Rasba carried Prebol on his cot up to the bow of the big boat, and put him down where he could help watch the river, and they cast off. Prebol knew the bends and reaches, and named most of the landings; they gossiped about the people and the places. Prebol told how river rats sometimes stole hogs or cattle for food, and Rasba learned for the first time of organized piracy, of river men who were banded together for stealing what they could, raiding river towns, attacking "sports,"

tripping the river, and even more desperate enterprises.

While he talked, Prebol slyly watched his listener and thought for a long time that Rasba was merely dumbfounded by the atrocities, but at last the Prophet grinned:

"An' yo's a riveh rat. Ho law!"

"Why, I didn't say----" Prebol began, but his words faltered.

"Yo' know right smart about such things," Rasba reminded him. "I 'low hit were about time somebody shot yo' easy, so's to give yo' repentance a chance to catch up with yo' wickedness. Don't yo'?"

Prebol glared at the accusation, but Rasba pretended not to notice.

"Yo' see, Prebol, this world is jes' the hounds a-chasin' the rabbits, er the rabbits a-gittin' out the way. The good that's into a man keeps a-runnin', to git shut of the sin that's in him, an' theh's a heap of wrestlin' when one an' tother catches holt an' fights."

"Hit's seo!" Prebol admitted, reluctantly. He didn't have much use for religious arguments. "I wisht yo'd read them books to me, Parson. I ain't neveh had much eddycation. I'll watch the riveh, an' warn ye, 'gin we make the crossin's."

Nothing suited them better. Rasba read aloud, stabbing each word with his finger while he sought the range and rhythm of the sentences, and, as they happened to strike a book of fables, their minds could grasp the stories and the morals at least sufficiently to entertain and hold their attention.

Prebol said, warningly, after a time:

"Betteh hit that sweep a lick, Parson, she's a-swingin' in onto that bar p'int."

A few leisurely strokes, the boats drifted away into deep water, and Rasba expressed his admiration.

"Sho, Prebol! Yo' seen that bar a mile up. We'd run down onto hit."

"Yas, suh," the wounded man grinned. "Three-four licks on the oars up theh, and down yeah yo' save pullin' yo' livin' daylights out, to keep from goin' onto a sandbar or into a dryin'-up chute."

"How's that?" Rasba c.o.c.ked his ear. "Say hit oveh--slow!"

"Why, if yo's into the set of the current up theh, hit ain't strong; yo'

jes' give two-three licks an' yo' send out clear. Down theh on the bar she draws yo' right into shallow water, an' yo' hang up."

Rasba looked up the river; he looked down at the nearing sandbar, and as they pa.s.sed the rippling head in safety he turned a grave face toward the pilot.

"Up theh, theh wasn't much suck to hit, but down yeah, afteh yo've drawed into the current, theh's a strong drag an' bad shoals?"

"Jes' so!"

"Hit's easy to git shut of sin, away long in the beginnin'," Rasba bit his words out, "but when yo' git a long ways down into hit--Ho law!"

Prebol started, caught by surprise. Then both laughed together. They could understand each other better and if Prebol felt himself being drawn in spite of his own reluctance by a new current in his life, Rasba did not fail to gratify the river man's pride by turning always to him for advice about the river, its currents and its jeopardies.

"I've tripped down with all kinds," Prebol grinned as he spoke, "but this yeah's the firstest time I eveh did get to pilot a mission boat."

"If you take it through in safety, do yo' reckon G.o.d will forget?" Rasba asked, and Prebol's jaw dropped. He didn't want to be reformed; he had no use for religion. He was very well satisfied with his own way of living. He objected to being prayed over and the good of his soul inquired into--but this Parson Rasba was making the idea interesting.

They anch.o.r.ed for the night in the eddy at the head of Needham's Cut-Off Bar, and Prebol was soon asleep, but Rasba sat under the big lamp and read. He could read with continuity now; dread that the dream would vanish no longer afflicted him. He could read a book without having more than two or three other books in his lap.

Sometimes it was almost as though Nelia were speaking the very words he read; sometimes he seemed to catch her frown of disapproval. The books, more precious than any other treasure could have been, seemed living things because she had owned them, because her pencil had marked them, and because she had given them all to his service, to fill the barren and hungry places in the long-empty halls of his mind.

He would stop his reading to think, and thinking, he would take up a book to discover better how to think. He found that his reading and thinking worked together for his own information.

He was musing, his mind enjoying the novelty of so many different images and ideas and facts, when something trickled among his senses and stirred his consciousness into alert expectancy. For a little he was curious, and then touched by dismay, for it was music which had roused him--music out of the black river night. People about to die sometimes hear music, and Parson Rasba unconsciously braced himself for the shock.

It grew louder, however, more distinct, and the sound was too gay and lively to fit in with his dreams of a heavenly choir. He caught the shout of a human voice and he knew that dancers were somewhere, perhaps dancers d.a.m.ned to eternal mirth. He went out on the deck and closed the door on the light behind him; at first he could see nothing but black night. A little later he discovered boats coming down the river, eight or nine gleaming windows, and a swinging light hung on a flag staff or shanty-boat mast.

As they drew nearer, someone shouted across the night:

"Goo-o-o-d wa-a-a-ter thar?"

"Ya-s-su-uh!" Rasba called back.

"Where'll we come in?"

"Anywhere's b'low me fo' a hundred yards!"

"Thank-e-e!"

Three or four sweeps began to beat the water, and a whole fleet of shanty-boats drifted in slowly. They began to turn like a wheel as part of them ran into the eddy while the current carried the others down, but old river men were at the sweeps, and one of them called the orders:

"Raunch 'er, boys! Raunch 'er! Raunchin's what she needs!"

They floated out of the current into the slow reverse eddy, and coming up close to Rasba's fleet, talked back and forth with him till a gleam of light through a window struck him clearly out of the dark.

"Hue-e-e!" a shrill woman's voice laughed. "Hit's Rasba, the Riveh Prophet Rasba! Did yo' all git to catch Nelia Crele, Parson?"

"Did I git to catch Missy Crele!" he repeated, dazed.

"When yo' drapped out'n Wolf Island Chute, Parson, that night she pulled out alone?"

"No'm; I lost her down by the Sucks, but she drapped in by Caruthersville an' give me books an' books--all fo' my mission boat!"

"That big boat yourn?"

"Yeh."

"Where all was. .h.i.t built?"

"I don' remembeh, but Buck done give hit to me, him an' Jock Drones."

"Hi-i-i! Yo' all found the man yo' come a-lookin' fo'. Ho law!"

"Hit's the Riveh Prophet," someone replied to a hail from within, the dance ending.

A crowd came tumbling out onto the deck of the big boat of the dance hall, everyone talking, laughing, catching their breaths.

"Hi-i! Likely he'll preach to-morrow," a woman cried. "To-morrow's Sunday."