The houses were not separate, but the whole village was like one big rambling house of many rooms. We cautiously entered one of the houses.
As soon as our eyes became accustomed to the dim light we saw that it had been deserted for a long time. There were no marks of recent habitation.
On the hard, worn floor were shards of pottery of red and grey clay that had been baked according to the method of the tribe. In the blackened fireplace was a heap of rags.
"I bet the Apaches have cleared this town out," said Jim, reaffirming my previous statement.
"There's no doubt of it," I replied. "It's too near their territory anyway. It makes me feel sorry for these people. They must have been comfortable here and they were no doubt superior to the other Indian tribes because they have built themselves houses instead of living in tepees."
"Yes," remarked Jim, "and instead of living on wild meat they raised grain. You can see where they have crushed it in this round stone, that's hollowed out."
We were standing near the fireplace as Jim was speaking, when I saw the rubbish moving slightly, and then a great hairy spider rushed out at us.
"Look out, Jim," I cried, in alarm. "There's a big spider coming for you."
And I made for the door. If there's one thing I hate more than another it's spiders. If it had been a roaring mountain lion or a stealthy Apache or even a snake, I would not have cared, but a spider! that was my particular horror.
It's peculiar about folks; each one has some particular aversion that is natural and not unreasonable. I have known people that would have a fit if you threw a cat at them. Actually faint with horror if a cat should jump in their laps. Others have the same feeling towards snakes. My horror was spiders.
I think if that one should crawl up my arm I Would almost expire with horror. That was the reason I took to the door. This fellow was no ordinary customer, I can assure you.
His hairy, bent legs carried his body in the center and he had poisonous nippers and wicked little eyes. He rattled across the hard floor straight for Jim. My cry caused Jim to look down and he jumped to one side just in time to escape the rush of the reptile.
I expected to see the spider scurry away to a dark corner. Not he, for he came for Jim again. Then Jim picked up a stone and crushed Mr. Spider with a crunching sound.
"Come and have a look at him, Jo," cried Jim. "He's a beaut."
"I'll take your word for it," I replied. "I don't want to see it."
"Did you ever see a spider like that?" asked Tom, when Jim came out.
"That wasn't a spider," Jim said. "That was a tarantula. He must have been five inches across. But the gall of him prancing right up to me."
"Lucky he didn't bite you," I said.
"Well, I guess yes," remarked Jim, "I have heard that their poison will just about lay a man out."
"Judging from the looks of him I should think as much," I said.
"Let's have a look at the roof of this village," proposed Jim.
We searched around until we found a long ladder and we raised it up to the second story of the town.
"I feel like I belong to a hook and ladder company," laughed Jim. "Do you remember what fun we used to have running to the fires at home with the hose carts?"
"Sure I do," I replied, "and I recollect when we paraded with one of the companies on the Fourth of July and you had a belt that was intended for a fat man and it went around you twice and then you had to hold it up and your cap was two sizes too large and the visor was generally over your left ear. You were the feature of the parade."
"Never mind that now," grinned Jim, "you weren't much more of an ornament yourself if I remember rightly. Let's see what we can discover up here."
So he climbed the ladder, with me at his heels, and Tom came tumbling after. We found part of the roofs covered with other houses like those below. The roofs were perfectly flat and with round chimneys of grey adobe standing here and there. There were also square openings to the houses below where a ladder could be used for an inside stair.
"What is this long string of something, Jim?" I asked.
"Why that long string of something is dried peppers. I bet these Indians used a lot of it. It will be fine to cook with our meat," and he wound it gracefully over his shoulders.
We went into one of the houses on the roof and it seemed to be like the others, entirely deserted. This room of the village was larger than any that we had entered so far and it had a wooden door which Jim had shoved open without any difficulty.
I was standing with my back to the door looking around to see if there were any curiosities in view, when I felt something coming behind me swiftly and stealthily. I had no time to turn before it sprang and one dark skinny arm went around my neck.
It was an Indian, who held me with a grip like closing steel. I was almost helpless, from the pressure on my throat when Jim turned, hearing the scuffle and sprang to my help.
It took all his strength to tear the old Indian hag loose, for such it was. She was a terrible object to my startled eyes, with her grey bush of hair, parchment withered skin, the lean lines of her throat and the eyes beaming with the weird light of insanity.
Her strength seemed to leave her suddenly and she sat crouching in a dark corner. Keeping her eyes fastened on us and her lips moving in some strange incantation. Suddenly she sprang up with her claw-like hands stretched toward us, spitting at us; a very picture of demoniacal fury. Then she subsided again.
It was more like the rage of a wild beast than of a human being. And it gave me a sensation of horror to think that she had had me in her grip. Next to the tarantula she seemed the most repulsive.
"The old lady seems to have taken a sudden fancy to you," said Jim, as we stood looking at her.
"What is she doing up here all alone?" asked Tom.
"She may have been able to hide when the Apaches made their raid," Jim replied, "or possibly she was so old that she was worthless and I guess she is something of a sorceress, so they thought it best to leave her alone. She is trying to get the Indian sign on Jo now."
The old hag was pointing at me, with one long skinny finger and muttering; something that repeated the same words over and over again. She started to rise up and I shrunk back. I hated being singled out by her.
"Sit down you," thundered Jim, "down, I tell you. No more of your cursed nonsense."
The old woman actually obeyed him and she sank back, her grey head shaking with palsy. I guess she thought that Jim was the Big Chief all right.
"Come on, boys," he said, "let's call on somebody else. The poor old lady is too eccentric and we don't want to excite her."
So we went out, but we found nothing more of especial interest, except that Jim unearthed a blanket that had evidently belonged to some Navajo. It was thick and warm, with white ground and grey design.
After finishing with the village we went out on the mesa to look around. We found that it was covered with quite a depth of soil and there were signs that it once had been well cultivated.
"I guess these people grew maize up here. You can see where the soil has been turned over," said Jim. "Look here, boys, I have found an old plow."
