Jim depended on me very largely for his orders, as he had to give his whole attention to the steering oar.
"Now, Jo, watch sharp for rocks," he yelled.
I nodded my head. We were almost at the beginning of our first real canyon. It seemed like going into a cave full of hundreds of roaring lions. The white-grey rocks rose up for a thousand feet or more and there was no sunlight at the bottom of the canyon, only a cold, forbidding gloom.
We had no time to become frightened, there was always something to do, some quick decision to make, no time for backing out.
Then we shot down into the gloom of the canyon with resistless force. Never shall I forget that turmoil of sensation that was like the turmoil of the river around us.
About a hundred yards ahead a great rock divided the river. We were bearing down upon it.
"Starboard," I yelled, bending my head in the direction, and pulling with all my might, while Tom backed water and I could see the bow swerve as Jim bent to the steering oar.
Then we swept sideways from the rack. I thought we were going to be sent square over, flopped like a pancake.
We were on a big slant and I could do nothing with my oar. We plunged down into the river and a swift current was bearing us straight to the precipitous wall as fast, it seemed to me, as an arrow from the bow.
I had not time to use my oar, so drew it in and picked up a long pole that we had for just such an emergency. Tom sprang back to help Jim at the steering oar, and their combined strength made the boat swerve. How they pulled! Double their ordinary strength. It told though.
I braced my feet against the sideboards, near the bow, and as we came slanting to the cliff I shoved against the rock with all my weight and might.
The water piled up against the side bow and I swerved it clear by a couple of feet, and with a mighty wrench at the steering oar, we swept by the precipice and out into the river again.
"A pretty close call," shouted Jim and Tom in chorus, and I agreed.
There was no time for rest and congratulation. The rapids humped themselves all around us, and we held a straight course amongst them. In a few minutes a greater peril than the one we had just passed through faced us.
We could see a line of foam that seemed to extend across the river. An anxious look came into Jim's face. It was the first time that I had seen him look worried.
It was a quarter of a mile away. There was no place for us to stop, nothing but the precipitous cliffs on either side. We had to decide on a course and quickly.
"Through the center," yelled Jim. "It's our only chance."
Then I saw a split boulder in mid-stream and the water passing through it. It did not look more than eight feet wide though it may have been ten.
We swept down towards it at race horse speed. There was a terrible roar of confused waters all around us. It depended on Jim, for we had to draw in our oars entirely, quite a distance before we reached the rock.
It seemed as if we were going into the jaws of destruction. One swerve and we would pile up against the rock and be rolled over and over to sure and certain death. Escape was impossible in that turbulent and terrible river, with its onrush of water.
As our oars were in, Tom jumped back to help Jim. I knelt in the bow waving my hands to direct them for my voice could not be heard. Jim, grim, with tense jaw and lips curled back as if he were snarling at the river that would cow him, guided her straight and true into the jaws of the dragon.
On a full tide of water we rushed between the rocks that seemed to dash by as do objects by an express train going at full speed, not a foot to spare on either side. Then we plunged like a shot down the streaked incline of foam sprinkled water into the river below.
I thought the bow was going clean under, and I ran back toward the stern. Talk about going down hill on a sled, this beat it altogether.
This was the proper move, because our combined weight in the stern, of nearly four hundred pounds, helped to keep the bow up some. But she shipped a good deal of water.
After sliding down hill for a half mile further we ran into quieter water, and within an hour we were out of the narrow canyon into an open and more sluggish current.
"Tom, you steer now for awhile!" commanded Jim. "It's easy, and Jo and I will bail."
"I bet you feel pretty well used up, Jim," I suggested. "It was terrible work for awhile."
"I'll feel it in my shoulders to-morrow, I reckon," he admitted. "But what do you think of that last sprint we made between the rocks? That was a 'la-la-peruso.'" This was Jim's ultimate term of expression; he never got higher than that and he used it but rarely.
"Think of it!" I exclaimed. "I don't want to think of it. It makes me dizzy even now. What luck to get through!"
Jim's face sobered for a moment.
"It was partly my steering and partly providential," he said. "Otherwise we would never have made it. I don't believe that we will strike anything worse in its way than that."
After we had finished bailing, Jim sat on the deck house looking over his boat with commendable pride.
"Well, boys, what do you think of 'The Captain?'" he asked. "She looks all right to me."
"She certainly is," I replied, "and she don't ship as much water as I expected."
"She rides light for such a boat, too, keeps her head well above water," remarked Jim, "but one thing has got to be done and that is to cut holes in the sides so the water will drain out quickly. Otherwise we will be carrying a good many more hundred pounds than we need to."
"You come and try your hand at steering, Jo," said Tom. "It's lots of fun."
"It's a shame to deprive you of the pleasure," I returned.
Still I had some curiosity to see how she steered, so after awhile I relieved Tom. It was interesting work where there were no especial obstructions, and the current was running broadly and smoothly as it was at this point.
"She steers fine, Jim," I said. "You can get a big purchase on this oar standing up."
"See how you can get around that rock ahead," he called.
I could see its grey back bulging up from the water ahead, and the foam bubbling around it. I bent to the oar, swinging the bow around, and went by the rock in good shape.
"She certainly answers the helm all right," I reported. "We can manage unless there is a string of rocks right across the stream."
"It will be easier as we go along," said Jim. "Not the river, of course, that will get worse, but we will understand it better, all its little curly-cues and cute little ways, like slambanging you into a cliff when you think that she is going to curve the other way."
In the early afternoon we ran into a broader canyon with great walls set back from the river and thickly dotted with pines.
The walls were magnificent, over two thousand feet in height, reaching in curves ahead of us, and curving down to the stream in bold promontories.
