“Do you think the night-riders carried the boys away?” asked Alex.
“Ah sure do!” replied Uncle Zeke. “Mighty ’spicious people, dem night-riders! Ah nebber did cotton to ’em.”
“Well,” Alex suggested in a moment, “you go see if you can get a fish. I’ll stay here with Clay and watch for night-riders. If they show up while you’re gone. I’ll pick out the fattest one and eat him for breakfast. I’m hungry enough to eat a night-rider, horse and all!”
Uncle Zeke disappeared in the direction of the boat with a grin on his black face, and in a few moments Alex had the satisfaction of seeing him haul a couple of good-sized perch from the river. The boy instantly darted into the thicket after dry wood, and before many minutes the old darkey was on shore with his catch.
“Now,” Alex asked, “how am I ever going to get them cooked?”
“Why,” Clay answered, “there’s a small frying-pan in the bow locker of the boat. Don’t you remember how we always kept a few provisions and cooking utensils in there in case of accident?”
“What kind of provisions?” shouted Alex, dancing about.
“Why, canned beans, and tomatoes, and chicken!” answered Clay.
“Je—rusalem, my happy home!” shouted Alex. “Do you mean to tell me that all that good eating has been in the boat all this time while my stomach has been growing to my back bone?”
He dashed off to the boat as he spoke, and soon returned with a beaming face, his arms piled high with tinned goods. He soon had some of the cans opened and before many minutes, the perch were sizzling in the frying-pan.