“You’re boss now, pardner!” he said, joining Carrington at the steering oar.

“We’ll cast off then,” answered Carrington.

Thus far nothing had occurred to mar his plans.  If they could but quit the bayou before the arrival of the man whose place he had taken, the rest would be if not easy of accomplishment, at least within the realm of the possible.

“I reckon you’re a river-man?” observed Slosson.

“All my life.”

The line had been cast off, and the crew with their setting poles were forcing the boat away from the bank.  All was quietly done; except for an occasional order from Carrington no word was spoken, and soon the unwieldy craft glided into the sluggish current and gathered way.  Mr. Slosson, who clearly regarded his relation to the adventure as being of an official character, continued to stand at Carrington’s elbow.

“What have we, between here and the river?” inquired the latter.  It was best, he felt, not to give Slosson an opportunity to ask questions.

“It narrows considerably, pardner, but it’s a straight course,” said Slosson.  “Black in yonder, ain’t it?” he added, nodding ahead.

The shores drew rapidly together; they were leaving the lakelike expanse behind.  In the silence, above the rustling of the trees, Carrington heard the first fret of ’the river against its bank.  Slosson yawned prodigiously.

“I reckon you ain’t needing me?” he said.

“Better go up in the bow and get some sleep,” advised Carrington, and Slosson, nothing loath, clambered down from the roof of the cabin and stumbled forward.

The ceaseless murmur of the rushing waters grew in the stillness as the keel boat drew nearer the hurrying yellow flood, and the beat of the Kentuckian’s pulse quickened.  Would he find the raft there?  He glanced back over the way they had come.  The dark ranks of the forest walled off the clearing, but across the water a dim point of light was visible.  He fixed its position as somewhere near the head of the bayou.  Apparently it was a lantern, but as he looked a ruddy glow crept up against the sky-line.

From the bow Bunker had been observing this singular phenomenon.  Suddenly he bent and roused Slosson, who had fallen asleep.  The tavern-keeper sprang to his feet and Bunker pointed without speaking.

“Mebby you can tell me what that light back yonder means?” cried Slosson, addressing himself to Carrington; as he spoke he snatched up his rifle.

“That’s what I’m trying to make out,” answered Carrington.

“Hell!” cried Slosson, and tossed his gun to his shoulder.

What seemed to be a breath of wind lifted a stray lock of Carrington’s hair, but his pistol answered Slosson in the same second.  He fired at the huddle of men in the bow of the boat and one of them pitched forward with his arms outspread.

“Keep back, you!” he said, and dropped off the cabin roof.