Honore Daumier paints in America. Romantic figures curled in the suppleness of the hog brtistle brush. Rushing river. Vast, I mean vast landscape. Cold. Slight drizzle. We two are walking blind into twilight. Tough little prushun and lanky old yegg.

Cool hard boulder, make a seat. Young knuckle grinds rough rock. Nose filling smell of the river. Don’t slip. Yes, laugh! Dirty feet skim dancing shock of foam.

Rag clothes, two bundles, equipment.

[Yegg face]

Weary boot-leather frown climbed up on Beardy Bush Crag, cloudy view.

[Prushun face]

Lank hair overhangs lost eyes. Run yer grimy old fingertip down my Child Nose Ridge. Rest up boys, in Open Lip Canyon. Tumble breezes wander Dry Cheek Salt Flats. Here we are down by strange little Chin Mountain…

“STORY DAMIT!”

Prushun voice… no, neither light nor musical. Dark precious little Napoleon.

Mr. Yegg smile flickers.