an’ surprise +yer Pappy, now?” + +This suggestion met a ready response from Tad. He could picture that +meeting very clearly, and although he would not postpone his father’s +happiness even by a day if he could avoid it, the idea of a surprise +appealed to him. + +They came, in the falling dusk, to a low wooden landing-stage built +out from the levee. There was no house in sight except a long, roofed +storage shed with a few empty molasses barrels piled beneath it, but +a white-painted sign bore the inscription, “La Plantation de Madame +Duquesne.” + +Abe ran the broadhorn in alongside the dock and made fast to a post. + +“Couldn’t ask fer a snugger place to tie up than this, could ye?” he +asked. “Tad, you run up thar in the cane a ways, an’ cut us some sugar +sticks to chaw. Allen an’ I’ll git the wood an’ water an’ start supper.” + +Taking the short hand-ax, the boy followed the top of the levee for a +little distance and turned in along a raised wagon-track that led back +into the tall cane. He went on till he found some pieces that suited +him, cut half a dozen lengths with the ax, and shouldering the bundle, +started back toward the river. + +He had almost reached the levee when there was a sudden movement in the +thicket behind him, a crashing of the cane and a sound like the thud of +feet. + +Tad did not even wait to glance over his shoulder but made a leap for +the levee and ran along it toward the boat with all his might. When he +got to the landing he looked back. There was no sign nor sound of a +pursuer. The peaceful calm of evening lay over the river and the shore. + +“Who were ye racin’ with?” asked Allen jocosely. + +Tad recovered his breath and told them in a few words what he had +heard. His face was still pale, and he felt a trifle shaky, but he +tried to laugh it off. + +“I guess it was nothing to be afraid of,” he said. “Maybe it was a cow.” + +“Or a rabbit,” said Allen. “They make a mighty loud noise sometimes, in +the woods.” + +Abe shook his head. “Sounds more like a b’ar, to me,” he put in. “Or it +might even be a panther. At any rate it wouldn’t do a mite o’ harm to +have a fire on the levee tonight. That’d keep the skeeters away as well +as the varmints.” + +They gathered more wood, and after supper built a slow-burning fire of +half-green chunks on the levee, close to where the boat was moored. + +Tad gave Poke a piece of sugar cane to worry, and watched the delighted +little bear suck the sweetness out of the stick as if it had been a +bottle. They all chewed on the succulent joints of cane till the dark +had settled over the river. Then with the usual good-nights they spread +their blankets and turned in. + +“It’s hot tonight,” Abe yawned. “I’m goin’ to give you boys more room.” +And so saying, he took his bed up to the raised deck forward. + +In two minutes everything was quiet, aboard. But Tad did not sleep. He +was thinking of the footprint they had found that morning, and of the +noise in the cane. In spite of all the reassuring things he could tell +himself, the thought persisted in his mind that it was not a cow he had +heard--nor a bear--nor even a panther. It was a man. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +Sleep overcame Tad at last, but when it did it was a strange, restless +slumber, full of dreams. + +He seemed to be running, leaden-footed, down the bed of an interminable +brook, where at every step the deep, black mud sucked horribly at his +heels. He struggled forward, his heart almost bursting with effort, and +always behind him he could hear the fierce, wild baying of dogs. + +The black swamp grew firmer about him, and there in the surface of +the mud he saw a huge track, broad, misshapen, with a great toe that +looked half like a thumb. And suddenly the cry of the hounds ended +in a whimper, and he was fleeing from a pack of huge black stooping +shapes that ran through the woods on their hind legs--more silent--more +terrible than dogs. + +He rushed on, stumbled, tried to get up, and found that all the +strength had run out of his body. His pursuers were close upon him +now, enormous in the dark, their long arms stretched to seize him. He +tried to cry out, but no sound would come from his throat. Then through +the fringes of his dream he heard Poke give a frightened squeal that +turned into a growl, and there was a low, startled oath somewhere close +by. And suddenly Tad found himself awake. + +He was sitting upright on his blanket in the flatboat, clutching what +he realized was the handle of the ax. Above him, black against the red +glow of the fire, loomed a vast ape-like figure, and there were half a +dozen others moving on the levee and in the boat. He found his voice, +then. + +“Abe--Allen!” he screamed, and bounded back against the gunwale, +lifting the ax as he rose. One swift blow, shortened and cramped by +his position, was all he had time to deliver. Then his adversary was +upon him with great, smothering paws that gripped his wrists and almost +cracked the bones. The ax dropped from his hand, but he continued to +struggle, kicking, twisting, fighting for time. And when he looked +up he saw the moon flash on the white, grinning teeth of Congo, the +deaf-mute. + +There was a roar and a crash in the fore part of the boat. Abe was in +the fight. He had laid hold of a four-foot oak log and was swinging it +at the end of his long, powerful arms like a cudgel. “Allen, bring the +guns!” he yelled, and leaped forward, tiger-like, upon the attackers. + +Two of them went down under his rain of blows. Three others closed +on him savagely, striking with fists and knives, and for a second Tad +could see only a struggling tangle of bodies on the landing. Then Abe +rolled free and bounded to his feet once more. He was still swinging +the great club, and he put all his sinewy young strength into every +smashing blow. His wrath was terrible to see. Never in his life had +he fought as he was fighting now. The black marauders broke and fled, +stumbling, before that onslaught, and Abe followed, giving them no +quarter. + +All these events had taken place in the space of a few seconds. Still +gripping Tad by the wrists, Congo had watched the swift, decisive +battle between his confederates and the tall white boy. As they gave +ground, he bared his teeth in a hideous snarl of fury. But he had his +own work to do. The instant the landing was clear, the giant African +seized Tad about the middle, swung him up under one huge arm, and +sprang for the shoreward side of the boat. Locked in a death struggle +with still another negro, Allen could give him no assistance. The boy +caught at the gunwale as they went up, and clinging desperately with +hands and feet, held his captor back for a second or two. Then his grip +was wrenched loose, and the big black scaled the landing and started +with him across the levee. + +They were almost in the edge of the cane when Tad heard a thud of feet +behind them. With a hoarse indrawing of breath, Congo turned at bay. +Still clutching his prisoner with his left hand, the deaf-mute raised +his tremendous right arm to demolish the pursuer. + +It must have been a long time before he used that arm again. Abe, +coming in on the run, struck downward swiftly, savagely, with the great +oak cudgel. Under that crushing impact the bones parted with a dull +crack, and Congo staggered, dropped Tad, and scuttled into the cane, +the broken arm dangling horribly at his side. + +The breath had been squeezed half out of the boy, but as he rose he +managed to gasp “Allen!” and pushed Abe in the direction of the boat. + +Allen, it seemed, had taken care of himself. He had been getting the +better of the encounter when his antagonist had seen the others in +flight and had jumped overboard and swum for it. + +One half-naked black still lay on the levee, moaning piteously. He had +fallen a victim to Abe’s first attack, and there was an ugly bruise on +his head. The fire went out of the big backwoodsman’s eye as he came to +the side of the wounded negro. Stooping, he carried him to the landing, +washed his broken crown, and wrapped about his head a bandage made of +a piece of his own torn shirt. + +Gradually the man returned to full consciousness, and his groaning was +quieted. + +“We-all b’longs on de plantation above yere,” he said, in response to +Abe’s questioning. “A white man done promise he gwine git us free if we +he’p dat Congo nigger ketch de young white boy.” + +Abe looked at him grimly. “Kin you walk?” he said. The darky got +painfully to his feet and stood looking at the tall young Hoosier in a +palsy of terror. + +“What we’d ought to do is tie ye up an’ take ye on down to N’Orleans to +jail,” said Abe. “But in this fersaken country I s’pose they’d skin ye +alive, down thar, an’ that don’t seem hardly fair, either. Go on--march +yerself back whar ye belong, an’ git thar quick, ’fore they