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Sometimes we’d have that whole river all to ourselves for the longest
time. Yonder was the banks and the islands, across the water; and maybe a
spark—which was a candle in a cabin window; and sometimes on the water you
could see a spark or two—on a raft or a scow, you know; and maybe you could
hear a fiddle or a song coming over from one of them crafts. It’s lovely to
live on a raft. We had the sky up there, all speckled with stars, and we
used to lay on our backs and look up at them, and discuss about whether they
was made or only just happened. Jim he allowed they was made, but I allowed
they happened; I judged it would have took too long to MAKE so many. Jim
said the moon could a LAID them; well, that looked kind of reasonable, so I
didn’t say nothing against it, because I’ve seen a frog lay most as many, so
of course it could be done. We used to watch the stars that fell, too, and
see them streak down. Jim allowed they’d got spoiled and was hove out of the
nest.
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Sometimes we’d have the whole river to ourselves for a long time. The
riverbanks and the islands would all be far off in the distance. Sometimes
you’d see a spark of light, which would be a candle in a cabin window. Or
sometimes you’d see a spark or two on the water as a raft or scow or
something passed by. Every now and then you’d hear the sounds of a fiddle or
a song drifting out across the water from another boat. Then there was the
sky, all speckled with stars. We used to lie on our backs and look up at
them and discuss whether they were created or just came into being on their
own. Jim thought they’d been made, but I thought they’d just happened. I
figured it would have taken too long to MAKE so many. Jim said the moon
could have laid them like a chicken lays eggs. That sounded reasonable, so I
didn’t argue with him. I’ve seen a frog lay a lot of eggs, so I knew it
could be done. We used to watch the falling stars, too, as they streaked
down. Jim thought they were falling because they’d spoiled and were being
thrown out of the nest. It sure was nice to live on a raft.
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Once or twice of a night we would see a steamboat slipping along in the
dark, and now and then she would belch a whole world of sparks up out of her
chimbleys, and they would rain down in the river and look awful pretty; then
she would turn a corner and her lights would wink out and her powwow shut
off and leave the river still again; and by and by her waves would get to
us, a long time after she was gone, and joggle the raft a bit, and after
that you wouldn’t hear nothing for you couldn’t tell how long, except maybe
frogs or something.
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Once or twice a night we’d see a steamboat gliding along in the dark.
Every now and then one would belch a whole lot of sparks out its chimneys,
and the sparks would rain down on the river and look really pretty. Then it
would turn a corner and the lights and sounds of the paddlewheel would
disappear and leave the river quiet again. A long time after it had passed,
the waves from its wake would reach us and toss the raft around a little
bit. For a long while after that, you wouldn’t hear anything except maybe
frogs or something.
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After midnight the people on shore went to bed, and then for two or three
hours the shores was black—no more sparks in the cabin windows. These sparks
was our clock—the first one that showed again meant morning was coming, so
we hunted a place to hide and tie up right away.
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The people on shore would go to bed after midnight. The shores would be
black for two or three hours since the sparks in the cabin windows had been
put out. These sparks were our clock—the first one we saw meant that morning
was coming, and we’d hunt for a place on the shore to hide and tie up right
away.
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One morning about daybreak I found a canoe and crossed over a chute to the
main shore—it was only two hundred yards—and paddled about a mile up a crick
amongst the cypress woods, to see if I couldn’t get some berries. Just as I
was passing a place where a kind of a cowpath crossed the crick, here comes
a couple of men tearing up the path as tight as they could foot it. I
thought I was a goner, for whenever anybody was after anybody I judged it
was ME—or maybe Jim. I was about to dig out from there in a hurry, but they
was pretty close to me then, and sung out and begged me to save their
lives—said they hadn’t been doing nothing, and was being chased for it—said
there was men and dogs a-coming. They wanted to jump right in, but I
says:
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One morning around dawn I found a canoe. I crossed over a little chute in
the river to the shore, which was only two hundred yards or so away. I
paddled about a mile up a creek among the cypress forest to see if I could
pick some berries. Just as I was crossing the spot where a little game trail
crossed the creek, I saw a couple of men running up the path as fast as they
could. I immediately thought I was dead, because I automatically assumed
that anyone who was running around was after ME or maybe Jim. I was about to
start rowing furiously to get out there, but they were already close to me.
Then they called out and begged me to save their lives. They said they
hadn’t done anything but were being chased all the same by men and dogs.
They wanted to jump into my canoe, but I said:
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“Don’t you do it. I don’t hear the dogs and horses yet; you’ve got time to
crowd through the brush and get up the crick a little ways; then you take to
the water and wade down to me and get in—that’ll throw the dogs off the
scent.”
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“No, you don’t! I don’t hear any dogs or horses. You’ve got time to get
through the bushes and up the creek a little ways. Then you can get in the
water and wade down to me and climb in—that’ll throw the dogs off your
scent.”
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They done it, and soon as they was aboard I lit out for our towhead, and
in about five or ten minutes we heard the dogs and the men away off,
shouting. We heard them come along towards the crick, but couldn’t see them;
they seemed to stop and fool around a while; then, as we got further and
further away all the time, we couldn’t hardly hear them at all; by the time
we had left a mile of woods behind us and struck the river, everything was
quiet, and we paddled over to the towhead and hid in the cottonwoods and was
safe.
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They did as I’d suggested and soon they were aboard. I started rowing like
crazy for our towhead. After about five or ten minutes, we heard the dogs
and men shouting way off in the distance coming toward the creek. You
couldn’t see them, and they seemed to stop and mess around for a bit. As we
got further away, we couldn’t hear them at all. By the time we reached the
river about a mile away, everything was quiet. We paddled out to our towhead
and hid safely in the cottonwoods.
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One of these fellows was about seventy or upwards, and had a bald head and
very gray whiskers. He had an old battered-up slouch hat on, and a greasy
blue woollen shirt, and ragged old blue jeans britches stuffed into his
boot-tops, and home-knit galluses—no, he only had one. He had an old
long-tailed blue jeans coat with slick brass buttons flung over his arm, and
both of them had big, fat, ratty-looking carpet-bags.
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One of these fellows was around seventy years old, maybe older. He had a
bald head and very gray whiskers. He wore a beat up old slouching hat, a
greasy blue woolen shirt, raggedy old blue jeans that were stuffed into the
tops of his boots, and home made pair of suspenders—actually, he only had
one. He had a coat with long tails made out of blue, with slick brass
buttons slung over his arm. Both he and his companion had big, fat, ratty
looking carpetbags.
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