But he was coming back again, Val reminded
himself hurriedly. Of course he was. With a shake he pulled on his
trench-coat and slipped out the front door unseen.
CHAPTER XIV
PIRATE WAYS ARE HIDDEN WAYS
The rain, fine and needle-like, stung Val's face. There were ominous
pools of water gathering in the garden depressions. Even the small
stream which bisected their land had grown from a shallow trickle into a
thick, mud-streaked roll crowned with foam.
But the bayou was the worst. It had put off its everyday sleepiness with
a roar. A chicken coop wallowed by as the boy struggled with the knot of
the painter which held the outboard. And after the coop traveled a dead
tree, its topmost branches bringing up against the plantation landing
with a crack. Val waited for it to whirl on before he got on board his
craft.
The adventure was more serious than he had thought. It might not be a
case of merely going downstream and into the swamp to the cabin; it
might be a case of fighting the rising water in grim battle. Why he did
not turn back to the house then and there he never knew. What would have
happened if he had? he sometimes speculated afterward. If Ricky had not
come into the garden to hunt him? If together they had not--
While Val went with the current, his voyage was ease itself. But when he
strove to cut across and so reach the mouth of the hidden swamp-stream,
he narrowly escaped upsetting.
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