find out +ye’re gone.” + +For a moment the negro stared at him, goggle-eyed with wonder. Then he +was off, running up the levee as fast as his shaky legs could take him. + +“Wal,” said Allen, feeling of a barked elbow, “I reckon none of us is +very sleepy right now.” He went to the fire and threw on dry wood, +poking it till a bright blaze sprang up. “Great wallopin’ catamounts, +Abe, but you sartin did give ’em what-for!” he chuckled. “Next time you +aim to start a ruckus like that, I want to be sure I’m on your side.” + +The big youngster ambled into the circle of firelight. “You know me +better’n that, Allen,” he grinned. “You never saw me _start_ a fight in +my life. But I figger when you do have to defend yerself, it pays to go +after the other feller hard enough to put the fear o’ the Lord in him.” + +He turned to the boy by his side. “How about ye, Tad--all right?” + +“Fine,” said Tad, “but say--how about yourself?” He seized his big +friend by the arm and swung him half around in the firelight. “Didn’t +you know you were bleeding?” + +Abe put up a hand to his face and brought it away red and dripping. A +deep gash over his right eye was bathing the side of his head and neck +with blood. + +“Huh!” he laughed, “I didn’t even know I had that one. I’ve been +thinkin’ all this time it was sweat I was tastin’. Must ha’ got cut +with a knife in that fracas with the three of ’em, here on the landin’.” + +He went down to the river and dipped his head in the water, after which +Tad applied a tight bandage, and the bleeding soon stopped. + +“Wal,” said Allen, “I don’t reckon they’ll be back, but I ain’t sleepy +enough to turn in jest yet. What say we mosey along a few miles?” + +“Suits me,” Abe replied, “only before we go thar’s one thing I want to +look at.” + +He selected a fat pine knot from the fire, and holding it as a torch +to light his steps, walked slowly back to the edge of the cane, where +Congo had vanished. They saw him stoop as if searching for something. +Then he called to them. Looking where he pointed in the soft black +earth, they saw a track--deep, gigantic, splay-toed--the same footprint +that had puzzled them that morning. + +“That’s the feller,” said Abe. “You’ve seen him before, I reckon, Tad. +Wasn’t that Murrell’s nigger?” + +“Yes,” said Tad, “he must have followed us all the way down from +Natchez.” + +“But how in time did he keep up with us?” asked Abe. “He couldn’t ha’ +been aboard of a boat, could he?” + +Tad told them of the canoe he had glimpsed, stealing between the +islands when Abe was making his oar. + +The big flatboatman nodded. “That was him, right enough,” he said. +“Only next time, Tad, don’t be scairt to come right out with what you +think. We might have saved ourselves a heap of exercise tonight if +we’d known they was layin’ for us.” + +“Wonder if he planned to paddle clear back to Natchez with Tad in the +dugout,” said Allen as they went back across the levee. + +“No,” Abe answered, thoughtfully. “I b’lieve it was three of Murrell’s +gang that I saw gallopin’ down the bluff road that afternoon. Most +likely they’re waitin’ somewhere close, maybe in Baton Rouge, fer this +tongueless, earless devil to bring Tad in. Let’s drift along.” + +They put out their fire, went aboard the broadhorn, and cast off the +mooring-lines, glad to see the last of Madame Duquesne’s plantation. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +Five or six miles below, they sighted a tiny, tree-clad island in +midstream, and there once more made the boat fast. This time nothing +interrupted their slumbers. They were under the west bank of the +island, sheltered by overhanging branches, and the sun was high in the +sky before they woke. It was the merry singing of a crew of river-men, +floating past on their broad raft of steamboat fuel, that roused Tad. +He sat up, saw that the morning was already well along, and gave Allen +a dig in the ribs. + +“Ahoy, you lubbers!” he cried. “Roll out! It’s nearly noon.” + +He built the breakfast fire, washed himself, and went over to give Poke +his morning greeting. As he started to maul the cub playfully, he saw +him wince. The little bear limped and held up one forepaw in apparent +pain. Looking closer, Tad found that it was bruised, as if it had been +trodden on. + +“Look at this, boys,” he called. “Here’s the real hero of the fight.” +And he told how Poke’s growling had first awakened him in the night. + +“A mighty good little b’ar,” said Abe approvingly. “If that big-footed +Congo stepped on him, though, he’s lucky he didn’t have his whole leg +squashed.” + +Allen produced some bacon fat which was rubbed on the wound and which +Poke at once set about licking off. After that he seemed to feel much +better, and soon was his own droll self again. + +Breakfast over, Abe bent his back to the oars, and they soon overhauled +the wood-raft which had passed them. As the flatboat came alongside, +one of the raft-men strolled over to the edge of the logs and hailed +them. He was a tall, rangy Tennesseean in homespun. + +“Big doin’s in Baton Rouge las’ night,” said he, shooting a dark stream +of tobacco juice into the yellow current. + +“So?” replied Abe. “We tied up down river here a ways, an’ slept +peaceful.” + +“Hum, ye don’t look it,” said the raft-man, casting an eye at the +red-tinged bandage around Abe’s head. “I figgered maybe you-all was in +the fight.” + +“What fight?” asked Allen. + +“Ain’t ye heard? Why, it seems there was a bunch o’ river-men in +Sancho’s bar, down by the levee, an’ Jack Murrell an’ two of his gang +come in an’ ordered drinks. Pretty soon somebody spotted ’em, an’ a +row started. Murrell an’ his men shot their way out, an’ they’d ha’ +got clean away, only their hosses took fright and begun rarin’ around. +’Fore Bull Whaley could git mounted somebody put a knife in him--killed +him dead. An’ they grabbed Sam Jukes, too, an’ put him in the lock-up. +Murrell had his luck with him, same as usual. He gits on that ol’ +three-stockin’ hoss o’ his an’ goes a-sailin’ off up the north road, +belly to the ground. He ain’t got as many friends in Baton Rouge as he +has up river.” + +“He’s got plenty in Natchez,” Abe replied. “If he don’t break his neck +on the way, he’ll be safe enough up thar.” + +“Huh!” laughed the raft hand. “Break his neck? Not him! He was born to +be hung.” + +They discussed the weather, the state of the river, and General +Jackson’s chances in the coming presidential election. Allen traded a +peck of potatoes for some pipe tobacco, and they were about to pass on, +when the raft-man introduced a new topic. + +“Did ye see them notices stuck up around Natchez an’ Baton Rouge?” he +asked. “Five thousand dollars reward fer findin’ some boy that’s lost. +A lad ’bout the size an’ looks o’ the one you got thar, I should say.” +He cast a keen glance in Tad’s direction. + +Tad grinned and stood up, stretching, so that his ragged clothes and +sunburnt legs and arms became visible. + +“Yeah?” he remarked. “Some rich city kid from back east, wasn’t he?” + +If the Tennessee man had had any suspicions, they were allayed. He +nodded. “Some feller was tellin’ how a broadhorn steerer from up the +Ohio had done got hold o’ the boy an’ was boun’ to git the reward,” +said he. + +“Humph,” grunted Abe, noncommittally, and dug deep with the oars. The +_Katy Roby_ went lumbering downstream, leaving the raft astern. + +“So long,” called Allen and Tad. “See you in New Orleans.” + +“Gosh,” chuckled Allen as they drew out of earshot. “You sure fooled +him that time, son. In that rig I doubt if yer own Pappy’d know ye.” + +Notwithstanding the late start, Abe had put twenty miles behind them by +the time Allen announced that the noon meal was ready. + +He stretched his big arms wearily and wiped away the sweat that was +streaming out from beneath his piratical-looking bandage. + +“Wal,” he said, as he sat down, “I promised Tad I’d git him to New +Orleans ’most as soon as the mail, an’ you noticed no steamboats have +passed us yet.” + +“Don’t worry,” said Allen. “They will. I jest heard one whistlin’ up +above the bend, four or five minutes ago.” + +Sure enough, before Abe had swallowed the last of his tea, they heard +a loud blast close astern, and one of the stately white river steamers +came plowing down the channel. Allen jumped to the sweep and Abe to the +bow oars, and they had barely time to swing the _Katy Roby_ over toward +the right, when the nose of the big craft went sweeping by. + +Abe held the flatboat on her course as the wash from the paddles rocked +her. Then he turned, leaning on his oars, and watched the steamer bear +away to the east, rounding a bend. + +“Maybe she won’t beat us by so much, at that,” said the big rower with +a laugh. “I’ve got a sort of an idee that that narrow cut, ahead thar, +will save us a few miles.” + +Instead of following the steamboat around the curve of