Swampers lived on house-boats for the
most part, and the boats will outride all but unusual floods. But Jeems'
cabin was built on land, land none too stable even in dry weather. The
swamp boy touched Val's hand.
"It ain't safe. Two of them piles is rotted. If the watah gits that far,
they'll go."
"You mean the piles holding up your cabin platform?" Val asked.
He nodded. For a second Val caught a glimpse of forlorn loneliness
beneath the sullen mask Jeems habitually wore.
"But there's nothing you can do now--"
"It ain't the cabin. Ah gotta git the chest--"
"The one in the cabin?"
His black eyes were fixed upon Val's, and then they swerved and rested
upon the wall behind the young Ralestone.
"Ah gotta git the chest," he repeated simply.
And Val knew that he would. He would get out of bed and go into the
swamp after that treasure of his. Which left only one thing for Val to
do.
"I'll get the chest, Jeems. Let me have your key to the cabin. I'll take
the outboard motor and be back before I'm missed."
"Yo' don't know the swamp--"
"I know how to find the cabin. Where's the key?"
"In theah," he pointed to the highboy.
Val's fingers closed about the bit of metal.
"Mistuh," Jeems straightened, "Ah won't forgit this."
Val glanced toward the downpour without.
"Neither will I, in all probability," he said dryly as he went out.
It had been on just such a night as this that the missing Ralestone had
gone out into the gloom.
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