We looked at it with real curiosity. It was certainly a primitive article, made of grey weathered wood and the plowshare also of some hard wood, just enough to stir the ground.
"These people must have been independent here and happy too," said Tom. "It was a shame they had to be run out by those Apaches."
We had now advanced to the edge of the mesa and were looking off to the west. It was a marvelous view in the afternoon light that brought out the strange and symmetrical lines of the desert architecture with startling distinctness.
"There rolls the Colorado and hears no sound save its own rolling," said Jim, pointing in his most oratorical manner to the southwest.
"You can see the zigzag of it through that plateau," I cried.
"Yes, and way over there in the south is where it plunges into the mountains," said Jim. "Jove! it makes me anxious to reach it. This will be our last picnic till we reach the river, you can count on that."
"Down, boys, quick!" cried Tom. We dropped into some brush—scrub bushes that grew near the edge of the mesa without waiting to question. Tom's eyes were keen and his vision was to be respected.
"What is it, brother?" inquired Jim, in mock anxiety. "What dost thou see?"
"See! there is a party of Indians coming out around that butte over there," pointing to the north. Then we saw them all right. There was a large party, we could tell that. Though the distance was so great that they looked like moving specks.
"Do you suppose they saw us?" I asked.
"Hardly," replied Jim. "It's all we can do to make them out and they are mounted."
"It's lucky we stopped off here," remarked Tom, "because we would have run into them or at least they would have cut our trail."
"If they go east of the mesa they will do it anyway," I said, "then what will we do?"
"They would have a sweet time getting up here after us," said Jim.
"But they would starve us out," I said.
"Don't worry, Jo," Jim replied. "If they insist on hanging around we will have to turn farmers and till the soil. You and Tom would make a nice team to pull that plow, being twins; you are well matched, light bays, warranted kind and gentle."
"Any lady could drive, especially Tom," I said.
"I don't believe those fellows will bother us," said Jim, who was watching the Indians closely. Jim never allowed repartee to interfere with business. "You see they are keeping well to the west and in that case they won't see our trail."
"We will have to camp up here to-night," I said.
"Sure," replied Jim, "there is nothing else to do. It won't be long till sunset now and we want daylight for that trail."
"Do you suppose those fellows will try and come up here?" I asked.
"What for?" replied Jim, "they know that there is nothing here and they are not looking for useless exercise."
"Are we going to camp in one of those houses?" I inquired.
"Why not?" said Jim, "you are not afraid of the old lady stealing you, are you?"
"I don't see any use of our going indoors," I replied. "We always sleep in the open and it don't look like rain. At least not this century."
This last observation certainly seemed accurate. Though there were a few rolls of white clouds, floating around over the vast extent of blue sky, they were oases in the desert of its extent. Though along the eastern horizon were delicate veils of purple or grey showers skirting along. But there seemed no promise of dampness in them.
We lay at ease stretched out in perfect safety watching the Indians as they came into nearer view. It seemed like something more than a hunting party because they had their squaws and papooses with them.
The earth was warm and dry and the sun made us feel comfortable as we basked in it like so many grey lizards. Just then a curious little thing darted right in front of my face. I drew back in alarm. But Jim reached out quickly and clutched it in his hand.
"What is it?" I asked.
"It's nothing but a horned toad," he replied.
"Aren't you afraid that it will poison you?" I inquired.
"No," he replied, "the captain told me that they were perfectly harmless."
"Ugly as sin though," I commented.
It was flat in shape, with its rough skin covered with regular coloring of grey and dark brown. Above the eyes were two little horns and the center edge of its skin had saw-like indentations. Its belly was flat and of a whitish color.
"Now watch him catch this fly," said Jim.
The unsuspecting fly was crawling on Jim's hand. The horned toad was as quiet as immobile stone. Mr. Fly came along within a few inches of the toad. Then out flashed a little narrow wisp of red tongue and the fly disappeared.
"One strike and in," said Jim, proud of his new pet. "You see he is just about the color of the earth so that he can't be seen; all he has to do is to keep still and his game comes to him."
Then Jim slipped the horned toad into his pocket. The sun had now sunk down behind the distant Sierra. Above it glowed a few gold bars of clouds. In the east was a broad band of blue with a crimson veiling above it.
This pomp always accompanies a desert sunrise or sunset.
"The Indians are going to make camp," Jim announced.
It was true, they had stopped near two hills a couple of miles west of the mesa, where there was a growth of a few stunted trees. The braves slid from their ponies and turned them loose to graze, while the squaws busied themselves gathering wood. The children scampered around free as wild colts and playing as children will whether they are Indian or white.
"There must be a hundred of them anyway," said Tom.
"About the number that had us corraled back in those mountains," I said.
This was the first time that we had seen a family party of Indians and it was an interesting sight.
"It is time we made our own camp," said Jim.
So we backed slowly from the edge of the mesa, keeping under shelter of the brush, until we were far enough away not to be seen, then we stood up and made our way to the deserted village.
"I'm not going to sleep in that house," I declared, "and have a tarantula crawl out and grab me."
"Gee, but you are particular," said Jim, "anyway we can cook our food in one of these houses, so that the Indians down there won't see the smoke."
So we prepared a meal inside of a house for the first time since we had left the captain's cabin on the plateau. If anyone had told us that we were going to have supper in a house on top of a mesa in New Mexico we would have thought they were crazy. But strange things happen in a strange country.
After supper we prepared to turn in or turn out rather, because we were not going to sleep in the house.
"Let's go over to the other side first," said Jim, "and have a look at the Indian camp."
This we did. And it gave us a strange sensation, standing near the edge of the mesa with nothing but the void darkness below us for hundreds of feet.
It was a picturesque sight, to see the Indian fires making little spots of flame out on the plain. Sometimes faint sounds come from their direction borne on the evening wind. Overhead the innumerable stars were shining with sparkling clearness. The night seemed to be filled with the vague whispering of the wind.
