"Probably it is green further north," answered Jim. "It depends on the color of the strata it flows through."
"Get out," I said, "this river was called Green after the man who discovered it. I read it in a book in the captain's cabin on the plateau."
"I don't care," said Jim, who was apt to be dogmatic when cornered. "My idea is the most reasonable and I bet everybody in the U. S. thinks it's green because of its color. It must be inconvenient to know so much."
"It is," I replied hotly, "when you have to associate with an ignoramous all the time."
"Come on, boys, let's have a swim and cool off," suggested Tom.
"Better make camp first," said Jim.
We found a good place back a ways from the river in a grove of old cottonwoods. Having made everything snug and shipshape we ran down to the river, but further up from the point where Jim plunged in.
Here the stream came in gently in a wide curve and there was quite a stretch of sandy beach.
"I tell you, this is fine," cried Jim, as he began to peel off his clothes. "I'm in first. Haven't had a bath for a month."
"You look it," I commented.