Jess of the Rebel Trail Part 4

"Runnin' away, an' want me to hide ye!" Samuel ran his fingers through his hair, a sure sign of his perplexity. "Ye ain't been stealin' or murderin' anybody, have ye?"

"No, no; it's not so bad as that. But it might be suicide, though, if you don't help me. And you will, won't you?" she pleaded, turning her eyes full upon the captain's face.

The latter made no immediate reply. He picked up his pail and set it carefully aside. He then unrolled the turned-up sleeves of his coa.r.s.e s.h.i.+rt, and deliberately b.u.t.toned them about his thick hairy wrists,

"Set down, Miss," he at length ordered, motioning to the only chair the cabin contained. "Thar, that's better," he said as the girl immediately obeyed. "Sorry me accommodations are so poor, but then this ain't no ocean liner. She's nuthin' but an old woodboat, an' not much of a place fer receivin' the likes of you."

"But I think it's fine," the girl replied, "and I know you will let me stay here for a while. You need a woman to look after this cabin, and I will wash and cook for you."

"Ye will!"

"Certainly. If you will only let me stay, I think you will find me quite useful."

"H'm, queer work you'd do in them dandy togs. An' besides, this craft can't afford to keep up much style. I s'pose ye'd want clean linen on the table every day, to say nuthin' of napkins, an' sich gear. No, I'm afraid ye'd prove too expensive fer the 'Eb an' Flo.' I've been cook here fer so long that I wouldn't know what to do with a woman around.

Martha tried it once, but a week was enough fer her, so she got out.

Said she couldn't stand me housekeepin' methods."

"Who is Martha?" the girl asked.

"Oh, she's me wife, an' runs things ash.o.r.e. Her an' Flo do all right thar, but me an' Eb feel more at home on the water, with no women b.u.t.tin' in."

"Is Flo your daughter?"

"Sure. An' Eb's me son. Jist the two, so I named this craft after 'em, ye see, Eb an' Flo sounds about right to my way of thinkin'. When yer boatin' on this river ye have to be allus considerin' the ebb an'

flow of the tide, so the name is quite handy."

"It certainly is," and the girl smiled. "I am sure I shall like it.

Where is your son now?"

"Oh, he's ash.o.r.e gittin' some mola.s.ses an' other stuff from the store.

He should be back soon, Miss, so I think ye'd better leave before he comes. Thar might be trouble. He's dead set aginst strange women, Eben is."

"Will you start as soon as your son returns?" the girl asked, unheeding the captain's warning.

"Start! Start where?"

"Sailing, of course."

"Not until the wind springs up. Thar's a dead calm now, an' the tide's aginst us."

"Oh, I wish it would blow a gale," and the girl looked anxiously around. "I want to get away from this place as soon as possible."

"Well, I think the best thing then fer you to do is to go ash.o.r.e an'

light out. Ye kin do it quicker thar than here."

"But I can't get ash.o.r.e, Captain."

"Ye can't! An' why not, I'd like to know?"

"Because my boat has gone adrift. I let it go on purpose."

"Good Lord!" Samuel sat down upon a biscuit box and eyed his visitor curiously. "Say, are you crazy, or a fool, or what are ye, anyway?" he asked.

"I'm just a poor unfortunate girl, that's who I am," was the decided reply.

"An' ye ain't done nuthin' bad; nuthin' that yer ashamed of, Miss?"

"No, no," and the girl's face crimsoned. "I'm proud of what I have done," and she lifted her head haughtily, while her eyes flashed. "Any girl with the least self-respect would do the same, so there."

"That's all right, Miss, that's all right," Samuel hurriedly a.s.sured her. "I wasn't castin' any reflection upon yer character. I was only wonderin', that's all. Ye see, Flo's about your age, from what I judge, an' I wouldn't like her to be actin' this way."

"I know you wouldn't. But my case is different. Oh, I wish I could tell you all, but I can't. You will trust me, anyway, won't you, and let me stay here for a while?"

The captain sighed and looked helplessly around.

"Well, I'll be jiggered!" he growled. "This is sartinly some fix an' I don't know what to do. The accommodation isn't much here fer the likes of you, though it ain't too bad fer me an' Eb. If you occupy this cabin, we'll have to camp out on deck, an' I know what Eb'll say about that. He's more'n fond of sleep, that boy is, the greatest I ever saw.

Why he'd sooner sleep than eat any day, an' he likes a good soft bed at that. I had to buy a special spring an' mattress before I could git him to come with me this year. He doesn't take much to boatin', an' I have to make things as smooth as possible."

"But can't you put his cot on deck?" the girl suggested. "I am very sorry that I am giving you so much trouble, but I shall pay you well.

Money is no object if you will only help me out of my trouble. I am sure you will never regret it."

"I hope not, Miss, fer I don't want to git into any fix. It wouldn't look very nice if the papers got hold of this affair. Jist imagine a big write-up about Capt. Sam'l Tobin keepin' a fine lookin' runaway gal on the 'Eb an' Flo.' Why, I'd never be able to hold up me head agin, an' I guess it 'ud about break Martha's heart, to say nuthin' about Flo. They're mighty pertic'ler about sich things, they surely are."

"This must never get into the papers," the girl declared, "for you must promise that you will keep it a dead secret, and not tell anyone, not even your own family."

"I don't see how I kin do that, Miss. I guess ye don't know Martha as well as I do. If ye did, ye wouldn't talk about keepin' this racket a secret from me family. An' besides, thar's Eben, who'll be here in a jiffy now. How am I to explain matters to him? No, Miss, I reckon ye'd better light out while the coast is clear. I'll git the boy to take ye ash.o.r.e, an' tell him that ye hit the wrong craft."

But the girl was not to be baffled in her purpose. She rose to her feet and stood before the captain. Her eyes were wide with a nameless fear, and her face showed very white where the light of the bracket-lamp fell upon it.

"Don't, don't send me away," she pleaded. "Let me stay here until you go from this place. Then you can put me ash.o.r.e in the woods, or throw me overboard, I don't care which, but for the love of heaven let me stay now!"

Captain Samuel's big right hand dove suddenly into his pocket and clawed forth a clay pipe, a plug of tobacco, and a large jack-knife.

He examined them carefully for a few seconds, the girl all the time watching him most intently.

"You will let me stay, won't you?" she coaxed. "Don't send me away."

"I don't see how I kin, Miss. Yer here, an' that's all thar is about it. Ye won't go of yer own accord, an' I've never yit laid hands on a woman. Now, if you was a man I'd show ye a thing or two in a jiffy, but what kin one do with a woman when she once makes up her mind?"

"Oh, thank you so much," and the girl's face brightened. "You will never regret your kindness to me. And look, I'm going to pay you well for letting me stay."

"Pay!" The captain's eyes bulged with astonishment.

"Yes, pay," and the girl smiled. "I'm a pa.s.senger, you see, so I'm going to pay my fare. There, you must not object, for I have made up my mind, so it's no use for you to say a word. I'm going to give you fifty dollars now and more later."

The pipe fell from the captain's hand and broke in two upon the floor.

"Blame it all!" he growled, as he stood staring upon the wreck. "I wonder what's comin' over me, anyway? Guess I'm losin' me senses."