in the sun, and the song-birds just going it! A little smoke couldn't be noticed now, so we would take some fish off of the lines and cook up a hot breakfast.  And afterwards we would watch the lonesomeness of the river, and kind of lazy along, and by and by lazy off to sleep.  Wake up by and by, and look to see what done it, and maybe see a steamboat coughing along up-stream, so far off towards the other side you couldn't tell nothing about her only whether she was a stern-wheel or side-wheel; then for about an hour there wouldn't be nothing to hear nor nothing to see--just solid lonesomeness.  Next you'd see a raft sliding by, away off yonder, and maybe a galoot on it chopping, because they're most always doing it on a raft; you'd see the axe flash and come down--you don't hear nothing; you see that axe go up again, and by the time it's above the man's head then you hear the _k'chunk_!--it had took all that time to come over the water.  So we would put in the day, lazying around, listening to the stillness.  Once there was a thick fog, and the rafts and things that went by was beating tin pans so the steamboats wouldn't run over them.  A scow or a raft went by so close we could hear them talking and cussing and laughing--heard them plain; but we couldn't see no sign of them; it made you feel crawly; it was like spirits carrying on that way in the air.  Jim said he believed it was spirits; but I says: “No; spirits wouldn't say, 'Dern the dern fog.'” Soon as it was night out we shoved; when we got her out to about the middle we let her alone, and let her float wherever the current wanted her to; then we lit the pipes, and dangled our legs in the water, and talked about all kinds of things--we was always naked, day and night, whenever the mosquitoes would let us--the new clothes Buck's folks made for me was too good to be comfortable, and besides I didn't go much on clothes, nohow. Sometimes we'd have that whole river all to ourselves for the longest time. Yonde