"Water there!" said Peterson. "We can go on through, come around in
the Morrison cut-off, and so make the end of the Manning channel to
the mainland. But I wish we had a local pilot."
I nodded. "Drop her in alongside this fellow's wharf," I added. "The
ladies have sent some letters--to go out by the tender's boat,
yonder--I suppose he'll be going back to-day."
"Like enough," said Peterson; and so gently we moved on up the dredged
channel, and at last made fast at the tumble-down wharf of the
lighthouse; courteously waiting for the little craft of the tender to
make its landing.
We found the mooring none too good, what with the storm's work at the
wharf, and as we shifted our lines a time or two, the gaping,
jeans-clad Cajun who had come in with mail and supplies passed in to
the lighthouse ahead of us; and I wonder his head did not twist quite
off its neck, for though he walked forward, he ever looked behind him.
When at length we two, Peterson and myself, passed up the rickety walk
to the equally rickety gallery at the foot of the light, we found two
very badly frightened men instead of a single curious one. The keeper
in sooth had in hand a muzzle-loading shotgun of such extreme age,
connected with such extreme length of barrel, as might have led one to
suspect it had grown an inch or so annually for all of many decades.
He was too much frightened to make active resistance, however, and
only warned us away, himself, now, a pale saffron in color.
"Keep hout!" he commanded. "No, you'll didn't!"
"We'll didn't what, my friend?" began I mildly. "Don't you like my
looks? Not that I blame you if you do not. But has the boat brought
down any milk or eggs that you can spare?"
"No milluk--no haig!" muttered the light tender; and they would have
closed the door.
"Come, come now, my friends!" I rejoined testily. "Suppose you
haven't, you can at least be civil. I want to talk with you a minute.
This is the power yacht Belle Helène, of Mackinaw, cruising on the
Gulf. We went aground in the storm; and all we want now is to send out
a little mail by you to Morgan City, or wherever you go; and to pass
the time of day with you, as friends should. What's wrong--do you
think us a government revenue boat, and are you smuggling stuff from
Cuba through the light here?"
"We no make hany smug'," replied the keeper. "But we know you, who you
been!"
He smote now upon an open newspaper, whose wrapper still lay on the
floor. I glanced, and this time I saw a half-page cut of the Belle
Helène herself, together with portraits of myself, Mrs. Daniver, Miss
Emory and two wholly imaginary and fearsome boys who very likely were
made up from newspaper portraits of the James Brothers! Moreover, my
hasty glance caught sight of a line in large letters, reading: TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS REWARD!