"They's talkin' about Delia!" Palura nodded. "If she's what they say, she's some girl. How you expect she got that gasolene?"
"Well, Dan was shot an' up the long bar above Slough Neck, an' she dropped down with the gasolene 'side of her boat."
"Looks damn funny, don't hit?" Palura shook his head. "They say she made an eddy at the head, an' crabbed her strokes, too, like she was a soft-paw."
"She could shoot straight, though!" Macrado added.
"If she done the shootin'," Palura shook his head. "I don't always bet women does the shootin' they gets the credit for. Course, there's some women that does shoot, and shoot like h—l, but generally they ain't had the practice or the nature to do hit. You got to want to shoot to hit anything, and women don't run to that deviltry, much."
Palura strolled on, cat-footed. The two river men sat in silence. The dance-hall keeper had said nothing direct, but they knew what was on his mind. He was watching for any drift loot that might float down the river. If they could think of something, he would stand in with them, to their mutual advantage. He kept in touch with river people, and he knew the river gossip.
"As long's she's with Mrs. Mahna, they ain' no
