And yet, at that moment, something of the kind stole into my thoughts. I had heard enough of these Mississippi boatmen to believe them capable of any thing—even of committing murder.
But why should these men murder me? My baggage was not big enough; and they had no reason to believe I carried money upon my person, in a sum sufficient to tempt them to such a crime.
Besides, there were the negroes, Squire Woodley's own slaves; such an attempt could not be made without their knowing of it. The thought was preposterous; and I dismissed it from my mind as soon as conceived.
And still I could not make out why the two were talking so earnestly. Their gestures, too, which I could just discern through the dim light, admonished me that some strange circumstance was being discussed between them. It could not be the guiding of the boat. Ever since nightfall they had ceased "quartering" the stream. The steering-oar was at rest, and the flat was gliding smoothly on, at the rate of four miles to the hour—the current at this place being unusually rapid. It could not be that.
By this time my cigar had nearly burnt out. Groping for another, I discovered I had left my case in the cabin. In going to get it, I passed close to where the two men were standing. Black had hold of the oar-handle, while Stinger was lounging at his elbow.
I had the cigar-stump still in my teeth—the remains of a good Havana, with a red coal at the end of it. I was curious to have a look at the fellows; and passing close to them, I increased the luminosity of the cigar by giving it a strong puff or two.
Never had such a faint light shone upon two more ill-favored faces. Both appeared distorted by some passion of a criminal kind; and, could I have imagined any motive for their murdering me, I might have believed at that moment, that such was their intention!
CHAPTER XVI.
A MAN OVERBOARD.