noon, a land speculator presented himself on the other side of the river, and called for the ferry.  At that moment the sky was covered with dark and heavy clouds, and flashes of lightning succeeded each other in every direction; in fact, everything proved that the evening would not pass without one of those dreadful storms so common in that country during the months of April and May.  Gibson soon appeared in his boat, but instead of casting it loose, he entered into a conversation.

“Where do you come from, eh?”

“From the settlements,” answered the stranger.

“You’ve a ticklish, muddish kind of river to pass.”

“Aye,” replied the other, who was fully aware of it.

“And a blackish, thunderish, damned storm behind you, I say.”

The traveller knew that too, and as he believed that the conversation could as well be carried on while crossing over, he added: 

“Make haste, I pray, my good man; I am in a hurry, and I should not like to pass the night here in these canes for a hundred dollars.”

“Nor I, for a thousand,” answered Gibson.  “Well, stranger, what will you give me to ferry you over?”

“The usual fare, I suppose—­two or three dollars.”

“Why, that may do for a poor man in fine weather, and having plenty of time to spare, but I be blessed if I take you for ten times that money now that you are in so great a hurry and have such a storm behind.”

The traveller knew at once he had to deal with a blackguard, but as he was himself an Arkansas man of the genuine breed, he resolved to give him a “Roland for an Oliver.”

“It is a shameful imposition,” he cried; “how much do you want after all?”

“Why, not a cent less than fifty dollars.”

The stranger turned his horse round, as if he would go back; but, after a few moments, he returned again.

“Oh,” he cried, “you are a rogue, and take the opportunity of my being in so great a hurry.  I’ll give you what you want, but mind I never will pass this road again, and shall undoubtedly publish your conduct in the Arkansas newspapers.”

Gibson chuckled with delight; he had humbugged a stranger, and did not care a fig for all the newspapers in the world; so he answered, “Welcome to do what you please;” and, untying the boat, he soon crossed the stream.  Before allowing the stranger to enter the ferry, Gibson demanded the money, which was given to him under the shape of five ten-dollar notes, which he secured in his pocket, and then rowed with all his might.

On arriving on the other side, the stranger led his horse out of the boat, and while Gibson was stooping down to fix the chain, he gave him a kick on the temple, which sent him reeling and senseless in his boat; then taking back his own money, he sprung upon his saddle, and passing before the cabin, he gently advised Gibson’s wife to “go and see, for her husband had hurt himself a little in rowing.”