The blessed fog had folded its protecting arms about him, and he
was safe.
Hurrah! he was once more in undisputed possession of the raft, and once
more floating on it down the great river.
Wildly happy, the exhausted boy flung himself down on the wet planks,
and yielded to pleasant reflections. It was only twenty miles to St.
Louis. The current was carrying him at the rate of five miles an hour,
so that he ought to reach the city soon after noon. There he would
hail some steamboat or tug, and get it to tow his raft to a safe
mooring-place. Then he would telegraph to both his father and his
Uncle Billy. After that he would engage some stout man to help guard
the raft until his friends arrived. Or perhaps he would buy a revolver
and guard it himself, and when his father and Uncle Billy came along,
he would challenge them before allowing them to step on board. Yes,
that would be the scheme, and the boy became very proud of himself as
he thought of the praises in store for him.
At length Winn rose from his moist resting-place, and began to examine
his surroundings. How strange the raft did look, to be sure. He
wouldn't have believed its appearance could have been so altered, and
now wondered that he had ever recognized it. In fact, the only feature
that seemed at all familiar, as he studied it, was the forward gable
end of the "shanty.
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