reached Woodville ferry, checkered with splashes of the soil and the
spume of his horse, from whose neck and flanks the sweat rolled like
lather. Yet he was not conscious how intent had been his purpose until
he felt a sudden instinctive shock on seeing that the ferryboat was
gone. For an instant his wonderful self-possession abandoned him; he
could only gaze vacantly at the leaden-colored bay, without a thought or
expedient. But in another moment he saw that the boat was returning from
the distance. Had he lost his only chance? He glanced hurriedly at his
watch; he had come more quickly than he imagined; there would still
be time. He beckoned impatiently to the ferryman; the boat--a ship's
pinnace, with two men in it--crept in with exasperating slowness. At
last the two rowers suddenly leaped ashore.

"Ye might have come before, with the other passenger. We don't reckon to
run lightnin' trips on this ferry."

But Clarence was himself again. "Twenty dollars for two more oars in
that boat," he said quietly, "and fifty if you get me over in time to
catch the down stage."

The man glanced at Clarence's eyes. "Run up and rouse out Jake and
Sam," he said to the other boatman; then more leisurely, gazing at his
customer's travel-stained equipment, he said, "There must have been a
heap o' passengers got left by last night's boat. You're the second man
that took this route in a hurry."

At any other time the coincidence might have struck Clarence. But he
only answered curtly, "Unless we are under way in ten minutes you will
find I am NOT the second man, and that our bargain's off."