But at that moment there were no boats in sight. Instead, a great raft of hewn timbers with a rough shanty in the middle of it came drifting down. Half a dozen river men ran to the edge of the float and eyed the Rambler keenly. They seemed amused at what had happened.
“Ship ahoy!” one of them called.
“Give us a rope,” Jule shouted.
“Got anything on board?” the man called back.
“What do you mean by anything?” Jule asked.
“Oh, anything under a cork!” answered the other.
“Row over here with a couple of cases and we’ll pay you for them,” said another voice.
“What do you take this for, a floating saloon?” asked Alex.
“That’s what!” came back over the water. “If you don’t send over something, we’ll come and get it.”
“Now that’s a nice proposition,” Case said to Clay. “Here we get turned almost bottom-side up on a sand bar, and a lot of wops think we’re bartenders and have whiskey to sell.”