A few strokes
more, and men who were bare to the knees jumped out into shallow
water and began tugging at the tow rope with their hands. David
looked at his watch. It was ten o'clock. Never in his life had
time passed so swiftly as that morning on the forward deck of the
barge. And now they were tying up, after a drop of six or eight
miles down the river, and he wondered how swiftly St. Pierre was
overtaking them with his raft.
He was filled with the desire to feel the soft crush of the earth
under his feet again, and not waiting for the long plank that
Bateese was already swinging from the scow to the shore, he made a
leap that put him on the sandy beach, St. Pierre's wife had given
him this permission, and he looked to see what effect his act had
on the half-breed. The face of Concombre Bateese was like sullen
stone. Not a sound came from his thick lips, but in his eyes was a
deep and dangerous fire as he looked at Carrigan. There was no
need for words. In them were suspicion, warning, the deadly threat
of what would happen if he did not come back when it was time to
return. David nodded. He understood. Even though St. Pierre's wife
had faith in him, Bateese had not.
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