"Forrard—forrard! One of 'em's up!" Then he put, his mouth to the speaking-tube, and screamed to the engineer: "Let her drop down a little, Billy!"
The sounding party headed toward a black speck, apparently a hundred yards below them, and the great steamer slowly drifted down-stream. The speck moved toward shore, and the boat, rapidly shortening distance, seemed to scrape the bank with her port oars.
"Safe enough now, I guess!" exclaimed Judge Turner, of one of the Southern Illinois circuits.
The Judge had been interrupted in telling a story when the accident occurred, and was in a hurry to resume.
"As I was saying," said he, "he hardly looked like a professional horse-thief. He was little and quiet, and had always worked away steadily at his trade. I believed him when he said 'twas his first offense, and that he did it to raise money to bury his child; and I was going to give him an easy sentence, and ask the Governor to pardon him. The laws have to be executed, you know, but there's no law against mercy being practiced afterward. Well, the sheriff was bringing him from jail to hear the verdict and the sentence, when the short man, with red hair, knocked the sheriff down, and off galloped that precious couple for the Wabash. I saw the entire—"
"The deuce!" interrupted the pilot, again dropping his glass.
The Judge glared angrily; the passengers saw, across the shortened distance, one of the Chums holding by a root to the bank, and trying to support the other, whose shirt hung in rags, and who seemed exhausted.
"Which one's hurt?" asked the captain. "Give me the glass."
But the pilot had left the house and taken the glass with him.
The Judge continued: