"Do you know anything about this old channel, Peterson?" I inquired.
"Nothing at all except from hearsay and what you see here," he replied. "I don't know whether or not it has a bar at either end, but likely enough it has at both, though we might crowd through."
"And how about the gasoline supply?"
"Enough to get us in, at least. And, I say, here's a sort of plantation post-office marked. There's just a bare chance we could get a drum or so in there. I don't think we can, though."
"What's she drawing now as she runs, Peterson?"
"Four feet two inches. She's a shade low by the stern. We've quite a lot of supplies aboard, this early in the cruise. But I don't suppose we've got enough."
"Well, Peterson," said I, "water leaves no trail. If there's no one watching when we open up this next bend, run for the bayou, and we'll see if we can get under cover. Of course, it's all a mistake about Mr.
Davidson's wiring on to have us stopped--though we can't blame him, since he hasn't any idea who it is that has run away with the boat.
But now, it suits me better to double in here, and let the chase try to find us on the main river; if there is any chase. You see, I don't want to disturb the ladies unduly, and they might not understand it all if we were overhauled and asked to explain our change in the ownership."
"Quite right, sir, and very good. I catch the idea. But, sir----"
He hesitated.
"Yes?"
"Well, sir, if I might be so bold, what are your plans about the two ladies?"
"I have none which will effect your navigation of the boat, Peterson."
The old man flushed a shade. "Excuse me, Mr. Harry. I know you'll do nothing out of the way. But the old hen--I beg pardon----"
"You mean the revered aunt, Peterson."
"Yes, sir, the revered aunt. Well, sir, the revered aunt, dash her!----"
"Yes, dash her starry toplights, Peterson; and even if need be, shiver her timbers! Go on----"
"Why, she's been tryin' to pull off a weddin' on this boat ever since we left Mackinaw."
"Why not? You mean that Mr. Davidson and the revered aunt were getting on well?"
"Oh, no, bless your heart, no! It was the young lady, Miss Emory. And she----"
I raised my hand. "Never mind, Peterson. We can't discuss that at all.
But now, I'm minded to give my friend Mr. Davidson a little game of follow-my-leader. And just to show how we'll do that, we'll begin with a preliminary go at hide-and-seek. Take the chance, Peterson, and run into the bayou. I'll put off the small boat for soundings. If we can get gas, and can get in, and can get out unnoticed, maybe we can run by New Orleans in the night, and none the wiser."
"And where then, Mr. Harry?"
"Peterson, the high seas have no bridges, and if they had, I should not cross them yet. Perhaps if I did, I then should burn them behind me."
"She's a mortal fine young woman, Mr. Harry, a mortal fine one. I'll be sworn he makes a hard run for her. But so can we--eh, Mr. Harry?
He'll like enough pocket us in here, though."
I made no answer to this. The old man left me to take the wheel, and I noted his head wag from side to side.
CHAPTER XIX
IN WHICH I ESTABLISH A MODUS VIVENDI
As good fortune would have it, we swung in, opposite the screened mouth of Henry's Bayou, at a time when the stream was free of all craft that might have observed us, although far across the forest we could see a black column of smoke, marking a river steamer coming up.
"Quick with that long boat, Lafitte," I ordered; and he drew our old craft alongside as we slowed down. "Get over yonder and sound for a bar. Take the boat hook. If you get four feet, we'll try it."
My hardy young ruffian was nothing if not prompt, nor was he less efficient than the average deck-hand. It was he who did the sounding while Willie, our factotum, pulled slowly in toward the mouth of the old river bed. I watched them through the glasses, noting that rarely could Lafitte find any bottom at all with the long shaft of the boat hook. "She's all right, Peterson," said I. "Follow on in, slowly--I don't want that steamer yonder to catch us."
"_Why_ don't you?" A voice I should know, to which all my body would thrill, did I hear it in any corner of the world, spoke at my elbow.
I started for a half instant before I made reply, looking into her dark eyes, sensible again of the perfume most delirium-producing for a man: the scent of a woman's hair.
"Because, Helena," said I, "I wish our boat to lie unnoticed for a time, till the hue and cry has lulled a bit."
"And then?" She bent on me her gaze, so difficult to resist, and smiled at me with the corners of her lips, so subtly irresistible. I felt a rush of fire sweep through all my being, and something she must have noted, for she gave back a bit and stood more aloof along the rail.
"And then," said I savagely, "this boat runs by all the towns, till we reach the Gulf, and the open sea."
"And then?"
"And then, Helena, we sail the ocean blue, you and I."
"For how long?"
"Forever, Helena. Or, at least, until----"
"Until when?"
"Until you say you will marry me, Helena."
She made no answer now at all beyond a scornful shrug of her shoulders. "Suppose I can not?" she said at last.
"If you can not, all the same you must and shall!" said I. "You shall be prisoner until you do."
"Is there no law for such as you?"
"No. None on the high sea. None in my heart. Only one law I know any more, Helena--I who have upheld the law, obeyed it, reverenced it."
"And that?"
"The law of the centuries, of the forest, of the sea. The law of love, Helena."