"I'm just up from there. Ho law! Theh's one man I'd hate to be down below. I expect yo've hearn tell of them Despard riveh pirates? No! Well, they've come drappin' down ag'in, an' they landed into New Madrid yestehd'y evenin'. Likely they 'lowed to raid some commissary down b'low--cayn't tell what they did 'low to do. But they picked good pickin's down theh! Feller come down lookin' fo' a woman, hisn's I expect. Anyhow, he's a strangeh on the riveh. He's got a nice power boat, an' likely he's got money. If he has, good-bye! Them Despards'd kill a man for $10. One of 'em, Hilt Despard's onto the bo't with him, pretendin' to be a sport, an' they've drapped out. The rest the gang's jes' waitin' fo' the wind to lay, down b'low, an' down by Plum P'int, some'rs, Mr. Man'll sudden come daid." The fisherman had been alone so much that the pent-up conversation of weeks flowed uninterruptedly. He told details; he described the motorboat; he laughed at the astonishment the man would feel when the pirates disclosed their intentions with a bullet or knife; and he expected, by and by, to hear the story of the tragedy through the medium of some whiskey boater, some river gossip coming up in a power boat. For an hour he babbled and then, as precipitately as he had arrived, he took his departure. When he was gone, Nelia Crele turned to Terabon with helpless dismay. Augustus Carline was worthless; he had been faithless to her; he had inflicted sufferings beyond her power of punishment or forgiveness. "But he's looking for me!" she recapitulated, "and he doesn't know. He's a fool, and they'll kill him like a rat! What can I do?" Obviously there was nothing that she could do, but Lester Terabon rose instantly. "I'd better drop down and see if I can't help him--do something. I know that crew." "You'll do that for me!" her voice lifted in a cry of thankfulness. "Oh, if you would, if you would. I couldn't think of his being--his being killed, trying to find me. Get him; send him home!" "I'd better start right down," Terabon said, "it's sixty or seventy miles, anyhow. They'll not hurry. They can't, for the gang's in a shanty-boat." She walked up to him with her arms raised. "How can I thank you?" she demanded. "You do this for me--a stranger!" "Why not, if I can help?" he asked. "Where shall I see you again?" He brought in his book of river maps, and together they looked down the tortuous stream; he rested the tip of his pencil on Yankee Bar below Plum Point. "It's a famous pirate resort, this twenty miles of river!" he said. "I'll wait at Fort Pillow Landing. Or if you are ahead?" "We'll meet there!" she cried. "I'll surely find you there. Or at Mendova--surely at Mendova." She followed him out on the bow deck. "Just a minute," she whispered, "while I get used to the thought of being alone again. I did not know there were men like you who would rather do a favour than ask for kisses."