The
bridge proved to be a suspension affair of wire cables, that swung
alarmingly until the horses had to straddle in order to stand at all.
Below it boiled the river, swirling, dashing, turning lazily and
mysteriously over its glass-green depths, the shimmers and folds of
eddies rising and swaying like air currents made visible.
They climbed out on solid ground. The road swung to the left and back,
following a contour to the slight elevation on which the houses stood.
Saleratus Bill, however, turned up a brief short-cut, which landed them
immediately on the main street.
Bob saw two stores, an office building and a small hotel, shaded by
wooden awnings. Beyond them, and opposite them, were substantial bunk
houses and dwelling houses, painted red, each with its elevated, roofed
verandah. Large trees, on either side, threw a shade fairly across the
thoroughfare. An iron pump and water trough in front of the hotel saved
the wayfarer from the necessity of riding his animals down to the river.
The vista at the end of the street showed a mill building on a distant
mountain side, with the rabbit-burrow dumps of many shafts and prospect
holes all about it.
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