This exclamation produced but one result—a wider swath. They had plunged into deeper stroke that afternoon after every expression of fear, for the mowers tried, in the prodigious effort put forth, to drown, for the moment, their apprehensions. But the drafts they had made upon their strength were now telling upon them sorely. They could not sustain the effort, and soon lapsed into a slower stroke; and although the bout was considerably shorter, they were a third longer in cutting it. Though wrought to the highest point with fear, they were powerless to resist the bewitching influence to look seaward as they mowed round the curve. This time that strange shape, looming up again, struck terror through them.
“By heavens,” gasped Alibee, “how much closer in is she a comin’? An’ look! look! thet’s a woman standin’ on the rail thar, for’ard, white ez the ship. Not another soul on board, ez I kin see.”
The mowers stood gazing a second with scythes poised, and then finished their strokes. Just around the curve Alibee stole a glance behind him. With piercing tone he cried, “Good God! thar’s thet woman, on the hills yunder, comin straight fur us; an’ the ship, look! she’s bow on. Quick, quick, run fur the hay-boat.”
Hurriedly they gathered their traps and ran to the boat, casting looks behind every few steps. They had left the jug—the empty jug—but not a second could be lost. They threw their scythes into the boat, Alibee ran for the anchor, and came running back with it, dragging the cable after him. Raner and Layn in their excitement had already pushed off the boat, and Josh, splashing through the water, tumbled on board, anchor in hand. In an instant the mowers had disappeared in the fog.
ENCHANTED TREASURE
Purty nigh a hull week that ship hed been seen manoovrin’ outside the Beach. Fust, she’d ’pear to be purty well in, an’ then she’d be way off a’most out o’ sight; an’ so it went, off an’ on, off an’ on. The neighbors—thar wa’n’t many on ’em, the houses bein’ scatterin’—hed seen ’er; an thar wuz a good deal o’ conjectur ’bout what she could be doin’. Nobody could tell. Thar wusn’t no war—ef that hed ’a been, ’twouldn’t ’a been ’tall puzzlin’ what she wur a-manoovrin’ at on the coast. On a Friday arternoon she dis’peared, an’ nothin’ wuz seen o’ her on a Saturday. Sunday mornin’ arly, I looked over to the Beach, but didn’t see anythin’ o’ the ship. She’d gone fur good, we concluded.
Long middle forenoon, John an’ me made up our minds to go to the Beach. It wuz hossfootin time, an’ that night wuz full moon. We put up suthin’ to eat, an’ told the folks to hum that we wuz goin’, an’ didn’t calc’late to be back till long towards nex’ mornin’.
Our plan wuz to sail over, saunter long the Beach that arternoon, an’ ’bout nightfall git a pen ready to put the hossfeet in, an’ when the moon wuz up an’ the tide flood, ketch all the hossfeet we could. That’s the best time o’ the month to ketch ’em—full moon and flood tide. Hossfeet, you know, crawl up in pairs on to the shore at the height o’ the flood. You wade along an’ find ’em in the edge o’ the water; throw ’em up onto shore high and dry, an’ stick their tails into ground. They’re fast, then. You got to work quick, ’cause the nick o’ the tide don’t stay on long. It’s git all you kin afore they go off. When they’re gone, you kin take your own time in loadin’ ’em into the boat, ur puttin’ ’em into pen till you kin take ’em off.