There was much bustle and preparation around the fish shanty one August morning. Hoarded on a shelf of the bluff were a lot of water-worn boards, which had drifted in along the beach at various times, or been thrown up by the storms, and gradually gathered.

The old shipmates had selected suitable pieces from the pile, and were busily engaged, with hammer and saw, in building a cabin on the big boat. It was a cumbrous and unwieldy craft, about twenty feet long, with high sides and a broad beam. For years it had been used in the work of installing the pound- and gill-nets in the lake, and for the necessary visits to them when the surf was too high for the small row-boat, which was kept for ordinary use.

The long oars, with which Sipes and Saunders had so often fought the big waves, were not exactly mated, but when the detachable motor on the wide stern failed to run, navigation was still possible. A bowsprit had been added to the boat, and a mast protruded through the partially completed cabin. Many rusty nails and odd pieces entered into the building of the superstructure. A large square of soiled canvas and some miscellaneous cordage lay scattered about on the sand. Some scrawled lettering in red paint across the stern indicated that the boat was henceforth to be the Crawfish.

“We’r’ goin’ on a v’yage,” explained Sipes. “We’r’ goin’ ’way off up the lake, an’ we’ll touch at diff’nt ports fer some stores we gotta have, an’ then we’r’ comin’ back, an’ we’r’ goin’ to a cert’n river you know ’bout, an’ we’r’ goin’ up it. If you want to make pitchers, you c’n come ’long. We’ll stop an’ take you aboard w’en we come by with the stuff we gotta git.”

I had learned from experience that Sipes usually became reticent when questioned too closely. It was better to let him volunteer whatever he wanted to say about his own affairs. I was careful not to evince any curiosity as to the object of the river trip, and gladly accepted the invitation, as I had intended visiting the river during the fall.

The shanty was stripped of most of its small movable contents, which were put on board when the additions were completed. The nets were taken into the house and piled up. The small boat was laid on top of them along the wall, and the door fastened with a rusty padlock.

Sipes remarked, as he put the key in his pocket, that “they was always some bulgarious feller rubber’n round fer sump’n light an’ easy, that ’ud clean out that shanty if it wasn’t batt’n’d up an’ locked.”

The reincarnated craft was floated, and it sailed slowly away, with the doughty mariners giving boisterous orders to each other.

A week later I heard a loud halloo, and cries of “Wot Oh!” down on the beach opposite to my camp in the dunes. I looked over the edge of the bluff and saw the Crawfish riding proudly on the low swells. The broad sail flapped idly in the breeze, and Saunders was ensconced on top of the cabin, smoking his pipe. Sipes had waded ashore and was waiting to help get my belongings on board.

A small tent, a supply of canned goods, sketching materials, a camera, and other items were carefully stowed. My row-boat was connected with a line, and we were ready to start. We had only about fifteen miles to go, and expected to reach the mouth of the river about noon.

The cabin was characteristic of its builders. It was intended for use and not as an ornament. Ordinarily two could sleep in it comfortably, but the present cargo taxed its capacity. There was little ventilation when the door was closed. What fresh air there was entered through a pair of auger holes, which had evidently been bored for observation purposes. I suggested that the air inside would be better if the holes were larger, or if there were more of them, but Sipes claimed that they were large enough.

“Air c’n come in now faster’n you c’n breath it. Jest notice how much bigger them holes is than them in yer nose.” Such logic was uncombatable and the subject was changed.

The motor worked spasmodically and we sailed most of the way. The breeze died down when we were about half a mile from where the Winding River came out of the dunes. After much cranking the motor started, but would only run backwards. We turned the stern toward the river’s mouth and made fair progress.

“That’s w’y we named ’er the Crawfish,” explained Sipes. “We know’d we’d ’ave to do a lot o’ that kind o’ navigat’n’.”

We ran on to a small sand-bar, which delayed us for some time, but got off with the oars. After a hard row against the current, we entered the mouth of the river, which was not over fifty yards wide. We heard the sound of music from among the decayed ruins of a pier that extended into the lake. Seated on some chunks of broken limestone, between the rotting piles, we saw a gray-haired colored man of about sixty. He was playing “Money Musk” on a mouth organ. Near him a cane fish-pole was stuck in among the rocks, and extended out over the water. He was whiling away the time between bites with his music.

“I bet that feller ain’t no nigro,” remarked Sipes. “He looks like a white man wot’s been smoked.”

The solitary fisherman regarded us with an expectant look, as we tied up to one of the piles.

“Good mawnin’, gen’lemen! Does you-all happ’n to have sump’n to drink in yo’ boat?”

“We ain’t got nothin’ wet but wot’s leaked in. You c’n ’ave some o’ that if you want it,” Sipes replied with some asperity. “Wot’s the matter with the lake if you’r’ thirsty?”

“Ah beg yo’ pa’don, but you-all looked like gen’lemen that might have sump’n with you. This ain’t thirst. Ah got a misery, an’ it ’curred to me you might like to save ma life. Ah ain’t had no breakfus’, an Ah feels weak.”

