Next morning early he rode down to the river. Somers and Shugrue had finished
the boat and were waiting. Other men were there, curious and eager. Joel
Creech, barefooted and ragged, with hollow eyes and strange actions, paced the
sands.
The boat was lying bottom up. Bostil examined the new planking and the seams.
Then he straightened his form.
"Turn her over," he ordered. "Shove her in. An' let her soak up to-day."
The men seemed glad and relieved. Joel Creech heard and he came near to
Bostil.
"You'll--you'll fetch Dad's hosses over?" he queried.
"Sure. To-morrow," replied Bostil, cheerily.
Joel smiled, and that smile showed what might have been possible for him under
kinder conditions of life. "Now, Bostil, I'm sorry fer what I said," blurted
Joel.
"Shut up. Go tell your old man."
Joel ran down to his skiff and, leaping in, began to row vigorously across.
Bostil watched while the workmen turned the boat over and slid it off the
sand-bar and tied it securely to the mooring. Bostil observed that not a man
there saw anything unusual about the river.
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