the main river, +Abe steered straight for the mouth of the cut, where a channel a +hundred feet wide led between low banks of willow. The current flowing +through this cut was not as rapid as they had found it in some of the +chutes farther north, and Tad remarked on the fact. + +“I suppose it’s just because the whole river moves slower down here +near the Gulf,” he said. + +Abe made no reply but pulled steadily forward between the close banks +rank with tropical vegetation. For a mile or more the cut ran fairly +straight. Then it began to twist disconcertingly, first west, then +north, then west and south again. + +Big live oaks and dark, mysterious-looking cypresses began to appear +along the shores. The water, instead of having the yellow hue they had +seen for the last thousand miles, was a dark brown, but clear enough to +see the snags and weed-clumps two or three feet below the surface. + +Rounding still another bend, they came suddenly on a wide reach, unlike +any section of the river they had yet encountered. + +Enormous trees shut it in on both sides with high, thick walls of +green. There were flowering vines twining high into the branches of +these trees, and in some places the vermilion-tinted blossoms glowed +like a flame against the dark background. + +Along the shores, in the edge of the stream, grew other flowers--solid +masses of pink and purple water hyacinths, like low islands of bloom. +A little breeze came up the reach from the south, and Tad saw a section +of one of these islands detach itself and go drifting up the channel +like a gay-colored pleasure barge. + +A blue heron almost as tall as a man looked up from his frog-hunting +and rose on great silent wings, flapping away to the depths of the +cypress swamp. There were no songs of birds to break the funereal +stillness. Even the water was still. If it had any movement, it was so +sluggish that the eye could hardly detect it. + +Abe had stopped rowing and stood on the fore deck looking about him. +The quietness affected all of them strangely. They felt like speaking +in whispers. + +“Gosh,” murmured Allen, “ain’t it purty here! Spooky, though.” + +“It’s purty, right enough,” Abe answered. “But it’s not the +Mississippi. We’ve got into a slack-water, somehow.” + +“That’s a fact,” said Allen. “It don’t seem quite like the river, does +it? Jiminy Pete! Look a’ thar! They’s more alligators in this place +than catfish in our creek back home.” + +The roaring challenge of a bull ’gator came from down the reach, and +others answered all along the bank. Shattering the quiet of the place +and reëchoing from the tall cypresses, the sound was almost terrifying +in its intensity. Hardly had it died away when the boys heard the +report of a gun, close at hand, and a puff of blue smoke drifted out +from behind a little point. + +Allen would have rushed under the shelter to get his own fowling-piece, +but Abe held up a warning hand. + +“Wait,” he said in a low voice. “That wasn’t meant fer us. Here he +comes, now.” + +Past the point there shot a long, low dugout canoe. A man knelt a +little aft of the middle, driving her along with short, quick paddle +strokes. As he caught sight of the broadhorn he paused with paddle +lifted, as if in astonishment. Then he changed his course and came +slowly toward them. + +They saw as he approached that he was a handsome young fellow, with +olive skin and long dark hair--a typical Creole of the river parishes. +In the canoe just in front of him lay a fine silver-mounted shotgun, +and beside it they saw the snowy white plumage of an egret. + +“Howdy, friend,” said Abe. “Could you tell us about whar we might be, +now?” + +The youth looked them over calmly and a trifle patronizingly. + +“I thing you come from up the big riv’,” said he. “_Mais_, you done +los’ the way, huh? You mus’ come t’rough the cut. Dat ain’ righd. The +Mississip’, she make a beeg ben’. This w’ere you are, it is Bayou Tante +Lisette.” + +“Thank ye,” said Abe. “I reckon that means we’ve jest got to pull +back.” He dipped deeply with the starboard oar and swung the blunt nose +of the flatboat around. + +“Adieu,” said the Creole with a grave little bow, and turned his canoe +down the bayou, in the opposite direction. + +Around the tortuous bends Abe retraced his course. It was hard rowing, +and he had very little sympathy from the rest of the crew. + +“Seems to me,” snickered Allen, “I recall a feller up near the Wabash +mouth that got a smart answer when he asked whar’bouts he was. Pore +devil of a mover, he was, too, with a hull family o’ kids--not a +tip-top, high-rollin’ river hand like you.” + +Abe grinned good-naturedly. “That was up in God’s own country, whar I +knew a thing or two,” he answered. “We all make mistakes when we git in +a strange place. But you kin gamble on it, I won’t make this one twice.” + +The afternoon was half gone when they got back into the main river. +Tad had translated the French name of the picturesque backwater into +which they had blundered, and Allen made frequent remarks about Abe’s +excursion to “Aunt Lizzie’s Bay,” as he called it. The long-legged +Hoosier stood it for a while in silence, then made a casual reference +to Memphis and Natchez that effectually silenced his tormentor. Abe had +been rowing almost without a stop since morning and as soon as they +reached the broad yellow flood of the Mississippi once more, he turned +the oars over to Allen. + +“I’m glad, as a matter o’ fact, that we got in thar,” the big +backwoodsman told Tad, as he sat down to rest. “Fer years I’ve heard +tell, from the men on the river, about these bayous that go stragglin’ +off from the big channel an’ wander through the swamps into the Gulf. +Now I’ve seen one, which I most likely never would, if we hadn’t lost +our way.” + +After supper Abe mounted the fore deck again, and they pushed on +steadily until dusk fell. There was a small landing with two or three +houses in sight on the west bank, and to it they directed their course. +Other flatboats were moored along the levee. As Abe tied up close to +them, he hailed the occupants of the nearest craft. + +“How fur do ye figger it is to New Orleans?” he asked. + +“Not more’n twenty-five mile,” the other flatboat hand replied. “We aim +to make it by noon.” + +They spread their blankets and said their good-nights. Tad could not go +to sleep at first for thinking of the morrow. Only a half-day’s journey +to New Orleans and his father! For the twentieth time his eager mind +anticipated their meeting. Would he be recognized? Allen had said even +his own Pappy wouldn’t know him, but he had no fear of that. Tad could +guess at Allen’s thoughts as he lay there on the verge of sleep. They +would be full of the Creole girls and the pretty quadroons, and what a +dashing figure he would cut amongst them in his store clothes. + +And Abe--what was he thinking, rolled in his blanket on the forward +deck, under the stars? Not about girls. Tad knew him well enough to +be sure of that. The big young river-man had ideas, queer, searching +ideas about people--all sorts of people, rich and poor--about niggers, +even--and about right and wrong. He wrestled with them just as he had +wrestled with the Tennessee bear-hunter, long and hard, until they were +down. + +Tad had some inkling of what this trip meant to him--getting out of +the little backwoods world where he had been raised, and seeing the +great valley and the cities of the South. He thought a lot of Abe. He +liked the big, homely, raw-boned youngster better than any friend he +had ever had. He hoped his father would like him, too. Perhaps he could +give him a good job in the New Orleans office. Perhaps ... but sleep +overtook Tad in the middle of his perhapsing, and he was kidnapped over +the border into dreamland. