At
last the two rowers suddenly leaped ashore.
"Ye might have come before, with the other passenger. We don't reckon to
run lightnin' trips on this ferry."
But Clarence was himself again. "Twenty dollars for two more oars in
that boat," he said quietly, "and fifty if you get me over in time to
catch the down stage."
The man glanced at Clarence's eyes. "Run up and rouse out Jake and
Sam," he said to the other boatman; then more leisurely, gazing at his
customer's travel-stained equipment, he said, "There must have been a
heap o' passengers got left by last night's boat. You're the second man
that took this route in a hurry."
At any other time the coincidence might have struck Clarence. But he
only answered curtly, "Unless we are under way in ten minutes you will
find I am NOT the second man, and that our bargain's off."
But here two men emerged from the shanty beside the ferryhouse, and
tumbled sleepily into the boat. Clarence seized an extra pair of sculls
that were standing against the shed, and threw them into the stern. "I
don't mind taking a hand myself for exercise," he said quietly.
The ferryman glanced again at Clarence's travel-worn figure and
determined eyes with mingled approval and surprise.
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