Seeing the group of people on the sandbar, the journeyer, who was a woman, took the sweeps of her boat and began to work over to them.
“Hit handles nice, that bo’t!” one of the fishermen said. “Pulls jes’ like a skift. Wonder who that woman is?”
“I’ve seen her some’rs,” the powerful, angular woman, Mrs. Cooke, said after a time. “Them’s swell clothes she’s got on. She’s all alone, too, an’ what a lady travels alone down yeah for I don’t know. She’s purty enough to have a husband, I bet, if she wants one.”
“Looks like one of them Pittsburgh er Cincinnati women,” Jim Caope declared. 56
“No.” Mrs. Caope shook her head. “She’s off’n the riveh. Leastwise, she handles that bo’t reg’lar. I cayn’t git to see her face, but I seen her some’rs, I bet. I can tell a man by hisns walk half a mile.”
In surprise she stared at the boat as it came nearer, and then walked down to the edge of the bar to greet the newcomer.
“Why, I jes’ knowed I’d seen yo’ somers! How’s yer maw?” she greeted. “Ho law! An’ yo’s come tripping down Ole Mississip’! I ’clare, now, I’d seen yo’, an’ I knowed hit, an’ hyar yo’ be, Nelia Crele. Did yo’ git shut of that up-the-bank feller yo’ married, Nelia?”
“I’m alone,” the girl laughed, her gaze turning to look at the others, who stood watching.
“If yo’ git a good man,” Mrs. Caope philosophized, “hang on to him. Don’t let him git away. But if yo’ git somebody that’s shif’less an’ no ’count, chuck him ovehbo’d. That’s what I b’lieve in. Well, I declare! Hand me that line an’ I’ll tie yo’ to them stakes. Betteh throw the stern anchor over, fo’ this yeah’s a shallows, an’ the riveh’s eddyin’, an’ if hit don’t go up hit’ll go down, an’––”
“Theh’s a head rise coming out the Ohio,” someone said. “Yo’ won’t need no anchor over the stern!”