toward the banks. Now that he had disposed of his pirate he felt a chill gathering upon him, prickling his skin with goose pimples. He missed the warmth of his blankets. He dared not return to them, however, for it was unthinkable to leave his boat floating in mid-river while he turned in to sleep.
So he floated down for what seemed an age, a blanket drawn tightly around his shoulders. He listened for sounds that would help him know where he was in relation to the bank. He heard nothing for a long time. Then a voice suddenly burst out of the fog, a few yards distant:
"Ain't I a dangblasted old fool! I cayn't find the bank! Where in dangnation's the bank? I neveh ought to have touched that danged skiff. That soft-paw'd killed me, sure as I'm borned, if he hadn't been a danged fool! I'd ought to be killed, danged old numb-skull! Now I got to paddle up this old river forty-fifty mile, back to my shantyboat. Damblast this Old Mississip'! Well, I'll try goin' thataway. I don't want float all night! I'll be clear to New Madrid 'fore mornin'!"
The lost river rat began to paddle angrily. When he had taken a dozen strokes Murdong cupped his hands over his mouth, turned his face toward the interior of his canvas-topped boat, and laughed slowly, deeply, and with rollicking cadence:
