90 RIVERS IN SUMMER

small moccasins. Before long there was a crowd out-
side. The bolder spirits sidled into the room and
squatted along the walls. Their heads and hands
moved to the music, but their faces were impassive.
Whenever a record finished, there was a clamorous
request for another to be put on, and then perfect
silence again while it was played. After a couple of
hours we had to herd the assembled company out
of the cabin. They stood in the grass, still gazing in
our direction.

Afterward, when we were cooking supper, we
heard the melody of a jazz dance being played on
a mouth-organ by some young buck; the rhythm
was emphasized by the steady twanging of the two-
stringed violin.

* * *

“Sure you'll have enough gasolene? Them rapids
chews it up, you know. Better take a can or two
more, and cache it at Wheeler’s if you don’t use it.
The scow’ll pick it up next trip.”

“Look out for the rocks on your left in the first
canyon. River’s dropped a lot since you came down
her. You'd best cut across half-way up.”

“Naw, man, ye're nuts. That’d land ’em in the
combers. Mebbe all right for the scow, but not for
that boat!”