The last house of Frankfort dropped behind them, and soon the boat was shooting along the deep channel cut by the Kentucky through the Bluegrass, then the richest and most beautiful region of the west, abounding in famous men and in the height of its glory. It had never looked more splendid. The grass was deeply luxuriant and young flowers bloomed at the water's edge. The fields were divided by neat stone fences and far off Harry saw men working on the slopes.
Jarvis and Ike were still silent. The man glanced at Harry and saw that he had not yet come from his absorption, but Samuel Jarvis was a joyous soul. He was forty years old, and he had lived forty happy years.
The money for his lumber was in his pocket, he did not know ache or pain, and he was going back to his home in an inmost recess of the mountains, from which high point he could view the civil war passing around him and far below. He could restrain himself no longer, and lifting up his voice he sang.
But the song, like nearly all songs the mountaineers sing, had a melancholy note.
"'Nita, 'Nita, Juanita, Be my own fair bride."He sang, and the wailing note, confined between the high walls of the stream, took on a great increase in volume and power. Jarvis had one of those uncommon voices sometimes found among the unlearned, a deep, full tenor without a harsh note. When he sang he put his whole heart into the words, and the effect was often wonderful. Harry roused himself suddenly. He was hearing the same song that he had heard the night he went into the river locked fast in Skelly's arms.
"'Nita, 'Nita, Juanita." rang the tenor note, rising and falling and dying away in wailing echoes, as the boat sped on. Then Harry resolutely turned his face to the future. The will has a powerful effect over the young, and when he made the effort to throw off sadness it fell easily from him. All at once he was embarked with good comrades upon a journey of tremendous interest.
Jarvis noticed the change upon his face, but said nothing. He pulled with a long, slow stroke, suited to the solemn refrain of Juanita, which he continued to pour forth with his soul in every word.
They went on, deeper into the Bluegrass. The blue sky above them was now dappled with golden clouds, and the air grew warmer, but Jarvis and his nephew showed no signs of weariness. When Harry judged that the right time had come he asked to relieve Ike at the oar. Ike looked at Jarvis and Jarvis nodded to Ike. Then Ike nodded to Harry, which indicated consent.
But Harry, before taking the oar, drew a small package from his pocket and handed it to Jarvis.
"My father asked me to give you this," he said, "as a remembrance and also as some small recompense for the trouble that I will cause you on this trip."Jarvis took it, and heard the heavy coins clink together.
"I know without openin' it that this is money," he said, "but bein' of an inquirin' turn o' mind I reckon I've got to look into it an' count it."He did so deliberately, coin by coin, and his eyes opened a little at the size of the sum.
"It's too much," he said. "Besides you take your turn at the oars.""It's partly as a souvenir," said Harry, "and it would hurt my father very much if you did not take it. Besides, I should have to leave the boat the first time it tied up, if you refuse."Jarvis looked humorously at him.
"I believe you are a stubborn sort of feller," he said, "but somehow I've took a kind o' likin' to you. I s'pose it's because I fished you out o' the river. You always think that the fish you ketch yourself are the best. Do you reckon that's the reason why we like him, Ike?"Ike nodded.
"Then, bein' as we don't want to lose your company, an' seein' that you mean what you say, we'll keep the gold, though half of it must go to that lunkhead, Ike, my nephew.""Then it's settled," said Harry, "and we'll never say another word about it. You agree to that?""Yes," replied Jarvis, and Ike nodded.
Harry took his place at the oar. Although he was not as skillful as Ike, he did well, and the boat sped on upon the deep bosom of the Kentucky.
The work was good for Harry. It made his blood flow once more in a full tide and he felt a distinct elation.
Jarvis began singing again. He changed from Juanita to "Poor Nelly Gray":
"And poor Nelly Gray, she is up in Heaven, they say, And I shall never see my darling any more."Harry found his oar swinging to the tune as Ike's had swung to that of Juanita, and he did not feel fatigue. They met few people upon the river. Once a raft passed them, but Jarvis, looking at it keenly, said that it had come down from one of the northern forks of the Kentucky and not from his part of the country. They saw skiffs two or three times, but did not stop to exchange words with their occupants, continuing steadily into the heart of the Bluegrass.
They relieved one another throughout the day and at night, tired but cheerful, drew up their boat at a point, where there was a narrow stretch of grass between the water and the cliff, with a rope ferry three or four hundred yards farther on.
"We'll tie up the boat here, cook supper and sleep on dry ground,"said Jarvis.
