CHAPTER XIII
OF THE coming and going of river people there is no end. Macrado knew that when they sold out their shantyboats at Mendova and left in the gasolene boat no one would know whether or not they went up or down river. He knew that when they had rounded the first bend their future would be lost to the minds of people, except in idle gossip, perhaps wondering around as to what they were up to. Shantyboaters would not take word up the bank that anything had happened, even if they knew that something had taken place.
The avarice of Junker Frest was well known from far up the Ohio down to New Orleans. He drove hard bargains for bottles, iron, rubber, bones, copper, brass, and a thousand other things that come to a junker, including old ropes, and new ropes declared to be old.
Frest saw ahead of him the chance of his life time: he saw that he had a chance to junk in diamonds. It was not a big chance, but by being bold for once in his life he might establish himself for all time as a man of ample wealth. He had cast his all on the throw of this chance—but he did not know that. Neither
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