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +Tad was roused, as he had been on that eventful morning in the Ohio, +nearly four weeks earlier, by Allen’s voice raised in song: + + “Hard upon the beach oar-- + She moves too slow! + All the way to New Orleans, + Lo-o-ong time ago-o!” + +It was barely daylight; yet the breakfast fire was snapping merrily, +and Abe was busy preparing for a start. As the boy washed himself, he +saw signs of similar activity on board the other broadhorns, and by the +time they were finishing the morning meal, one or two of the craft had +already taken their departure. + +Abe sent a loud challenge after them as he cast loose the mooring-line, +and in another thirty seconds he was boiling along in their wake. It +was a brisk morning, with a little breeze from down river ruffling the +water. Everybody’s spirits were high, and for the next half hour all +the rowers put the best they had into the race. By the end of that time +Abe’s brawny strokes had carried the _Katy Roby_ so far into the lead +that there was no longer any hope of catching her, and the other boats +settled down to their normal gait. + +Not so Abe. He kept a wrinkle of foam under the flatboat’s square bow +for two hours without a let-up. When at last he snatched a moment’s +rest, he explained his haste to Tad. + +“You’ve eaten your last meal o’ hog meat an’ johnny-cake fer a spell, +son,” said he. “I aim to git you down thar in time fer you to have a +civilized dinner with your Paw.” + +In spite of the boy’s remonstrances, his big friend kept up the pace. +And sure enough, by a little after ten o’clock they came in sight of +the upper outposts of the city. + +Along the left bank the vegetable gardens gave way to scattered +hovels, and they in turn to houses--streets of them--closely built, +all sheltered behind the broad rampart of the levee. Then came the +steamboat landings, and all three of the _Katy Roby’s_ crew stared in +open-mouthed wonder at the ranks of tall stacks and the glistening +white and brasswork of more than thirty steamers moored there, noses in +to the bank. + +Even along the water fronts of New York and Philadelphia, Tad had +never seen such swarming activity as he witnessed here. Hundreds of +blacks toiled in the sun, rolling molasses barrels and cotton bales. +Directing them were sharp-faced Yankee merchants and brawny steamboat +mates, with an occasional soft-spoken Creole or gesticulating Spaniard. + +Anchored in the curving channel of the river were sailing-ships, big +and little, flying the flags of all the world. There were heavy British +merchantmen, Dutch and Danish brigs, fast-sailing, tall-masted ships +from Boston and New York and Baltimore, French barques, trim West +Indian schooners, and slovenly little lateen-rigged boats from the bays +and inlets along the Gulf. + +And then Tad saw the flatboat fleet. For the better part of a mile they +lay along the levee, four, six--sometimes ten deep--a solid mass of +keel-boats, broadhorns, and scows. It was impossible to count them, but +there must have been not less than four or five hundred in sight. And +the noise that rose from them was terrific, as newcomers hailed each +other and fought for places. + +“Whew!” said Abe in some dismay. “Thicker’n ants at a camp-meetin’ +picnic, ain’t they? How in time are we goin’ to git nigh this town?” + +At that moment, almost opposite the _Katy Roby’s_ bow, a keel-boat +was working its way out of the tangle of craft, and Abe backed water +and stood by, ready to enter the space she was about to leave. By +skillful jockeying he worked the nose of the flatboat into the hole and +succeeded in getting in until only one broadhorn separated them from +the shore. + +The stout Kentuckian who owned her looked the newcomers over without +any signs of welcome. + +“Hyah you-all come a-crowdin’ in,” he grumbled, “an’ next I s’pose +you’ll want to fasten yo’ worm-eaten tub on to mine. Is that so?” + +“I’m askin’ you,” grinned Abe. “Will you do us that favor?” + +The Kentucky man eyed the big Hoosier from his worn moccasins to his +rugged, fighting face still topped by the blood-stained bandage. + +“I reckon so,” said he, and grinned in his turn. “Whar’bouts you from?” + +While Abe was telling him he passed the _Katy Roby’s_ line across the +deck of the other boat and took a hitch around one of the mooring-posts +on shore. + +“I was born in your state, myself,” Abe told the Kentuckian. “My Paw +moved us across the river when I was seven.” + +“Too bad--too bad!” commiserated the stocky flatboatman. “Still, it’s +somethin’ to have come from Kentucky, even if you had the misfortune +not to stay thar.” + +He offered Abe a drink from his jug of red-eye, and when it was +politely declined he seemed surprised, but not offended. From that time +on he regarded the Hoosier crew as friends and allies. + +“Now then, Tad,” said Abe when all was snug, “we’ll go straight ashore +an’ see if we kin locate your Pappy’s office. Allen’ll take keer of the +cargo fer a spell, won’t ye, Allen?” + +The young man in question appeared sheepishly from under the tarpaulin, +with his razor and brush in his hand. “Sure,” he answered. “I jes’ +thought I’d shave me up a little, first off, so when I go ashore I +kin talk to the commission merchants ’thout lookin’ too much like a +backwoods jay.” + +Abe and Tad scrambled across the Kentucky broadhorn and stepped out on +the wide, sun-baked levee top. Behind them the water, high with the +April freshets, was a good ten feet above the level of the streets to +which they now descended. It gave Tad a queer feeling of insecurity +to see the twin stacks of the steamers standing high above the church +steeples. But that was only a momentary fancy. His attention was +centered on his present errand, and he whistled merrily as he hurried +along beside Abe. + +The towering young Hoosier’s strides ate up distance surprisingly, and +they were soon well into the business section of the city. Tad asked +a Creole shopkeeper, in good French, where they might find the Rue +St. Louis, and was told, in funny but understandable English, that it +was the next street but one. Going forward as directed, they quickly +found not only the street but the number they wanted. It was a large, +severe-looking building of three stories, with none of the pretty +tracery of iron balconies that adorned so many of the houses. + +The two lads entered the public hallway and climbed the stairs to the +second floor. Tad felt a joyous pounding under his ribs at the sight +of the name JEREMIAH HOPKINS lettered on the door. He opened it with +trembling fingers and entered, Abe following at his heels. + +To his disappointment, his father was nowhere in sight. At the rear of +the room a big desk and chair stood--vacant. Two or three clerks sat on +tall stools, scribbling away at their ledgers. A dapper young secretary +with a small mustache and a supercilious air came forward to the rail. + +“I’m Thaddeus Hopkins,” said Tad. “Isn’t my father here?” + +The man seemed not at all impressed. He stroked his chin with one hand +and smiled cynically. + +“So you’re the boy himself, eh?” said he. “Let’s see, you’re +the third--no, the fourth--that’s been here, and you aren’t the +likeliest-looking one of the lot, at that. You’ve come for the reward, +I suppose?” + +“No,” Tad replied, somewhat nettled by the fellow’s attitude. “I +haven’t come for any reward. I’ve come to see my father. Where is he?” + +The secretary scowled. “Now see here,” said he, “don’t give me any more +of your impudence, or I’ll have you arrested. Mr. Hopkins went up river +some days ago--to follow up an important clue,” he added weightily, as +if to settle the matter. + +Abe looked at Tad and grinned, and seeing him, the young man with the +mustache flew into a rage. “Get out of here!” he cried. “Get out at +once, before I call the police. And if I catch you in here again I’ll +use a cane on you!” + +Tad’s sense of humor got the better of his wrath, at that. He stopped +short of the hot answer he had started to make, and laughed, with +Abe, at the sheer ridiculousness of the affair. They went slowly to +the door. On the threshold Tad turned and looked once more at the +secretary, who was now fairly purple with indignation. + +“All right,” said the boy, trying to hold back his laughter, “you’d +better keep that cane handy, because we’ll be back.” And he closed the +door quietly in the face of the sputtering clerk. + +When they reached the street once more, Abe looked at Tad with a droll +expression and shook his head. + +“I can’t rightly blame the feller,” he chuckled. “I never thought +how we were goin’ to look, an’ you wouldn’t be taken fer any swell +Easterner, ye know.” + +Tad glanced down at his costume. It was the first time he had even +thought about his appearance for weeks. And as he realized how he must +have looked to the dapperly attired young underling in his father’s +office, he burst into another shout of merriment. + +His shirt was in rags, with one sleeve torn out entirely at the +shoulder. The butternut breeches of Abe’s purchase had stood up better +under hard service, but even they were tattered in several places, and +very dirty. His bare feet and legs still showed the marks of the many +scrapes and scratches he had got in his adventure with the outlaws. +And he knew that his skin, tanned to the color of an Indian’s, and his +uncombed thatch of hair, must give him anything but a prepossessing +appearance. + +“I reckon what ye really need,” said Abe, “is a bran’ new suit o’ store +clothes, an’ a hair-cut. Then maybe some stockin’s an’ shoes an’ a +necktie might help. ’Bout twelve dollars an’ a half in gov’ment notes, +an’ you’d be the real Tad Hopkins ag’in, ’stead o’ jest a plain, ornery +little river-rat. The only question now is, whar are we a-goin’ to +git that much cash? Speakin’ fer myself, jest at the present moment I +haven’t got even one lonesome cent. Looks like I’d have