Prisoners of Chance

"I tell you, padre, there's nothing along this cursed cane-marsh," growled a deep rumbling voice in Spanish. "It is a mere bog, in which a man would sink to his armpits, were he to venture outside the boat."

"Bog it may be," retorted a sharper, petulant voice, the sound of which was oddly familiar, "but I tell you this, Señor, 'tis on this very shore French gallants come hunting from New Orleans. There is dry land in plenty beyond the fringe of reeds."

"Saprista! there may be, as there may be water in Hell, but I 'll never tangle my boat amid that mass of cane to make its discovery. Let the frog-eaters have it, say I; the saints bless them. Come, pull away sharply, lads, and we'll see what the shore-line looks like above."

The sound of dipping oars instantly increased in rapidity.

"You are one pig-headed fool of an officer, Señor," snarled the sharp voice contemptuously.

"Mother of God!" roared the other, enraged. "Speak so again, you dog of a French priest, and even your gray robe will not save you from tasting the mud at the bottom. Do you want to know what I think of you? Well, I 'll tell you, you snivelling, drunken singer of paternosters--you did more to help that fellow escape than you 'd care to have known. Now you 're trying to hold us back until he has time to get safely away up the river. That's my opinion of you, you snarling gray-back, and if you dare breathe another word, I 'll give orders to chuck you overboard."

"Where do you purpose going?" ventured the cowed priest, in a subdued tone.

"Straight up the stream. That's where your cursed Frenchman has disappeared so swiftly, unless the guard at the North Gate shot him, as they swear to O'Reilly. So sit there quiet, and hold your tongue--you may command the Devil, for all I care, but I 'm in charge of this boat."

The sound of angry controversy died away in the distance. Cautiously I lifted my eyes to the level of the cane, and peered over. The Spanish boat, a large one propelled by the vigorous sweep of twelve oars, was already a hundred yards above, swiftly stemming the current. From their gestures I judged the debate yet raged between the gray-robe crouched in the stern, and the big, burly fellow, resplendent in gold lace, standing up and urging his oarsmen to greater exertion. Within ten minutes they rounded the upper point, and when they again appeared within vision, the boat was a mere dot floating in the midst of the golden sunshine, where the setting sun gave a good-night kiss to the vast, sombre river.