Manly Wade Wellman - Novel 1954 Read Online Free PDF Page B

wood,” he scolded. “Hold her
steady—steady, I say! Look for-ard there—see that foam? Pull wide of it, it may
be a snag. No, not as wide as that, you’ll run us aground! Why did I take a
half-brained fool like you for a cub?”
                Thus it went for a full hour, while
the pleasure oozed out of Barry. Then Newlands left, and Sam Bowen resumed the
wheel.
                 “We’re
carrying a Federal paymaster,” he said in Barry’s ear. “That’s the detective
with him. I combed you pretty rough so he’d be sure you were my cub. And I want it to seem logical that you get away before
we reach Memphis .”
                 Barry
stared.
                 “When
you and Amanda drop off in the yawl,” Sam Bowen explained, “my brother and I
will howl about how you couldn’t stand the work and ran off. Amanda will stay
in her stateroom till you leave, and nobody will miss her because she won’t be
seen aboard. Understand?”
                 When
a bell clanged below, Sam Bowen dismissed Barry, who went to join the deck
hands at supper in the hold. Then someone showed him a berth, and he slept
until dawn. The Graham was already
nuzzling the wharf at Cairo , on the river’s left bank.
                 As
they left, the river looked wider and browner, with much shipping on it.
Mounting to the pilot house, Barry saw a trio of squat, lead-colored gunboats
steaming southward. The Graham gave
them a whistle-whoop of greeting as it paddled past and then ahead.
                 In
his character of pilot-teacher, Sam Bowen continued to point out landmarks, to
talk about current and danger of snag and sand bar, and, when a stranger
happened to appear, to pretend lofty impatience with his supposed cub. Now and
then he turned the wheel over to Barry, who thoroughly enjoyed his make-believe
job as cub pilot.
                 That
night he sought his berth and lay down without undressing. Captain Bart Bowen
nudged him awake hours later.
                 “Time
for ice-water again,” said the captain.
                 Rising,
Barry hastened to Amanda Bowen’s stateroom. She was waiting, in bonnet, shawl
and cloak, the three carpetbags at her feet. She looked grave, but confident.
                 “We
hop from steamboat to yawl without a spark of light,” she told him. “Are you
game?”
                 “I’m
game,” he said.
                 “I
knew it. Come on.”
                 She
took one bag and walked into the corridor. Barry flexed his muscles to lift the
other two and followed. She led him out upon the after deck. Leaning over the
rail beside her and straining his eyes in the night, Barry saw an open boat
hauled close on a line. Someone whistled softly.
                 “Help
me down,” whispered Amanda Bowen. “Then the bags, then you.”
                 Active
as a squirrel for all her flowing skirts, she swung over and down. Barry caught
her wrists and lowered her until her feet came to the bottom of the boat. Then
he handed down the bags, one by one, and Amanda Bowen and someone else took
them. Finally he scrambled down into the silent boat.
                 “Cast
off,” muttered a male voice, and Barry loosened the line. The steamboat pulled
away, and they floated alone on the broad river. The dark shape of an oarsman
turned the boat left and rowed strongly for the shore none of them could see.
Barry made out the shape of the levee at last, a black more solid than the
first gray hint of dawn. Then a lantern glowed, and a voice called, “Who’s
that?”
                 “Homing
pigeons,” replied Amanda Bowen, as though giving a password.
                 “Come
ashore, Miss Amanda. We’ve been waiting.”
                 The
boat’s nose grated against the rungs of a ladder. Barry caught them, and made
the boat fast.