to break my +promise an’ take ye back to eat aboard the boat ag’in.” + +They wandered through the hot streets, picturesque but smelly, and came +at length to the levee market, where long rows of booths under brightly +striped canopies displayed eatables of every sort. There were rice and +green corn, ginger, all kinds of berries, oranges and bananas, live +fowls tied in threes and hanging by their legs, quail and other game, +fish and shrimps from the Gulf, and craw-fish, sold by wrinkled old +Choctaw Indian women. + +At some of the stalls mulattoes held up chocolate in big steaming cups, +and from others came the delicious odor of hot rice and gumbo. + +“Hm,” said Abe, “’twon’t do to hang ’round here very long. I’m +commencin’ to git mighty hungry.” + +They threaded their way through the crowds of Creole housewives with +their black servants carrying market baskets, and emerged in front of a +long warehouse opening on the levee near the steamboat landing. + +Before this warehouse stood a two-horse dray, partly loaded with +barrels and boxes, and around it were three negroes apparently +waiting for something. A well-dressed, elderly white man fumed up and +down meanwhile, and expressed his opinion of the colored race in no +uncertain terms. As Tad and Abe drew near, he addressed his remarks to +them. + +“Look at this,” he snorted. “For fifteen minutes these good-for-nothing +niggers of mine have been standing around waiting for some one to fetch +a plank so that they can roll a barrel of indigo on to this wagon. The +_Maid of Camberwell_ sails on the next tide, and we have to haul the +goods a mile to where her lighter is moored. If these blankety-blank +sons of Ham were worth their salt, they could hoist the barrel up by +hand, and I’d have some chance of making this ship. The next cargo for +Liverpool may not go out for a month.” + +Abe strolled up to the huge blue-stained barrel and tipped it a little +with his hand. + +“How much is it worth to you to git it loaded?” he asked the owner. + +“How much! I’d give a dollar to have that indigo on the dray,” he +replied. + +“All right,” said Abe, “that’s a bargain.” + +He rolled the barrel up to the rear of the wagon, spat on his hands, +placed his feet carefully and put his arms, back, and knees into a +single mighty heave. With a resounding thump, five hundred pounds of +indigo landed on the tailboard and were rolled forward to stand beside +the rest of the load. + +Abe dusted off his hands and jumped lightly to the ground. He was not +even breathing hard. + +The merchant was still standing in the same spot, open-mouthed with +astonishment. + +“Great heavens, man!” he stammered, when he could find words. “Why, +it’s amazing, sir--astounding! I can’t believe my eyes! Here--” and he +thrust a hand into his pocket--“I’ll be better than my word. Here’s a +two-dollar note.” + +Abe hesitated. “I ’greed to do it fer one,” he said. “Still, if you +mean it, I’ll accept your offer. The boy, here, an’ I--we kin sure use +it.” He took the bill, thanked the merchant, and they went on. + +“Tad,” grinned the long-shanked Hoosier, as he gave the boy’s arm a +squeeze, “by the sun an’ by my in’ard feelin’s it ’pears to be past +noon. I vote we head straight fer one o’ those rice an’ gumbo places.” + +They retraced their steps and were soon served with bowls of the savory +stuff, ladled out of a huge copper pot by a motherly-looking quadroon +woman. + +Tad smacked his lips. “Mm, tastes good, doesn’t it?” he said. “How much +did it cost?” + +“Four cents apiece,” Abe answered. “We could live ashore quite a spell +on our two dollars, couldn’t we? Golly! Two dollars! That’s the easiest +money I ever made. Why, think--it’s the same as a whole week’s pay +navigatin’ the _Katy Roby_!” + +They bought half a dozen oranges as a special treat--Abe had never +eaten one in his life--and went back to the place where their flatboat +was tied up. + +Allen looked up in surprise from the pans he was washing. “You back, +Tad?” he exclaimed. “I figgered nex’ time I saw you, it would be in one +o’ them shiny two-hoss carriages with a brass-buttoned nigger up in +front.” + +They related the happenings of the morning, and Allen roared with +laughter. “Wal,” said he, “we’re bound to stay here fer a couple more +days anyhow. None of the commission men kin handle the cargo short o’ +that time. An’ you’re welcome to sleep on board here as long as you’ve +a mind to.” + +“Thanks,” said Tad, “I guess I’ll have to do that, until Dad comes back +from up river.” + +While he was ashore Allen had left the boat under the guardianship of +their neighbor, the Kentucky man. “I don’t see him anywheres around +now,” said he, “but you folks don’t need to stay here. I’ll watch the +stuff this afternoon, an’ then you kin take charge after supper. Reckon +I’d rather go ashore in the evenin’, when it’s cooler, anyway.” + +Abe and Tad laughed at him, but they were glad to fall in with +his idea, for both of them wanted to see the town. They made such +repairs as they could to their clothes, and Abe hauled out from some +hiding-place a treasured old coonskin cap. + +“This’ll keep the sun off my head,” he explained, “an’ I reckon in the +city it looks better’n no hat at all.” + +Tad tried to reason with him, but it was to no purpose. Abe topped off +his six feet four of homespun shirt, buckskin breeches, and moccasins +with the moth-eaten fur cap, and they set forth. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +New Orleans, in that spring of 1828, was as strange and fascinating a +place as ever two boys wandered through on a sunny afternoon. + +It was a big town--big even to the eyes of Tad, who had seen other +cities. Fifty thousand people lived in it, and there were usually two +or three thousand sailors from the ships in port besides perhaps five +thousand wild, roistering river-men jostling through the streets. + +With half the commerce of the vast Mississippi Valley pouring through +it, New Orleans was growing and spreading like one of its own rank +tropical weeds. It had swept past the walls and moats of the old +French-Spanish city years before, and now its newer sections filled +most of the crescent-shaped bend above the original town. + +It was along the levee of this new part of the city that the flatboat +fleet was moored, and the first mile that Abe and Tad traversed was +through raw, fresh-built streets that had little of the picturesque +about them. Only here and there ancient French houses, set among great +trees, showed where the country estates of rich Creoles had once stood. + +But when they crossed Canal Street they found themselves breathing a +different atmosphere. There was none of the bustling newness of the +American quarter. The houses, large and small, had cozy walled gardens +and shady balconies, and even the flagstones seemed to drowse in the +warm sunshine. + +From this residential district they bore southward again and came to a +region of old shops, old offices, and here and there a venerable church +or public building. + +There seemed to be few people stirring at this time of day in the more +ancient part of the city. But as they neared the water front they found +the streets busier. + +At one place in particular a crowd seemed to be collected. It was a +ramshackle old hotel building with a driveway leading to an inner +courtyard. On the sidewalk before the building and passing in and out +were little knots and groups of men, talking and smoking Havana cigars. +By far the larger number of these men were prosperous-looking planters +from up and down the river and the outlying parishes. They were easily +distinguishable by their broad-brimmed felt hats and riding-boots, and +by their talk, which was of crops and horses and negroes--mostly of +negroes. + +Two or three printed posters were tacked up on the wall of the +building, and Tad strolled over to read them. One said: + +“Runaway--a bright mulatto boy named Cassius, about eighteen years old, +strong and large. Will probably head north, as he was Kentucky raised.” + +Another advertised: “For sale, a mighty valuable woman, twenty-five +with three likely children. A bargain for the lot.” + +The third and largest poster was what particularly attracted Tad’s +attention, however. As he finished reading it he beckoned to Abe. It +said: + +“On these premises, every Tuesday and Saturday afternoon, will be held +regular auctions of negroes. We have now on hand a large, well selected +stock of field hands, house boys, cooks, seamstresses, etc., and will +sell as low as any house in New Orleans. Fresh arrivals keep our stock +in prime condition at all times, and we have our own jail and yard for +boarding them.” + +“Abe,” Tad asked, “isn’t this Saturday?” + +“Let’s see, so ’tis,” responded Abe. “Want to go in?” + +Tad hesitated. “Not much,” said he, “and yet it’s one of the things to +see in New