"Did you fix things up in Madison?" George inquired.
"Not the way I wanted to, George," said Matt. "We'll have to talk about that."
"Then we won't go to Madison," declared George, "and that's settled. We might as well haul off into the Catfish and spend the night in the boat."
"There used to be a 'tarp' for coverin' her in rough weather," put in McGlory. "Was Ping thoughtful enough to send all the stuff that belonged to her?"
"He was," said Matt, "at thirty-seven dollars and fifty cents a hundred pounds—three times the merchandise rate."
"Oh, glory! What did you take the boat off the express company's hands for, pard?"
"For the reason, Joe, that I had use for her."
"And this is the kind of use you've been putting her to!" muttered the cowboy. "It wasn't worth the price, not by a whole row of 'dobies."
The waves were rolling higher and higher, and the Sprite was pitching like an unruly broncho.
"We'll have to get out of this," said Lorry, as the skiff alongside smashed against the Sprite's bulwarks and gave them all a rough shaking. "The wind's carrying us toward Maple Bluff, and I don't want any experience with the bluff on a night like this. Where's a lantern? Is there one aboard?"