As we turned back to the dead village the wind rose; at first it came in gusts and then it blew in steady and ever increasing volume, until it rose to the fierceness of a gale.
Not a cloud was visible, it came from perfect clearness and it seemed to have more power than if it had been accompanied with rolling clouds. The gravel blew across the mesa, cutting our faces.
"Are we going to have a cyclone?" inquired Tom, anxiously, yelling into Jim's ear.
"No!" he yelled back. "This country is too broken. It couldn't get started before it's busted."
"We can't sleep here to-night," declared Tom, "we will be blown away."
By this time we had reached the shelter of the village. It seemed uncannily quiet and dead within its walls.
"We can sleep here in the court yard," I said, "and we will be protected from the wind."
"All right," replied Jim, "it's funny to have the horses inside the houses and we out."
We made a comfortable bed on the ground of the courtyard with brush that we had cut on the outer mesa. Jim made use of his Indian blanket and said that it was all right.
In a short time Jim and Tom were sound asleep and their snoring rivaled the wind, but I could not sleep. I was very restless and I turned and tossed.
Overhead the stars were shining and the wind whistled and roared over the silent roofs around us. I kept listening for every sound. But after awhile I dropped off into a troubled doze. Then I heard a rustling near my ear. It was crawling towards me in the darkness. A tarantula coming straight for my face. I flung out one desperate hand and struck a horny object. It was Jim's horned toad.
Thoroughly awake I threw off the blankets and stood up looking around. The wind was still keeping up its furious gait and the sky was clear. I judged it was about midnight.
It was a weird situation with those silent deserted houses all around and the gaping blackness of the doors and windows. I moved cautiously towards the center of the court. Then I stopped short. A long, pale face was in the upper part of a dark door. I saw it with perfect distinctness. Then it moved or rather moved slowly from side to side.
"Coyote, you rascal! What are you looking at!" I exclaimed, in decided relief.
I could not sleep so I sat down on a rude box in the court yard listening to the wind, my rifle across my knees. If ever a place seemed haunted this Pueblo village did at that hour.
There is a chill isolation about a high wind in the desert, even though the wind be warm. It seemed to me as I sat there I could hear strange voices in the vacant houses. It was the wind no doubt, but the loneliness of the situation made them authentic.
As I watched in the darkness of the court yard, I saw a grey patch against the opposite wall. My eyes seemed drawn to it, then I saw it move. I scarcely breathed. It stopped for a moment, apparently listening, then it came forward again at a level of two or three feet from the ground.
I raised my rifle to fire, but something held me back. I now made out a dark object, too, behind the grey. It was creeping towards where the boys were sleeping. I tried to yell but my voice was just a squeak.
Just then a night bird swept low into the court, gave a shrill cry, then away over the roofs. Jim sat up wide awake and none too soon, for I saw the object rush forward with one hand upraised to strike.
"Get out of here," Jim's big voice bellowed out.
The old Indian woman, for such it was, shrank down muttering and then slowly retreated backward to the wall.
"Where's Jo?" cried Jim, in alarm.
This released the spell I was under and I got up and came over to where Jim and Tom were.
"What are you doing wandering around, this time of night, Jo?" Jim asked.
"I couldn't sleep and your old horned toad tried to cuddle up to me and I thought it was a tarantula," I replied.
"Gee! but I bet it scared you. What did you do with him?"
"I let out with my hand and sent him flying," I replied.
"I hope you didn't kill him," Jim said. "Then I suppose you decided to sit up for the rest of the night."
"It is just as well I did sit up," I said, "or that old hag might have scalped me. Where is she?"
"Creeping up behind you," replied Jim, "look out."
I turned like a flash, but saw nothing. It was simply Jim's superfluous sense of humor. However, she had disappeared.
"Well, I'm going to finish my siesta," said Jim, turning into his blankets again, but I knew that it was no use; so I sat up the balance of the night.
"Be sure and whistle if you see her old nibs coming again," said Jim.
In a few minutes he was fast asleep. Fortunately it was not so very long before the faint light of dawn showed in the eastern sky and I woke the boys up. It gave me a good deal of pleasure to do so because it did not please them and I had grown tired of being all alone in the world.
"You might let a fellow sleep a little longer," growled Tom.
"You would get hide-bound if I would let you," I said. "I wonder if those Indians have gone, because we can't start until they are out of sight."
"We will go over and look," said Jim, "while Tom gets the breakfast."
Tom growled some more, but he was in a minority. So Jim and I crossed the mesa, and taking to cover, we looked out over the plain. They were just breaking camp and we could hear their voices borne on the wind.
It was an interesting and animated sight as they caught their ponies and took short dashes about the plains, going through different tricks with remarkable celerity.
"They will be well started before we are ready," said Jim as we made our way back to the camp in the village.
"I thought this wind would go down with sunrise, but it whoops it up just the same," I said.
"You can't judge this country by any other," said Jim. "This is certainly a great wind, it just takes you by the seat of your pants and makes you walk Spanish."
"I'm glad you got back this morning," said Tom, "because there has been an awful row in the roof house above here. I think it was the old lady."
"We'll go up and see," said Jim.
So the committee of investigation proceeded up the ladder to find out the source of the trouble. Jim was the first to enter the door. He stopped and looked toward the corner, shaking his head. We could just see a huddled figure.
"She's dead, stone dead," said Jim.
It was true. On a closer view we saw that she sat there, staring with her sightless eyes, seeming to threaten even in death. I could not help but feel that she might spring up at any moment.
"Do you think that we ought to bury her?" asked Tom.
"No, no," Jim shook his head. "The Indians don't bury their dead, and in this dry air she will be kept like a mummy. Come on, it's time we were moving."
We took one more observation and found that the Indians were well on their way to the southeast and could not see us as we came down the trail.
"I'm glad this wind doesn't come from the other way," I said. "It would blow us off."
"You are a bright one," remarked Tom. "If the wind came from the other side, wouldn't the mesa protect us? It could not blow through it, that's sure."
