to relieve his pent-up excitement by dashing through overflowed gullies in the road or across the quaggy, sodden edges of meadowland, until he had controlled Redskin’s rebellious extravagance into a long steady stride.  Then he raised his head and straightened himself on the saddle, to think.  But to no purpose.  He had no plan; everything would depend upon the situation; the thought of forestalling any action of the conspirators, by warning or calling in the aid of the authorities, for an instant crossed his mind, but was as instantly dismissed.  He had but an instinct—­to see with his own eyes what his reason told him was true.  Day was breaking through drifting scud and pewter-colored clouds as he 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.”

But here two men emerged from the shanty beside the ferryhouse, and tumbled sleepily into the boat.  Clarence seized an extra pair of sculls that were standing against the shed, and threw them into the stern.  “I don’t mind taking a hand myself for exercise,” he said quietly.

The ferryman glanced again at Clarence’s travel-worn figure and determined eyes with mingled approval and surprise.  He lingered a moment with his oars lifted, looking at his passenger.  “It ain’t no business o’ mine, young man,” he said deliberately, “but I reckon you understand me when I say that I’ve just taken another man over there.”