“Listen at that smoke,” said Sipes, in an undertone. “Wonder if ’e thinks we’r’ a float’n’ s’loon?”

Evidently discouraged over his prospects with Sipes, the old darky turned to me.

“Say, Boss, will you gimme a qua’tah, so Ah c’n go an’ git some breakfus’?”

We thought it better to give him some “breakfus’” from the boat, and, as it was lunch time, we passed part of our eatables over to him.

“Ah nevah had the pleas’ah of meet’n you gen’lemen befo’. Ma name’s Na’cissus Jackson, an’ Ah’m up heah f’om the south. Ah ce’t’nly am ’bliged to you fo’ this li’l breakfus’.”

We talked with Narcissus for some time. Evidently he was a victim of strong drink. He had drifted into prohibition territory, the extent of which he did not know, and out of which he had no financial means of escape.

“Ah’m on a dry island, Boss, an’ Ah don’t know how Ah’m goin’ to git off it. Ah was cook at the place wheah Ah wo’ked, an’ Ah got fiahed just ’cause Ah didn’t show up one mawnin’. They was goin’ to have me ’rested fo’ sump’n Ah didn’t have nuff’n to do with, an’ Ah come heah fo’ a li’l vacation.”

Sipes suggested that we ought to have a pilot to take us up the river, on account of its many sand-bars, that must have shifted since he was on it after ducks years ago.

“We oughta have somebody sett’n on top o’ the cab’n to yell out, an’ keep us from butt’n into sump’n w’en we’r’ tear’n up stream. This ain’t no canoe, an’ we got import’nt business an’ we don’t want to git stuck,” declared the old man.

“Theah’s a man ovah in the village named Cap’n Peppehs, that knows all about this rivah,” replied Narcissus. “S’pos’n you-all gimme a qua’tah, an’ Ah’ll go up an’ git Cap’n Peppehs fo’ you.”

I agreed to furnish the coveted coin if “Cap’n Peppehs” was produced, and our new-found friend took in his pole, climbed out over the rough stone filling, and departed for the village, which was only a short distance off. He soon reappeared, accompanied by a pompous, deep-voiced old man, with a red nose and scraggly whiskers, who looked us over with curiosity.

“My name’s Peppers. What can I do for you?” he asked in a friendly tone.

“We’r’ goin’ up the river an’ we don’t want to git messed up on no sand-bars,” replied Saunders. “If you been navigat’n’ these waters, we’d like to git you to go ’long ’til we git where we want to go.”

“If you’ll drop me off back o’ the third bend, I’ll git aboard,” said the old man. “You won’t need no pilot after that. You c’n go on up an’ not hit anythin’ but float’n snags beyond that fer three miles in that craft.”

He got into the boat. I handed Narcissus his “qua’tah,” and he picked his way back over the rocks to his fish-pole, where, like his fabled namesake, he may have found solace in the contemplation of his image in the placid water.

“Cap’n Peppehs” examined the motor with interest. “Are you goin’ to run ’er up with that?” he asked.

“Yes, if she’ll go,” replied Saunders, “but I bet she won’t. A friend of ours that peddles fish got it some’r’s ’round ’ere, an’ turned it over to us. If we ever cetch the feller that shifted that cussÉd thing onto John, we’r’ goin’ to kill ’im. We got a gun in the cab’n wot’s wait’n’ fer ’im.”

“I know sump’n ’bout them things,” said the Captain, “an’ mebbe I c’n start ’er.” He fussed over the machine for some time, and finally got it going. With the help of the oars we made fair progress against the slow current.

“You c’n go on up now an’ camp in that bunch o’ timber beyond the marsh, an’ you’ll be all right,” said the old man, when we reached the point where he was to leave us. “You’ll find a mighty fine spring up there.”

We thanked him warmly for his services. Sipes proffered the hospitality of a two-gallon jug, which he extracted from the pile of stuff in the cabin. It was eagerly accepted. He wished us good luck, and disappeared.

“That’ll make ’is nose bloom some more,” remarked Sipes. “He’s a nice ol’ feller, but wot’s springs to him? It wasn’t no green peppers ’e was named after.”

The river made many turns in its sinuous course through the marsh, and it was nearly dark when we reached a hard bank at the edge of the woods.

The Crawfish was made fast to a venerable elm, and we went ashore.

“I’ll put a couple o’ extra hitches on ’er so she can’t back off in the night, if the gas bug takes a notion to git busy,” said Saunders, as he took another line ashore from the stern.

It was warm and pleasant, and we decided that no shelter would be necessary that night. We built a small fire against the side of a log, fried some bacon in a skillet, made coffee, and fared well, if not sumptuously, with supplies from the boat.

We sat around and talked until quite late. The object of the expedition was revealed by Saunders.

“They was a feller that come to the bogie-house one night w’en they was a big storm that ’ad come up sudd’n. He’d come from the lake, an’ it was blowin’ so hard that it ’ud take hair off a frog. He’d started on a long trip with a little boat. He had one o’ them cussÉd motors like wot we got, an’ it went punk, an’ ’e had an awful time git’n’ in alive. He seen my light an’ come up. I didn’t ’ear ’im til ’e knocked, so I didn’t ’ave no chance to spring the ghost on ’im. W’en I seen the mess ’e was in, I took ’im in an’ fed ’im an’ dried ’im out ’fore the fire.

“He seemed to be a scientific feller, an’ ’e told me a lot about the rivers all over the country. He said that durin’ the fall ’is business was to go ’round an’ buy pearls wot fishers got out o’ them fresh-water clams that’s all over the bottoms o’ the rivers. He’d pay ’em good prices. He said the pearls ’ad thin layers on ’em, like onions, an’ sometimes one would look like it was no good. Then ’e’d take a steel thing an’ peel off the outside skin, an’ sometimes ’e’d git one that way that was wuth five hundred dollars. Then ’e said they was button companies that ’ud buy all the shells o’ the clams, so they was a lot o’ money in it, even if they wasn’t no pearls found. He had a little pearl in ’is pocket that ’e’d peeled. It wasn’t a very good one—prob’ly wuth three er four dollars. He gave it to me fer bein’ good to ’im, an’ ’ere it is.”

The old sailor carefully unrolled a small piece of paper, which he took out of his tobacco pouch, and produced the pearl.

“This feller gimme a little book that didn’t ’ave no cover on, that’s sent out by the gov’ment, an’ it tells all about clam fish’n’, an’ how to make drag-hooks, an’ how to rig ’em, an’ drag ’em, an’ all about it.”

He brought out the interesting pamphlet, with the address of the giver written in pencil on one of the margins.

“The next mornin’ I helped the feller put wot was left o’ his boat an’ motor up in the bogie-house, an’ ’e went off through the woods. He said ’e’d come back some day an’ git ’em.

“Invent’n’s no good. We gotta git sump’n we c’n git a big bunch o’ money out of. Fish’n’s git’n’ to be too hard work fer us. They’s slews o’ wealth in this water, an’ we’r’ goin’ to git it out an’ we won’t ’ave to work no more. We didn’t say nothin’ to nobody. John come ’round an’ we told ’im, but ’e’s all right. This whole thing’s a dark secret. It’s all right fer you to know, but we gotta keep still, er the place’ll be full o’ flatboats an’ the pearls’ll be gone. Sipes an’ me’s seen where the mushrats ’as been pilin’ the shells ’round them little places where they got holes in the banks, an’ out’n the marsh where their houses are, w’en we was down ’ere duck-shoot’n’. If them little beasties c’n git ’em, we c’n mop out the whole river with all that tackle that the book tells about.”

“The fust thing we gotta do, after we git a flatboat built, is to git some heavy wire fer them clam drags,” said Sipes. “We c’n go back to the railroad an’ git some out between them telegraph poles. The wire don’t cost them fellers nothin’, an’ it’s better we should ’ave it. Tomorrer we’ll rig up a reg’lar camp, an’ then we’ll go to work on all the things we gotta git ready so we c’n begin devastat’n them clamsies.”

The old man then went over to the boat for the jug. He set it down and began working the cork out with his knife.

“I don’t do much drink’n’, but me an’ Bill’s git’n’ old, an’ we’r’ in a my-larious country, an’ we gotta have grog once an’ aw’ile.”

Just as the cork came out, we heard a rustle of dead leaves on the ground back of us.

“Good evenin’, gen’lemen!” greeted Narcissus Jackson, as he appeared out of the darkness, and walked deferentially up to the fire. “Fine evenin’, ain’t it?”

“You bet it’s a fine evenin’!” exclaimed Sipes, with freezing politeness. “How fur off did you smell this jug from?”

“Ah just thought Ah’d drop ’round an’ see how you gen’lemen was get’n’ ’long. Ah come up in a li’l boat I got offen Cap’n Peppehs. Ah saw yo’ fiah, an’ Ah just come to pay ma respec’s. Is you-all well an’ puffec’ly comfo’ble up heah? How’s you feel’n’, Mr. Sipes? Seem’s like you had a li’l cold this mawnin’.”

“I’m better, but ‘Ah feels weak,’” quoted Sipes, with biting sarcasm.

“Ah ce’t’nly am glad to heah yo’ voice again,” continued Narcissus. “It’s a long tia’some row up heah, an Ah ce’t’nly am glad to find you gen’lemen all sit’n’ so comfo’ble ’round yo’ li’l fiah.”

The veiled appeal was irresistible. Sipes handed over the jug and cup, after he and Saunders had been “refreshed,” and he had pitied my teetotalism with a patronizing glance.

“That’s a nice li’l tin cup, an’ that’s an awful pretty shaped jug,” observed our unexpected visitor, as he affectionately watched the red liquid trickle out. “Pa’don me, but Ah always closes ma eyes when Ah take ma li’l drink, ’cause if Ah don’t, ma mouth watahs so it weak’ns ma whiskey.” The contents of the cup instantly vanished.

