MIKE FINK, THE KEEL-BOATMAN. 173 
glared upon the jeering crowd like a fiend; his chest 
swelled and heaved until it seemed that he must suffo- 
cate. 
No one noticed this emotion. All were intent upon 
the exploit that had so singularly deprived Joe of his 
war-lock;. and, smothering his wrath, he retreated to 
his associates with a consuming fire at his vitals. He 
was a different being from what he had been an hour be- 
fore; and with that desperate resolution on which a 
man stakes his all, he swore, by the Great Spirit of his 
forefathers, that he would be revenged. 
An hour after the disappearance of Joe, both he and 
Mike Fink were forgotten. The flatboat, which the 
latter had deserted, was got under way, and dashing 
through the rapids in the river opposite Louisville, 
wended on its course. As is customary when night sets 
in, the boat was securely fastened in some little bend or 
bay in the shore, where it remained until early morn. 
Long before the sun had fairly risen, the boat was 
again pushed into the stream, and it passed through a 
valley presenting the greatest possible beauty and fresh- 
ness of landscape that the mind can conceive. 
It was spring, and a thousand tints of green devel- 
oped themselves in the half-formed foliage and bursting 
buds. The beautiful mallard skimmed across the water, 
ignorant of the danger of the white man’s approach ; 
the splendid spoon-bill decked the shallow places near 
the shore, while myriads of singing birds filled the air : 
with their unwritten songs. 
