in the middle of the river and edge it along the shoreline.
The wide, muddy Missouri River was famous for being cussedly wicked. It was devious, treacherous; it twisted and turned like a snake, it narrowed, it widened; its eddies could snatch a boat and send it whirling. The river could rise unexpectedly, lifting logs and driftwood off a hundred sandbars, hurling them with a vicious force downstream where they would lodge on other sandbars, forming concealed traps for the unwary traveler.
Along the bank of the river, quick-springing willow roots caught together a mass of branches and young trees yanked up by a sudden surge of flood waters. Then, tucked beneath its muddy waters were what boatmen called sawyers, the Missouri’s most dangerous trick of all. A log floating downstream would anchor its roots or branches in the muddy bottom on the river, giving it freedom of movement to ride up on the current, seldom breaking the surface but lying concealed until it pierced a boat or ripped off a gunwale. They were as much a danger as the sucking pockets of quicksand, hungry and relentless, that rivermen called the Missouri’s secret pockets.
Zan relieved first one man and then the other at the poles. Jeff was the last to surrender his position. He dipped a cup in the river and brought it to Annie Lash.
“I don’t have a fondness for river water myself, but sometimes it has to do.”
“Thank you,” she murmured. She took the cup, drained it without breathing, and handed it back to him. “It’s better than down by Saint Louis.”
“More?”
She shook her head. “I feel useless sitting here. I can take a turn at the poles.”
“That’s not necessary. Just sit here and enjoy the ride.” His dark eyes caught hers and he seemed to not want to look away.
Annie Lash wanted to ask him about the place where they were going and about the woman, Callie, but decided this wasn’t the right time. Instead, she said,
“I’ve got two pieces of candy in my pocket. Do you want one?”
He smiled at that, his dark eyes holding her sky blue ones. Annie Lash ignored her jumping heart and dug her hand into her pocket. He popped the small square into his mouth when she handed it to him.
“That’s almost better than catfish.” His eyes gleamed with a sudden light that was plainly mischievous.
“Catfish? Ugh!”
She knew he was laughing, but no sound came from his strong, bronzed throat. His eyes were so dark, so mirror dark, she could see her own reflection in them. She felt a spurt of intense pleasure. A tingling thrill traveled down her spine, making her almost giddy.
“No taste for catfish, huh?”
“Not much.”
“How about turtle? There are snappers in the river as big as washtubs.” He continued to look at her—really look—and she felt a flush steal up her throat into her face.
“Jeff,” Light called softly.
Jeff looked past Annie Lash and his face instantly lost its merriment. She turned to see what he was looking at. Jagged rocks protruded out from the shoreline, a potential hazard for their small craft. He quickly picked up a pole mad helped the men edge the craft into deeper water.
By midday it was so warm she took off her shawl and tucked it under the rope holding the trunk. She was not used to prolonged inactivity and was stiff and tired from sitting for so long. She got up from her seat and stood holding on to the rope. She hadn’t, as yet, learned to keep her balance on the bobbing, swaying craft. Her stomach growled noisily and she ate a handful of dried fruit and a biscuit provided by Jeff. By the middle of the afternoon the question foremost in her mind was how she was going to relieve her full bladder. She ached with the pressure of it.
Annie Lash watched the river ahead and wondered what was around the next bend. It was wide and deep at this point, but not swiftly flowing, and it curled in looping bends. They were able to move along faster now. There was a low, grassy bank that separated