“Hear dem words!” Vinegar Atts whooped. “All you niggers better be on de mourners’ bench a gittin’ religium!”
“Shut up, Vinegar!” Skeeter wailed. “You set behime dis boat an’ watch dat paddle-wheel.”
“I shore will!” Vinegar declared. “An’ de fust time she fouls up you’ll see Vinegar floatin’ to’des de shore straddle of his own coat-tail! Dis chaplain don’t take no chances wid hisse’f—I don’t need no visit to de Gulf.”
“I cain’t remember nothin’ mo’ to say,” Pipe Smash said, scratching his woolly head. “Mebbe I oughter say dis: Keep all de bolts screwed up real tight.”
“Dat’s my job!” Skeeter declared. “I don’t trust dese igernunt niggers wid no monkey-wrench.”
“Dat’s right, Cap’n!” Pipe Smash applauded. “You keep dat monkey-wrench in yo’ hand an’ ’tend to dat job wid yo’ eyes wide open, or you’ll shore hab to paddle yo’se’f ashore wid yo’ hands!”
They passed the spot on the shore where, four hours earlier, the boat had been tied to a stump.
Pipe Smash glanced up at the sun.
“I ’speck it’s ’bout time I wus steppin’ off an’ lettin’ you-alls hab yo’ boat,” he said. “I’s gwine to de railroad track an’ ketch de log-train fer Kerlerac. Dar’s a big Fo’th of July nigger dance at Kerlerac to-night.”
Skeeter ran the boat past the stump, gave the wheel a turn, the current swept the rear of the boat around, and Skeeter puffed up to the landing with the skill of an expert pilot.