The River Prophet Part 9

"Yas, suh," Prebol grinned, feebly, his senses curiously clear. "Hit don't pay none to mind a lady's business fo' her, no suh!"

"A lady shot you, eh?"

"Yas, suh," Prebol grinned. "'Peahs like I be'n floatin' about two mile high like a flock o' ducks. Where all mout I be?"

"Little Prairie Bend."

"Into that bar eddy theh?"

"Yas, suh--the short eddy."

"Much obliged, Doc. Co'se I'll pay yo'----"

"Your friend's paid!"

"Yas, suh," Prebol whispered, sleepily, tired by the exertion and excitement.

"Sleep'll do him good," the doctor said, and returned to his little motorboat.

The young man went on board his own boat which was moored just below Prebol's. As he entered the cabin, a burly, whiskered man looked up and said:

"How's he coming, Slip?"

"Doc says he's all right. Jest said a woman shot him for tryin' to mind her business, kind-a laughed about hit."

"Theh! I always knowed a man that'd chase women the way he done'd git what's comin'. A woman'll make trouble quicker'n anything else on Gawd's earth, she will."

"Sho! Buck, yo's soured!"

"Hit's so 'bout them women!" Buck protested.

"If a man'd mind his business, an' not try to mind their business, women'd be plumb amusin'," Slip laughed.

"Wait'll yo've had experience," Buck retorted.

"Shucks! Ain't I had experience?"

"Eveh married?"

"No-o."

"Eveh have a lady sic' yo' onto some'n bigger'n yo' is?"

"No-o; reckon I pick my own people to sc.r.a.p."

"Theh! That shows how much yo' don't know about women. Never had no woman yo' 'lowed to marry?"

"Huh! Catch me gittin' married--co'se not."

"Sonny, lemme tell yo'; hit ain't yo'll do the catchin', an' hit won't be yo' who'll be decidin' will yo' git married. An' hit won't be yo'

who'll decide how long yo'll stay married, no, indeed."

"Peah's like yo' got an awful grouch ag'in women, Buck."

"Why shouldn't I have?" Buck started up from shuffling and throwing a book of cards. "Look't me. If Jest Prebol's shot most daid by a woman, look't me. Do you know me--where I come from, where the h.e.l.l I'm goin'?

Yo' bet you don't. I've been shanty-boatin' fifteen years, but I ain't always been a shanty-boater, no, I haven't. Talk to me about women. When I think what I've took from one woman--Sho!"

He stared at the floor, his teeth clenched and his strong face set.

Slip stared. His pal had disclosed a new phase of character.

Buck turned and glared into Slip's eyes.

"I'll tell you, Slip, you're helpless when it comes to women. They've played the game for ten thousand years, practised it every day, wearing down men's minds and men never knew it. Read history, as I've done.

Study psychology, as I have. Go down into the fundamentals of human experience and human activities, and learn the lesson. Fifteen years I've been up and down these rivers, from Fort Benton to the Pa.s.ses, from the foothills of the Rockies to the headwaters of Clinch and Holston in the Appalachians. Why? Because one woman sang her way into my heart, and because she tied my soul to her little finger, and when she found that I could not escape--when she had--when she had--What do you know about women?"

Slip stared at him. His pal, partner in river enterprises, an old river man, who talked little and who played the slickest games in the slickest way, had suddenly emerged like a turtle's head, and spoken in terms of science, education, breeding--regular quality folks' talk--under stress of an argument about women. And they had argued the subject before with jest and humour and without personal feeling.

Buck turned away, bent and shivering.

"I 'low I'll roast up them squirrels fo' dinner?" Slip suggested.

"They'll sh.o.r.e go good!" Buck a.s.sented. "I'll mux around some hot-bread, an' some gravy."

"I got to make some meat soup for that feller, too."

"Huh! Jest Prebol's one of them d.a.m.ned fools what tried to forget a woman among women," Buck sneered.

At intervals during the day Slip went over and gave Prebol his medicine, or fed him on squirrel meat broth; toward night they floated their 35-foot shanty-boat out into the eddy, and anch.o.r.ed it a hundred yards from the bank, where the sheriff of Lake County, Tennessee, no longer had jurisdiction. In the late evening Slip lighted a big carbide light and turned it toward the town on the opposite bank.

Pretty soon they heard the impatient dip of skiff oars, a river fisherman came aboard, and stood for a minute over the heater stove, warming his fingers. He soon went to the long, green-topped c.r.a.p table in the end of the room, and Slip stood opposite, to throw bones against him. A tiny motorboat crossed a little later; and three men, two heavy set and one a slim youth, entered, to sit down at one of the little round tables and play a game.

One by one other patrons appeared, and soon there were fourteen or fifteen. Slip and Buck glided about among them quietly, their eyes alert, their hats drawn down over their eyes, taking a hand here, throwing bones there, poking up the coal fire, putting on coffee, making sandwiches, every moment on the _qui vive_, communicating with each other by jerks of the hand, lifting of shoulders, or the faintest of whisperings.

A jar against the side of the boat sent one or other of the two out to look, to greet a newcomer or to fend off a drift log. A low whistle from the stern took Buck through the aisle between the staterooms to the kitchen where a rat-eyed little man waited him on the stern deck,

"Lo, Buck! I'm drappin' down in a hurry; I learn yo' was heah. Theh's a feller drapping down out the Ohio; he's lookin' fo' a feller name of Jock Drones--didn't hear what for. Yo' know 'im?"

"Nope, but I'll pa.s.s the word around."

"S'long!"

"Jock Drones--huh!" Buck repeated, turning into the lamp-lit kitchen where Slip was sniffing the coffee pot.

"Friend of mine just stopped," Buck whispered. "There's a detective coming down out of the Ohio. Told me to pa.s.s the word around. He's after somebody by the name of Drones, Dock or Jock Drones."

Slip started, turned white, and his jaws parted. Buck's eyes opened a little wider.

"S'all right, Slip! Keep your money in your belt, to be ready to run or swim. It's a long river."