"Gracious!" said Andy, and made a jump clear into the water.
The pole had swung out of his hands when the barge struck the snag. He
got wet through recovering it, but that did not matter much, for he had
little clothing on.
By the time he had got back on deck his mysterious passenger had resumed
his old position. The cloak again completely enveloped the upper portion
of his body and his hands were out of sight. Andy acted as though his
momentary glance had not taken in the sight of the handcuffs.
"Sorry, mister, we struck that snag, but the moon's going down and a fog
coming up, and I couldn't help it."
"Don't mind that," was all that the man at the stern vouchsafed in
reply.
The moon had gone down as Andy had said, but enough of its radiance had
fallen on the squirming figure of the stranger a few minutes previous to
show the cold, bright glint of the pair of manacles. Andy was sure that
the man's wrists were tightly handcuffed. A sort of a chill shudder ran
over him as he thought of it.
"An escaped convict?" Andy asked himself. "Maybe. That's bad. I don't
want to be caught in such company, the fix I'm in."
The thought made the passenger suddenly repellant to Andy. He had an
idea of running close to the shore and making off.
"No, I won't do it," he decided, after a moment's reflection, "I'm only
guessing about all this. He's not got a bad face. It's rather a wild and
worried one. I'm a runaway myself, and I've got a good reason for being
so. Maybe this man has, too."
Andy applied himself to his work with renewed vigor. It must have been
about five o'clock in the morning when the stranger directed him to
navigate up a feeder to the stream, which, a few rods beyond, ran into a
swamp pond, which Andy knew to be Swan Cove.
A few pushes of the pole drove the craft up on a muddy slant. It was
getting light in the east now. Andy came up to the man with the
question:
"Is this where you land, mister?"
"Yes," nodded his passenger. "Come here."
Andy drew closer to the speaker.
"I told you I'd make it worth your while to pole me down the river," he
said.
"Oh, that's all right."
"I haven't got any money, but I want to pay you as I promised you. Take
that."
"What, mister?" and then Andy learned what the man meant. The latter
hunched one shoulder towards the timber on which he sat, and there lay a
small open-faced silver watch.
Andy wondered how he had managed to get it out of his pocket, but he
had, and there it lay.
"It's worth about eight dollars," explained the man. "You can probably
get four for it. Anyhow, you can trade it off for some shoes and
clothes, which you seem to need pretty badly."
"Yes, I do, for a fact," admitted Andy, with a slight laugh. "But see
here, mister, I don't want your watch. I couldn't ask any pay, for I
wanted to come down the creek myself, and I was just waiting to find the
chance to work my way when you came along."
"You'll take the watch," insisted the stranger in a decided tone, "so
say no more about it, and put it in your pocket. There's only one thing,
youngster--I want to ask a favor of you."
"Yes, sir."
"Forget you ever saw me."
"That will be hard to do, but I will try."
"What's your name?"
"Andy Nelson."
"I'll remember that," said the man, repeating it over twice to himself.
"You'll see me again some time, Andy Nelson, even if I have to hunt you
up. You've done me a big favor. You said you were headed for the city?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, if you'll follow back to the river, and cut south a mile, you'll
come to a road running in that direction."
"Aren't you going to use the barge any farther, mister?" inquired Andy.
"No, and perhaps you had better not, either," answered the man, with a
short nervous laugh.
"Well, this is a queer go!" ruminated Andy, as the man started inland
and was soon lost to view. "I wonder who he is? Probably on his way to
some friends where he can get rid of those handcuffs. Now, what for
myself?"
Andy thought things out in a rational way, and was soon started on the
tramp. His prospective destination was the city. It was a large place,
with many opportunities for work, he concluded. He would be lost from
his pursuers in a big city like that, he theorized.
Andy soon located the road his late passenger had indicated. He looked
at the watch a good many times. It was a plain but substantial
timepiece. It was the first watch Andy had ever owned, and he took great
pleasure in its possession.
"I don't think I'll part with it," he said, as he tramped along. "I feel
certain I can pick up enough odd jobs on my way to the city to earn what
clothing I need and enough to eat."
It was about seven o'clock when Andy, after a steep hill climb, neared a
fence and lay down to rest in the shade and shelter of a big straw
stack. He was asleep before he knew it.
"What in the world is that!" he shouted, springing up, wide awake, as a
hissing, flapping, cackling hubbub filled the air, mingled with shouts
of impatience, excitement and despair.
"Head 'em off--drive 'em in! Shoo--shoo!" bellowed out somebody in the
direction of the road.
"Geese!" ejaculated Andy--"geese, till you can't rest or count them!
Where did they ever come from? Hi, get away!"
As Andy stepped out of range of the straw stack, he faced a remarkable
situation. The field he was in covered about two acres. It was enclosed
with a woven-wire fence, and had a gate. Through this, from the road, a
perspiring man was driving geese, aided by a boy armed with a long
switch.
