she knew
a thousand times more than even the Prophet.

"I'll give you a set of all these books!" she said; "all the books that
I have. Not these, my old pals--yes, these books, Mr. Rasba. If you'll
take them? I'll get another lot down below."

"Lawd God! Give me yo' books!"

"Oh, they're not expensive--they're----"

"They're yours. Cayn't yo' see? It's your own books, an' hit's fo' my
work. I neveh knowed how good men could be, an' they give me that boat
fo' a mission boat. Now--now--missy--I cayn't tell yo'--I've no
words----"

And with gratitude, with the simplicity of a mountain parson, he dropped
on his knees and thanked God. As he told his humility, Prebol wakened
from a deep and restful sleep to listen in amazement.

When at last Rasba looked up Nelia was gone. The books were on the table
and he found another stack heaped up on the deck of the mission boat.
But the woman was gone, and when he looked down the river he saw
something flicker and vanish in the distance.

He stared, hurt; he choked, for a minute, in protest, then carried that
immeasurable treasure into his cabin.

CHAPTER XXV

Renn Doss, the false friend, saw the danger of the recognition of the
firearms by Carline. The savage swing of a half pound of fine shot
braided up in a rawhide bag, and a good aim, reduced Carline to an inert
figure of a man. "Renn Doss" was Hilt Despard, pirate captain, whose
instantaneous action always had served him well in moments of peril.

The three men carried Carline to a bunk and dropped him on it. They
covered him up and emptied a cupful of whiskey on his pillow and
clothes. They even poured a few spoonfuls down his throat. They thus
changed him to what might be called a "natural condition."

Then, sitting around the stove, they whispered among themselves,
discussing what they had better do. Half a hundred possibilities
occurred to their fertile fancies and replete memories. Men and women
who have always led sheltered lives can little understand or know what a
pirate must understand and know even to live let alone be successful.

"What's Terabon up to?" Despard demanded. "Here he is, drappin' down by
Fort Pillow Landing, running around. Where's that girl he had up above
New Madrid? What's his game? Coming up here and talking to us? Asking us
all about the river and things--writin' it for the newspapers?"

"That woman's this Carline's wife!" Jet sneered.

"Sure! An' here's Terabon an' here's Car