"You just want to argue," I said. "I'm not going to pay any attention to you."
"Wouldn't it be funny if this wind should flatten us into the rock? It almost blows hard enough to. Wouldn't it puzzle these scientific fellars if they should find a living representation of Tommy in the wall of the mesa? They would sure take him for something prehistoric."
"They would probably think you were an aboriginal monkey," replied Tom bitterly.
"I'm going to walk," I said, after we had safely gotten over Jim's bridge of poles. "This is too steep for me."
Jim and Tom followed suit, because it was too hard on the ponies. We made good time going down and were soon on the plain below the mesa.
Taking up our trail we made our way west.
"All aboard for the Colorado River," cried Jim. "No fooling this time."
We had to shout at each other, for the wind was blowing fiercely and the ground between the bunches of grass was brushed clear as a floor, while the gravel was blown up around the roots of the dwarf bushes.
We jogged along in the teeth of the wind, making our usual time. When we were several miles out from the mesa, I turned and looked to the southeast.
The party of Indians were on a low rise several miles distant as we came out of the shelter of the high plateau. They caught sight of us and we saw a number of braves separate from the main body and gallop out in our direction.
"We'll soon shake them," said Jim, "and not half try."
So we started our ponies on the run and they were feeling decidedly like a sprint. In two miles we passed around the corner of a high butte, and Jim flung himself off from Piute and ran back to watch the effect on the Indians of our disappearance.
"It's all over," said Jim, waving his hands down, "they've quit."
"I was afraid our horses would get tired going against the wind," said Tom, "but it didn't seem to feaze them."
"You couldn't stop these bronchos with a meat axe," said Jim.
"Hello," I said, "the wind has quit as well as the Indians. Don't it seem quiet though?"
It certainly did. It was surprising how quickly the wind had ceased, just as abruptly as it had started in.
Late in the afternoon we came into closer touch with the desert scenery. We rode over the ridge of a long divide and below us, several miles distant, rose a marvelous outline of red towers and turrets and a great castle mass rising in the midst; also of the prevailing color.
In the background stood a great mesa, with dark green walls, possibly of sandstone or granite.
"Did you ever see anything like that?" said Jim. "If that had been built by men it could not be more like a castle. Every detail is as sharp and distinct as though it had been carved."
"It doesn't look so much like a castle to me," I said, "but it is more like a big cathedral with those two square towers."
"What coloring!" said Tom. "It's perfectly rich. I never imagined a red like that."
"It will be a good place to camp down there," said Jim.
"How about water?" I asked. "We've got to find some, it's been a throat drying day."
"It looks to me that there is a stream running along the base of those cliffs," remarked Jim.
It was a correct guess. It was true the stream was not very large, but it was much appreciated.
"This is the first creek we have seen running in this direction," said Jim. "It means that we will soon be at the Colorado River."
After we had made our camp, we started over towards the great vermilion cliffs and found the formation just as interesting at close quarters as in the distance. We had never seen anything as sharp-cut and symmetrically carved as the buttes and pinnacles that rose around us.
"I wish we had time to stop here," said Jim, "I would like to take a pick and make an exploration of these cliffs, but I said before that we would have no more picnics and I meant it."
We now traveled for a week in a northwest direction, going through a country very much like what we had been passing through, except the last three days.
During this time we went into the mountains again, following a northward trending valley. The mountains were a much lower range than the Rocky Mountains of Colorado and New Mexico.
One day, about noon, as we were riding along this valley, Jim disappeared around a turn in the trail and we heard him give a yell.
I was frightened, thinking that he had been hurt, and putting the spurs into Coyote, I dashed after him. Rounding the corner I saw what had drawn the yell.
Below us in a transverse valley we caught sight of a glittering section of the river. At last! We took off our hats in a silent salute. Then pressed on to cover the intervening miles as fast as we could.
"That isn't the Colorado yet, Jim?" questioned Tom.
"No, that is the Green River," he replied. "We will come to the Colorado after the Grand and Green meet, that form it."
After a while we reached the level mouth of the valley, where it joined the valley of the Green. We galloped rapidly to see who would be the first to reach the river. Jim and I reached the edge simultaneously.
We threw ourselves from our ponies, but Jim was a little the quickest and he plunged down the bank and into the river.
But our first experience showed us that it was not to be trifled with, for a swift current in shore carried Jim down and if he had not caught an overhanging bush, he would have been taken out into the river and drowned.
"It certainly is a river," exclaimed Tom, "but why do they call it Green when it is brown?"
"Probably it is green further north," answered Jim. "It depends on the color of the strata it flows through."
"Get out," I said, "this river was called Green after the man who discovered it. I read it in a book in the captain's cabin on the plateau."
"I don't care," said Jim, who was apt to be dogmatic when cornered. "My idea is the most reasonable and I bet everybody in the U. S. thinks it's green because of its color. It must be inconvenient to know so much."
"It is," I replied hotly, "when you have to associate with an ignoramous all the time."
"Come on, boys, let's have a swim and cool off," suggested Tom.
"Better make camp first," said Jim.
We found a good place back a ways from the river in a grove of old cottonwoods. Having made everything snug and shipshape we ran down to the river, but further up from the point where Jim plunged in.
Here the stream came in gently in a wide curve and there was quite a stretch of sandy beach.
"I tell you, this is fine," cried Jim, as he began to peel off his clothes. "I'm in first. Haven't had a bath for a month."
"You look it," I commented.
Tom and I got out of our few garments in short order. I was the quickest and beat Jim to the water by about five feet as I splashed in. It made me yell.
"Gosh, but she's cold," I cried, making the water fly as I plunged under.
"Gee whiz," yelled Tom, as he stepped gingerly in. "I should say it was cold. Talk about ice water!"
"Don't talk! get under!" cried Jim.
And he gave Tom a tremendous shove in the back that sent him with a sprawling splash into the water. Tom sputtered angrily and Jim soused him under.
