ed a flat-boat, and began ferrying over at the rate of three
dollars a head. As the immigration was very extensive, Gibson soon grew
independent, and he entered into a kind of partnership with the free
bands which were already organized. One day, about noon, a land
speculator presented himself on the other side of the river, and called
for the ferry. At that moment the sky was covered with dark and heavy
clouds, and flashes of lightning succeeded each other in every
direction; in fact, everything proved that the evening would not pass
without one of those dreadful storms so common in that country during
the months of April and May. Gibson soon appeared in his boat, but
instead of casting it loose, he entered into a conversation.

"Where do you come from, eh?"

"From the settlements," answered the stranger.

"You've a ticklish, muddish kind of river to pass."

"Aye," replied the other, who was fully aware of it.

"And a blackish, thunderish, damned storm behind you, I say."

The traveller knew that too, and as he believed that the conversation
could as well be carried on while crossing over, he added:

"Make haste, I pray, my good man; I am in a hurry, and I should not like
to pass the night here in these canes for a hundred dollars."

"Nor I, for a thousand," answered Gibson. "Well, stranger, what will you
give me to ferry you over?"

"The usual fare, I suppose--two or three dollars."

"Why, that may do for a poor man in fine weather, and having plenty of
time to spare, but I be blessed if I take you for ten times that money
now that you are in so great a hurry and have such a storm behind."

The traveller knew at once he had to deal with a blackguard, but as he
was himself an Arkansas man of the genuine breed, he resolved to give
him a "Roland for an Oliver."

"It is a shameful imposition," he cried; "how much do you want after
all?"

"Why, not a cent less than fifty dollars."

The stranger turned his horse round, as if he would go back; but, after
a few moments, he returned again.

"Oh," he cried, "you are a rogue, and take the opportunity of my being
in so great a hurry. I'll give you what you want, but mind I never will
pass this road again, and shall undoubtedly publish your conduct in the
Arkansas newspapers."

Gibson chuckled with delight; he had humbugged a stranger, and did not
care a fig for all the newspapers in the world; so he answered, "Welcome
to do what you please;" and, untying the bo