The sun had made him drowsy.

He might even camp on the river bank and if ever a foot came down the path and toward the boat, he would fire his revolver into the air and demand attention.

The prospect pleased him.

He went toward the willow.
Fate having toyed with Kenny tossed him a rose and smiled.
There was a battered horn upon the willow and below a wooden sign: _Craig Farm Ferry Please blow the horn_ A battered horn of adventure! What might it not evoke?
Woodland spirits perhaps, romance, a ferryman! Thank God the tree was old, the horn battered and the willow naiadic in its grace.

A trio of blessing! Kenny whistled softly in amazed delight and blew the horn.