There was a big rock out a ways on the edge of the current. It was a great wedge rock of granite, ten feet broad and twenty-five feet in length.
"I dare you to swim out there," challenged Jim.
"All right," I assented.
I was really a fine swimmer, better than Jim, though not so daring. This was a dangerous proposition. Jim went first, going up stream a ways, then he sprang out into the river.
In a minute we saw what a foolhardy attempt it was. The current caught him and sped him along like a straw. We could see his black head as it bobbed along down stream, now and then submerged by a wave that seemed to us a mere ripple.
He struggled valiantly to strike across the current, for he must reach the rock or be carried down the river to sure death. We looked on in fascinated terror.
Nothing but his extraordinary strength saved Jim at this juncture. As he was being dashed past the rock he threw out one hand and grasped the edge of it, then the water slammed him against it with great force.
For the moment he seemed stunned, but he clung to the rock as the player in a big game does to the ball as he goes over the line.
"Hold on, Jim, tight," we yelled.
We saw his muscles strain as he pulled himself slowly out of the hungry water. Then he reached the inclined surface of the rock and fell forward, all curled up like a man who is knocked out on the football field.
We were pretty well frightened and Tom thought he was done for, but I felt sure that Jim would come around in a few minutes. We did not have to wait long before Jim sat up. He gave his head a shake and was himself again.
"Don't try it," he yelled to us. "You can't monkey with this river."
He need not have warned us, for neither one of us was likely to try the experiment. How was Jim to get off that rock? was the question. It was impossible for him to take to the stream again, nor was the rock a desirable permanent residence.
In a minute Jim began to dance around on the rock, and we thought at first it was his exuberant spirits. But this was not the case.
"Gee, boys!" he yelled. "This rock is hot, get me off quick before I become a cinder. What are you waiting for? Get me a rope."
Why had I not thought of that before? I jumped out of the river and made a full speed trip to the camp. The sight was a great shock to Coyote and Piute, and they jumped to one side, snorting and visibly affrighted.
I got the rope and made a flying return trip to the river. I soon made a lasso loop and stood poised on the bank, directly opposite Jim, ready for the throw.
"You stand still now and I bet that I will lasso you," I cried.
This accomplishment the captain had taught us and sometimes it came in handy. So I wheeled the loop around my head several times and sent it whirling out over the river. It struck the rock all right, but would have fallen short if Jim had not caught it.
"Pretty good for a first throw," yelled Jim.
"Now, Robinson Crusoe, fasten it around your chest and under your shoulders," were my shouted instructions.
Jim did this and it left his arms free. Tom and I now took the rope and went up the river a ways to the beach. Tom stood on the bank well braced, while I went out in the river as far as I could and have a good foothold.
"Are you rested enough to try?" I yelled to Jim.
"Sure," he replied. "Are you ready?"
"Ready," I shouted.
Jim stood poised on the edge of the rock, then with a spring he launched upstream as far as he could. I drew in the slack as quickly as possible, then I felt the force of the current as it clutched at Jim. It pulled like a powerful runaway horse.
It almost drew us down the river; if Jim had not been able to help himself we would never have made it. But with the rope to give him confidence he fought strongly against the current.
It certainly tested our strength to the utmost. But the sinewy arms that I had acquired and the knotted muscles at the back again stood us in good stead.
I was aroused to the limit, and with a last powerful pull, we got Jim into shallow water and carried him to the little beach, for he was about all in, having shipped considerable water.
We worked his arms and rolled him in the most approved fashion and he soon came around, but he was perfectly willing to lie for awhile on the warm sand. As we worked there we talked over Jim's escapade.
"This will be the last time I'll fool with that river," said Jim ruefully. "It was just by luck that it did not send me down by the underground route."
"You're a pretty game fish to land," I said.
"You branded me under the arms all right with that rope," he said.
"It did raise quite a welt," remarked Tom. "I guess Jo thought you were a maverick when he lassoed you."
"You fellows look like white men now," said Jim, "since you've had a bath."
"It seemed mighty good to get to plenty of water," I said, "after coming through the desert."
"We'll be tired of water before we get through with this river," remarked Tom.
"It's the trip for me," said Jim cheerfully. "Do you know what it means, boys, to tackle a stream like this that hasn't been navigated except by two parties since the world began?"
After we had got thoroughly rested, Jim from being rescued and Tom and I from doing the rescuing act, we went back to our camp.
"It's rather nice," remarked Jim, "to camp under cottonwoods after having nothing but pines over us, or the sky."
"It does seem sort of civilized," said Tom. "This is one of the nicest places we have struck. Just the kind for a picnic."
The broad-leaved trees were over our heads, and there was an open space amongst them for our camp. The trees were old, and some with bent trunks on which we could sit and swing our feet. After the wide and lonely extent of plains that we had been journeying over, our camp among the trees seemed a cosy shelter.
But as evening came on our enthusiasm received a severe jolt, for swarms of mosquitoes came in from the levels between the two streams. We began to slap around our ears in frantic efforts at self-protection.
"Does this remind you of anything?" asked Tom.
"You bet it does," said Jim. "It was way back in Kansas where they came near eating us alive. I know when I tried to take aim at some ducks they settled so thick on the gun that I could not see the sight."
"Yes, I recollect building a smudge back of black Carl and setting his tail afire, too," I put in.
"We won't stay any longer around here than we have to," said Jim.
"How long do you suppose before we will be ready to start down the river?" I asked.
"We will get to work to-morrow," said Jim, "and we won't waste any time. It would not surprise me if we were ready to launch out after two days."
The reader will wonder what we will do now that the river is reached. Of course we had no boats with us and there was no place within five hundred miles where we could have them made. Nor did we have the materials wherewith to construct a boat.
As to our ponies we had no other course than to leave them at this point. We could not take them with us because we did not expect to build a Noah's ark. If we had been in striking distance of a settlement, Jim would have taken the horses and sold them.
