"Yassuh." Sam produced the note.

The ferryman read it, scratching his head. "That man'll be my death yet,"
he said. "Take a horse across today? No, sir! I'll take you across if you
and the nigger'll handle oars, but not the horse! No, sir! It's against the
law, anyways. No Sentry, no crossing. No, sir! I'll risk the river an' the
law, just because Mr. Beecham asks it, but I can't take that there nag."

"Well, then we'll leave the horse behind," answered Tom. "I can pull an
oar. Can you row, Sam?"

The negro backed against the wall, shaking his head, terrified at the
thought of the rough crossing.

"Just like all of 'em," said the ferryman. "When there's any danger, don't
count on _them_. Mr. Beecham treats his niggers too easy, anyways. I always
say if he'd lick 'em they'd be better."

"He's pretty easy with them, is he?" asked Tom.

"Treats 'em as though they were prize stock," answered the ferryman in
disgust. "I guess you and I can get across," he grumbled. "Two white men're
better 'an a dozen of 'em."

"Sam, you take my horse back to Mr. Beecham. I'll write a note for you to
carry." Tom wrote a message, explaining that the horse could not be ferried
across, and asking that it be disposed of in any manner that suited Mr.
Beecham's convenience.

The little ferryboat pitched and turned in the current of the river. Tom,