"I'll have to tell the ferryman," I said.
"Will you?" he asked. "Why?"
"I'd be cheating him if I didn't," I answered.
"All right," he said, as if provoked at me, "but don't tell any one
else."
"I ain't very good at lying," I replied.
He said for me to do the best I could for the lady, and hurried off. In
the meantime, the lady had crept back on my straw-bed, and pulled the
quilts completely over her. She piled pillows on one side of her, and
stirred the straw up on the other, so that when she lay down the bed was
as smooth as if nobody was in it. It looked as it might if a heedless
boy had crawled out of it after a night's sleep, and carelessly thrown
the coverlet back over it. I could hardly believe I had a passenger.
When I was asked for the ferriage, I paid for two, and the ferryman
asked where the other was.
"Back in the bed," I said.
He looked back, and said, "Well, I owe you something for your honesty.
I never'd have seen him. Sick?"
"Not very," said I. "Don't like the water."
"Some are that way," he returned, and went on collecting fares.
As we drove up from the landing, through the rutted streets of the old
mining and Indian-trading town, the black-bearded man came to me as we
stopped, held back by a jam of covered wagons--a wonderful sight, even
to me--and as if talking to me, said to the woman, "You'd better ride on
through town;" and then to me, "Are you going on through?"
"I've got to buy some supplies," said I; "but I've nothing to stop me
but that.
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