Part 9

“Gosh! Look at that id’jut!” exclaimed Sipes, as he picked up the jug. “They was two gallons in ’ere w’en we started out, an’ they was about two quarts last night. This soak’s spilt it all into ’im ’cept about a pint, an’ we gotta save it fer snake-bites.”

“Say, Boss, lemme off!” pleaded the culprit, weakly. In his confused brain there was a sense of trouble that he could not quite comprehend.

We got our own breakfast. Narcissus watched us helplessly from under his tree. He appeared quite sick.

“That cookie’s blue ’round the gills,” remarked Sipes. “He’d jest as lief ’ave a pestilence come now as to see whiskey. His stummick’s gone punk. His eyes looks like holes burnt in a blanket, an’ ’is head don’t fit ’im. He needs a few kind words, an’ I’m goin’ to take ’im over a little piece o’ the dog that bit ’im.”

He filled the cup to the brim and offered it to the sufferer.

“Here, Cookie, cheer up! Here’s some nice little meddy. You swallow it an’ you’ll feel fine!”

Pathos and misery were written on Narcissus’s doleful face, as he mutely protested against the cup being held where he could smell its contents. Sipes, with refined cruelty, sprinkled some of the liquid on the penitent’s coat, so that the odor would remain with him, and chuckled, as he returned the unused portion to the jug, which he locked in the boat’s cabin.

One night there was a light frost. When morning dawned there was a crispness in the air. A spirit of foreboding was in the forest, and a sadness in the tones of the wind that rustled the weakly clinging leaves. The wood odors had changed. Dashes of color brilliance were scattered along the edges of the timber on the river banks. The deep green of tamaracks, and flaming scarlet of vines and dogwoods, relieved by backgrounds of subtle and delicate minor hues, swept along the borders of the great marsh, and stole away into veils of purple haze beyond. Fruition and fulfilment had passed over the hills and through the low places, and it was time for sleep.

The tired grasses in the marsh were bent and gray. Among their dull masses the current of the open stream crept in a maze of silvery lines, that wound back in many retreating loops, and then moved slowly on, seemingly reluctant to enter into the oblivion of the depths beyond the passage through the dunes.

Wedges of wild geese trailed across the great clouds--valiant voyagers along the unseen paths of the sky. In the darkness their turbulent cries came out of the regions of the upper air, faint echoes of the Song of Life from the vault of the Infinite.

“Them winds ’as got an edge on ’em. I guess we gotta git out o’ here, Bill,” declared Sipes, as he warmed his numbed hands before the fire. “The news o’ that jool’ll git ’round, an’ the fust thing we know this country’ll be full o’ robbers. They’ll swipe it, an’ you an’ me’ll ’ave to work the rest of our lives, an’ mebbe eat carps, instid o’ set’n’ on soft cushions an’ smok’n’. The clams is ’bout all cleaned out an’ we got a fort’n’. Wot’s the use o’ try’n’ to grab it all? We got plenty to last us, an’ we can’t take no cash-money to the graveyard with us. We’ll git hold o’ that onion-skinnin’ feller, an’ mebbe ’e c’n peel some o’ them other jools, an’ make ’em wuth a lot more.

“We c’n do anything we want to now. Mebbe we’ll buy a big red church fer Holy Zeke, so ’e c’n git in it an’ spout damnation up the chimbly all by ’imself, an’ not come ’round us. I wonder wot that ol’ cuss is doin’ nowdays? Anyway, we’ll buy ’im a new hard hat, an’ a ticket that’ll carry ’im way off.”

The pearls were carefully concealed on the _Crawfish_. The sail, which had done duty as a shelter on shore, was put back in its place, and everything was snugly stowed on board. The boat that Narcissus had borrowed “offen Cap’n Peppehs” was attached, with my own, to the stern of the larger craft, and we were ready to push out into the current, when we saw Spotty contemplating us with mild eyes from among the trees.

“Gosh! I gotta bid that ol’ girl good-by,” exclaimed Sipes, as he seized a pail and nimbly hopped ashore. When he returned the homeward voyage began.

We threaded the sinuous channel for hours before we came to the sand-hills.

“This big dump’s full o’ jools,” remarked Sipes, as he indicated the marsh with a broad sweep of his hand. “Next year we’ll come down ’ere an’ bag the whole bunch.”

Narcissus, who had stuck by us faithfully, was anxious to go and spend the winter at the fish shanty. The old men were immensely pleased both with him and his cooking, and cheerfully consented.

