Lots of partridges and mossbacks, but no improvements. Not a dam
the whole length of her. Case of hit the freshet water or get hung."
"Well, we've done that kind of a job before."
"Yes, _before_!" Tally retorted. "If I had a half-crew of good,
old-fashioned white-water birlers, I'd rest easy. But we don't have no
crews like we used to. The old bully boys have all moved out west--or
died."
"Getting old--like us," bantered Fox. "Why haven't you died off too,
Jim?"
"I'm never going to die," stated the old man, "I'm going to live to turn
into a grindstone and wear out. But it's a fact. There's plenty left can
ride a log all right, but they're a tough lot. It's too close here to
Marion."
"That _is_ too bad," condoled Fox, "especially as I remember so well
what a soft-spoken, lamb-like little tin angel you used to be, Jim."
Fox, who had quite dropped his old office self, winked at Bob. The
latter felt encouraged to say:
"I had a course in college on archaeology. Don't remember much about it,
but one thing. When they managed to decipher the oldest known piece of
hieroglyphics on an Assyrian brick, what do you suppose it turned out to
be?"
"Give it up, Brudder Bones," said Tally, dryly, "what was it?"
Bob flushed at the old riverman's tone, but went on.
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