However, we would not be out anything, as the ponies had cost us nothing, as we had captured them from the Indians, but we regretted having to leave our faithful companions who had once saved our lives when we were in desperate straits.
Of course we had not come so far without some definite plan of action when we struck the river.
"I don't think we could have reached the Green at a better point than this," said Jim, "because we have different kinds of trees to make a raft."
"It's a pity we couldn't have a boat," I said. "It would be so much easier to manage than a raft, and it would make better time."
"I don't know as it would be any safer," remarked Jim. "You could stove in a boat on one of those sharp rocks, but it would take something worse than that to break up a solid raft."
"If we are going to get up so early, we might just as well turn in now," said Tom.
"It will be a good way to keep off the mosquitoes," I said.
But we soon found that these pests were very persistent and kept serenading around our ears and settling on any exposed parts of our anatomy, so that we had to keep our head ducked down under the blankets, and thus curled up, we were soon fast asleep.
It was not uncomfortably warm, either, as there was a nip in the air that made the blankets seem all right. We slept a little later than was usual with us, for the deep shade of the trees shut out the rays of the sun, and it was a half hour before Jim roused us.
"Get up, boys, or we will miss our train," he cried, and he rolled us out of our blankets onto the ground.
We did not resent this, as it saved us the trouble of unrolling ourselves. It did not take us long to stow our breakfast away in the hatches and then, with an eager vim, we sprang to our work.
We had packed the necessary supplies and tools to help us in constructing a raft. We each had an axe. There were also big spikes and several sizes of nails. We had plenty of these. Jim led the way to the slope of the valley, just above our camp, where grew the tall pines and in a few minutes there was the ring of the axes as we jumped into the work, each anxious to get his tree down before the other.
It was jolly work as I made the big yellow chips fly, and swinging into the stroke with all the weight of my body, poised from the toes.
Jim and Tom stood squarely on their feet and struck in only with the weight of their shoulders, and as they sent in their blows with greater rapidity, it looked as if they would surely beat me out. But it was like a bad stroke in rowing, and was hard on their wind and taxed their strength.
"Oh, you're slow," grinned Jim with a gleam of his white teeth as he glanced over his shoulder at me. "I'll have this fellow down before you are half through."
My only reply was to send another blow with precision and a big, perfectly blocked chip flew into the air and came down on Jim's back. It was my turn to grin. "They laugh best who laugh last."
It was true that Jim's first tree came down a few seconds ahead of mine, but after that I beat him easily, no matter how hard he struggled.
Oh, I tell you, it was great work, cheerful and invigorating in that resin fragrant air. We soon stripped off our shirts and, bareheaded, we swung out glittering axes into the trunks of the pines.
I don't think that any of the old knights used their great battle axes against the gates of beleaguered cities or on each other's iron top knots with any more enthusiasm than we three boys did as we slew the pines. I imagined that I was Ivanhoe or Richard C[oe]ur de Lion and this added more vigor to my blows.
I think it would have pleased our old physical director if he could have seen the muscles on our arms and back and shoulders. Jim, long and rangy, Tom somewhat lighter, but with clear cut development, making for agility, while I was rather lithe, with symmetrical muscles and of tireless activity. It was a pretty strong, three-stand combination.
After the trees were cut and trimmed, the next thing was to get them down to the beach where the raft was to be constructed. Of course we had felled them as near the selected place as possible. Jim decided to press Coyote and Piute into service for snaking the logs down. Then there was something doing every minute, like in a three-ringed circus.
Jim fixed up a crude harness out of the ropes and hitched our broncho team onto the first log. They bucked and reared and kicked. Sometimes they varied matters by falling over backwards. We let into them with the whips, that is Tom and I did, while Jim held the ribbons or ropes.
Finally they started to run and the log went snaking down the slope, but in a minute they came to an abrupt stop, turning an unexpected somersault. But after an hour of gymnastics and acrobatics they settled into the harness like respectable animals.
After awhile we put Tom to work cutting saplings of cottonwood and quaking aspens. These were to be used for cross pieces to hold the raft together.
We had all the material gathered at the beach by the middle of the afternoon and we went to work to construct the raft. There was nothing so extremely difficult about it, but there was lots of hard work and it was not such a simple matter as making a raft to float on some quiet pond or down a gentle river.
There were some tough questions which came up and it took all of Jim's craft and strength to settle them, and Tom's ingenuity backed Jim up. The very weight of our boat was a problem, but three strong boys buckling into a job of that kind can make pretty good progress.
You can imagine how anxious we were to start on our dangerous and memorable journey. The call of the river was continually in our ears, and we would look way down the stretch of water and wonder what lay ahead of us in that far and mysterious land surrounded with weird plateaus and strange ranges.
"I'm going to put a keel on our craft," said Jim. "That will be the only way to keep her to the current."
"I'd like to know where you will find it?" I asked.
"Don't you worry about that," replied Jim. "I'll locate it all right. You fellows rest while I look around."
"I don't need a rest," I answered. "You lay out some work for us while you are scouting around."
Jim stood with his boot upon one log and his hand on his knee, supporting his chin. His eyes had a dull glaze and from this symptom and his attitude, I want you to know that Jim was cogitating, and it was a subject worth thinking about, too, for it was of great importance that we should have a raft that would meet the requirements of the river.
"All right, Jo," said Jim, "I'll give you a contract that you can work on until sunset."
He looked over our bunch of logs carefully and picked out the three largest and finest.
"You can begin on these," he said. "Take the adzes and the axes and go to work and hollow them out."
"What for?" I asked.
"You will see later," he replied. "Try to think it out for yourselves."
Then he took himself off and we went busily to work. We certainly had our task cut out for us.
"What do you suppose Jim is after?" I asked. "Perhaps he is going to have us hollow out a canoe apiece and go sailing down the Colorado to see who will reach the end or get drowned first."
"Maybe he thinks that it will make the logs more buoyant and they will float higher if they are hollow," suggested Tom.
