and they knew that Mrs. Mahna would keep things going in any shantyboat town of which she was president. Other boats drew in for purposes of their own—a gambler boat, whisky boat, a little showboat, and three or four parties of sports hunting and rowdying down the river bent upon fun and devilment.
Among the rest, José Macrado blew up the river all dressed up fit to kill, in a nice little gasolene launch and spending money, though none had ever known him to spend money before. Mrs. Mahna had seen the day when he was so hungry that he begged like a dog—but people are up and people are down in the river. If she saw anything, or thought anything, she did not say a word to any one—not about Macrado. She had enough to talk about without prying into the affairs of other people.
Nothing would do, Mrs. Mahna declared, but they must have a barbecue, with wild turkey, roast goose, pig, beef, game pies, and all kinds of things. Accordingly, the hunters chose sides and went forth to slay what they could, up and down the river in the gasolenes. Some hunted at night, and they brought their prey in dressed and skinned, ready to cook, but no questions were asked about that. It would not be minding one's own business, asking where the "boys" caught their pork or killed their beef.
Through the turmoil and effort of the river women