Orleans.” + +Abe led the way through the driveway into the courtyard. The throng of +planters and city men inside made way grudgingly for the tall young +backwoodsman in his outlandish costume, and Abe edged forward until he +reached a place where both Tad and himself had a view of the auction +platform. + +The auctioneer was a big, red-faced, jolly-looking man who spoke in a +loud voice and was given to coarse jokes when he found the bidding too +slow to suit him. + +On the ground beside the block stood a row of eight or ten negroes +awaiting their turn to be sold. Occasionally one of the planters would +go up to a slave, poke him in the ribs, feel of his arms and legs and +look him over much as a buyer of cattle would do. In the group of +negroes Tad saw a bent old woman with gray hair, one or two handsome +young mulatto girls, a smart-looking saddle-colored boy with the +manners of a Virginia-bred house servant, and half a dozen coal-black +Guinea negroes, scantily clothed in dingy cotton. On the faces of these +last there was a wild, stupid, frightened look, quite different from +the lazy good humor that Tad had always associated with their race. +When he looked closely he saw that one staggered a little as if from +weakness, and on the ankles of three or four he could make out raw, new +scars--chain and fetter scars. + +Abe had seen them, too. “They’re just off the slaver,” he whispered. +“Smuggled in through the bayous--bet they haven’t been ashore more’n a +week. Look at that pore devil that’s sick!” + +The auctioneer had one of the young mulatto women on the block now. +He pinched her sportively, chucked her under the chin, and made some +ribald remark heard only by the men just below him. Then he brought +down his gavel with a thump. + +“Well, gents, what am I offered?” he inquired genially. “A thousand +dollars as a starter wouldn’t be a bit too much for this wench. They +don’t come no better built. A mite broad in the shoulders perhaps, but +that’s what a good house-work nigger needs. Look her over, now. Take +yo’ time. Now, who’ll offer a thousand? No? Not yet, eh? Well, start +her at five hundred, then. What d’ye say? Will the tall gentleman in +the fur cap make it five hundred for this prime yaller gal?” + +There was a titter in the crowd, but Abe remained silent and impassive +while the bidding went forward. Only Tad, looking up at him sidewise, +could see a hard white ridge under the tanned skin of his jaw. + +The girl was sold at last, and the auctioneer replaced her with the +feeble old grandmother, who was poked and prodded into straightening +her bent back a trifle and stepping briskly about on the block. + +“Now here’s one that’s a bargain,” began the loud, droning voice of the +seller. “There’s three or four years of good hard work under her black +hide yet. Now I’ll take a starting offer of forty dollars. Who’ll say +forty?” + +Abe nudged the boy at his side. “Come on,” he muttered. “I can’t stand +any more of this.” + +Once outside, the tall young river-man took off his cap and wiped the +sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. + +“Tad,” he said, almost fiercely, “it’s all wrong--this whole slavery +business--as wrong as murder. Let’s get away from that place.” + +He was sober and silent as they crossed Jackson Square, the old Place +d’Armes of the Creoles, and it was not until they had walked up the +levee for some distance and were nearing the flatboat moorings again +that his old good humor returned. + +“Golly,” he marveled. “Aren’t they a sight? I bet ye could walk a mile +on nothin’ but boats an’ never wet a toe.” + +They found Allen ready to set forth on his evening’s adventure. He was +attired in all his finery and had his hair slicked down so that it +shone. + +“What the Sam Hill is that on yer head?” asked Abe. “Lard?” + +“No,” answered Allen proudly, “that’s genuwine b’ar’s grease. I +borrowed it from a Tennessee man--third boat up.” + +“Say, speakin’ o’ b’ars,” said Abe, “whar’s that good-fer-nothin’ Poke?” + +“Oh,” Allen replied, a trifle shamefacedly, “he done pulled his staple +an’ walked off ’fore I could ketch him. He was clear up on the levee +an’ headin’ west, last sight I had of him.” + +Abe looked at him with withering scorn. “You must ha’ taken a lot o’ +care o’ the boat,” said he. “It’s a durn wonder the pork an’ provisions +didn’t climb out o’ the hold an’ walk off, too.” + +These and other sarcastic remarks made Allen’s supper uncomfortable, +and he was in a hurry to leave as soon as it was eaten. + +Abe and Tad watched the young Hoosier dandy depart down the levee, then +set to work straightening up the boat. They enjoyed the cool evening +breeze for a while, and when the first stars appeared, they spread +their blankets and went to sleep. + +What time Allen returned they did not know, but he was there in the bed +next morning, far too drowsy to do more than open one eye when they +called him to breakfast. + +They heard church bells tolling in different parts of the city and +remembered that it was Sunday morning. That was the only indication of +the day, for as the town awoke there was anything but a Sabbath calm in +the air. + +All the saloons, dance halls, and gambling-places along the water +front were open for business, and the thousands of river-men and +sailors thronging the levee brought them plenty of it. Above the din +of shouting, fighting, and merry-making, Abe had to talk loud to make +himself heard. + +“Allen won’t want to go ashore again fer a spell,” he said. “We kin +leave the boat to him an’ go lookin’ fer that cub o’ yours.” + +Tad, who had been considerably cast down by the loss of his pet, was +eager to follow Abe’s suggestion. They took their way along the water +front, asking people they met if they had seen the little black bear. +For the most part the question was greeted with jeers or with blank +astonishment. But once they encountered a half-drunken raft hand who +testified somewhat hazily to having seen not merely one bear but a pair +of them, dragging chains after them, and moving in the direction of +the steamboat moorings. And a voluble Creole in a little tobacco shop +told them that a bear “so beeg as a cow” had looked in the door at him, +growled, and passed on. + +“That b’ar knows what he’s about,” chuckled Abe. “He aims to travel +back to Tennessee by steamboat--that’s sartin.” + +A little farther on they asked their question of a British sailorman, +and he nodded and pointed up the nearest street. + +“Aye,” said he, “that must be the one they caught this mornin’ and are +goin’ to bait with dogs. There’s a bit of excitement up at the public +’ouse yonder. Perhaps they’ve started already.” + +As the two lads hurried forward, they saw that the “bit of excitement” +had more the look of a general street fight. + +A crowd of fifteen or twenty ark hands, all riotously drunk, were +milling about a smaller group that seemed to be made up chiefly of +steamboat men. In the center was a short, sturdy Irishman, with his +blue cap cocked at a pugnacious angle and the joy of battle in his blue +eyes. Tad would have recognized that freckled face anywhere. It was +Dennis McCann, the mate of the _Ohio Belle_. And crouched between his +bowed seaman’s legs was little black Poke. + +Already fists were flying, and matters looked bad for the steamboat +men when Abe hit the fringe of the mob like a tornado, with Tad right +at his heels. Some he knocked down with his fists, some he flung out +of his path, and those who came back for more were treated to a double +dose. The vicious flank attack confused the backwoodsmen, and before +they could rally, the steamboat crew were pummeling them from in front. +In a moment the battle had turned into a rout. Some ran down the street +with the victors at their heels, and others took refuge in the saloon. + +“Here,” panted Abe to McCann, “let’s take the b’ar an’ git out o’ this +’fore they git together ag’in.” + +To the little Irishman, who had been slugging away blindly in the +middle of the mêlée, all wearers of buckskin and homespun were enemies. + +“An’ who the divil might you be?” he growled, bristling. + +“Hold on,” interposed Tad. “Don’t you know me? You gave me breakfast on +the _Ohio Belle_ a month ago.” + +McCann’s eyes bulged. “Sure an’ it’s the lad that disappeared!” he +cried. “It’s himself that’s in it, the saints be praised! Come to me, +b’y, an’ let me look at ye!” + +He wrung Tad’s hand with both of his, and then gripped Abe’s big fist +when the backwoods youth was introduced as a friend. + +“So the little cub here is yours?” said McCann. “Begorra, he come +a-strayin’ past our moorin’ last night, an’ thinks I, we’ll have a +mascot aboard the _Ohio Belle_. So I catches him, an’ ties him to a +beam. But this mornin’ he was gone again, an’ when I come ashore I seen +a bunch o’ these roustabouts gettin’ ready to murther him with dogs. So +I steps in an’ grabs him, an’ that’s that. But come on board the boat +with me now, an’ tell me how it comes ye’re not restin’ this minute at +the bottom o’ the Ohio.” + +They followed the mate to his cabin on the steamer, and Tad had his +first chance to unfold the long tale of his adventures. As he described +how he was held prisoner by the outlaws, McCann rose and paced the room. + +“Begob,” said he, “an’ it’s sorry I am that I didn’t know the man +Murrell was aboard. Think o’ the grand chances I had to bash him with +a belayin’-pin. An’ him cleanin’ out the gamblers with the money he +robbed you of!” + +Tad concluded his story by telling of the treatment he had received at +his father’s office. + +“Mr. McCann,” Abe put in, “I reckon you might be able to identify the +lad. They seem powerful hard to satisfy, but they sure ought to take +your word.” + +“Faith, an’ I’ll try,” said the steamboat man. “I’ll go with ye +tomorrer mornin’ whin the office opens. But I’ve got the afternoon off +today. I’ll take ye ’round the town.” + +And when they had been all over the _Ohio Belle_ and Tad had shown Abe +the stateroom where he had slept and the rail over which he had been +thrown, they left Poke securely chained, and started forth with the +little Irishman as their guide. