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Updated: June 22, 2025
Every seventh or eighth wave tumbled over on itself in a swash of foam. These flashing stern waves strung far up the river. On each side of the great waterway stretched the flat shores of Kentucky and Ohio. Here and there over the broad clay-colored water moved other boats tow-boats, a string of government auto-barges, a snag-boat, another packet. Peter gave up his question.
Between the prophecy of the snag-boat captain and my vainglorious answer at the Cheyenne crossing, I learned to respect the words of the man who invented the eccentric old river. In the face of heavy head winds, I quoted the words, "You'll never get down" and they bit deep like whip lashes.
A big white and red steamer was creeping up stream over the shallow crossing of the Cheyenne's bar, sounding every foot of the water fallen far below the usual summer level. It was the snag-boat. Crossing her bows and drifting past her slowly, I stood up and shouted to the party in the pilot house: "I want to speak to the captain." He came out on the hurricane deck the man who invented the river.
Horace Bixby, at eighty-one, was still young, and piloting a government snag-boat. Neither was Joseph Goodman old, by any means, but Jim Gillis was near his end, and Steve Gillis was an invalid, who said: "Tell Sam I'm going to die pretty soon, but that I love him; that I've loved him all my life, and I'll love him till I die."
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