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Updated: May 1, 2025
Nelia Crele, alias Nelia Carline, was the woman, and they were both stopping over at the Island No. 10 sandbar. He knew, what the fish-dock man probably did not know, that the pursuer was the woman's husband. "What'll I tell her?" Terabon asked himself. With that question he uncovered an unsuspected depth to his feelings. It was a dark, dull day.
"I heard some news, too," he told her. "Yes? What news?" "The fish-dock man at New Madrid told me to tell the people along that a detective has gone on down, looking for a woman." "A detective looking for a woman?" she repeated. "A man the name of Carline " "Oh!" she shrugged her shoulders. "Why didn't you tell me!" He flushed. Almost an hour had elapsed since he had returned.
That night the floors of the fish-dock groaned beneath a weight of silver- sided salmon piled waist-high to a tall man. All through the cool, dim-lit hours the ranks of Chinese butchers hacked and slit and slashed with swift, sure, tireless strokes, while the great building echoed hollowly to the clank of machines and the hissing sighs of the soldering-furnaces.
But the unexpected happened, and Boyd's black mood vanished in amazement at the sight which met his eyes. Moored to the fish-dock was a lighter awash with a cargo that made him stare and doubt his vision. He had seen his scanty crew of gill-netters return empty-handed with the rising sun, exhausted, disheartened, depleted in numbers; yet there before him were thousands of salmon.
When the New Madrid fish-dock man told him to carry the warning that a "detector" was hunting for a certain woman, and that the detective had gone on down with some river fellows, his place as a river man was assured. River folks trusted and used him as they used themselves. Moreover, he was possessed of a vital river secret.
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