The current took us through the hills, and we tied up at the dilapidated pier. We were out of tobacco, and other small necessities, and needed some gasoline, as Sipes wanted to “tune up” the motor, in case we found no wind on the lake. Narcissus was provided with a list, some funds, and the gasoline can, and he went ashore. Sipes considered that he was perfectly reliable up to five dollars in prohibition territory. We saw him swinging his can gayly, as he walked up the little path that led to the village and disappeared around a bend. We had had a wonderful trip, and everybody was in high spirits.

We waited nearly an hour for Narcissus, but he did not return. We got ashore and went up to the general store, where he was to do his shopping, but he had not been seen. Further search around the village was fruitless. Thinking that he might have returned to the boat by another route, we retraced our steps, and found the can in some weeds near the bend where we last saw him.

With sudden inspiration, Sipes ran to the boat. He dived into the cabin, and we heard an angry yell.

“Holy Mike! He’s frisked the jools!”

We hurried on board. The tin box had disappeared.

“We put ’em between them boards back o’ that little cuddy-hole. He swiped ’em an’ ’e’s lit out! Hold on a minute!” cried the distracted old man, as, with a glimmer of hope on his pale face, he again ducked into the cabin.

“Gosh! We’r’ saved!” he exclaimed, as he emerged with the big pearl. “Bully fer us! I stuck this in a crack with some paper, an’ ’e missed it.”

Saunders had been too much overcome by the sudden misfortune to say much. He appeared crushed. His face lighted up when it was found that the disaster was not complete.

The question now was to catch Narcissus Jackson. He had had about two hours’ start.

“Gimme that gun!” commanded Sipes. “I’ll pot that nigger, if I git ’im inside o’ fifty yards. This gun ain’t loaded with no jools like that Injun’s was!”

Adjectives are weapons of temperament. Sipes had a plentiful supply of both. The past, present, and future of Narcissus Jackson was completely covered by a torrent of scarifying invective.

The next day we gave up the search, in which we were excitedly assisted by the villagers and scattered farmers. We returned to the boat and rowed it out into the calm lake, where we waited for a breeze. The motor had again “gone punk.”

“That smoke’s jest natch’ally drifted off,” remarked Sipes philosophically, as we floated idly on the gentle swells, “but we got enough to make us rich; wot do we care? I guess that ‘dark secret’ that Bill said this trip was, was set’n on them rocks w’en we fust come in the river. Think of all wot we done fer ’im! Me offerin’ ’im that whole cupful w’en ’e was sick, an’ git’n’ milk fer ’im to cook with, an’ all them things you an’ Bill did, an’ now ’e’s hornswoggled us. They ain’t no gratitude. That smoke’s jest like all the rest of ’em!”

“You have had a prosperous trip,” I replied. “You will probably get a high price for your big pearl, and you won’t have to worry about money for quite a while. You had better get this trouble off your mind. Surplus wealth is mere dross.”

“How much dross d’ye think that damn cookie’ll git fer them jools?”

“He will get very little. You had spoiled the lustre on most of them by constantly shaking the box.”

“If I’d knowed ’e was goin’ to frisk ’em, I’d a shook the stuff’n’ out of ’em!”

During a visit to the village store, Saunders had written a letter to the “onion-skinner,” as Sipes persisted in calling the pearl-buyer, and mailed it to the address on the margin of the pamphlet. He described the location of the fish shanty, and informed him of the finding of the big pearl. He also told of the robbery, described Narcissus, and asked him to have him “nabbed” if he came to sell him the stolen pearls, which he probably would do. Saunders spent much time writing and rewriting the letter. Sipes stood over him and cautioned him repeatedly not to say anything in it that “looked like we wanted to sell the jool.”

“Cat’s paws” appeared on the water. The breeze freshened rapidly, and there were white-caps on the lake shortly after we began to make fair headway. The wind increased, the boat careened under the pressure of the broad sail, and we shipped water copiously several times. Fortunately I had left my row-boat and tent with a fisherman at the village, who was to care for them during the winter, so we did not have these to bother us. I felt relieved when we saw the shanty in the distance.

“Hard-a-port, Bill,” commanded Sipes in a stentorian tone as he loosened the main-sheet. We turned in toward shore. Like a roving galleon proudly returning from distant seas, with her treasure in her hold, the gallant _Crawfish_ tore in through the curling waves and flying spray, and felt the foam of her home waters over her prow.

We all got soaking wet getting in through the surf. The long rope from the windlass on the sand, composed of many odd pieces, knotted together, was finally attached to the iron ring on the bow, and the now historic craft was hauled out over the wooden rollers to its berth on the beach.

