“It must be we didn’t pull it up far enough,” said Lee, “although I didn’t think the current was strong enough here to float a chip away. But now it looks as though I made a bad mistake.”
“I don’t think there is any mistake about this,” said Bobby, who had been doing some quick thinking. “That boat would never have floated away unless somebody had helped it to. We had it drawn up too far for that.”
“But who in the world would there be here to set it adrift?” inquired Lee, in bewilderment.
As though in answer to his question, there was a sudden stir and rustle in a tall bunch of swamp grass in back of them, and as they whirled about they saw a young negro boy leap from the grass and start running as fast as his legs could carry him.
“After him, fellows!” yelled Bobby, and the three comrades took after the negro at top speed. The latter was fleet, but he was no match for Bobby who soon outdistanced his companions and was close on the negro’s heels. The darkey, hearing the pursuit so close to him, suddenly turned, and Bobby thought for a second that he was going to show fight, but instead he fell on his knees and started to beg for mercy.
“D—don’t hit me, white boy,” he stammered. “Ah was made to do it, ’deed Ah was.”
“Do what?” asked Bobby. “I haven’t accused you of doing anything yet.”
“Nossuh, you hasn’t, and Ah wouldn’t have shoved off dat boat, neider, if mah boss hadn’t done tole me he’d skin me alive if Ah didn’t.”
“I know this coon,” said Lee, who with Fred came up panting at this juncture. “He works for Jim Boolus, and I reckon that explains how our boat came to get adrift. How did you know we were here?” he continued, addressing the negro.
“Ah was rowin’ Marse Boolus down de ribber,” answered the darkey, “an’ fust thing Ah knows he spies you-all’s boat wid its nose stuck up on de mud bank. ‘Dat’s de Cartiers’ motor boat,’ he says to me, gettin’ all excited. ‘Suppose young Cartier and dose fresh friends o’ his’n must be aroun’ somewhere!’”