Skilled rivermen, by holding their John-boats and canoes close to the far shore, might run the rapids with safety.

But no boat, once caught in the vicious grip of the main current between the comparatively still waters of The Bend and that wild, roaring tumult at Elbow Rock, had ever survived.
It was nearing the close of a late summer day, and Auntie Sue, as was her custom, stood on the porch watching the sunset.

In the vast field of sky that arched above the softly rounded hills there was not a cloud.
No wind stirred the leaves of the far-reaching forests, or marred the bright waters of the quiet Bend that mirrored back the green, tree-fringed banks and blue-shadowed mountains.

Faintly, through the hush, from beyond the bottom-lands on the other side of the stream, came the long-drawn "Wh-o-e-e! Wh-o-e-e!" of farmer Jackson calling his hogs.
From the hillside, back of the house, sounded the deep, mellow tones of a cowbell, telling Auntie Sue that neighbor Tom's cattle were going home from their woodland pastures.

A company of crows crossed the river on leisure wing, toward some evening rendezvous.