the rope, and away we went! We didn't touch an oar, and we didn't speak nor whisper, nor hardly even breathe.  We went gliding swift along, dead silent, past the tip of the paddle-box, and past the stern; then in a second or two more we was a hundred yards below the wreck, and the darkness soaked her up, every last sign of her, and we was safe, and knowed it. When we was three or four hundred yards down-stream we see the lantern show like a little spark at the texas door for a second, and we knowed by that that the rascals had missed their boat, and was beginning to understand that they was in just as much trouble now as Jim Turner was. Then Jim manned the oars, and we took out after our raft.  Now was the first time that I begun to worry about the men--I reckon I hadn't had time to before.  I begun to think how dreadful it was, even for murderers, to be in such a fix.  I says to myself, there ain't no telling but I might come to be a murderer myself yet, and then how would I like it?  So says I to Jim: “The first light we see we'll land a hundred yards below it or above it, in a place where it's a good hiding-place for you and the skiff, and then I'll go and fix up some kind of a yarn, and get somebody to go for that gang and get them out of their scrape, so they can be hung when their time comes.” But that idea was a failure; for pretty soon it begun to storm again, and this time worse than ever.  The rain poured down, and never a light showed; everybody in bed, I reckon.  We boomed along down the river, watching for lights and watching for our raft.  After a long time the rain let up, but the clouds stayed, and the lightning kept whimpering, and by and by a flash showed us a black thing ahead, floating, and we made for it. It was the raft, and mighty glad was we to get aboard of it again.  We seen a light now away down to the right, on shore.  So I said I would go for it. The skiff was half full of plunder which that gang had stole there on the wreck.  We