It's all out o' you now, an' you're goin' to keep your young
life."
The man who spoke was standing almost over Harry, holding a flask in one
hand and a lantern in the other. He was obviously a mountaineer, tall,
with powerful chest and shoulders, and a short red beard. Near him
stood a stalwart boy about Harry's own age. They were in the middle of
a raft which had been pulled to the south side of the Kentucky and then
tied to the shore.
Harry started to speak, but the words stopped at his lips. His weakness
was still great.
"Wa'al," said the man, whimsically. "What was it? Sooicide? Or did
you fall in the river, bein' awkward? Or was you tryin' to swim the
stream, believin' it was fun to do it? What do you think, Ike?"
"It wasn't no sooicide," replied the youth whom he had called Ike.
"Boys don't kill theirse'ves. An' it wasn't no awkwardness, 'cause he
don't look like the awkward kind. An' I guess he wasn't tryin' to swim
the Kentucky, else he would have took off his clothes."
"Which cuts out all three o' my guesses, leavin' me nothin' to go on.
Now, I ain't in the habit of pickin' floatin' an' unconscious boys out
o' the middle o' the river, an' that leaves me in unpleasant doubt,
me bein' of an inquirin' turn o' mind.
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