We were about ready to make our arrangements for the night when Narcissus appeared. Fortunately my own supplies included a lot of mosquito netting. I got it out and he promptly offered to help. He deftly improvised an effective covering with the netting and some sticks that excited the admiration of all of us.

“If you’d git toughed up, an’ raise a face o’ whiskers, them skeets wouldn’t chase after you,” observed Sipes.

Narcissus sat on a log and did not seem inclined to go away.

“Say, Boss, will you lemme have a qua’tah to get ma breakfus’ with in the mawnin’?” he asked humbly.

The request was cheerfully complied with. I really liked Narcissus. His interesting face, winning personality, and happy-go-lucky ways appealed to my sense of the picturesque. It occurred to me that if the jug could be eliminated from the situation, he would be a valuable addition to the camp. I invited him to stay all night and have breakfast with us in the morning.

When Sipes heard the invitation accepted, he went down to the boat to satisfy himself that Saunders had locked the door when he had returned the jug to the cabin.

In the morning Narcissus volunteered to prepare our simple breakfast. He did it with such skill that we realized that our own cooking was crude and amateurish.

During the forenoon I had a long talk with him. He was stranded and would like to stay with us if we were willing. For a moderate stipend he agreed to do the cooking and make himself generally useful.

I did not wish to intrude too much on the old shipmates, and, as I wanted to be alone much of the time, and do some sketching along the river, I established my camp about a hundred yards further up on the same side of the stream. This I judged to be near enough for sociability, and far enough for privacy. Narcissus helped erect my tent, and made many ingenious arrangements for my work and comfort.

The old sailors became so enthusiastic over his cooking that they were glad to have him down with them most of the time. The sail had been taken off the boat, and a “lean-to” tent rigged between two trees, where they all slept.

“You jest watch that cookie coin pancakes!” exclaimed Sipes. “He jest whisks up the dope in the pan, an’ gives ’em a couple o’ flops, an’ they all come to pieces in yer mouth ’fore ye begin chewin’.”

He seemed to anticipate all our wants. He had evidently overheard what Sipes had said about telegraph wire, and the second morning afterward there was about a hundred feet of it in camp, with a pair of heavy wire-nippers, and other tools used by repair men on the lines, which he said he had found. The next night he came in with a half-grown turkey, which he claimed he had found dead in a fence, where it had caught its neck on the barbed wire. The unfortunate bird was roasted to a beautiful brown, and I noticed that the feathers were carefully burned.

The aspect of affairs was getting serious. I took Narcissus in hand and subjected him to a thorough cross-examination. I told him that we wanted to pay for anything we used, and that he positively must not find any more young turkeys in wire fences. The telegraph wire incident was perplexing. He declared that this stuff had been abandoned, and was far from the railroad. The fact that the tools and wire were somewhat rusty seemed to lend some slight color of truth to his statement, but we finally understood each other as to the rule to be followed in the future.

A cash allowance was made for the fresh vegetables, eggs, fruit, and other supplies, which he was instructed to buy around in the back country and along the river. I hoped later to discover the owner of the ill-fated turkey.

The old shipmates worked industriously. They took the Crawfish down the river to the village twice, and returned with cargos of second-hand lumber, with which they constructed a flatboat about ten feet long by six wide. Supports were put at the four corners, and railings nailed to the tops. They rigged a strong pole, the length of the platform, along which they attached four-foot wires eight inches apart. At the ends of these were the four-pronged clam-hooks. Lines ran from the ends of the pole to a centre rope, by means of which the device was attached to the flatboat and dragged in the river. When the hooks came in contact with the unsuspecting mollusks, lying open on the bottom, they were to close their shells on them tightly, and thus their fate would be sealed. When the pole was pulled out sideways, with the big rope, the bivalves would hang on its fringe of dangling wires, like grapes on pendant vines.

Our “cookie” was assiduous in his camp duties. He procured some flat stones, which he skilfully piled so as to confine his fire. Heavy stakes were driven into the ground, and another laid across, with its ends in the forked tops. The cross-piece supported the iron kettle, with which he performed mysterious feats of cookery. He improvised a broiler with some of the telegraph wire, and baked delicious bread and biscuits in a reflecting oven, made of a piece of old sheet-iron. He was very resourceful. From somewhere beyond the confines of the dark forest he obtained materials for menus that exceeded our fondest hopes.

He spent a great deal of time off by himself, and would often drop around where I happened to be sketching. We had many confidential talks. He confessed that drink was his besetting sin. He had generally been able to get good jobs, but invariably lost them when he drank. Some day he was “goin’ to sweah off fo’ good.” The poor fellow was floating wreckage on that poison stream of alcohol that our false conception of economics permits to exist. It was battering another derelict along the rocks that line its sinister shores.

