“We'll cast off then,” answered Carrington.
Thus far nothing had occurred to mar his plans. If they could but quit the bayou before the arrival of the man whose place he had taken, the rest would be if not easy of accomplishment, at least within the realm of the possible.
“I reckon you're a river-man?” observed Slosson.
“All my life.”
The line had been cast off, and the crew with their setting poles were forcing the boat away from the bank. All was quietly done; except for an occasional order from Carrington no word was spoken, and soon the unwieldy craft glided into the sluggish current and gathered way. Mr. Slosson, who clearly regarded his relation to the adventure as being of an official character, continued to stand at Carrington's elbow.
“What have we, between here and the river?” inquired the latter. It was best, he felt, not to give Slosson an opportunity to ask questions.
“It narrows considerably, pardner, but it's a straight course,” said Slosson. “Black in yonder, ain't it?” he added, nodding ahead.
The shores drew rapidly together; they were leaving the lakelike expanse behind. In the silence, above the rustling of the trees, Carrington heard the first fret of 'the river against its bank. Slosson yawned prodigiously.
“I reckon you ain't needing me?” he said.
“Better go up in the bow and get some sleep,” advised Carrington, and Slosson, nothing loath, clambered down from the roof of the cabin and stumbled forward.