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.