ghten the darkey into the loss of his boat,
Paul pulled in and ran it up on the bank. He then noticed that she had a
cargo of stone jugs filled with "Arkansaw lightning," held in with
corn cob stoppers. The negro was engaged in the missionary work of
smuggling the liquor to Indians on the reservation. As Paul swung off
into mid stream, he saw a pair of frightened eyes shining at him from
among the bushes.

That night he rested at Ozark. For two days following, the weather was
very bad. The first night he was compelled to camp on a sand bar for a
few hours and build a fire to thaw himself. The rest so invigorated him
that he paddled into the night of the second day. Sleet coated his
dress until he resembled a cake of ice and his paddle became so thick
that he could scarcely handle it. About nine o'clock he went ashore and
found a cabin, the light from a blazing fire within shining through the
chinks between the logs. He hammered on the door and was invited to
enter. As he pushed in, a line, of black, kinky heads raised from beds
on the floor, and several pairs of eyes gazed inquiringly in the
direction of the door. When the glistening black figure was discovered,
some shrieked and covered their heads. A powerful negro jumped up and
seized an ax, moving rapidly toward Boyton with it uplifted.

"What's the matter with you?" said Paul, stepping back a few paces
toward the door, "put down that ax. I am on a trip down the river
and seeking shelter."

After some persuasion, the negro put the ax down in a handy corner and
gave his queer guest permission to sleep in front of the fireplace,
while the family peered at him curiously from under their bed clothes.
At daylight they all crawled out to see him start and they formed quite
a large gathering. It was the sight of a lifetime with them and their
yells of delight were unrestrained as he pulled away towing the Baby,
which was covered with ice.

As Boyton approached Dardenelle, a party of reporters met him in skiffs.
He was informed that a steaming hot breakfast was prepared for him at a
hotel and invited to stop; but feeling in good shape, he thought he
would go ahead. Mr. James K. Perry, a merchant of Dardenelle, whom Paul
had met in New Orleans, rowed up and was so pressing in his offers of
hospitality, that the voyager could not refuse. A perfect mass of
humanity had gathered at the wharf and a carriage was there to c