And just at that moment a red glare appeared in the head of the chute and the Amaranth came springing after them!
“Well, I swear!”
“Jim, what is the meaning of that?”
“I’ll tell you what’s the meaning of it. That hail we had at Napoleon was Wash Hastings, wanting to come to Cairo—and we didn’t stop. He’s in that pilot house, now, showing those mud turtles how to hunt for easy water.”
“That’s it! I thought it wasn’t any slouch that was running that middle bar in Hog-eye Bend. If it’s Wash Hastings—well, what he don’t know about the river ain’t worth knowing—a regular gold-leaf, kid-glove, diamond breastpin pilot Wash Hastings is. We won’t take any tricks off of him, old man!”
“I wish I’d a stopped for him, that’s all.”
The Amaranth was within three hundred yards of the Boreas, and still gaining. The “old man” spoke through the tube:
“What is she-carrying now?”
“A hundred and sixty-five, sir!”
“How’s your wood?”