A desolate flat of sand extended from either shore back to a high ridge of clay, which was thickly wooded.

Slightly higher up the river this ridge approached more closely the bank of the stream, with trees actually overhanging the water, and a rather thick growth of underbrush hiding the ground.

The river was muddy, flowing with a swift current, and we could distinguish its course only so far as the first bend, a comparatively short distance away.

Nowhere appeared the slightest evidence of life, either on water or land; all was forlorn and dead, a vista of utter desolation.

Sam was standing up, his whole attention concentrated on the view up stream.
"Do steamers ever go up this river ?" I asked, surprised at the volume of water.
He glanced around at me, as though startled at my voice.
"Yas, sah; putty near eny sorter boat kin.