MIKE FINK, THE KEEL-BOATMAN. 175 
of his prowess. The scene that he presented was worthy 
of the time and the man, and would have thrown Land- 
seer into a delirium of joy, could he have witnessed it. 
The boat, owing to the swiftness of the current, passed 
Mike’s resting-place, although it was pulled strongly to 
the shore. As Mike’s companions came opposite to 
him, they raised a shout, half exultation at meeting 
him, and half to alarm him with the idea that Joe’s 
friends were upon him. Mike, at the sound, sprang to 
his feet, rifle in hand, and as he looked around, he 
raised it to his eyes, and by the time that he discovered 
the boat, he was ready to fire. 
‘“ Down with your shooting-iron, you wild critter,” 
shouted one of the boatmen. 
Mike dropped the piece, and gave a loud halloo, which 
echoed among the solitudes like a piece of artillery. 
The meeting between Mike and his fellows was charac- 
teristic. They joked, and jibed him with their rough 
wit, and he parried it off with a most creditable inge- 
nuity. Mike soon learned the extent of his rifle-shot— 
but he seemed perfectly indifferent to the fact that 
Proud Joe was not dead. 
The only sentiment he uttered, was regret that he 
did not fire at the vagabond’s head, for if he hadn’t hit 
it, why, he said that he would have made the first bad 
shot in twenty years. The dead game was carried on 
board of the boat, the adventure was forgotten, and 
every thing resumed the monotony of floating in a flat- 
boat down the Ohio. | 
