It looked like a scene from the Great Gold Rush. There they stood, rank upon frozen rank, along the icy river banks, occasionally stumbling back to toast numbed fingers over blazing fires in the zero-degree cold. Every motel for miles around was full. The ground was littered with empty bourbon bottles, bean cans, and instant-coffee jars. Signs warned: PROTECT YOUR ACCESS TO THE RIVER, and a productive "beat" (60 ft. of river frontage) sold for $5,000. But the only gold around was in somebody's teeth. The hardy types who lined the banks...
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