Rasba stood there talking to them, a speaker to an audience. He told of his floating down into the Mississippi, and of his surprise at finding the river so large, so without end. He said he kind of wanted to ask the way of a shanty-boat, for a poor sinner must needs inquire of those he finds in the wilderness, and he heard a groan and a weak cry for help.
“I cyard for him, and he thanked me kindly; he said a woman had shot him when he was trying to be friendly; a pretty woman, young and alone. Co’rse, I washed his wound and I linimented it, and I cut the bullet out of his back; law me, but that man swore! Come night, an’ he heard say I was a parson, he apologized because he cursed, and this mo’nin’ he’d done lit out, yas, suh! Neveh no good-bye. Scairt, likely, hearin’ me pray theh because I needed he’p, an’ ’count of me being glad of the chanct to he’p any man in trouble.”
“Sho! Who all mout that man be, Parson?”
“He said his name were Jest Prebol––”
“Ho law! Somebody done plugged Jest Prebol!” one of the women cried out, laughing. “That scoundrel’s be’n layin’ off to git shot this long time, an’ so he’s got hit. I bet he won’t think he’s so winnin’ of purty women no more! He’s bad, that man, gamblin’ an’ shootin’ craps an’ workin’ the banks. Served him right, yes, indeedy. But he’d shore hate to know a parson hearn him cussin’ an’ swearin’ around. Hit don’t bring a gambler any luck, bein’ heard swearin’, no.”
“Nor if any one else hears him; not if he thinks swearin’ in hisn’s heart!” Rasba shook his head gravely. “How come hit yo’ know that man?”
“He’s used down this riveh ten-fifteen years; besides, he married my sister what’s Mrs. Dollis now. Hit were a long time ago, though, ’fore anybody knowed 54 he wa’n’t no good. I bet we hearn yo’ was comin’, Parson. Whiskey Williams said they was a Hallelujah Singer comin’ down the Ohio—said he could hear him a mile. I bet yo’ sing out loud sometimes?”
“Hit’s so,” Rasba admitted. “I sung right smart comin’ down the Ohio. Seems like I jest wanted to sing, like birds in the posey time.”
“Prebol shore should git to a doctor, shot up thataway. He didn’t say which lady shot him, Parson?” a woman asked.
“No; jes’ a lady into an eddy into a lonesome bend.” Rasba shook his head. “A purty woman, livin’ alone on this riveh. Do many do that?”