We had commenced taking some of the stuff out of the boat, when we suddenly paused with astonishment, and looked toward the shanty. Mingled with the voices of the wind, and the roar of the surf, we faintly, but unmistakably, heard the thrilling strains of “Money Musk” issuing from the weather beaten structure.

“Now wot d’ye think o’ that!” exclaimed Sipes. “That damn cookie’s in there. He don’t know it’s our place an’ ’e thinks ’e’s escaped. We got ’im trapped. Gimme the gun!

I happened to know that the gun was not loaded, and had no fears that there would be any shooting. In solid formation we marched to the shanty. The padlock on the door was undisturbed. Sipes unlocked it. Narcissus sat on the pile of nets inside and regarded us with a frightened expression. Evidently the wind had prevented him from hearing us when we landed. He seemed overawed by the presence of the gun and our angry looks.

“Say, Boss, lemme off!” he begged, as he looked up at me pleadingly.

“Narcissus, where are those pearls?” I demanded.

“Pea’ls? Ah don’t know nuff’n ’bout no pea’ls! Ah ain’t seen no pea’ls! Is theah some pea’ls miss’n’?”

“Of course they’re miss’n’, an’ you know it, you black devil!” roared Sipes, as he cocked his gun. “You shell out them jools, er yer goin’ to be shot right ’ere this minute!”

Narcissus’s face turned ashen gray.

“Ah ain’t nevah touched no pea’ls! Ah ain’t nevah seen you gen’lemen’s pea’ls since you had ’em at the camp. Gimme a Bible an’ Ah’ll take ma oath!”

While I knew that he was quite safe in asking Sipes for a Bible, his earnest denial seemed to have the ring of sincerity. I took Sipes aside, leaving Saunders with the now thoroughly terrified negro. He leaned against the side of the shanty and seemed in such mental agony that I felt sorry for him.

I asked Sipes to show me exactly where he had placed the tin box. With a small electric flashlight we explored a deep recess between the boards back of the cuddy-hole, and found the box, wedged about a foot below where the old man had hidden it. Sipes seized it with a shout of jubilation. He and Saunders acted like a couple of small boys who had just been told that they could stay out of school and go to a circus.

The mystery of Narcissus’s disappearance and his presence in the shanty was still to be explained. He was greatly relieved when the box was found, but seemed too much confused by the sudden flood of events to talk, so we let him alone. That night, after the shanty was put in order, and a fire built in the stove, he told his story.

“When Ah took that gas can, an’ went fo’ them things at the stoah, Ah jest thought Ah’d stop at Cap’n Peppehs’s house. That’s the fi’st li’l house Ah come to. Ah wanted to thank ’im fo’ the boat Ah got offen ’im, an’ tell ’im Ah hoped ’e was well. Ah left the can neah the path. Cap’n Peppehs asked me all about you gen’lemen, an’ wanted me to come in a minute. He wanted to know what you-all had done up the rivah, an’ if you got any pea’ls. Ah didn’t tell ’im nuff’n. Then ’e got out ’is bottle, an’ we had some drinks. Then ’e asked me ’bout yo’ motah, an’ how you come by it. I told ’im you got it offen a fish man named John. Then ’e told me John got it f’om him, an’ ’e didn’t want me to let you know that.”

“And to think,” interrupted Sipes, “that we had that cuss right in the boat, an’ didn’t know it!”

“Then, aftah a while, we got to feel’n’ pretty good, an’ Ah done fergot all ’bout the gasoline. We looked out o’ the window, an’ theah was Mr. Sipes goin’ ’round with ’is gun. We didn’t know whethah he thought Ah’d run off with that li’l bunch o’ money Ah was goin’ to get the things with, er was aftah Cap’n Peppehs’ ’count o’ that motah, an’ Ah jest thought we’d keep still fo’ a while ’till Mr. Sipes put away ’is gun. Ah was sca’ed o’ that gun. Aftah that Cap’n Peppehs asked me mo’ about the pea’ls, an’ offe’d me a li’l mo’ ref’eshment. Ah must ’a’ went to sleep then, an’ Ah didn’t wake up ’til this mawnin’. Ah saw yo’ boat way out on the lake set’n’ still. I shuah felt bad, an’ Ah was goin’ to take a boat an’ row out, but ma haid hurt so Ah couldn’t. Ah knew ’bout wheah you lived, ’cause Ah hea’d you talkin’ ’bout it, an’ Ah jest walked ’long the beach ’til Ah come to the place that had yo’ sign. The do’ was locked, but Ah got the window open an’ come in that way. Ah was ve’y ti’ed, an’ laid down fo’ a nap; then Ah got up an’ played that li’l tune Mr. Sipes likes so much.

