She smiled the smile that women have had from all the ages, for 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 Carline. Terabon don't talk none about that woman--nor about Carline," Dock grumbled. "I bet Terabon would be sorry none if Carline hyar dropped out. Y' know she's Old Crele's gal," Jet said. "Crele's a good feller. Sent word down to have us take cyar of her, an' Prebol, the fool, didn't know 'er, hadn't heard. Look what she give him, bang in the shoulder! That old Prophet'll take cyar of him, course. See how hit works out. She shined up to Terabon, all right."