CHAPTER XXI
Pirates have infested the Mississippi from the earliest days. The stranger on the river cannot possibly know a pirate when he sees one, and even shanty-boaters of long experience and sharp eyes penetrate their disguises with difficulty. How could Gus Carline suspect the loquacious, ingratiating, and helpful Renald Doss?
Lonely; pursued by doubts, ignorance, and a lurking timidity, Carline was only too glad to take on a companion who discoursed about all the river towns, called river commissioners by their first names, knew all the makes of motors, and called the depth of the water in Point Pleasant crossing by reading the New Madrid gauge.
He relinquished the wheel of his boat to the dapper little man, and fed the motor more gas, or slowed down to half speed, while he listened to volumes of river lore.
“You’ve been landing along down?” Doss asked.
“All along,” Carline replied, “everywhere.”
“Seen anybody?”
“I should say so; there was a fellow come down pretending to be a reporter. He stopped over with me, got me full’s a tick, and then robbed me.”
“Eh—he robbed you?”
“Yes, sir! He got me to drinking heavy. I like my stew a little, but he fixed me. Then he just went through me, but he didn’t get all I had, you bet!”