"No, just kind of p.r.i.c.ked up a bit, into one shoulder. He said a lady shot him because he 'lowed to land into the same eddy with her."

"But--where----?" Nelia half-whispered. "Where did he go?"

"Hit were Jest Prebol," Mrs. Caope said. "You was tellin' of him, Parson."

"Hit were Prebol," Rasba nodded, "an' he sh.o.r.e needed shooting!"

"Yas, suh. That kind has to be shot some to make 'em behave theirselves," Mrs Caope exclaimed, sharply. "If it wa'n't fer ladies shootin' men onct in awhile, down Old Mississip', why, ladies couldn't git to live here a-tall!"

"And women, sometimes, don't do men any good," Rasba mused, aloud, "I've wondered right smart about hit. You see, a parson circuit rides around, an' he sees a sight more'n he tells. Lawse, he sh.o.r.e do!"

The two women glared at him, but he was studying his huge hands, first the backs and then the calloused palms. He was really wondering, so the two women glanced at each other, laughing. The idea that probably some men needed protection from women could not help but amuse while it exasperated them.

"Prebol said," Rasba continued, "hit were a pretty woman, young an'

alone. 'How'd I know?' he asked. 'How'd I know she were a spit-fire an'

mean, theh all alone into a lonesome bend? How'd I know?'"

"I 'low he sh.o.r.e found out," Mrs. Caope spoke up, tartly, and Nelia looked at her gratefully. "Hit takes a bullet to learn fellers like Jest Prebol--an' him thinkin' he's so smart an' such a lady killer. I bet he knows theh's some ladies that's men killers, too, now. Next time he meets a lady he'll wait to be invited 'fore he lands into the same eddy with her, even if hit's a three-mile eddy."

"Theh's Mrs. Minah," Jim Caope suggested.

"Mrs. Minah!" Mrs. Caope exclaimed. "Talk about riveh ladies--theh's one. She owns Mozart Bend. Seventeen mile of Mississippi River's her'n, an' n.o.body but knows. .h.i.t, if not to start with, then by the end. She stands theh, at the breech of her rifle, and, ho law, cayn't she shoot!

She's real respectable, too, cyarful an' 'cordin' to law. She's had seven husbands, four's daid an' two's divorced, an' one she's got yet, 'cordin' to the last I hearn say about it. I tell you, if a lady's got any self-respect, she'll git a divorce, an' she'll git married ag'in.

That's what I say, with divorces reasonable, like they be, an' costin'

on'y $17.50 to Mendova, or Memphis, er mos' anywheres."

"How long--how long does it take?" Nelia asked, eagerly.

"Why, hardly no time at all. You jes' go theh, an' the lawyer he takes all he wants to know, an' he says come ag'in, an' next day, er the next trip, why, theh's yo' papers, an' all for $17.50. Seems like they's got special reg'lations for us shanty-boaters."

"I'm glad to know about that," Nelia said. "I thought--I never knew much about--about divorces. I thought there was a lot of--of rigmarole and testimony and court business."

"Nope! I tell yo', some of them Mendova lawyers is slick an'

'commodatin'. Why, one time I was in an awful hurry, landin' in 'long of the upper ferry, an' I went up town, an' seen the lawyer, an' told him right how I was fixed. Les' see, that wa--um-m----Oh, I 'member now, Jasper Hill. I'd married him up the line, I disremember--anyhow, 'fore I'd drapped down to Cairo, I knowed he'd neveh do, nohow, so I left him up the bank between Columbus an' Hickman--law me, how he squawked! Down by Tiptonville, where I'd landed, they was a real nice feller, Mr.

d.i.c.kman. Well, we kind of co'ted along down, one place an anotheh, an'

he wanted to git married. I told how hit was, that I wasn't 'vorced, an'

so on, but if he meant business, we'd drap into Mendova, which we done.

He wanted to pay for the divorce, but I'm independent thataway. I think a lady ought to pay for her own 'vorces, so I done hit, an' I was divorced at 3 o'clock, married right next door into the Justice's, an'

we drapped out an' down the riveh onto our honeymoon. Mr. d.i.c.kman was a real gentleman, but, somehow, he couldn't stand the riveh. It sort of give him the malary, an' he got to thinking about salmon fishin' so he went to the Columbia. We parted real good friends, but the Mississippi's good 'nough for me, yes, indeed. I kind of feel zif I knowed hit, an'

hit's real homelike."

"It is lovely down here," Nelia remarked. "Everything is so kind of--kind of free and easy. But wasn't it dreadful--I mean the first time--the first divorce, Mamie?"

"Course, yes, course," Mrs. Caope admitted, slowly, with a frown, "I neveh will forget mine. I'd shifted my man, an' I was right down to cornmeal an' bacon. Then a real nice feller come along, Mr. Darlet. I had to take my choice between a divorce an' a new weddin' dress, an' I tell you hit were real solemocholy fer me decidin' between an' betwixt.

