"It's no use, they'll follow us up every time," said Mark. An hour went by and still the hounds kept their position under the trees. Once in a while one would place his forepaws on the tree and look up savagely and wistfully. "I really believe they'd like to make a meal of us," said Bob, with a shiver. "Say, this is getting to California with a vengeance!" "Never despair!" answered Mark, hopefully. "I must say I'm growing sleepy." "I'm sleepy myself, but I'm not going to sleep and fall off the tree just yet." Two hours more went by and all was now pitch-dark around them. Finding a rotten limb the boys broke it into pieces and hurled the sticks at the bloodhounds, which brought forth more baying and more snapping of teeth. "They don't mind the sticks any more than straws," declared Bob. "They are too tough to be hurt that way." "Hark!" said his companion. "I thought I heard somebody calling." "There goes one of the dogs," said Bob, who chanced to be looking downward. "I guess somebody must have called him!" "Let us shout again." They did so, and kept up the calls for fully five minutes. Then from a distance an answer came back. "Who's dat a-calling?" came in a rich negro voice. "We are," answered Mark. "Two boys." "Whar is you-uns?" "Up a tree near the river. Our boat drifted away and your dogs treed us." "Am dat so? Did you say two boys?" "Yes." "Is you-uns armed?" "If we were you'd have some dead dogs around here," put in Bob. "What fo' you-uns come ashoah?" asked the voice, and now a burly negro put in an appearance under the tree. He had a smoky barn lantern in one hand and a stout club in the other. "We didn't come ashore here," answered Mark. "We landed some distance above here, during the storm. Then our boat drifted down the stream and we followed along the river bank, until your dogs came for us." "Did dem dorgs bite you-uns?" "We didn't give them the chance," said Bob. "Whar you-uns gwine?" "To Cairo, if we can make it." A little additional talk followed, and at last the negro was convinced that they meant no harm. Then he called off the bloodhounds and chained them up. "To tell de truf, I didn't know da was loose," said he. "Colonel Racket mustah hab fogotten bound dem." "Who is Colonel Racket?" questioned Mark. "De colonel is ma mastah, sah--he owns dis place, sah." "Is he around?" "No, sah; he off to de horse races an' won't be back until day aftah to-morrow. He put me in charge. Whar's dat boat you-uns dun spoke 'bout?" "Out on the river somewhere--she was over yonder a couple of hours ago," answered Bob. The negro went with them down to the shore and swung the smoky lantern above his head. "Dar's a scow out dar," he cried, presently. "That's our boat," cried Mark. "How can we get to her? Have you a rowboat?"