Rasba carried Prebol on his cot up to the bow of the big boat, and put him down where he could help watch the river, and they cast off. Prebol knew the bends and reaches, and named most of the landings; they gossiped about the people and the places. Prebol told how river rats sometimes stole hogs or cattle for food, and Rasba learned for the first time of organized piracy, of river men who were banded together for stealing what they could, raiding river towns, attacking "sports," tripping the river, and even more desperate enterprises. While he talked, Prebol slyly watched his listener and thought for a long time that Rasba was merely dumbfounded by the atrocities, but at last the Prophet grinned: "An' yo's a riveh rat. Ho law!" "Why, I didn't say----" Prebol began, but his words faltered. "Yo' know right smart about such things," Rasba reminded him. "I 'low hit were about time somebody shot yo' easy, so's to give yo' repentance a chance to catch up with yo' wickedness. Don't yo'?" Prebol glared at the accusation, but Rasba pretended not to notice. "Yo' see, Prebol, this world is jes' the hounds a-chasin' the rabbits, er the rabbits a-gittin' out the way. The good that's into a man keeps a-runnin', to git shut of the sin that's in him, an' theh's a heap of wrestlin' when one an' tother catches holt an' fights." "Hit's seo!" Prebol admitted, reluctantly. He didn't have much use for religious arguments. "I wisht yo'd read them books to me, Parson. I ain't neveh had much eddycation. I'll watch the riveh, an' warn ye, 'gin we make the crossin's." Nothing suited them better. Rasba read aloud, stabbing each word with his finger while he sought the range and rhythm of the sentences, and, as they happened to strike a book of fables, their minds could grasp the stories and the morals at least sufficiently to entertain and hold their attention. Prebol said, warningly, after a time: "Betteh hit that sweep a lick, Parson, she's a-swingin' in onto that bar p'int." A few leisurely strokes, the boats drifted away into deep water, and Rasba expressed his admiration. "Sho, Prebol! Yo' seen that bar a mile up. We'd run down onto hit." "Yas, suh," the wounded man grinned. "Three-four licks on the oars up theh, and down yeah yo' save pullin' yo' livin' daylights out, to keep from goin' onto a sandbar or into a dryin'-up chute." "How's that?" Rasba cocked his ear. "Say hit oveh--slow!" "Why, if yo's into the set of the current up theh, hit ain't strong; yo' jes' give two-three licks an' yo' send out clear. Down theh on the bar she draws yo' right into shallow water, an' yo' hang up." Rasba looked up the river; he looked down at the nearing sandbar, and as they passed the rippling head in safety he turned a grave face toward the pilot. "Up theh, theh wasn't much suck to hit, but down yeah, afteh yo've drawed into the current, theh's a strong drag an' bad shoals?" "Jes' so!"