Shorty caught the log with a long pole, and dexterously steered it up close to the shore in comparatively still water. Si threw a grapevine over it and held it. "Now, all git on," said Shorty. "Be careful not to push it away." "Let me get on ahead," said the Lieutenant, still mindful of his rank, "and you two get on behind, the Corporal next to me." "Not much, Mary Ann," jeered Shorty. "We want a man of sense ahead, to steer. I'll git on first, then you, and then Si, to bring up the rear and manage the hind end of the log." The Lieutenant had to comply. They all got safely on, and Shorty pushed off, saying: "Here, sit straight, both of you. Here goes mebbe for New Orleans, mebbe for Libby Prison, mebbe for the camp of the 200th Ind. "We're out on the ocean sailin'." [Illustration: HERE GOES, MEBBE TO LIBBEY PRISON. 55] CHAPTER V. AFLOAT ON A LOG SI, SHORTY AND THE WEST-POINTER HAVE AN EVENTFUL JOURNEY. THE log swept out into the yellow swirl, bobbing up and down in the turbulent current. "Bobs like a buckin' broncho," said Shorty. "Make you seasick, Si?" "Not yet," answered his partner. "I ain't so much afraid o' that as I am that some big alligator-gar 'll come along and take his dinner off my leg." "Bah," said Shorty, contemptuously; "no alligator-gar is goin' to come up into this mud-freshet. He'd ruther hunt dogs and nigger-babies further down the river. Likes 'em better. He ain't goin' to gnaw at them old Wabash sycamore legs o' yourn when he kin git a bite at them fat shoats we saw sailin' down stream awhile ago." "The belief in alligator-gar is a vulgar and absurd superstition," said the Lieutenant, breaking silence for the first time. "There, isn't anywhere in fresh water a fish capable of eating anything bigger than a bull-frog."