He had attached himself to us like a stray dog. His moral sense had been blunted by his infirmity, but, under proper influences, his reclamation was possible. Narcissus was a strong argument in favor of compulsory prohibition, for he was beyond his own help.

The old shipmates agreed with me that he ought to be kept away from temptation as much as possible, “spesh’ly,” said Sipes, “as we ain’t got none too much in the jug. It ain’t fit fer nobody that’s under sixty-seven. Young fellers oughta let that stuff alone. They git filled up with it an’ it runs down in their legs an’ floats their feet off.”

Narcissus’s ancestry was mixed. He had some white blood, and one of his grandfathers was an Indian. Though the African characteristics predominated, there were traces of both the white man and the Indian in his face. It may have been a remnant of Indian instinct—a mysterious call of the blood—that lured him to the dune country, where the red men were once happy, when he got into trouble. Possibly it was the sixth sense of the Indian that led him up the river to the jug, on the night of our arrival, or, as Sipes remarked, “mebbe the perfumery got out through the cork an’ drifted over ’im w’en ’e was roostin’ on them rocks.”

He cooked some carp, which he had caught in the river, and was much disappointed when we found them unpalatable. The following evening he compounded a delicious sauce, with which he camouflaged the despised fish almost beyond recognition, but their identity was unmistakable. Sipes declared that “the dope on them carps is fine, but I don’t like wot it’s mixed with.” He ate the sauce and threw his piece of fish out among the trees. The next morning he saw a crow drop down and eat it.

“That ol’ bird’s been through enough to know better’n that,” he remarked.

The fish that came to us from the land of the Hun, and now infests our inland waters, has little to commend it. It is objectionable wherever it exists. It breeds immoderately, eats the spawn of respectable fish, and begrimes the pure waters with its hog-like rooting along the weedy bottoms. It is of inferior food value and pernicious. No means of exterminating these noxious aliens have been discovered. Like the Huns, they have all of the instincts of marauding swine, without their redeeming qualities.

“These heah cahp ah funny fish,” said Narcissus. “A gen’leman tol’ me a few yeahs ago of a cahp that was caught in the Mississippi rivah that was ve’y la’ge. They opened ’im an’ found a gold watch an’ chain that ’e’d swallowed, an’ the watch was tickin’ when they took it out, an’ theah was a cha’m on the chain, an’ inside the cha’m was a li’l pict’ah of a young lady. The young man that caught the cahp found that young lady an’ theah was a wedd’n. Of co’se Ah didn’t see the watch, er the young man, but that was the tale Ah hea’d. Theah’s been some awful wonde’ful things happened down on that Mississippi rivah.”

“Gosh! if them Dutch fish ’ave got timepieces in ’em, mebbe we better pursue ’em instid o’ clams,” remarked Sipes. “Them carps c’n live on land pretty near as well as they do in water. They’r’ like mudturkles. Bill an’ me seen a big one once’t, that was in a little puddle on some land that ’ad been flowed over. We thought prob’ly the water’d gone down an’ left ’im stranded. His back stuck out o’ the puddle an’ was all dry an’ caked with mud. Mebbe he’d been out devastat’n’ the country fer watches an’ jools, er sump’n, in the night, an’ ’ad jest stopped at that hole fer a little rest on ’is way back.”

We spent many interesting evenings around the old shipmates’ camp fire. Sipes and Saunders related marvellous tales of the sea. Narcissus told many ornate yarns that he had picked up during his checkered life, and sang negro revival songs and plantation melodies. The bleached skeleton of some animal in the woods had provided him with material for two pairs of “bones,” with which he was an adept. His mouth organ was a source of much entertainment. Sipes’s favorite was “Money Musk,” the merry jingle that came over the water when we entered the river, and he often asked Narcissus to “play that cash-money tune some more.”

When the clam-boat was completed, and fully rigged with its paraphernalia, it was pushed out into the slow current. It was controlled with the oars from the Crawfish. The pole, with its pendant wires, was dropped over the side, and actual operations began. A bench had been erected in the middle of the rude craft, before which Sipes stood, flourishing a stubby knife, ready to open the mollusks and remove their precious contents. He had a small red tin tobacco box, with a hinged cover, which he intended to fill with pearls the first day.

“Let’s pull ’er up now,” he suggested, after the flatboat had drifted about a hundred feet downstream. Saunders lifted in the tackle. Two victims dangled on the wires.

“Gosh, this is easy! Gimme them clams!” They were eagerly opened, but careful scrutiny revealed no pearls. “I guess them damn Dutch fish ’ave got ’em, like they did that watch Cookie told about. Heave ’er over an’ we’ll try ’er ag’in, Bill.”

The first day’s work was fruitless, as were many that followed. The clam-hooks frequently got snagged, and seemed to bring up everything but pearls. Once an angry snapping-turtle was thrown back. An enormous catfish, whose meditations on the bottom had been violently disturbed, was pulled to the surface, but escaped.

“Mebbe we’ll cetch a billy-goat if this keeps up,” remarked Sipes.

