"It's all right," said she, calmly.

"No use gittin' skeered till the time comes.

Boat's left us, so I reckon we'd better be gittin' somewhere for ourselves.

You, Andrew Jackson, dem yer fool soul, if you don't quit snivelin' I'll throw you off into the worter." Looking across the stream I could see the lights of the _River Belle_ swing gradually into a longer line, and presently heard the clanging of her bells as she came to a full stop, apparently tied up along shore.
From that direction the current seemed to come toward us with a long slant, so that as we dropped down stream, we also edged away.
We had traveled perhaps three quarters of a mile, when I noticed the dim loom of trees on our side of the stream, and saw that we were approaching a long point which ran out below us.

This should have been the deep side of the river, but no one can account for the vagaries of the Missouri.