"It will take us a month or more to finish all these logs," I grumbled.
"What shape do you suppose the raft will be?" Tom inquired.
"Something like this," I said, taking my index finger and drawing a square in the sand. Tom shook his head.
"That would be too clumsy," he said, "and it would be striking on every rock and would be terribly hard to steer."
"What's your idea?" I asked.
"Instead of having it square, I would have it this shape," he answered. And he drew an oblong figure in the sand while I looked on.
"Yes," I said, "and if it ever swung sideways to the current it would dam the river besides spilling us out."
"I would have a long steering oar on the stern and that would keep her head to the current," he replied.
"Yes, you would have a jolly time where there was cross currents. It would take about ten horse power to steer it."
"It's a lot better than yours," he said.
No doubt that was correct enough, but I did not take any pride in my ability as a ship constructor. Jim was yet to be heard from. And doubtless he would have improvements on both our designs. There was no question but there was room for them.
We went to work again at our task of hollowing the logs. We went at it fiercely because we wanted to accomplish something before dark. It was almost sunset now. Then we heard Jim's voice.
"Gee! Haw! Buck! Get up, Piute! Coyote!"
"By Jove, he's snaking down a big timber with our old plugs. Where do you suppose he got it?" exclaimed Tom.
"Swiped it from our next neighbors," I suggested. "It must have been part of the foundation, from the size of it."
"Hey, Jim, where did you corner that?" Tom yelled.
Jim did not deign to reply until he had brought the big timber alongside of the other logs.
"I captured that over there on the other side of the valley," he informed us proudly but indefinitely.
"Where did it come from?" I inquired.
"From some of the Union Pacific bridges, about six hundred miles above here," he replied. "Some flood brought it down."
"It's a fine stringer," I commented.
"There's any quantity of good stuff in the drift over there," Jim said, "boards and about everything else we need to make our old raft shipshape. It's time to knock off work, boys, now; you have made a good start on those logs."
"I'm going to wash off," I declared.
The rest followed my example. It was a close, hot evening and it felt mighty refreshing to get into the river, for we had put in a hard day's work and were dirty and sweaty, though we were not especially tired.
"Why don't you swim over to that rock, Jim?" I asked.
"Not for me," he said, shaking his head. "I know when I have had enough."
We did not stay in the water long and in a short time we were seated in camp, and with ravenous appetites were attacking our supper, our heads still wet and our faces shining red from the water and the sun.
We were just tired enough to enjoy sitting on the old bent cottonwood, swinging our feet. You know how you feel if you have been tramping all day or working in the fields, and after a good clean up, sit down to a square meal.
We were in high spirits as we had made a good start or rather laid a basis for our work. We certainly felt sturdy and adequate enough for anything. There is a peculiar feeling of strength that comes to one after a day of muscular exercise and we had had that all right.
"What are you going to do with that big stick, Jim?" I asked.
"That goes for the keel," he answered.
"You are not going to build a boat, are you?" I inquired.
"No," replied Jim, "but even with a raft you will have to have something to keep her in the current."
We got into our blankets quite early and slept like logs, with never a thought of mosquitoes or anything else. A mountain lion might have crept down and yanked one of us off and the other two would not have been the wiser.
Jim got us out the next morning before the sun was up and we were down at the beach working like beavers. I tell you it was a busy scene.
Tom and I, with axes and adzes, hollowing out the two logs. Jim went to work on his stringer, shaping it up and also digging it out after he had made some measurements of the log I was working on.
When night came, after we had put in twelve hours' steady toil I felt discouraged. It did not seem that we had accomplished much, but Jim was cheerful.
The following morning, however, after a refreshing night's sleep, it looked much more hopeful as I stood on the beach looking over what had been accomplished on the two previous days.
Jim's plans began to shape themselves and we saw what our new craft was to be like. His design was far superior to what we had planned. The groundwork was three of the longest and largest logs.
The bow was three feet across, the end of the logs being trimmed and shaped together. The stern was made by the spread of the logs and was at least six feet across. This end was also shaped up so as to offer as little surface to the current as possible.
The logs were held together by heavy planking that we had recovered from the drift. These were spiked to the logs. Before this was done Jim had fixed his heavy keel to the middle log.
He had hollowed it to the shape of the log so that it fitted to it and made it as much like a boat keel as possible. It was pretty well water soaked and half as heavy as iron.
"How are you ever going to launch this craft?" I inquired. "She will be sure to weigh a ton."
"We will come to that in a couple of days," replied Jim.
The crucial time came and we went to work to get the raft into the stream. We were aided by the fact that it had been purposely put together near a steep slope into the river.
By means of the leverage of long poles and blocks we raised it up, and with smaller logs placed underneath we rolled it down into the stream.
"Hurrah!" yelled Jim. "She floats like a duck."
It was a jubilant moment for us. We had worked hard and carefully, and it was worth while.
It was a quiet stretch of water in the bend, but we took extra precautions and had strong ropes at each end fastened to heavy rocks on the shore. Jim had also selected a very heavy well-shaped stone, and we used this for an anchor at the stern.
"It's taken us a full week to get her launched," said Jim, "but before we are through with this river we will be mighty glad that the old tub is so strong and shipshape."
We now executed a dance on her main deck, which was more remarkable for action than for grace.
"She's steady as an old rock," I said. "What shall we call her?"
"The Juanita," suggested Tom, who was always something of a gallant.
"Call her 'The Colorado,'" I suggested.
"Hold on," cried Jim, "I know a better one than that. We ought to remember our old friend. Call her 'The Captain.'"
"The Captain," we cried in chorus, raising our hands in military salute. So our boat was named and well named.
"We ought to finish the superstructure in three days," said Jim. "You would have thought it was an ocean liner to hear Jim talk.
"And the oars," I said.
"Yes and the cabin," put in Jim. "Of course," he said, smiting his chest, "the commodore must have a cabin and we want a place where we can store things and keep them dry."
