It was jist a-gittin’ a little gray-like in the mornin’ by the time we reached the ford, but you couldn’t hardly see two rods afore you far the mist and the fog ’at had settled along the river.  We looked far tracks, but couldn’t make out nuthin’.  Thereckly old Ezry punched me and p’inted out acrost the river.  “What’s that?” he whispers.  Jist ‘bout half way acrost was somepin’ white-like in the worter—­couldn’t make out what—­perfeckly still it was.  And I whispered back and told him I guess it wasn’t nothin’ but a sycamore snag.  “Listen!” says he; “Sycamore snags don’t make no noise like that!” And, shore enough, it was the same moanin’ noise we’d heerd the baby makin’ when we first got on the track.  Sobbin’ she was, as though nigh about dead.  “Well, ef that’s Bills,” says I—­“and I reckon ther’ hain’t no doubt but it is—­what in the name o’ all that’s good and bad’s the feller a-standin’ there far?” And a-creep-in’ clos’ter, we could make him out plainer and plainer.  It was him; and there he stood breast-high in the worter, a-holdin’ the baby on his shoulder like, and a lookin’ up stream, and a-waitin’.

“What do you make out of it?” says Ezry.  “What’s he waitin’ far?”

And a strainin’ my eyes in the direction he was a-lookin’ I seed somepin’ a-movin’ down the river, and a minute later I’d made out the old boat a-driftin’ down stream; and then of course ever’thing was plain enough:  He was waitin’ far the boat, and ef he got that he’d have the same advantage on us he had afore.

“Boys,” says I, “he mustn’t git that boat agin!  Foller me, and don’t let him git to the shore alive.”  And in we plunged.  He seed us, but he never budged, on’y to grab the baby by its little legs, and swing it out at arms-len’th.  “Stop, there,” he hollered.  “Stop jist where you air!  Move another inch and I’ll drownd this dam young-un afore your eyes!” he says.—­And he ’d a done it.  “Boys,” says I, “he’s got us.  Don’t move!  This thing’ll have to rest with a higher power ’n our ’n!  Ef any of you kin pray,” says I, “now’s a good time to do it!”

Jist then the boat swung up, and Bills grabbed it and rech ’round and set the baby in it, never a-takin’ his eye off o’ us, though, far a minute.  “Now,” says he, with a sort o’ snarlin’ laugh, “I’ve on’y got a little while to stay with you, and I want to say a few words afore I go.  I want to tell you fellers, in the first place, ’at you’ve be’n fooled in me:  I hain’t a good feller, now, honest!  And ef you’re a little the worse far findin’ it out so late in the day, you hain’t none the worse far losin’ me so soon—­far I’m a-goin’ away now, and any interference with my arrangements ’ll on’y give you more trouble; so it’s better all around to let me go peaceable and jist while I’m in the notion.  I expect it’ll be a disapp’intment to some o’ you that my name hain’t ‘Williams,’ but it hain’t.  And maybe you won’t think nigh as much o’ me when I tell you furder