“Say, Ah hope you’ll lemme off. Ah ain’t done nuff’n so awful bad. Ah’m awful sorry Ah made all that trouble, an’ had all them drinks with Cap’n Peppehs. Ah fo’got all ’bout that gasoline, an’ Ah won’t nevah do nuff’n like that no mo’. Mr. Sipes, does theah happ’n to be jest a few drops in the bottom o’ the jug, that Ah c’d have? Honest, Ah feels weak!”

Narcissus met with the full measure of forgiveness. He had faltered by the wayside, where hosts have fallen. The mantle of charity was laid over his sin. Sipes, while usually intolerant, was mollified with the recovery of the pearls.

We all slept in the shanty that night. In the morning we saw a horse and buggy on the beach in the distance. Saunders inspected the driver attentively through the “spotter.”

“That’s the onion-skinner comin’,” he remarked.

“Yes, an’ I bet we’ll be the onions,” said Sipes, as he took the glass.

The visitor arrived and looked over the fruits of the season’s work. He did not seem at all dazzled by the beauty of the big pearl. He examined it casually and laid it aside. He seemed more interested in the others.

“You be careful an’ don’t show no frenzy over that jool. You don’t own it,” cautioned Sipes, sarcastically. “You may want to buy it later if you ain’t got enough cash-money now. Mebbe you know o’ some rich fellers that ’ud like to buy intrusts in it with you.”

A substantial offer was made for the lot. The amount mentioned was much larger than I had any idea the pearls were worth.

“They was a feller ’long ’ere yisterd’y that offered us twice as much as that, an’ I told ’im ’e was a cheap skate. Wot d’ye think them are--peanuts? D’ye think we c’lected all them val’able jools jest fer love o’ you? Wot d’ye s’pose we are--helpless orphants?”

Most of the day was spent in jockeying over the price. The buyer was an expert judge of human nature, as well as pearls. He exhibited a large roll of bills at a psychological moment, and became the owner of the collection.

He drove away along the beach and turned into the dunes.

“He’ll prob’ly hide some’r’s off’n the woods, an’ peel some o’ them jools, like ’e did us,” said Sipes. “He oughta fly a black flag over that buggy, so people ’ud know wot’s comin’. I’ve seen piruts in furrin waters that was all bloodied up, but ’side o’ that robber, they’d look like a lot o’ funny kids. Bill, you oughta keep yer mouth shut w’en I’m sell’n’ jools! You butted in all the time an’ spoilt wot I was doin’. If you’d a kep’ still, I’d ’a’ got jest twice them figgers. By rights, I oughta keep wot’s ’ere fer my half an’ let you w’istle fer the half that that feller saved by you shoot’n’ off yer mouth at the wrong times.”

That night I sat before the dying embers of driftwood and mused over the eventful weeks.

I remembered the picturesque camp scenes; the genial gatherings around the fire; the advent of Narcissus,--his lovable qualities, frailties, and final vindication; the sociability of Spotty; the Ancient’s graphic reminiscences; the finding of the big pearl, and the odd combination of childish foibles, homely wit, kindliness, cupidity, shrewdness, and primitive savagery in the old shipmates.

The mingled glories of the autumn came back, with memories of the fragrant woods; the broad sweeps of changing color over the swamp-land; the majesty of the onward marching storms; the songs of the wind through trees and bending grasses; the music and beauty of rippling currents; the companionship and voices of the wild things; the witchery of twilight mists and purple shadows, and the enchantment of moon-silvered vistas.

I felt again the haunting mystery that is over the marsh, along the river through the silent nights, and in its fecund depths, where pearls are wrought among hidden eddies.

Under the gently moving water was the dreamland of the reflections. The dark forests and the ghostly dunes hung low in the realm of unreality. Beyond them the Pleiades and Orion glowed softly in the limitless abyss that held the endless story of the stars.

The Ego, mocking the Infinite with puny dogma, in its minute orbit--a speck between two eternities--recoils in terror from the void beyond the world.

The river bears a secret in its bosom deeper than its pearls. He who learns it has found the melodies that brood among tremulous strings in the human heart.

I meditated, and wondered if I, or the valiant crew of the flatboat, had found the Winding River’s Treasure?

X

THE PLUTOCRATS

X

THE PLUTOCRATS

The invitation of the old shipmates to remain with them for a while was gratefully accepted. The witchery of the changing landscapes and the color-crowned dunes was irresistible. The society of my odd friends, which was full of human interest, and certain beguiling promises made by Narcissus, were factors that prolonged the stay.

