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When The Waters Were Up At “Jules'”
by
“Ye haven’t no time,” she said, in a graver voice. “It won’t be as long as a couple of hours now. Look over thar!”
He looked where she pointed across the gray expanse of water. At first he could see nothing. Presently he saw a mere dot on its face which at times changed to a single black line.
“It’s a log, like these,” he said.
“It’s no log. It’s an Injun dug-out*–comin’ for me.”
* A canoe made from a hollowed log.
“Your father?” he said joyfully.
She smiled pityingly. “It’s Tom Flynn. Father’s got suthin’ else to look arter. Tom Flynn hasn’t.”
“And who’s Tom Flynn?” he asked, with an odd sensation.
“The man I’m engaged to,” she said gravely, with a slight color.
The rose that blossomed on her cheek faded in his. There was a moment of silence. Then he said frankly, “I owe you some apology. Forgive my folly and impertinence a moment ago. How could I have known this?”
“You took no more than you deserved, or that Tom would have objected to,” she said, with a little laugh. “You’ve been mighty kind and handy.”
She held out her hand; their fingers closed together in a frank pressure. Then his mind went back to his work, which he had forgotten,–to his first impressions of the camp and of her. They both stood silent, watching the canoe, now quite visible, and the man that was paddling it, with an intensity that both felt was insincere.
“I’m afraid,” he said, with a forced laugh, “that I was a little too hasty in disposing of your goods and possessions. We could have kept afloat a little longer.”
“It’s all the same,” she said, with a slight laugh; “it’s jest as well we didn’t look too comf’ble–to HIM.”
He did not reply; he did not dare to look at her. Yes! It was the same coquette he had seen last night. His first impressions were correct.
The canoe came on rapidly now, propelled by a powerful arm. In a few moments it was alongside, and its owner leaped on the platform. It was the gentleman with his trousers tucked in his boots, the second voice in the gloomy discussion in the general store last evening. He nodded simply to the girl, and shook Hemmingway’s hand warmly.
Then he made a hurried apology for his delay: it was so difficult to find “the lay” of the drifted cabin. He had struck out first for the most dangerous spot,–the “old clearing,” on the right bank, with its stumps and new growths,–and it seemed he was right. And all the rest were safe, and “nobody was hurt.”
“All the same, Tom,” she said, when they were seated and paddling off again, “you don’t know HOW NEAR YOU CAME TO LOSING ME.” Then she raised her beautiful eyes and looked significantly, not at HIM, but at Hemmingway.
When the water was down at “Jules'” the next day, they found certain curious changes and some gold, and the secretary was able to make a favorable report. But he made none whatever of his impressions “when the water was up at ‘Jules’,'” though he often wondered if they were strictly trustworthy.