to her, I eased up and went slow and cautious. But everything was all right—nobody at the sweeps. So I swum down along the raft till I was most abreast the camp fire in the middle, then I crawled aboard and inched along and got in amongst some bundles of shingles on the weather side of the fire. There was thirteen men there—they was the watch on deck of course. And a mighty rough-looking lot, too. They had a jug, and tin cups, and they kept the jug moving. One man was singing—roaring, you may say; and it was n't a nice song—for a parlor anyway. He roared through his nose, and strung out the last word of every line very long. When he was done they fetched a kind of Injun war-whoop, and then another was sung. It begun:—
"There was a woman in our towdn,
In our towdn did dwed'l (dwell,)
She loved her husband dear-i-lee,
But another man twyste as wed'l.
Singing too, riloo, riloo, riloo,
Ri-too, riloo, rilay---e,
She loved her husband dear-i-lee,
But another man twyste as wed'l."
And so on—fourteen verses. It was kind of poor, and when he was going to start on the next verse one of them said it was the time the old cow died on; and another one said, "Oh, give us a rest." And another one told him to take a walk. They made fun of him till he got mad and jumped up and begun to cuss the crowd, and said he could lam any thief in the lot.
They was all about to make a break for him, but the biggest man there jumped up and says:—
"Set whar you are, gentlemen. Leave him to me; he's my meat."
Then he jumped up in the air three times and cracked his heels together every time. He flung off a buckskin coat that was all hung with fringes, and says, "You lay thar tell the chawin-up's done;" and flung his hat down, which was all over ribbons, and says, "You lay thar tell his sufferins is over."
Then he jumped up in the air and cracked his heels together again and shouted out:—
"Whoo-oop! I'm the old original iron-jawed, brass-mounted,