“I got off pretty soon after, en went aboard a _leetle_ riled. But I didn’t tell the boys who I thought was the rascal, thoar I told em to keep a sharp watch, en fire to kill, when they did shoot. But tha’ warn’t nobody come, Joe knew better than to play with the old fox in his den—Joe did. “Nex’ mornin’ we were just castin’ off, when Joe come down to the wharf-boat, en sez he: “‘You ain’t goin’ off mad, ar you?’ “‘No,’ sez I. “‘Wal,’ sez he, ‘less take a partin’ smile.’ “I didn’t like the idea, but Ransom he said: “‘Come in, Ben!’ en in I went and drinkt. “‘What d’you say to a buffalo-juggin?’ said Joe, arter we’d lickered. “‘It’s too airly in the season,’ sez I; ‘b’sides I’m off for Orleans.’ “‘So’m I,’ said Joe, ‘at eleven; en we’ll go company.’ “‘What’s the blaze?’ said Ransom. “‘Two canoes, and one jug,’ said Joe. “I knowed what he was after then, for it showed clean out’n his eyes. Joe war the best swimmer, en he thort ef we cum together an’ upset the canoes, he’d have the advantage. He knowed he’d git catawampously chored up ashore, en _he wanted to drown me_.” “What a devil incarnate! I exclaimed.” “That’s just him ’zactly. I thort a minnit, and then sez I: “‘I’m your man.’ “Wal, a skiff tuck out the only jug, en Joe en I paddled from shore leisurely. “‘A bob!’ yelled out Ransom, en we started. “We was about ten rods apart, en neck-en-neck. On we swept like greased lightnin’, Joe leadin’ by ’bout _two inches_, I should guess. I had not look’t at Joe sens we left shore, but as we draw’d nigh the jug I seed he had his coat and jacket off. We was within ten foot of the jug, en both dropped paddles, en I shed my coat en jacket a _leetle_ quicker’n common. Tha’ warn’t no misunderstandin’ between us then; en as the canoes come together, both grappled and went overboard, and underneath the water.” Ben here paused, took out his bandanna, and wiped the big drops off of his forehead, as coolly as if he was recounting the events of a dinner-party. “Well,” I urged impatiently, “you both went under the water?” “Yes, that was the _accident_ happened!” “Accident? explain.” “Why, I’ve no more to say’n this. I riz, en got aboard my broad-horn, en come away.” “But Joe—what became of him?” “_Joe? he was a missin’ ’long with my bowie-knife!_” I parted with Ben, when the ‘Perry’ touched the wharf at Providence, not caring, _under the circumstances_, to inquire which way he was travelling. VIII. MIKE FINK IN A TIGHT PLACE. Mike Fink, a notorious Buckeye-hunter, was contemporary with the celebrated Davy Crockett, and his equal in all things relating to human prowess. It was even said that the animals knew the crack of his rifle, and would take to their secret hiding-places, on the first intimation that Mike was about. Yet strange, though true, he was but little known beyond his immediate “settlement.”