The Phantom of the River

by Edward Sylvester Ellis

In all probability the bear, when he first appeared, intended to make an investigation, but the sight of a figure, smothered in sheets and with his feet thrumming in the air like a couple of drum sticks, must have frightened bruin into leaving the strange animal alone.

Jethro was disposed to make chase after the animal and bring him to account, but reflection showed the unwisdom of allowing any diversion to interfere with the plain dictates of duty.

"Dar's no tellin' what trouble Mr. Kenton may hab tumbled into widout habin' me dar to pull him out. De rest ob de folks don't know how to shoot Injuns half as well as me."

It was evident the youth felt quite proud of his exploits, and who can blame him? He surely had warrant for his pride. He had decided to pay a visit to the flatboat even though time was so urgent. It lay close against the bank, just as it had been left earlier in the day, after the cargo was removed. Abandoning it before a chance was given to break it up, and with the vague hope that they might be permitted to turn it to account some time in the future, the pioneers offered it no harm, nor was it injured by the Indians who, later, came upon the scene.

Jethro stepped over the heavy gunwale and looked about him with peculiar interest, for, as is well known, that craft was the scene of many stirring incidents during the preceding twenty-four hours.

There was the long sweeping oar, balanced on a pivot at either end, with the handle reaching almost to the middle of the boat. That portion considered the stern (although in no respect did it differ from the bow) had the covered space, used as sleeping quarters for the females. At the other end was where the cooking was done.

In the bottom lay the two long poles to be used in controlling the boat when necessary, and, groping about, Jethro noticed the pieces of rope that had served to bind The Panther, and which no one had deemed valuable enough to be removed. Other pieces of board and a few fragments of articles were scattered around, but none was of any account. Jethro flung down his big armful of linen at the bow, and, sitting upon them, gave himself over to characteristic meditation.

There is no intellect so dull through which some bright thought does not now and then flash. It may come and go too quickly to be turned to account, but, all the same, it is that mystic throb which proves that all human souls are beating in unison with the divinity that created them.

Sitting thus at the prow of the flatboat, meditating upon the strange occurrences through which he had passed since leaving his old home in Virginia, a scheme gradually assumed definite form in the brain of Jethro Juggens, whose brilliancy and originality startled even himself.

And yet, when it comes to be analyzed, there was really nothing startling and brilliant in it. The wonder would have been, if any person, with a modicum of sense, could have held his place under similar circumstances and not thought of that which gradually worked its way into his consciousness.