His promptness had bred a momentary panic, then Slosson’s bull-like voice began to roar commands; but in that brief instant of surprise and shock Carrington had found and withdrawn the wooden peg that fastened the cabin door.  He had scarcely done this when Slosson came tramping aft supported by the three men.

Calling to Betty and Hannibal to escape in the skiff which was towing astern the Kentuckian rushed toward the bow.  At his back he heard the door creak on its hinges as it was pushed open by Betty and the boy, and again he called to them to escape by the skiff.  The fret of the current had grown steadily and from beneath the wide-flung branches of the trees which here met above his head, Carrington caught sight of the starspecked arch of the heavens beyond.  They were issuing from the bayou.  He felt the river snatch at the keel boat, the buffeting of some swift eddy, and saw the blunt bow swing off to the south as they were plunged into the black shore shadows.

But what he did not see was a big muscular hand which had thrust itself out of the impenetrable gloom and clutched the side of the keel boat.  Coincident with this there arose a perfect babel of voices, high-pitched and shrill.

“Sho—­I bet it’s him!  Sho’—­it’s Uncle Bob’s nevvy!  Sho’, you can hear ’em!  Sho’, they’re shootin’ guns!  Sho’!”

Carrington cast a hurried glance in the direction of these sounds.  There between the boat and the shore the dim outline of a raft was taking shape.  It was now canopied by a wealth of pale gray smoke that faded from before his eyes as the darkness lifted.  Turning, he saw Slosson and his men clearly.  Surprise and consternation was depicted on each face.

The light increased.  From the flat stone hearth of the raft ascended a tall column of flame which rendered visible six pygmy figures, tow-headed and wonderfully vocal, who were toiling like mad at the huge sweeps.  The light showed more than this.  It showed a lady of plump and pleasing presence smoking a cobpipe while she fed the fire from a tick stuffed with straw.  It showed two bark shanties, a line between them decorated with the never-ending Cavendish wash.  It showed a rooster perched on the ridge-pole of one of these shanties in the very act of crowing lustily.

Hannibal, who had climbed to the roof of the cabin, shrieked for help, and Betty added her voice to his.

“All right, Nevvy!” came the cheerful reply, as Yancy threw himself over the side of the boat and grappled with Slosson.

“Uncle Bob!  Uncle Bob!” cried Hannibal.

Slosson uttered a cry of terror.  He had a simple but sincere faith in the supernatural, and even with the Scratch Hiller’s big hands gripping his throat, he could not rid himself of the belief that this was the ghost of a murdered man.

“You’ll take a dog’s licking from me, neighbor?” said Yancy grimly.  “I been saving it fo’ you!”