we covered up the raft that way for, and laid by in the daytime instead of running--was Jim a runaway nigger?  Says I: “Goodness sakes! would a runaway nigger run _south_?” No, they allowed he wouldn't.  I had to account for things some way, so I says: “My folks was living in Pike County, in Missouri, where I was born, and they all died off but me and pa and my brother Ike.  Pa, he 'lowed he'd break up and go down and live with Uncle Ben, who's got a little one-horse place on the river, forty-four mile below Orleans.  Pa was pretty poor, and had some debts; so when he'd squared up there warn't nothing left but sixteen dollars and our nigger, Jim.  That warn't enough to take us fourteen hundred mile, deck passage nor no other way.  Well, when the river rose pa had a streak of luck one day; he ketched this piece of a raft; so we reckoned we'd go down to Orleans on it.  Pa's luck didn't hold out; a steamboat run over the forrard corner of the raft one night, and we all went overboard and dove under the wheel; Jim and me come up all right, but pa was drunk, and Ike was only four years old, so they never come up no more.  Well, for the next day or two we had considerable trouble, because people was always coming out in skiffs and trying to take Jim away from me, saying they believed he was a runaway nigger.  We don't run daytimes no more now; nights they don't bother us.” The duke says: “Leave me alone to cipher out a way so we can run in the daytime if we want to.  I'll think the thing over--I'll invent a plan that'll fix it. We'll let it alone for to-day, because of course we don't want to go by that town yonder in daylight--it mightn't be healthy.” Towards night it begun to darken up and look like rain; the heat lightning was squirting around low down in the sky, and the leaves was beginning to shiver--it was going to be pretty ugly, it was easy to see that.  So the duke and the king went to overhauling our wigwam, to see what the beds was like.  My bed was a s