"They belong ter Joe Kirby, an' we got
'em locked up."
"That's whut yer way up yere fur, hey? Goin' ter take 'em back down
river ter Saint Louee, I reckon?"
"Furst boat thet cums 'long. They skipped out night afore las', but we
cotched 'em all right. Yer goin' back on this steamer?"
"Not me; I'm goin' fer ter enlist whin we git ter Yellow Banks. Thar's
a heap more fun in thet, then steam-boatin'."
We continued to talk back and forth for some time but to little
purpose, although I endeavored to lead the conversation so as to learn
more definitely the exact situation of the two prisoners. Whether Tim
was naturally cautious, or had been warned against talking with
strangers by Kirby, I do not know, but, in spite of all my efforts, he
certainly proved extremely close-mouthed, except when we drifted upon
other topics in which I felt no interest. He was not suspicious of me,
however, and lingered on in his seat beside the rail, expectorating
into the running water below, until Mapes suddenly appeared on deck,
and compelled me to resume work. The two disappeared together, seeking
a friendly drink at the bar, leaving me alone, and industriously
employed in brightening up the front of the cabin. I was still engaged
at this labor, not sorry to be left alone, when a cautious whisper,
sounding almost at my very ear, caused me to glance up quickly,
startled at the unexpected sound. I could perceive nothing, although I
instantly felt convinced that whispering voice had issued from between
the narrow slats defending the small stateroom window.
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