It was well on in the afternoon and the dismal sky was bringing an early dusk when they sighted the barge once more, returning upstream. It passed fairly close, the oars still beating in brisk time against the current. But this time there was a fifth figure among the armed white men in the stern. A big negro, his naked back and shoulders gleaming darkly in the rain, crouched in the middle of the group. They could not see his face, but there were terror and despair in every line of his cowering body. As they watched the boat they saw it veer over in the direction of a small island they had passed in midstream a mile or so above. “That’s whar they’ll fix him,” said Allen grimly. “What do you mean--kill him?” asked Tad. “Not a mite of it,” the other replied. “Ye don’t ketch them fellers throwin’ away a thousand dollars. They’ll make him wish he hadn’t, though. The way I’ve heard tell about it, they’ll likely start a bonfire, thar on the island, an’ take a gunbar’l, or mebbe a reg’lar iron made fer the job, an’ burn a big mark on to his chest an’ arms. Arter he gits well that brand’ll allers be on him, so the overseers kin watch him extra keerful an’ give him a double dose o’ the whip if he looks sideways.” “Yes,” said Abe, sober-faced, “as fur as he’s concerned, he’d be a heap better off dead.” They tied up to a big cottonwood on the Arkansas side, that night, and Tad lay a long time awake, listening to the ceaseless thud of the rain on wet planking and dripping canvas. The thought of the runaway negro, captured after his break for freedom and dragged back to the torture, seemed to haunt him. At last the monotone of the rain was broken by a shivery squall--the cry of a wildcat, somewhere back in the brush. Poke roused himself with an uneasy grunt, and Tad rolled over, pulling the blanket tighter about him. “That you, Tad?” came Abe’s low voice. “I can’t git comfortable, neither. That poor devil gittin’ caught that way ’pears to have upsot me. Well, thar ain’t much we kin do about it. Let’s go to sleep.” And whether Abe was successful himself or not, his suggestion seemed to be all that Tad needed, for he dropped off at once into deep slumber. The rain continued falling steadily for the next two days, and with it the water began to rise. They watched it climb inch by inch as they drifted south, till the yellow tide was swirling halfway up the tree trunks and broadening into vast lakes in the lower lands. It was difficult, often, to pick out the course of the main river, for except where lines of cottonwoods fringed the banks, it was all one dreary expanse under the sullen beat of the rain. Everything was wet--clothes, blankets, food. Even Allen’s banjo was temporarily out of commission. The boys’ spirits flagged, and if it had not been for the antics of the little bear and an occasional story from Abe, their party would have been glum indeed.