"Two," Nelia smiled. "Bill gave me a goose rifle and Frank let me have this--he said it's the Law down Old Mississip'!" "The Law" was a 32-calibre automatic pistol in perfect condition. "Them boys thought a heap of yo', gal!" The river woman shook her head. "Frank'd sure made you a good man!" "Oh, I know it," replied Nelia, "but I'm sick of men--I hate men! I'm going to go droppin' along, same's the rest." "Don't let go of that pistol. Theh's mean, bad men down thisaway, Nelia!" Nelia laughed, but harshly. "I don't give a damn for anything now; I tell you that!" "Don't forget it. Shoot any man that comes." Nelia, who could row a skiff with any one, set her shanty-boat sweeps on their pins, coiled up the two bow lines by which the boat was moored to the bank, and which the river woman untied, then rowed out of the eddy and into the main current. "It's good floating right down," Mrs. Tons called after her, "till yo' git to Grand Tower Rock--thirty mile!" The river rapidly widened below Chester, and the little houseboat swung out into mid-stream. Nelia knew the river a little from having been down on a steamer, and the misery she left behind was in contrast to the sense of freedom and independence which she now had. Stillness, peace, the sense of vast motion in the river torrent comforted her. The moment of embarking alone on the river had been full of nervous tenseness and anxiety, but now those feelings were left behind and she could breathe deeply and confront the future with a calm spirit. The veil that the blue mist of distance left behind her was penetrable by memory, but the future was hidden from her gaze, as it was hidden from her imagination. The determination to dwell in the immediate present caught up her soul with its grim, cold bonds, and as the sun was setting against the sky beyond the long, sky-line of limestone ledges, she entered the cabin, and looked about her with a feeling of home such as she had never had before. "I'll stand at the breech of my rifle, to defend it," she whispered to herself. "Men are mean! I hate men!" She found a flat book on a shelf which held a half hundred magazines. The book was bound in blue boards, and backed with yellow leather. When she opened it, out of curiosity, she discovered that it was full of maps. "Those dear boys!" she whispered, almost regretfully. "They left this map book for me, because they knew I'd need it; knew everybody down thisaway needs a map!" They had done more than that; they had left the equally indispensable "List of Post Lights," and when dusk fell and she saw a pale yellow light revealed against a bank the little book named it "Wilkinson Island." She pulled toward the east bank into the deadwater below Lacours Island, cast over her anchor, and came to rest in the dark of a starless night. CHAPTER V