"She will look like quite a boat," said Tom. "I suppose you will want to rig up a sail, too?"
"Never mind about the sail now, Tom," said our new commodore with dignity. "You landlubbers can go ashore, I'm going to sleep abroad."
Tom and I decided that we preferred to be onterra firmaas we were more used to it, so we slept in camp, leaving Jim on his beloved yacht.
The next few days were as busy as the preceding ones, except that the work was not as heavy.
When we went down to the river in the morning we found Jim busily at work. He was bending over, driving a nail in a board on the side and I struck him fairly with a carefully aimed clod of earth.
"Hello, commodore, how are you this morning?" I inquired. "Were you seasick last night?"
"What do you beach combers want?" asked the commodore severely. "I haven't anything for you to eat."
"We want work," said Tom.
"Come aboard and I'll give you all you want," was the reply.
"Did she hold all right last night, Jim?" I asked.
"Steady as a scow," he replied.
"What are you going to do to-day?" Tom inquired.
"You and Jo can work on the side boards," he replied, "and I will make the oars."
So we went cheerily about our work, feeling that in another day we would finish the job.
"How many miles do you suppose we will make a day?" I asked.
"That depends on the current," replied Jim. "The captain said that an old trapper told him that in some places the river went over twenty miles an hour."
"That's as fast as some trains," Tom said.
"Of course it averages much below that," continued Jim, "Probably it is going ten miles by here."
"We ought to make a hundred miles a day in some places, then," I said.
"You can't tell; sometimes we will have to walk," responded Jim.
"Walk!" exclaimed Tom. "How's that?"
"Well, climb would be the better word," he explained, "because we will come to rapids, where we will have to let it down by ropes while we are climbing along the cliffs."
"You might just as well try to hold a dozen runaway horses as that boat going down a steep rapid," protested Tom.
"That's so," said Jim and his face clouded as he thought it over. "Never mind, I'll back this craft to go through. 'The Captain' is no egg shell of a boat. All we will have to do is to hold on. You can't sink her and I tell you she's put together to stay."
"How do you think she will act in the current, being so much broader in the beam than at the bow?" asked Tom.
"You see if she isn't easier to steer than a flat bottomed scow," said Jim. "The way she is cut under fore and aft will help a whole lot. Then the logs being hollowed out makes her more buoyant."
The evening of the third day after this conversation found us ready to embark the next morning. All our supplies were aboard. What was perishable we had put in the deck house which was a little aft of the center.
It was made as near water tight as possible. The cracks between the boards we had filled in with pitch taken from the pine trees. In this house we stored our provisions, which we had put into boxes that we had made from boards that had come down in the drift.
Our axes and other carpenter tools were fixed securely by strips of leather into which the blades and handles fitted. Nothing was left to roll around at hazard.
We knew to a certainty that we would have fierce rapids to run and sometimes we would be awash from stern to stern. Our rifles had places fixed for them on the outside of the deck house, which was covered with tarpaulin to make it as completely water-tight as possible.
Now everything was finished and we stood surveying our boat with pardonable pride. It had taken nearly two weeks of unremitting toil, some of the working days being twelve and fourteen hours even. But it was worth it all. It gave us a sense of fitness and security for the perilous trip that we were to start on in the morning.
"'The Captain' looks like a man of war with all those glittering axes and other weapons. We ought to go out on the Spanish main."
"If she lines up to her name she will be a man of war," said Jim. "I wish it were morning so we could start. Let's have supper aboard anyway."
This was agreed on, and we soon had a fire built on the beach, and the blue smoke rising in a slender column through the absolutely still air.
Jim slept aboard, but Tom and I decided that it was softer on the sand, so we rolled into our blankets and with the sound of the river in our ears, as it rolled its volume into a narrow ravine below, we were soon asleep.
A shrill whistle woke us up.
"All aboard, steam's up," cried Jim.
It did not take us a second to wake up to the glad realization that this was the day we started. It beat all the holidays rolled into one for genuine interest and excitement.
Full of life and health and young, with a marvelous and exciting trip just before us.
"Hurrah for 'The Captain'," yelled Jim.
"Hurrah for the Colorado," cheered Tom.
"Hurrah for us," I cried.
A brief breakfast and we were ready to cast off. We had to say good-bye to our ponies. It hurt us more, in a way, than if they had been human beings.
They did not seem to mind and the last we saw of them they were grazing peacefully in the meadow along the smaller stream. Tears were in Jim's eyes as he took a last look at Piute. I did not have such a deep affection for animals as Jim, though I thought a good deal of Coyote.
As the sun came up over the eastern height of the adjacent valley, we were ready to start on our perilous trip.
"Now, shove her off," cried Jim. "Then to your oars."
Slowly we pushed her away from the bank, Jim at the stern, Tom amidship and I in the bow. In a second the current caught her and with a slight clip and rush we went down a little rapid, past the rock that Jim had swum to, and then out into the main current of the Green, and we were at last on our way to the Colorado.
For the first ten minutes nothing was said, for we had our hands full taking our first lesson from the river, and learning something of the ways of our boat.
I had the bow oar and Tom had the other oar just back of me on the opposite side, while Jim was at the stern with the big steering oar, which had taken him one day to make and half of another to put in place.
It was a mighty essential part of our equipment and Jim could guide her in good shape as he stood at the stern, bending it this way and that.
We found that we were able to fight the most capricious currents with Jim at the stern oar, and I pulling on one side and Tom backing water on the other.
Our first preliminary run was through a ravine, where the river was about two hundred feet wide. I had the most thrilling position in the bow, as I could see first what was ahead.
For the first three miles our course lay straight and the water swept steadily along with a tremendous power in it that made us feel our insignificance.
But at the end of the three miles the river narrowed to a gorge and I could hear the roar of rapids ahead, the first of many that we were to encounter.
It is impossible to describe the peculiar sensation of being dashed along helpless into something that we could not see, and the hazard of which we could not imagine. Judgment must be instantaneous and a single mistake meant destruction.