An instant later Betty and Hannibal stood on the raft with the little Cavendishes flocking about them. Mr. Yancy's quest of his nevvy had taken an enduring hold on their imagination. For weeks it had constituted their one vital topic, and the fight became merely a satisfying background for this interesting restoration. “Sho', they'd got him! Sho'--he wa'n't no bigger than Richard! Sho'!” “Oh!” cried Betty, with a fearful glance toward the keel boat. “Can't you stop them?” “What fo'?” asked Polly, opening her black eyes very wide. “Bless yo' tender heart!-you don't need to worry none, we got them strange gentlemen licked like they was a passel of children! Connie, you-all mind that fire!” She accurately judged the outcome of the fight. The boat was little better than a shambles with the havoc that had been wrought there when Yancy and Carrington dropped over its side to the raft. Cavendish followed them, whooping his triumph as he came. CHAPTER XXXII. THE RAFT AGAIN Yancy and Cavendish threw themselves on the sweeps and worked the raft clear of the keel boat, then the turbulent current seized the smaller craft and whirled it away into the night; as its black bulk receded from before his eyes the Earl of Lambeth spoke with the voice of authority and experience. “It was a good fight and them fellows done well, but not near well enough.” A conclusion that could not be gainsaid. He added, “No one ain't hurt but them that had ought to have got hurt. Mr. Yancy's all right, and so's Mr. Carrington--who's mighty welcome here.” The earl's shock of red hair was bristling like the mane of some angry animal and his eyes still flashed with the light of battle, but he managed to summon up an expression of winning friendliness. “Mr. Carrington's kin to me, Polly,” explained Yancy to Mrs. Cavendish. His voice was far from steady, for Hannibal had been gathered into his arms and had all but wrecked the stoic calm with which the Scratch Hiller was seeking to guard his emotions. Polly smiled and dimpled at the Kentuckian. Trained to a romantic point of view she had a frank liking for handsome stalwart men. Cavendish was neither, but none knew better than Polly that where he was most lacking in appearance he was richest in substance. He carried scars honorably earned in those differences he had been prone to cultivate with less generous natures; for his scheme of life did not embrace the millennium. “Thank God, you got here when you did!” said Carrington. “We was some pushed fo' time, but we done it,” responded the earl modestly. He added, “What now?--do we make a landing?” “No--unless it interferes with your plans not to. I 'want to get around the next bend before we tie up. Later we'll all go back. Can I count on you?” “You shorely can. I consider this here as sociable a neighborhood as I ever struck. It pleases me well. Folks are up and doing hereabout.”