The tall Hoosier worked awhile in silence, his face somber in the gathering dusk. Then a grin twisted the corners of his big mouth. “Lucky thing fer me this Crockett feller didn’t take me up on another fall,” said he. “I was closer to gittin’ my deserts that time than I ever remember. He’d have thrown me sure, I reckon. Golly, what a man!” Tad stoutly pooh-poohed the idea that Davy Crockett, or any other human, could take the measure of his hero. But Abe smiled and shook his head. “’Tain’t jest that he was strong,” he explained. “There’s plenty o’ big, powerful men. But I never hooked up with one that was faster on his feet or had more grit.” Night had fallen when they reached the end of the cut, and they could see little of the river below except a wide, shadowy expanse of water with indistinct lines of shore receding on either hand. “Sleepy, Tad?” asked Abe. “If ye ain’t, we’d better keep a double look-out fer snags an’ sand-reefs. I’m a-goin’ right on till Allen wakes up an’ spells me.” The boy took up his position squatting in the bow, his gaze straining into the dark ahead. There was no noise except the lap of the hurrying river around the flatboat’s sides and the occasional soft creak of the tholepins. The deck heaved slightly, with a steady, breathing motion, as Abe’s moccasins trod backward and forward, and the long sweeps pulled through the water. Tad, his fancy thrilled at first by the vast loneliness around them and the sense of mystery and adventure in their silent downward voyage, began to feel sleepy after an hour or two. He shifted his position again and again, to shake himself awake, but his head would nod in spite of all his efforts. Suddenly there came sounds from the left bank, half a mile away, that made him start bolt upright, wide awake and listening. A shout carried across the water, menacing and sharp. There was an interval of a few seconds and then an eager whimper reached them, followed by a deep, bell-like tone--the baying of a hound. Lights appeared, glimmering in jerky movements along the shore. Another shout or two followed, and then everything was quiet. The lights disappeared one by one, and the desolate, brooding dark settled once more over the face of the river. “What was it, Abe?” whispered the boy. “Dunno,” said Abe. “No way o’ tellin’. But it sure did give me the cold creeps; didn’t it you?” “Yes,” shivered Tad. He was no longer sleepy. With every sense on the alert, he watched the dim banks and the dusky water ahead. Thoughts of the terrible Murrell and other cold-blooded rogues of the river crossed his mind. For nearly half an hour he expected momentarily to see danger of some kind develop. Then, just as he was lulling himself into a sense of security, another startling thing happened.