it
is, cannot be passed by a fresh and strong horse in less than fourteen
hours. At just half-way of this painful journey the river is to be
passed, and this cannot be done without a ferry, for the moment you
leave the canes, the shallow water begins, and the bottom is so soft,
that any object touching it must sink to a depth of several fathoms.
Till 1834, no white man lived in that district, and the Indians resorted
to it only during the shooting season, always on foot and invariably
provided with half-a-dozen of canoes on each side of the stream for
their own use or for the benefit of travellers. The Texians are not so
provident nor so hospitable.

As the white population increased in that part of the country, a man of
the name of Gibson erected a hut on the southern bank of the stream,
constructed a flat-boat, and began ferrying over at the rate of three
dollars a head. As the immigration was very extensive, Gibson soon grew
independent, and he entered into a kind of partnership with the free
bands which were already organised. One day, about 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, every thing 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 a 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 travel