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +Dennis McCann knew a lot about New Orleans. He had been spending days +exploring the town every time he got into port, and there were few +corners into which he had not penetrated. He took Tad and Abe a good +ten miles that Sunday afternoon, and Tad, at least, was footsore before +they finished. + +First the mate of the _Ohio Belle_ led them northward and eastward +through the hot streets to the green flats at the rear of the town. As +they went they were joined by other groups bound in the same direction, +and soon they found themselves part of a huge throng, all moving +steadily out toward the Congo Plains. + +Rising above the dust of the crowds, they saw the rough timber +amphitheater of the bull ring, and near it the gaudy-hued canvas +of a huge tent. There was no bullfight scheduled for that day, but +Cayetano’s famous circus was in full swing. + +Pushing forward with the throng, they entered the big top, where +snake-charmers and sleek-skinned yellow dancers vied for attention +with two-headed calves, fat ladies, and real wild animals in cages. + +The latter appealed most to Abe. He had read of lions in _Æsop’s +Fables_, but never had he beheld one nor heard one roar, and Tad +laughed to see the six-foot Hoosier jump and shiver when that bass +thunder sounded behind him. + +When they had finished with the circus, McCann led the way to another +marvel--the roadbed of the New Orleans and Pontchartrain Railway which +was to connect the city with the lake on the north. + +This was to be one of the first steam railroads in the world, and Abe +and Tad looked with awe on the preparations for it. People even said +that with a steam engine on wheels, such as the owners proposed to run, +you could pull half a dozen big wagons at once along level rails! + +“As strong as six teams of horses, Abe! Do you believe that?” asked Tad. + +“Yes,” said the backwoodsman, “reckon I do, after seein’ a steamboat +work. But when they tell me this thing is _faster_ than horses, I’ll +admit I’m a leetle bit doubtful.” + +They came back in the cool of the early evening and strolled along +the levee above the town to the park-like drive where a long parade +of carriages wound among the China trees. Planters and their wives, +aristocratic Creole families, and the beautiful women of the free +quadroon caste went smiling by, behind their smartly trotting horses. + +From a little lake a flock of pelicans rose on heavy wings and flapped +away across the sunset to their nests. Fireflies began to twinkle in +the gathering dusk. A guitar was strumming softly near by. + +“Golly,” murmured Tad, “I shouldn’t wonder if Heaven must be something +like this!” + +Abe’s face was overspread by a grin. “Only,” said he, “in Heaven the +folks have wings, an’ the mosquitoes don’t.” And he emphasized his +remark by slapping himself on the back of the neck. + +They strolled back through a summer night that was breathlessly hot in +the narrow streets and cooled by a little breeze along the levee. + +“Huh,” mused Abe. “Here it’s actin’ like mid-July, an’ in a couple o’ +weeks I’ll be back in May again, with the trees jes’ comin’ into full +leaf an’ the lilacs hardly done bloomin’ in the dooryards.” + +“When’ll ye be leavin’?” asked McCann. “We’ve got ’most a cargo now, +an’ if ye were ready by tomorrer, say, I might get ye a berth an’ a +chance to earn yer board loadin’ wood fer the engines.” + +Abe thanked him. “First of all,” said he, “I want to see Tad out o’ +this scrape. An’ second, I’ve got to keep my partner, Allen Gentry, +from gittin’ _into_ one, when he sells his goods. After that I’d be +pleased to ship with you.” + +As they parted from McCann at the gangplank of the _Ohio Belle_, the +little Irishman pointed to Poke, snoring comfortably at the end of his +chain on deck. + +“See,” he laughed, “the little spalpeen is right at home. I’ll give ye +three dollars fer him.” + +Tad considered a moment. He could hardly hope to keep the cub with him, +either in the city or at school, while with McCann he knew the little +bear would be in good hands. + +“Right,” he answered regretfully, and the transaction was completed, +then and there. As the boy trudged along at Abe’s side, he pulled the +money out of his pocket. + +“Here,” said he, “this’ll pay for those pants, Abe. And anyway, the +bear was really yours. You saved his life and then wrestled for him.” + +“No sech of a thing!” said Abe warmly. “That b’ar b’longed to you.” + +But Tad was adamant, and his big friend finally took the money, on +condition that he should buy them both a supper out of it. Accordingly +they stopped at the next tavern and ordered a meal. The table at which +they sat was at the rear of the sanded floor near one end of the bar. +A cosmopolitan throng of sailors and up-river men were drinking and +quarreling noisily along the mahogany rail, and Tad watched them while +Abe picked the bones of his fricasseed chicken. + +Suddenly, in the crowd, he caught sight of a familiar back and saw a +hand filled with banknotes waving in the air. + +“Quick, Abe!” said the boy. “Isn’t that Allen with all that money?” + +The long-shanked backwoodsman turned, pushing back his chair, and +looked where Tad was pointing. At that moment a big German sailor +reached over the heads of the eager fellows who surrounded Allen, +seized his wrist with one hand, and snatched away the bills with the +other. It was all done so quickly that none of the men at the bar knew +what had happened, and Allen was left speechless, his empty fingers +clawing at the air. + +Then Abe entered the picture. In three long strides he reached the +sailor, who was just edging toward the door. The man’s back was toward +him. Abe caught him by the shoulder with iron fingers and jerked him +around. And almost in the same motion he drove a solid smash to the +fellow’s chin with his right fist. + +The sailor lost his balance, staggered back a step or two, and toppled +to the floor. Quick as a flash Abe was on top of him, gripping his +wrists in those big, horny paws of his. With an anguished groan the +German let go of the roll of money, and Abe, picking it up, jumped +to his feet. As he did so an empty bottle whizzed past his head, and +half a dozen sailormen charged toward him from all parts of the room. +Instantly pandemonium was let loose. With wild yells of delight the +river-men, always ready for a fight, set upon the deep-water sailors, +and in ten seconds the place was filled with fiercely struggling groups. + +Abe stuffed the bills into the breast of his shirt and battled his way +toward the door, where Tad was already waiting for him. In a moment +Allen broke through the mob in front of the bar and joined them. His +“store clothes” were disheveled, and one eye was nearly closed by a +rapidly swelling bruise. + +“Run--run!” he panted, and dodged down an alley with the two others +following him. Not until they had zigzagged through the dark for two +blocks and were out on the open levee front did Allen settle down once +more to a walk. + +“Great shiverin’ snakes!” he gasped, “I was glad to git clear o’ that +place! Did ye see ’em start to pull their knives? Why, thar was enough +dirks an’ daggers out to slaughter a regiment.” + +Silently Abe handed the crumpled banknotes back to their owner. A few +steps farther he stopped. “You boys wait here,” he said. “I forgot +somethin’, but I’ll be right back.” + +Dumfounded, they watched him stride along the levee in the direction +from which they had just come. + +“Whar in Sam Hill kin he be goin’?” muttered