It was a long boat, holding a dozen rowers, and several men armed with rifles, and it was coming toward him.

He did not know whether it was merely an ordinary patrol, or whether they had seen the darker blot on the stream that he and the plank made, but in any event the result would be the same.
He slipped his arm off the plank and sank in the stream to the chin.
Then, propelling it gently and without any splashing of the water, he continued to move down the stream.

He was hopeful that the riflemen would mistake him and his plank for one of those stumps or logs which the Mississippi carries so often on its bosom.
The head of the boat turned from him a little, and he felt sure now that he would drift away unnoticed, but one of the soldiers suddenly raised his rifle and fired.

Dick heard the bullet clip the water close beside him, and he swam as hard as he could for a few moments.

Then he settled again into quiet, as he saw the boat was not coming toward him.
Doubtless the man had merely fired the shot to satisfy himself that it was really a log, and if Dick allowed it to float naturally he would be convinced.
It was a tremendous trial of nerves to run the gantlet in this way, but as it was that or nothing he exerted all his will upon his body, and let himself float slowly, sunk again to the mouth and with his head thrown back, so it would present only a few inches above the surface.
The boat turned, and seemed once upon the point of coming toward him.