I felt sure there was such a port. No doubt I could have
found books to tell me exactly what I would see, but too much
information would spoil all the romance of such an adventure. It was
all very alluring. With the spring flood on, the river could not help
but be interesting and exciting, a pretty good imitation of the
rapids, perhaps. If I could only secure a boat!
Half an hour later I was meeting old acquaintances about the hotel,
connected with the station. The genial hotel manager, with the Irish
name, was smilingly explaining to some newcomers that this was not
hot; that "a dry heat at 110 degrees was not nearly as bad as 85
degrees back in Chicago," "and as for heat," he continued, "why down
in Yuma"--then he caught sight of me, with a grin on my face, and
perhaps he remembered that I had heard him say the same thing two
years before, when it was even hotter; and he came over with
out-stretched hand,--calling me uncomplimentary names, under his
breath, for spoiling the effect of his explanation; all which was
belied by his welcome. It takes an Irishman to run a big hotel in the
middle of the desert.
A few inquiries brought out the information that I was not likely to
get a boat. The stores did not keep them. I should have given my order
two weeks before to an Indian who built boats to order at $2.00 a
foot. This was a new one on me. Suppose a fellow wanted--well say,
about $15.00 worth. It would look something like a tub, wouldn't it?
Perhaps it was to be the coast, for me, after all.
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