“Now, Sam Yates, turn this boat round.”

Yates was surprised in turn, bit his lips, and hesitated.

“Turn this boat round, or I’ll fix ye so’t I can see through ye plainer nor I do now.”

“Surely, Jim, you don’t mean to have me row back.  I haven’t harmed you.”

“Turn this boat round, quicker nor lightnin’.”

“There, it’s turned,” said Yates, assuming a smile.

“Now row back to Number Nine.”

“Come, Jim,” said Yates, growing pale with vexation and apprehension, “this fooling has gone far enough.”

“Not by ten mile,” said Jim.

“You surely don’t mean to take me back.  You have no right to do it.  I can prosecute you for this.”

“Not if I put a bullet through ye, or drown ye.”

“Do you mean to have me row back to Number Nine?”

“I mean to have you row back to Number Nine, or go to the bottom leakin’,” responded Jim.

Yates thought a moment, looked angrily at the determined man before him, as if he were meditating some rash experiment, and then dipped his oars and rowed up-stream.

Great was the surprise of Mr. Benedict late in the afternoon to see Yates slowly rowing toward the cabin, and landing under cover of Jim’s rifle, and the blackest face that he had ever seen above his good friend’s shoulders.

CHAPTER XVII.

IN WHICH JIM CONSTRUCTS TWO HAPPY DAVIDS, RAISES HIS HOTEL, AND DISMISSES SAM YATES.

When the boat touched the bank, Jim, still with his rifle pointed at the breast of Sam Yates, said: 

“Now git out, an’ take a bee line for the shanty, an’ see how many paces ye make on’t.”

Yates was badly blown by his row of ten miles on the river, and could hardly stir from his seat; but Mr. Benedict helped him up the bank, and then Jim followed him on shore.

Benedict looked from one to the other with mingled surprise and consternation, and then said: 

“Jim, what does this mean?”

“It means,” replied Jim, “that Number ‘leven, an’ his name is Williams, forgot to ‘tend to his feelin’s over old Tilden’s grave, an’ I’ve axed ‘im to come back an’ use up his clean hankerchers.  He was took with a fit o’ knowin’ somethin’, too, an’ I’m goin’ to see if I can cure ’im.  It’s a new sort o’ sickness for him, an’ it may floor ’im.”

“I suppose there is no use in carrying on this farce any longer,” said Yates.  “I knew you, Mr. Benedict, soon after arriving here, and it seems that you recognized me; and now, here is my hand.  I never meant you ill, and I did not expect to find you alive.  I have tried my best to make you out a dead man, and so to report you; but Jim has compelled me to come back and make sure that you are alive.”

“No, I didn’t,” responded Jim.  “I wanted to let ye know that I’m alive, and that I don’t ‘low no hired cusses to come snoopin’ round my camp, an’ goin’ off with a haw-haw buttoned up in their jackets, without a thrashin’.”