The man returned to the water's edge, loosened a flat bottomed boat from the ice and with an iron shod pole pushed out from shore toward Paul, who was rapidly approaching with the floe.

As Boyton neared the woodcutter he thought, "Here comes another lantern-jawed individual who wants to ask me if I'm cold." To his surprise the man never opened his mouth, but ran his boat as close as he, could get it to the object of his curiosity and after a long stare turned his craft and began poling back to shore.

When about twenty yards away he stopped as though he had forgotten some important matter, and seriously inquired: "Say, mister, be yo' stuffed wuth cork or wind ?" "Wind," tersely answered the Captain.
He waited for no further reply, but poled solemnly and silently back to his cabin.
Below Pomeroy, Boyton, making his first all night run and feeling drowsy was moving along mechanically, when he was startled by hearing the paddle wheels of a steamer, which proved to be the Telegraph, bearing right on him.

With all his energy he rose up and shouted: "Port, port, or I am a dead man." Instantly the wheel was put over and the steamer glided by, barely missing him.
At six o'clock next morning, as he was nearing Gallipolis, he observed a boat putting out from one of the floating houses, or Jo-boats that are frequently met along the Ohio and Mississippi, containing two river gypsies.

Boyton paid no attention to them until they were close behind.