After a week of blustery weather, and a light fall of snow, the haze of Indian Summer stole softly over the hills. The mystic slumberous days had come, when, in listless reverie, we may believe that the spirits of a vanished race have returned to the woods, and are dancing around camp fires that smoulder in hidden places. Spectral forms sit in council through the still nights, when the moon, red and full-orbed, comes up out of a sea of mist. Smoke from phantom wigwams creeps through the forest. Unseen arrows have touched the leaves that carpet aisles among the trees where myriad banners have fallen.

Our drift-wood fire glowed on the beach in the evening. Sipes piled on all sorts of things that kept it much larger than necessary. With reckless prodigality, he dragged forth boxes, damaged rope, broken oars, and miscellaneous odds and ends, that under former conditions would have been carefully kept.

Sipes and Saunders were in high spirits. They walked with an elastic swagger that bespoke supreme confidence in themselves, and a lofty disdain of the rest of the world. There was much discussion of plans for the future.

“We got all kinds o’ money now, an’ we c’n spread out,” declared Sipes. “We gotta git ol’ John an’ ’is horse down ’ere, an’ take care of ’em. That ol’ nag’s dragged millions o’ pounds o’ fish ’round fer us, an’ ’e oughta have a rest. They’r’ both git’n’ too old to work any more, an’, outside o’ me an’ Bill an’ Cookie, them’s the only ones that lives round ’ere that’s fit to keep alive through the cold weather.

“We gotta haul down that ol’ sign on the shanty, ’cause we’ve gone out o’ the fish business. We’r’ goin’ to fix this place all over. All them fellers that has money, an’ lives in the country, an’ don’t work, has signs out that’s got names on ’em fer their places. I drawed out the new sign with the pencil yisterd’y, an’ this is wot it’s goin’ to be.”

He unfolded a piece of soiled wrapping paper, on which he had rudely lettered--

“The names won’t be on it, but shipmates’ll mean us all right. The sign’ll still look like cash-money, an’ you bet we’r’ goin’ to rest, so that sign’s all right, an’ she’s goin’ up.”

Catfish John and Napoleon arrived the next morning.

“You can’t git no more fish ’ere!” announced Sipes, after he had made his usual derisive comments on the old peddler’s general appearance. “This place ’as changed hands. Some fellers own it now that don’t ’ave to work. You’r’ a wuthless ol’ slab-sided wreck, an’ you ain’t no good peddlin’ fish. You oughta be ’shamed o’ yerself. Yer ol’ horse is a crowbait, an’ yer fish waggin’s on the bum. You git down offen it an’ come ’ere. We got sump’n we want to tell you.”

John willingly admitted that all the charges were true, as he slowly and painfully descended from the rickety vehicle.

“Now listen ’ere, John,” continued Sipes seriously, “us fellers ’as got rich out o’ the jools wot we fished out o’ the river. We’r’ jest goin to set ’round an’ look pleasant, an’ quit work’n. You’ve been our ol’ friend fer years, an’ we got enough to keep you an’ Napoleon in tobaccy an’ hay fer the rest o’ yer lives. You’re a nice pair, an’ if you’ll go in the lake an’ wash up, we’ll burn all yer ol’ nets, an’ the other stuff up to your place, an’ yer ol’ boat, too, an’ you c’n come down ’ere an’ live. We don’t want none o’ them things ’ere, fer it ’ud make us tired to look at ’em. We don’t want to see nothin’ that looks like work ’round ’ere, no more’n we c’n help, but you gotta help haul some lumber. We’r’ goin’ to tack some more rooms on the shanty. It ain’t a fit place fer fellers like us to live in.”

John was greatly pleased over the good fortune that had come to his friends, and happy over the plans that had been made for his future. He said little, but I noticed that his eyes were moist as he limped over to the shanty to be “interduced to Cookie.”

“Ah ce’t’nly am glad to meet you, Mr. Catfish!” said Narcissus, cordially, as they shook hands. “Ah’ve hea’d a great deal ’bout you f’om these gen’lemen. Ah would like to make a li’l cup o’ coffee fo’ you. Jest have a seat an’ Ah’ll have it ready in jest a few minutes.”

John looked at him gratefully and sat down. He was much impressed by the evidences of prosperity around him. The old pine table was covered with a cloth that was spotless, except where Sipes had spilled a “loose egg” on one corner of it. There was a bewildering array of new clean dishes and kitchen utensils about the room, and some boxes that had not yet been unpacked. Narcissus had been given _carte blanche_ as to the domestic arrangements. He was chef, valet, major domo, and general manager.

“Cookie’s boss o’ the eats an’ the beds, an’ ev’rythin’ else ’round the house, ’cept drinks,” declared Saunders.