The old men toiled on with dogged persistence. One Sunday morning an aged bivalve was pulled up and a pearl, over three-eighths of an inch in diameter, fell out on the bench when Sipes’s knife struck the inside of the shell.

“Hoo-ray!!! Here she is!” he yelled.

“Be quiet, y’ol’ miser! Gimme that,” commanded Saunders.

He examined it closely and compared it with the one the wrecked pearl-buyer had given him.

“How much d’ye think that onion-skinner’d give us fer that?” asked Sipes, anxiously.

“It’s about three times as big, an’ it’s rounder. It oughta be wuth fifteen er twenty dollars,” replied Saunders, as he put it with the other specimen and rolled it up in the soiled paper.

“Here, Bill, you can’t do that! Gimme that jool. It’s gotta go in the box.” Saunders surrendered the pearl, and Sipes carefully put it where it belonged.

“We ain’t goin’ to fuss with no button companies, w’en we c’n find them things,” declared Sipes, as he kicked the pile of empty shells overboard. “That ain’t no money fer a jool like that. Wot are you talk’n’ about? You don’t know nothin’ ’bout pearls. I bet it’s wuth a thousand dollars right now, an’ mebbe it’ll be wuth two thousand if we git that feller to peel it. I bet all them jools has to be peeled.”

That part of the pearl-buyer’s talk with Saunders that related to the removal of the layers, and the comparison of a pearl’s structure with that of an onion, had strongly impressed Sipes, and he generally referred to him as “the onion-skinner.”

During the rest of the day he shook the box frequently to assure himself that the pearl was still there.

Various “slugs,” pearls of irregular shape and of little value, were found during the next week, and the increasing spoil was gloated over at night.

Narcissus was sometimes added to the working force on the flatboat, which was taken up stream as far as the depth permitted, for a fresh start.

“We’r’ goin’ to drag this ol’ river from stem to gudgeon,” declared Sipes. “W’en we git through the mushrats’ll have a tough time hustl’n’ fer food. We’ll git back in the marsh where the big clams stay in them open places ’mong the splatter-docks, where all them lily-flowers grow, an’ we’ll git some jools that it won’t do to drop on yer foot. I seen a clam in the marsh once’t that was over eight inches long, an’ I bet ’e was a hundred years old.”

One night Narcissus tied his little boat to a tree near the spring. He left some fresh vegetables in it, which he had procured up the river. In the morning it was discovered that the boat had been visited. The unknown caller had eaten most of the supplies. Fragments were scattered about, but no tracks were visible. A pile of green corn and some melons met the same fate a few nights afterward, and Sipes decided to ambush the visitor.

He lay on his stomach in the dark, with his gun beside him, and waited. About midnight he heard splashing in the shallow water along the bank, and, a moment later, the dim light revealed a spotted cow helping herself liberally to the contents of the boat. Evidently she had forded the river somewhere up stream, and had accidentally found a welcome base of supplies.

“Come ’ere, Spotty!” Sipes called softly, as he cautiously advanced. The friendly marauder did not seem at all alarmed, and submitted peacefully to the coil of anchor rope that was taken from the bottom of the boat and gently slipped over her horns. She was led out of the water and tied to a tree. Sipes procured a tin pail at the camp, and “Spotty” yielded of her abundance.

There was cream for our coffee the next day. Spotty was nowhere visible. The old man had conducted her into the woods and “anchored ’er,” with a stake and a long rope, in a hidden glade, where there was plenty of grass.

The following evening we were enjoying our pipes, while Narcissus was cleaning up after a delicious dinner. An old man with a heavy hickory cane hobbled into camp. His unkempt white beard nearly reached his waist. His shoulders were bent with age. He appeared to be over eighty.

“Hello, Ancient!” was Sipes’s cheery greeting, as the patriarch came up to the fire.

“Good evenin’!” responded the visitor. “How’s the clam fish’n’?”

“Jest so-so,” replied Saunders. “Have a seat.”

He gave the old man a box, with an improvised back, to sit on, and, after a few remarks about the weather, our caller explained that he had lost a cow, and wondered if we had seen anything of her.

“Wot kind of a look’n’ anamile was she?” inquired Sipes.

“Gray, with a lot o’ black spots on ’er. One horn bent out forrads, an’ the other was twisted back, an’ she had a short tail. She’s been roamin’ in the woods a good deal lately, an’ last night she didn’t come home. I thought I’d come down this way an’ see if I could locate ’er.”

“I seen a cow like that yisterd’y,” replied the culprit. “She was over on the other side o’ the river, an’ come down to drink. She prob’ly mosies ’round nights like that ’cause she’s restluss. Her tail’s bobbed an’ she can’t switch away the skeets. She’ll prob’ly show up all right.”

“Yes, I s’pose she will. Guess I won’t worry about ’er.” The visitor’s eyes wandered about the camp. I had noticed a small brown turkey feather on the ground, near where Sipes sat, but that wily strategist had deftly slipped it into his side pocket.

