Only Tom North carried on a consecutive, low-
voiced conversation with another of about his own age.
"Just the same, Jim," he was saying, "it is a little tough on the
boys--this new sluice-gate business. They've been sort of expectin'
a chance for a day or two at Redding, and now, if this son of a gun
of a wind hangs out, I don't know when we'll make her. The shallows
at Bull's was always bad enough, but this is worse."
"Yes, I expected to pick you up 'way below," admitted Jim, whose
"turkey," or clothes-bag, at his side proclaimed him a newcomer.
"Had quite a tramp to find you."
"This stretch of slack water was always a terror," went on North,
"and we had fairly to pike-pole every stick through when the wind
blew; but now that dam's backed the water up until there reely ain't
no current at all. And this breeze has just stopped the drive dead
as a smelt."
"Don't opening the sluice-gates give her a draw?" inquired the
newcomer.
"Not against this wind--and not much of a draw, anyway, I should
guess."
"How long you been hung?"
"Just to-day. I expect Jack will be down from the rear shortly.
Ought to see something's wrong when he runs against the tail of this
jam of ours."
At this moment the lugubrious, round-faced man in the derby hat
stepped aside from the row of steaming utensils he had been
arranging.
Pages:
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26