As he approached, he asked the onlookers where the channel of the river was.
They stared at him and on the question being repeated, looked at one another and put their eyes on the river again.

Almost immediately the current swept Boyton toward the rocks.
Off Morris' place, Paul hailed a fellow in a turnip patch and as he cautiously approached the river, the Captain removed the cover from an air-tight jar suspended from his neck, took out a cigar and holding a match in the rubber tube of his dress, lit the weed.

The rustic removed his hat, closed an eye and scratched his head in great perplexity.
"Wall, I swaw," he ejaculated, "ef yeou hadn't spoke er I'd er taken yeou fur th' devil an' swore yeou that ere durned cigar Wuth th' end o' yer tail, I wud, b'gosh.

But ain't yer cold ?" Valley Hotel was the name of the tavern at which Paul and his party put up for the night at Lower Waterford.

How long before Boyton's visit the last guest had registered there is problematical, but the landlady proved hospitable.