rowed upstream again, close to the shore, and returned to the
opposite side in much the same manner in which he had come over.

The three men pushed out the scow, and grasping the rope
overhead, began to pull. The big craft ran easily. When the
current struck it, the wire cable sagged, the water boiled and
surged under it, raising one end, and then the other.
Nevertheless, five minutes were all that were required to pull
the boat over.

It was a rude, oblong affair, made of heavy planks loosely put
together, and it leaked. When Jones suggested that we get the
agony over as quickly as possible, I was with him, and we
embarked together. Jones said he did not like the looks of the
tackle; and when I thought of his by no means small mechanical
skill, I had not added a cheerful idea to my consciousness. The
horses of the first team had to be dragged upon the scow, and
once on, they reared and plunged.

When we started, four men pulled the rope, and Emmett sat in the
stern, with the tackle guys in hand. As the current hit us, he
let out the guys, which maneuver caused the boat to swing stern
downstream. When it pointed obliquely, he made fast the guys
again. I saw that this served two purposes: the current struck,
slid alongside, and over the stern, which mitigated the danger,
and at the same time helped the boat across.

To look at the river was to court terror, but I had to look. It
was an infernal thing. It roared in hollow, sullen voice, as a
monster growling. It had voice, this river, and one strangely