“Four hundred feet probably––”
“An’ a mile long!” Rasba whispered, awed. “Every thing’s big on the riveh!”
“Yes, sir—that’s it—big!” Buck laughed.
Thus the four gossiped, and when Doctor Grell had taken his departure the three talked together about the river and its wonders. At intervals they went over to look after Prebol whose chief requirement was quiet, meat broths, and his medicines.
As night drew down Drones turned to Buck:
“It’s goin’ to be hard leaving the riveh! I neveh will forget, Buck. If I’m sent to jail for all my life, I’ll have something to remember. If they hang me, I shore will come back to walk with those that walk in the middle of the river.”
“What’s that?” Rasba turned and demanded.
“Riveh folks believe that thousands of people who died down thisaway, sunk in snagged steamers, caught in burned-up boats, blown to kingdom come in boiler explosions, those that have been murdered, and who died along the banks, keep a-goin’ up and down.”
“Sho!” Rasba exclaimed. “Yo’ b’lieve that?”
“A man believes a heap more after he’s tripped the riveh once or twice, than he ever believed in all his borned days, eh, Buck?”