Evidently the industry on the river had been duly observed by the scattered dwellers in the back country, for our caller seemed to know all about us. He understood that I was “drawin’ scenes ’round ’ere.” Possibly some unknown observer had, at some time, come near enough to see what I was doing, and noislessly retreated.

Sipes went down to the cabin of the Crawfish, and returned with the jug. “Wouldn’t ye like to ’ave a little sump’n, after yer long walk?” he asked.

“B’lieve I would!”

“Say w’en,” said Sipes, as he tilted the jug over the cup.

“Jest a leetle, not more’n a thimbleful!”

“Some thimbles is bigger’n others,” observed the old sailor, as he half filled the cup.

While protesting against the liberal offering, the old man disposed of the “little sump’n” with much relish.

Narcissus watched the proceedings from behind his kitchen bench with appealing eyes.

“How long you been liv’n’ ’round ’ere, Ancient?” asked Sipes.

“I come here in the fall o’ forty-eight. It was all open water whar that slough is then. It’s weeded up sence. We used to chase deer out all over the ice thar in the winter. They’d slip down an’ couldn’t git up, an’ we got slews of ’em that way. In the fall we’d find ’em on the beach ’long the big lake. We’d shoo ’em out in the water, an’ then stay ’long the shore an’ yell at ’em an’ keep ’em from comin’ in. They’d swim ’round fer a couple of hours, an’ they’d git so tired the waves ’ud wash ’em in, an’ we’d cetch ’em. We’d lay up enough meat to last all winter.

“We had to save amminition, fer we had to go twenty miles to the trading post fer wot we used. The Injuns was thicker’n hair on a dog ’round ’ere then. Many’s the time, in the summer, I’ve looked down the marsh an’ seen ’em set’n’ on the mushrat houses suckin’ wild duck eggs wot they’d found ’round in the slough.”

“I bet them was big pearls wot they was munchin’ on,” observed Sipes.

Not noticing the interruption the Ancient continued.

“They was so many wild ducks an’ geese ’round ’ere in the fall, that you didn’t ’ave to shoot ’em at all. You c’d go down on that sand-spit whar the river runs out o’ the marsh, jest ’fore daylight, w’en they was comin’ out, an’ knock ’em down with a stick. They’d fly so low, an’ they was so thick you couldn’t miss ’em, an’ you c’d git all you c’d carry.”

“Gosh! Let’s give ’im another drink!” whispered Sipes.

“Them days is all gone. Sometimes you see ducks hereabouts, but the sky’s never black with ’em like it used to be. Thar was millions o’ wild pigeons ’ere too. They’d set on the dead trees so thick that the branches busted off, an’ thar was eagles ’ere that used to fly off with the young pigs, an’ I’ve killed rattlesnakes over in the hills as thick as yer arm, an’ eight feet long, but they’ve been gone fer years.

“Thar was tall pine all through this country then, but it’s been cut out. Pretty near ev’ry mile ’long the big lake thar’s old piles stick’n’ up. Them was piers that the logs was hauled to with oxen an’ bob-sleds. The logs was loaded from the piers onto schooners that carried ’em off on the lake. I used to work at the loggin’ in the winter.

“Ev’ry now an’ then we’d git a b’ar, an’ we used to find lots o’ wild honey. The wolves used to chase us w’en they was in packs, but w’en one was alone ’e’d always run. Thar’s been some awful big fires through ’ere. Once it was all burnt over fer fifty miles.”

“That ol’ mossback knows a lot, don’t ’e?” whispered Sipes to me, as the narrator paused to light his pipe.

“Them pearls you fellers er fish’n’ fer reminds me of a story. Thar was a lot o’ Injuns lived ’ere at this end o’ the marsh long about sixty-three. Thar was an’ ol’ medicine-man that ’ad gathered about a peck o’ them things, big an’ little, an’ kep’ ’em in a skin bag. Thar was a bad Injun ’ere named Tom Skunk, an’ ’e stole ev’rything ’e c’d lay ’is hands on. He didn’t know the bag had much value, but ’e carried it off one day w’en the old man was gone. The Injuns got so mad ’bout all the meat an’ skins this feller kep’ takin’ that they fixed it up to drill ’im out o’ the country. They caught ’im an’ made ’im give the ol’ Injun back ’is bag. Then they told ’im to vamoose. He stuck ’round fer a few days, an’ one night ’e paddled down the river in ’is canoe. The ol’ Injun was pretty mad. He peeked out of ’is wigwam an’ seen ’im comin’. He got ’is ol’ smooth-bore rifle out an’ rammed a handful o’ them little pearls on top o’ the powder. [Groan from Sipes.] W’en Tom Skunk come by ’e let loose an’ filled ’im full of ’em. Tom got away somehow, an’ that was the last seen of ’im in these parts. We heard afterward that ’e went to a govament post, an’ the surgeon spent a week pick’n’ out the pearls an’ sold ’em fer a big price.