Andy had never seen such a flock of geese before. He estimated them by
the hundreds. Nor had he ever viewed such a battered up, dust-covered,
crippled flock. Many, after getting beyond the gate, squatted down as if
exhausted. Others fell over on their sides, as if they were dying. Many
of them had torn and bleeding feet, and limped and hobbled in evident
distress.
The man and the boy had to head off stupid and wayward groups of the
fowls to get them within the enclosure. Then when they had closed the
gate, they went back down the road. Andy gazed wonderingly after them.
For half a mile down the hill there were specks of fluttering and
lifeless white. He made them out to be fowls fallen by the wayside.
The man and boy began to collect these, two at a time, bringing them to
the enclosure, and dropping them over the fence. It was a tiresome, and
seemed an endless task. Andy climbed the fence and joined them.
"Hello!" hailed the man, looking a little flustered; "do you belong
around here?"
"No; I don't," replied Andy.
"I don't suppose any one will object to my penning in those fowls until
I find some way of getting them in trim to go on."
"They can't do much harm," suggested Andy. "I say, I'll help you gather
up the stray ones."
"I wish you would," responded the man, with a sound half-way between a
sigh and a groan. "I am nigh distracted with the antics of those fowls.
We had eight hundred and fifty when we started. We've lost nigh on to a
hundred in two days."
"What's the trouble? Do they stray off?" inquired Andy, getting quite
interested.
"No; not many of them. The trouble is traveling. I was foolish to ever
dream I could drive up to nearly one thousand geese across country sixty
miles. The worst thing has been where we have hit the hill roads and the
highways they're ballasting with crushed stone. The geese get their feet
so cut they can't walk. If we try the side of the roads, then we run
into ditches, or the fowls get under farm fences, and then it's trouble
and a chase. I say, lad," continued the man, with a glance at Andy's
bandaged foot, "you don't look any too able to get about yourself."
"Oh, that isn't worth thinking of," declared Andy. "I'll be glad to
help."
He quite cheered up the owner of the geese by his willingness and
activity. In half an hour's time they had all the disabled stray fowls
in the enclosure. Some dead ones were left where they had fallen by the
wayside.
"I reckon the old nag is rested enough to climb up the rest of the hill
now," spoke the man to his companion, who was his son. "Fetch Dobbin
along, Silas, and we'll feed the fowls and get a snack ourselves."
Andy curiously regarded the poor crowbait of a horse soon driven into
view attached to a ramshackly wagon. The horse was put to the grass near
the enclosure, and two bags of grain unearthed from a box under the seat
of the wagon and fed to the penned-in geese.
Next Silas produced a small oil-stove, a coffee-pot and some packages,
and, seated on the grass, Andy partook of a coarse but substantial
breakfast with his new friends.
"There's a town a little ahead, I understand," spoke the man.
"Yes," nodded Andy; "Afton."
"Then we've got twenty miles to go yet," sighed the man. "I don't know
how we'll ever make it."
Andy gathered from what the man said that he and his family had gone
into the speculation of raising geese that season. The nearest railroad
to his farm was twenty miles distant. His market was Wade, sixty miles
away. He had decided to drive the geese to destination. Two-thirds of
the journey accomplished, a long list of disasters spread out behind,
and a dubious prospect ahead.
"It would cost me fifty dollars to wagon what's left to the nearest
railroad station, and as much more for freight," said the man gloomily.
Andy looked speculative. In his mechanical work his inventive turn of
mind always caused him to put on his thinking-cap when he faced an
obstacle.
"I've got an idea," declared Andy brightly. "Say, mister, suppose I
figure out a way to get your geese the rest of the way to market quite
safely and comfortably, and help drive them the balance of the distance,
what will you do for me?"
"Eh?" ejaculated the man eagerly. "Why, I'd--I'd do almost anything you
ask, youngster."
"Is it worth a pair of shoes, and a new cap and coat?" asked Andy.
"Yes; a whole suit," said the man emphatically, "and two good dollars a
day on top of it."
"It's a bargain!" declared Andy spiritedly. "I think I have guessed a
way to get you out of your difficulties."
"How?"
"I'll show you when you are ready to start."
Andy set to work with vigor. He went to the back of the wagon and fitted
two boards into a kind of a runway. Then he poured corn into the trough,
and hitched up the old horse.
"Now, drive the horse, and I'll attend to the corn," he said. "I won't
give them as much as you think," he added, fearing the farmer would
object to the use of so much of his feed.
It was not long before they were on the way. As the corn dropped along
the road, the geese ran to pick the kernels up. Andy scattered some by
hand. Soon he had the whole line of geese following the wagon.
"Now drive in the best spots," he said.
"I'll take to the fields," answered Mr. Pierce.
He was as good as his word, and traveling became easy for the geese, so
that they made rapid progress. They kept on until nightfall, passing
through Afton, where Andy bought a postal card and mailed it to Mr.
Webb, stating his money had been left with Mr. Dawson. By eight o'clock
the next morning they reached Wade, and there, at a place called the
Collins' farm, Andy was paid off and given the clothing and shoes
promised. He changed his suit in a shed on the farm, and then the youth
bid his new friends good-by and went on his way.