member, with the aid of his pencilled
midnight notes, about that long run down. With his maps before him he
recognized the bends and reaches, the sandbars and islands which had
loomed up in the dark. Of all the parts of the river, the hundred miles
from Island No. 10 down to Fort Pillow became the most familiar to his
thoughts, black though the night had been. Even each government light
began to have characteristics, and the sky-line of levee, wilderness,
sandbar, and caving bank grew more and more defined.

Having written his notes, and Jeff Slamey having fingered the nine
loose-leaf sheets with exclamatory interest and delight, Terabon said he
must go rest awhile.

"Yas, suh," the fisherman cried, "when a man's pulled a hundred mile he
shore needs sleep. When the woman's got that goose cooked, I bet yo'll
be ready to eat, too."

So Terabon turned in to sleep. He was awakened at last by the sizzling
of a goose getting its final basting. He started up, and Slamey said:

"Hit's ready. I bet yo' feel betteh, now; six hours asleep!"

It didn't seem like six minutes of dreamless recreation.

With night the wind fell. The flood of sunset brilliance spread down the
radiant sandbars and the bright waterways. The trees were plated with
silver and gold, and the sweep of the caving bend was a dark shadow
against which the river current swept with ceaseless attack.

For hours that night Terabon amused his host with his adventures, except
that he made but most casual mention of the woman whom Carline was
seeking. He was cautious, too, about the motorboat and the companion
who had taken Carline down the river, till Slamey burst out:

"I know that feller. He's a bad man; he's a river rat. If he don't kill
Gus Carline, I don't know these yeah riveh fellers. They use down
thisaway every winter. I know; I know them all. I leave them alone, an'
they leave me alone. I knew they was comin'. They got three four boats
now. One feller, name of Prebol--he's bad, too--was shot by a lady above
Cairo. He's with a coupla gamblers to Caruthersville now. Everybody
stops yeah; I know everybody; everybody knows me."

The next day was calm all day long, and Terabon went up the bank to
shoot squirrels or other woods game; he went almost up to the Plum
Point, killed several head of game, and rejoiced in the bayous and
sloughs and chutes of a changing land.

The following morning he was hailed by Slamey:

"Hi--i, Terabon! Theh's a shanty-boat