Then the mattresses were hauled alongside the Rambler and a considerable part of the cargo of the boat was put out on them. Thus lightened, and having a strong footing, the lads had no difficulty in pushing the Rambler out into deep water.
“What shall we do with the mattresses now?” asked Clay, as the boat swung off the bottom. “We have spent too much time on them to throw them away!”
“Tow them along,” advised Case. “It won’t cost us anything to tote them along, and we may have use for them. A man could build a tent on them, by fastening them together, and live there. I’m strong for taking them with us.”
This was finally agreed to, and the boys were about to start down the stream again when a shout from the Mississippi side of the river attracted their attention.
“There’s that little coon!” laughed Case. “See the rascal! He’s going to swim to the boat, or going to try to!”
“He never can do it,” Clay declared. “We’ll have to swing the Rambler over that way and pick him up. He’s making a swift run, though!”
“Well,” Alex. replied, “just you look behind him and see what he’s running from.”
Half a dozen negroes and one white man were now seen running down the river bank in pursuit of Mose. They seemed to redouble their exertions when the Rambler shot over toward the boy, but were obliged to halt when the boy was picked up and the boat went on down stream, towing the willow mattresses in her wake!
Mose dropped down on deck, panting and rolling his eyes.
“Ah’m scared white!” he chattered. “Fo’ de Lawd, dat’s de man what trun dis coon an’ Captain Joe into the ribber up no’th! Ah’s scared of him!”