"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. "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!" "Sho! I'm glad to see yo'!" Mrs. Caope cried, wrapping her arms around the young woman as she stepped down to the sand, and kissing her. "How is yo' maw?" "Very well, indeed!" Nelia laughed, clinging to the big river woman's hand. "I'm so glad to find someone I know!" "You'll know us all d'rectly. Hyar's my man, Mr. Caope--real nice feller, too, if I do say hit--an' hyar's Mrs. Dobstan an' her two darters, an' this is Mr. Falteau, who's French and married May, there, an' this feller--say, mister, what is yo' name?" "Rasba, Elijah Rasba." "Mr. Rasba, he's a parson, out'n the Tug Fork of the Big Sandy, comin' down. Miss Nelia Crele, suh. I disremember the name of that feller yo' married, Nelia." "It doesn't matter," Nelia turned to the mountain man, her face flushing. "A preacher down this river?" "I'm looking for a man," Rasba replied, gazing at her, "the son of a widow woman, and she's afraid for him. She's afraid he'll go wrong." "And you came clear down here to look for him--a thousand, two thousand miles?" she continued, quickly. "I had nothing else to do--but that!" he shook his head. "You see, missy, I'm a sinner myse'f!" He turned and walked away with bowed head. They all watched him with quick comprehension and real sympathy. CHAPTER XI