Allen. They waited with +growing nervousness for several minutes. And just as Tad was starting +to see what had happened, he reappeared. + +“Where were you, Abe?” the boy asked. + +“I’d clean forgot to pay fer our supper,” Abe replied. “Things had +quieted down thar a mite, but one pore feller was bleedin’ terrible. +Cut pretty bad, I guess.” + +“Wal,” said Allen, looking at him, pop-eyed, “if you ain’t the +gol-durnedest!” + +“How’d you come to have all that money?” inquired Abe. “Must have sold +the cargo, didn’t ye?” + +Allen nodded. “A man come along the levee this afternoon offerin’ +scandalous low prices fer flour an’ pork. I was gittin’ sick o’ +waitin’; so I dickered with him. I got him to raise his figger a +little, an’ he ’greed to take the boat, too. Anyhow, Father’ll be +satisfied.” + +“He won’t if you go in any more saloons an’ git it stole,” said Abe. “I +reckon on board a steamboat is the safest place fer you an’ me.” + +They returned to the _Katy Roby_, now empty save for their blankets +and personal belongings, a few cooking utensils, and a small pile of +firewood. + +“The old gal looks sort o’ lonesome, don’t she?” said Abe. “Wal, +her timbers’ll make a stout shanty fer somebody. There’s not a +cross-grained stick in her hull. I know, because I cut an’ trimmed ’em +myself.” + +The other two were silent, for they also felt a twinge of homesickness +at the idea of leaving the craft. Tad stretched out on the bare +planking, ready for sleep after his miles of barefoot exploration. Soon +he dropped off, in spite of the raucous chorus of drunken river-men +returning to their boats, and it was to bright morning sunlight that he +next opened his eyes. Abe was busy preparing some odds and ends of food +for breakfast, while Allen sat back and plucked at his banjo strings. +It was the old tune of “Skip to my Lou” that he was singing, but he had +invented some new verses. Two of them were: + + “N’Orleans gals, you’re feelin’ blue, + N’Orleans gals, you’re feelin’ blue, + N’Orleans gals, you’re feelin’ blue, + Skip to my Lou, my darlin’. + + “We’re bound to say good-by to you, + We’re bound to say good-by to you, + We’re bound to say good-by to you, + Skip to my Lou, my darlin’.” + +He rolled his eyes sentimentally as he sang, and Abe chuckled over the +frying-pan. “Wait till he gits back to Gentryville!” he said. “Folks +up thar will git the idee that the whole valley’s littered up with the +hearts he’s broke.” + +When breakfast was finished, Abe rolled up his ax and one or two other +things he owned in his blanket, tied it with a rope, and laid it to one +side. + +“Now, Tad,” said he, “we’ll go an’ rouse out this man McCann, so he kin +tell that lunkhead in your father’s office who you are.” + +They took their way along the levee in the direction of the steamboat +landings. When they had covered a little over half the distance, they +saw a two-horse carriage coming rapidly toward them, and as it drew +close, Abe pulled Tad out of its path behind a pile of baled cotton. +Thus it was not until the carriage had gone past that the boy had a +good look at its occupant. He was a big-framed man of middle age, in +a beaver hat that looked travel-stained. His head and shoulders were +bowed slightly as if by a burden. + +Tad seized Abe’s arm. “That was my Dad!” he said. “He’s on his way to +the office from the boat. Come on!” + +Quickly they turned and followed the carriage toward the older section +of the town. A few minutes of alternate running and walking brought +them to St. Louis Street, and at the curb, sure enough, they saw the +carriage drawn up. + +They went into the building and up the stairs, two at a time. The door +of the office stood ajar. Tad entered first. There at his desk on the +other side of the room sat his father, looking so gray and sad and +careworn that Tad felt a great lump in his throat at the sight. He +tried to shout “Dad!” but all that came was a choking sound. + +The officious young secretary advanced from his corner with what was +intended for a threatening scowl, but Tad paid no attention to him. +Then Jeremiah Hopkins must have sensed that something was happening, +for he looked up wearily from the papers in his hands and saw a boy at +the gate--a ragged, barefoot youngster, brown as an Indian, with a mop +of sandy hair and a mouth that grinned broadly while his eyes blinked +back something suspiciously like tears. + +“D-don’t you know me, Dad?” said the boy. And then Jeremiah Hopkins ran +toward him and they caught each other in a bear-like hug. + +The father’s heart was too full for words, but he held the lad at arm’s +length and looked at him as if he could never get enough of the sight. + +Tad’s power of speech came back to him first, and he talked in happy, +jumbled sentences, trying to tell everything at once. + +“I wrote to you, Dad,” he said, “but, you see, you never got my letter +because it was blown up. It was on the _Nancy Jones_. But it’s too bad +you worried so about me. I was all right. Abe, here, was taking care of +me, and-- Come, I want you to meet him. Abe--” + +But the young husky from Indiana was gone. He had slipped out quietly +as soon as he saw his friend safe in his father’s arms. + +Tad ran down the stairs and looked up and down the street, but the +lanky figure was nowhere in sight. Distressed, he returned to his +father. “We must find him,” he said. “You’ve got to know Abe, because +he’s the best friend I ever had. Why, he saved my life!” + +The young secretary, very crestfallen, came forward. “I--I think he +went toward the levee, sir,” said he. + +“You should have asked him to wait,” the merchant answered curtly. +“We’ll go in search of him directly, Tad, my boy. But first come and +get some clothes on.” + +They got into the carriage and were driven, despite the boy’s +protestations, to Mr. Hopkins’ hotel, where the clothes found in the +stateroom on the steamboat had been taken. In a few minutes Tad was +dressed once more in the garb of civilization. + +“Now,” said he, “tell the coachman we want to go to the flatboat +moorings as fast as he can drive.” + +Through the streets and along the levee they rumbled and drew up at +last where Tad pointed to the _Katy Roby_, tied up in the middle of the +swarming river-craft. But Abe and Allen were nowhere to be seen. + +The stout Kentucky man sat on the rail of his boat, near the levee, and +spat judicially into the river before he answered Tad’s eager query. + +“No,” said he, finally. “They ain’t here. They done picked up their +blankets an’ stuff an’ put out fer the steamboat landin’ some while +back. Said they was goin’ to go on the _Ohio Belle_ if they got thar +’fore she sailed.” + +Hurriedly the Hopkinses, father and son, climbed back into the +carriage, and the coachman used his whip as they galloped toward the +smoky forest of steamboat stacks. + +“She’s not gone yet,” cried Tad. “I can see her.” + +But just then there came a long, deep whistle-blast, and one of the +great white steamers began to move slowly away from the levee side. The +carriage rolled up to the landing, and the coachman pulled the rearing +horses to a stop. As Tad jumped out he saw a tall, awkward youth in +homespun and deerskin waving to him from the forward rail of the upper +deck. + +“Abe,” he cried, “wait! wait!” + +“Come back!” shouted his father, “I want to give you the reward.” And +he held up a fat black wallet. + +One of Abe’s quaint grins overspread his homely face. “No,” he called +back. “He was a good hand an’ earned his keep.” + +Tad ran forward to the edge of the levee and cupped his hands about his +mouth. “Abe,” he yelled, “what’s your last name? I want to write to +you.” + +“Lincoln,” the backwoods boy replied. “Jest send it to Gentryville. +They’ll see that I git it.” + +Then with a clang of bells and a great splashing of foam as her paddles +beat the water, the _Ohio Belle_ swung out into the current and headed +upstream. And the last thing Tad saw was Abe picking up the little +bear, Poke, in his arms, and waving one of the cub’s black paws in a +comical good-by. + + + + +_other books by STEPHEN W. MEADER_ + + THE BLACK BUCCANEER + DOWN THE BIG RIVER + LONGSHANKS + RED HORSE HILL + AWAY TO SEA + KING OF THE HILLS + LUMBERJACK + THE WILL TO WIN AND OTHER STORIES + WHO RIDES IN THE DARK? + T-MODEL TOMMY + BAT + BOY WITH A PACK + CLEAR FOR ACTION + BLUEBERRY MOUNTAIN + SHADOW IN THE PINES + THE SEA SNAKE + THE LONG TRAINS ROLL + SKIPPY’S FAMILY + JONATHAN GOES WEST + BEHIND THE RANGES + + + + +TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: + + + Italicized or underlined text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. + + Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. + + Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. + + Archaic or variant spelling has been retained. + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75520 *** |