"Don't shoot! we are unarmed and peaceable citizens."
As he said this, Miller burst into a loud laugh, and quickly ran toward the figure. We instantly comprehended the situation and followed him, arriving at the fantastic stump of a burned tree, to be saluted by Miller with:
"Would you unarmed and peaceable citizens kindly recollect this event when you are inclined to joke me about that canoe?"
We had nothing to say.
The next day we met a negro, who gave us our course for Dangerfield, describing a corner of the square in the town, from which a plain road led to a ferry across the Sulphur Fork of Red River.
This was the 27th of December, and we reached the outskirts of the town late in the afternoon, hiding in some bushes until night.
When it was late enough we started boldly through the town, found the corner described, and took the road at a rapid gait.
Just as the east was beginning to show signs of approaching day we struck what we took to be another bayou.
Miller was anxious to show that he could brave the water in some cases, so he pulled off his pants, handed them to me for safe keeping, and started right in to wade the stream. He took two steps and disappeared from view. We fished him out and concluded that we would wait for daylight before proceeding farther.
When day broke we found that we must have made better time from Dangerfield than we had expected, for this was certainly a river, and could be no other than Sulphur Fork. It was high, and running swiftly in the middle, the water being far above the banks and out into the woods on both sides, so that it must have been fully two miles and one-half across. No signs of a ferry were to be seen, and we hunted a good place for a camp in which to lay over until the river should subside or something turn up to decide us as to a way of crossing.