You know how young gals are, settin' a lot by dresses an' how they look, an' so on. Young gals ain' got much but looks, anyhow. Time a lady gits experience, she don't set so much store by looks, an' she don't have to, nohow. Well, theh I was, with a nice man, an' if I didn't divorce that first scoundrel where'd I be? So I let the dress go, an' mebby you'll b'lieve hit, an' mebby yo' won't, but I had $18.97, an' I paid my $17.50 real reg'lar, an' I had jest what was left, $1.47, an' me ready to bust out crying, feelin' so mean about marryin' into an old walking skirt.

"I was all alone, an' I had a good notion to run down the back way, an'

trip off down the riveh without no man, I felt so 'shamed. An' theh, right on the sidewalk, was a wad of bills, $99 to a penny. My lan'! I wropped my hand around hit, an' yo' should of seen Mr. Darlet when he seen me come walking down, new hat, new dress, new shoes, new silk stockings--the whole business new. I wa'n't such a bad-lookin' gal, afteh all. That taught me a lesson. I've always be'n real savin' sinct then, an' I ain't be'n ketched sinct with the choice to make of a 'vorce er a weddin' dress. No, indeed, not me!"

Parson Rasba looked at her, and Nelia, her eyes twinkling, looked at the Parson. Nelia could understand the feelings in all their minds. She had her own viewpoint, too, which was exceedingly different from those of the others. The strain of weeks of questioning, weeks of mental suffering, was relieved by the river woman's serious statement and Parson Rasba's look of bewilderment at the kaleidoscopic matrimonial adventuring. At the same time, his wonder and Mrs. Caope's unconscious statement stirred up in her thoughts a new questioning.

When Nelia returned on board her boat, and sat in its cabin, a freed woman, she very calmly reckoned up the advantages of Mrs. Caope's standards. Then seeing that it was after midnight, and that only the stars shone in that narrow, wooded chute, she felt she wanted to go out into the wide river again, to go where she was not shut in. She cast off her lines and noiselessly floated out and down the slow current.

She saw Parson Rasba's boat move out into the current behind her and drift along in the soft, autumn night. Her first thought was one of indignation, but when a little later they emerged into the broad river current and she felt the solitude of the interminable surface, her mood changed.

What the big, quizzical mountain parson had in mind she did not know. It was possible that he was a very bad man, indeed. She could not help but laugh under her breath at his bewilderment regarding Mrs. Caope, which she felt was a genuine expression of his real feelings. At the same time, whatever his motive in following her, whether it was to protect her--which she could almost believe--or to court her, which was not at all unlikely, or whether he had a baser design, she did not know, but she felt neither worry nor fear.

"I don't care," she shook her head, defiantly, "I like him!"

CHAPTER XIV

Carline recovered his equilibrium after a time. His nerves, long on the ragged edge, had given way, and he was ashamed of his display of emotion.

"Seems as though some things are about all a man can stand," he said to Terabon, the newspaper man. "You know how it is!"

"Oh, yes! I've had my troubles, too," Terabon admitted.

"It isn't fair!" Carline exclaimed. "Why can't a man enjoy himself and have a good time, and not--and not----"

"Have a headache the next day?" Terabon finished the sentence with a grave face.

"That's it. I'm not what you'd call a hard drinker; I like to take a c.o.c.ktail, or a whiskey, the same as any man. I like to go out around and see folks, talk to 'em, dance--you know, have a good time!"

"Everybody does," Terabon admitted.

"And my wife, she wouldn't go around and she was--she was----"

"Jealous because you wanted to use your talents to entertain?"

"That's it, that's it. You understand! I'm a good fellow; I like to joke around and have a good time. Take a man that don't go around, and he's a dead one. It ain't as though she couldn't be a good sport--Lord! Why, I'd just found out she was the best sport that ever lived. I thought everything was all right. Next day she was gone--tricky as the devil!

Why, she got me to sign up a lot of papers, got all my spare cash, stocks, bonds--everything handy. Oh, she's slick! Bright, too--bright's anybody. Why, she could talk about books, or flowers, or birds--about anything. I never took much interest in them."

"And brought up in that shack on Distiller's Island?"

"Stillhouse Island, yes, sir. What do you know about that?"

"A remarkable woman!"

"Yes, sir--I--I've got some photographs," and Carline turned to a writing desk built into the motorboat. He brought out fifteen or twenty photographs. Terabon looked at them eagerly. He could not a.s.sociate the girl of the pictures with the island shack, with this weakling man, nor yet with the Mississippi River--at least not at that moment.

"She's beautiful," he exclaimed, sincerely.

"Yes, sir." Carline packed the pictures away.