Nick trudged on up the road, which followed the course of the river, and he presently arrived at the home of the ferryman, which was among the first of scattered dwellings which now appeared on that side of the stream.
Jones was up and out for business, it then being after seven o’clock, and Nick accompanied him down to the river bank, where they boarded a broad, flat-bottomed boat, which Jones operated with no other power than his own gaunt figure and wiry arms applied to a pair of oars.
“I stopped at Dugan’s place back yonder for a drink,” Nick remarked, when they were under way. “He seems to be a decent chap.”
Jones was not communicative. No man can say less than a rustic, when so inclined.
“Decent enough,” he allowed, in nasal tones.
“He keeps boarders, doesn’t he?” Nick inquired.
“Reckon not.”
“But I saw two men there, named Morley and Conroy.”
“Never heard of them.”
“That’s so?”