CHAPTER 11POISONED WATERS
A searing sun rose in a cloudless sky on the last day of August. The grass, already wilted, shrivelled to a matted brown carpet on the ground. The leaves on the trees drooped, and the tree trunks were warm to the touch. The little wind that stirred was like a hot blast from a furnace.
John stepped out to the porch, fanning himself gently with a folded newspaper. He sat down on the top step and listlessly watched a crow wing heavily up the river, alight, and begin pecking at dead fish on the bank. Due to prolonged rainless weather, the river was three feet below its normal spring level. Riffles meandered lazily down their course, breaking on either side of sun-baked rocks that they usually covered. Pools that were usually too deep to wade now could be crossed nea
