"No, Massa Bob. I won't do dat agin."
"We shall soon be in St. Louis, and then our care and anxiety will be over."
"Where will we stop to-night?"
"At Rocky Creek."
It was a quarter to five when Bob reached the place where he had decided to tie up. There was a village of about five hundred inhabitants situated a little distance from the river-side. A small knot of loungers was gathered at the landing, and with languid interest surveyed the river craft and the young crew.
Among them Bob recognized the man who had visited them two or three stations back. He knew him by his dress; the Prince Albert coat, the damaged hat, and the loud neck-tie. But apart from these he remembered the face, dark and unshaven, and the shifty black eyes, which naturally inspired distrust. The man made no movement towards the boat, but leaned indolently against a tree.
"Clip," said Bob, quietly, "look at that man leaning against a tree."
"I see him, Massa Bob."
"Have you ever seen him before?"
"Yes, Massa Bob; he came aboard de boat one day."