“We used to have snapp’n’ turtles in this river that was two feet across, an’ they’d come out in the night after the hens. We cut the head off o’ one once, an’ ’e lived a week after that. He had a date, seventeen hundred and sump’n, on ’is back. He was all caked up with moss an’ crusted shell, so we couldn’t quite make out the year. Somebody must ’a’ burnt it on with a hot iron.

“All the ol’ settlers in these parts are dead now, ’ceptin’ me, an’ I’m git’n’ pretty feeble, an’ don’t git ’round like I used to. I’m eighty-four an’, damn ’em, I’ve buried ’em all!”

He reached for his hickory cane and rose painfully.

“I guess I gotta be goin’ ’long now, fer it’s git’n’ late. If you see anything o’ my cow, I wish you’d let me know.”

We loaned him a lantern and bade him good-night, as he limped away through the woods.

After the departure of our entertaining visitor, we took Sipes to task about the cow. Under gentle pressure, he reluctantly agreed to release the animal, and left for the glade, where Spotty was secreted. I noticed that he took a pail with him.

Spotty visited the camp several times during the next week, and the menus were enriched with dishes that would have been otherwise impossible. I suggested that something ought to be done for the Ancient to even things up.

“All right,” said Sipes, “we’ll have Cookie take ’im up a big bunch o’ carps, so ’e c’n ’av’ some fish. Gosh! We gotta have milk.”

By the use of delicate diplomacy and confidential explanation, I amicably adjusted the milk difficulty with Spotty’s owner, and arranged that the faithful animal should furnish us with two quarts a day. The old settler was very tolerant and reasonable, and I had no trouble about the matter at all. He often came to see us, and brought welcome additions to our food supplies.

The golden fall days and the cool nights came. The pearl hunting and the genial gatherings at the camp fire continued. The destruction of the unios in the river went on with unabated zeal. Many hundreds of them were opened and thrown away. Man, the wisest, and yet the most ignorant of living creatures, lays waste the land of plenty that prodigal nature has spread before him.

The tin box was nearly full of specimens, varying in size, shape, and color. The attrition which Sipes caused by frequently shaking the box dulled the lustre on many of the pearls. Saunders discovered the damage, and afterwards they were properly protected. He suggested that we get a baby-rattle and a rubber teething ring for Sipes, so he would not “have to amoose ’imself shakin’ the shine offen them pearls.”

The dauntless toilers refused to be driven in by unfavorable weather. One morning dawned with a cold drizzly rain, but it was the day of days on the flatboat.

“Whoop! Whoop! Holy jumpin’ wild-cats!” shrieked Sipes, hysterically.

A resplendent oval form, as large as a filbert, iridescent with subtle light and flashing hues of rose and green, rolled out of a bivalve which he had partially opened. Its satiny sheen gleamed softly in the palm of the old man’s gnarled and dirty hand—a pearl that might glow on the bosom of a houri, or mingle in the splendor of a diadem.

“Avast there, you ol’ money-bags! You’ll founder the ship!” yelled Saunders, as they danced with delirious joy in each other’s arms.

Work was suspended for the day. The prize was proudly and tenderly carried to camp, with great rejoicing.

“Come ’ere, you Jack o’ Clubs, an’ see wot a million dollars looks like!” shouted Sipes to Narcissus, who was hurrying to meet them.

Saunders told me, when we met that night, that “Cookie’s eyes stuck out like grapes, an’ you c’d ’a’ brushed ’em off with a stick w’en ’e seen wot we had.”

Unfortunately the jug was much in evidence. Narcissus responded many times to Sipes’s insistent demands for “that cash-money tune.” The old shipmates danced in the flickering firelight. Vociferous songs awoke the echoes in the surrounding gloom of the damp forest. The big pearl was repeatedly examined, and much speculation was indulged in as to its value, which was considered almost fabulous. The hilarity extended far into the night, until the revellers fell asleep from sheer exhaustion. The jug was left on the grass, and Narcissus fondled it between drinks, while the magnates slumbered.

“It’s only the rich an’ fuzzy that enjoys this life,” observed Sipes with a prolonged yawn, when I came over and woke him in the morning. “Think o’ them val’able clams wot sleeps out there in the bottom o’ the river. The little runts can’t swim ’round, an’ they can’t chase food. They ’ave to take wot’s fed ’em by the current. They can’t smoke ’er talk, an’ they can’t ’ave nothin’ but water to drink. They jest lay there an’ make them little jools fer me an’ Bill. That big feller’d prob’ly been wait’n’ fer us all summer to come ’long an’ save ’im from them mushrats.”

The happy old sailor’s remarks suggested the thought that most of the great intellectual pearls in the world have come from the minds of those who have pondered long in silent and secluded places.

“Hi there, Bill, you ol’ lobster, wake up. I want some breakfast. Where’s that cussÉd cookie?” he demanded.

We found poor Narcissus reclining against a tree—a pitiful picture. The jug sat near him. The cup, mouth organ, and his tattered cap were lying about on the grass. A primitive human animal had found satiety in what he craved.

“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?