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Updated: May 19, 2025
You see, that sandbar up in Little Prairie Bend has cut loose from Island No. 15, and moved down three miles, and we're at the foot of this bar, here. That's moved down, too, and that big bar down there was made between the surveys. You see, they had to move the levee back, and Caruthersville moved over the new levee " "Sho!" Rasba gasped. "What ails this old riveh?"
For three hours they gossiped, and before she knew it, she had told them about Prebol, about Parson Rasba introducing them. The pirates shouted when she told of Jest's apology. With river frankness, they said they thought a heap of Terabon, who minded his own business so cleverly. "I like him, too," she admitted. "I was afraid you boys might make trouble for Carline, though.
"So do I. Those books," he waved his hand toward the loaded shelves, "she gave them all to me for my mission boat!" Terabon stared. He went to the shelves and looked at the volumes. No. 87 A jealous pang seized him, in spite of his reportorial knowledge that jealousy is vanity for a literary person. "I 'low we mout 's well drop out," Rasba suggested. "Missy Crele's down below some'rs.
"Hit were Jest Prebol," Mrs. Caope said. "You was tellin' of him, Parson." "Hit were Prebol," Rasba nodded, "an' he shore needed shooting!" "Yas, suh. That kind has to be shot some to make 'em behave theirselves," Mrs Caope exclaimed, sharply. "If it wa'n't fer ladies shootin' men onct in awhile, down Old Mississip', why, ladies couldn't git to live here a-tall!"
Then the women all went over on his big mission boat and cleaned things up, declaring that men folks didn't know how to keep their own faces clean, let alone houseboats. They scrubbed and mopped and re-arranged, and every time Rasba appeared they splashed so much that he was obliged to escape. When at last he was allowed to return he found the boat all cleaned up like a honey-comb.
He did not laugh, he did not even smile. The point was not missed, however. Far from it! He went out, bowed by the truth of it, and in the kitchen he looked at Slip, who was sitting in black and silent consideration of that cry, carried far in the echoes. "You're one of us, Parson!" a voice exclaimed in disbelief. "Yas, suh," Rasba smiled as he looked into the man's eyes, "I'm one of you.
Someone stepped, or rather jumped heavily, onto the bow deck of her boat and flung the cabin door open. She sprang to get her pistol, and stood ready, as the figure of a man stumbled drunkenly into her presence. Parson Elijah Rasba, the River Prophet, could not think what he would say to these river people who had determined to have a sermon for their Sabbath entertainment.
They could understand each other better and if Prebol felt himself being drawn in spite of his own reluctance by a new current in his life, Rasba did not fail to gratify the river man's pride by turning always to him for advice about the river, its currents and its jeopardies.
Two generations before, Old Abe Rasba had built a church on a little brook, a tributary of Jackson River, away up in the mountains. The church was laid up of flat stones, gathered in fields, from ledges of rock and up the wooded mountain side.
It was more interesting than murder, for murders were common, and the circumstances and place were so remarkable that even a burning steamboat would have had less attention and discussion. The following morning Mrs. Caope offered Rasba $55 for his old poplar boat, and he accepted it gladly.
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