Before the sun was quite down, both raft
and house-boat were anchored for the night.
As the shadows of the distant forests deepened, Carrigan felt
impending about him an oppression of emptiness and loneliness
which he had not experienced before. He was disappointed that the
bateau had not tied up with the raft. Already he could see men
building fires. Spirals of smoke began to rise from the shore, and
he knew that the riverman's happiest of all hours, supper time,
was close at hand. He looked at his watch. It was after seven
o'clock. Then he watched the fading away of the sun until only the
red glow of it remained in the west, and against the still thicker
shadows the fires of the rivermen threw up yellow flames. On his
own side, Bateese and the bateau crew were preparing their meal.
It was eight o'clock when a man he had not seen before brought in
his supper. He ate, scarcely sensing the taste of his food, and
half an hour later the man reappeared for the dishes.
It was not quite dark when he returned to his window, but the far
shore was only an indistinct blur of gloom. The fires were
brighter. One of them, built solely because of the rivermen's
inherent love of light and cheer, threw the blaze of its flaming
logs twenty feet into the air.
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