"By Jove, but this is a fascinating business," called Jim, as we approached a great curve in the canyon. "You never knew what is ahead the next minute."
"Yes," I replied, "it is, but there is an uncertainty about it that I don't like. How do we know but there may be a waterfall just around the corner there?"
"It may be rapids, but no waterfall," replied Jim. "You needn't expect any Niagara to loom up, because the parties who have been down here before would have discovered it and that would have been all that they would have discovered."
"I bet that this stream rises sometimes," interposed Tom. "Just look at that drift caught up there on that cliff, that must be all of thirty feet."
"It isn't very low water now," said Jim, "which is lucky for us, for we would be knocked out pretty quick if we ran into a whole nest of rocks or at least we would get stalled."
"I reckon that only a light skiff could go down here in low water," said Tom.
"Yes," I replied, "but it would be stove in pretty quick if it should strike an outcrop of rock."
"I guess 'The Captain' is the boat for this business," commented Jim. "We will knock through with her somehow."
"More rapids," I cried, as we rounded the curve in the canyon.
Tom and I sprang to our oars, and in five minutes we were fighting our way through a bunch of foaming rocks, then down a bunchy descending current.
After a run of fifteen miles we came to a place where the river broadened into quietness, and ahead of us we saw a place where the waters rippled into a cove.
"There's the place to land," cried Jim.
We pulled diagonally across the river, and brought "The Captain" quietly alongside a gravelly shore that came down quite steep to the water.
"Let go your bow anchor there," commanded the commodore.
Splash went the heavy rock overboard with rope attached, and Jim let down the other anchor from the stern.
It seemed to me fine to be on land again. It was a relief to be out of the savage grip of the river, even for a little while.
"How far have we come to-day, Jim?" I asked.
"Between eighty and ninety miles, I reckon," he replied. "I feel as if I had rowed it myself. It gets into your shoulders handling that sweep."
"It's work, too, with the oars," I suggested. "We ought to be pretty powerful specimens by the time we have see-sawed down this river for a thousand miles or more."
"It's liable to make us muscle bound," declared Tom gloomily.
"Ho! ho! Tommy," cried Jim, slapping him on the shoulder. "You certainly are a lulu. Don't worry, you will never get muscle bound."
"But bound to get muscle," I put in.
"You needn't knock a fellow down," exclaimed Tom, wriggling his shoulder. "Might just as well be hit with a brick as have you pat me with that big hand of yours."
"It's good for you," said Jim. "Will make you tough."
"I've got too many things to make me tough," declared Tom. "We're plumb crazy to be tackling this river. It wasn't intended to be navigated."
"Perhaps not," responded Jim coolly, "but it is going to be navigated this time. I am going to fix our boat now so we won't have to bail when the waves come over."
So Jim went to work and in a short time he had cut three places on either side so that the water could drain through and back into the river.
While he was busy I went back of our camp with my shotgun, looking for game. At this point the walls bent back from the river for over a mile, and there was a growth of brush and of pine and cottonwood trees.
I had gone probably half a mile, when I saw a heavy bird rise from the brush ahead of me and light in a tree. It was too big for a grouse and I was puzzled to make it out.
Keeping cautiously out of sight I crawled up to within range, and, taking aim at a dark bunch among the branches, I fired and down it came kerplunk on the ground.
I ran quickly up, and to my surprise I saw that it was a fine turkey, a big gobbler. "My! won't this make the boys open their eyes and their mouths too," I mused to myself.
Picking up the turkey I continued hunting back towards the receding wall of the canyon. After a half hour's climb over rocks and through brush I came to a dark, narrow slit running westward through the wall of the canyon.
I decided not to go any further and perhaps it was just as well. Something made me turn around, and I took up the trail for the camp. I had not gone far before I knew that I was being watched and followed.
Once I caught sight of a stealthy figure crawling from bush to bush. I was not greatly concerned, for I did not think that the object of the Indian was an attack, but simply to stalk me, and find out my business.
When I reached camp, I found Tom and Jim busy getting supper. They glanced up as I approached. I had fastened the turkey behind me in my belt.
"You're a mighty hunter," jeered Jim. "Got nothing but exercise as usual."
"Just bad luck. I'm sorry, boys," I replied meekly.
"What's the use of being sorry?" growled Tom. "I'm tired of eating nothing but jerked venison. I want a change of diet."
"You do, you old growler," I exclaimed. "Take that," and I swatted him over the head with the turkey.
Tom nearly fell over with the shock and the surprise of seeing a real turkey.
It was the first that we had seen since we had left the hospitable home of our friends the Hoskins, way back in Kansas.
"Thanksgiving has come!" cried Jim. "Where did you put salt on his tail?"
"He was roosting in a tree back there," I replied, "and I just naturally called him down."
"Glad you did," came from Tom. "We will soon have him ready for supper."
"That wasn't all I saw," I announced with an air of mystery.
"Dew tell," remarked Jim. "I hope it was cranberries."
"No, an Indian," I replied.
"Where is he?" inquired Jim.
"I didn't bring him in," I said. "I guess he's over there in the brush, looking at us now."
"Haw, haw!" exclaimed Jim, turning in the direction indicated. "Come in Lo, and have some turkey," he called.
But the Indian showed no inclination to come forward.
"Why didn't you shoot him?" asked Tom.
"I only had the shot gun," I replied, "and then he may belong to a friendly tribe."
"That's so," assented Jim. "We don't want to make enemies if we don't have to."
We slept that night without being disturbed, and the next morning we were ready to start while dusk was still in the canyon, though it had been morning for several hours upon the upper and outer earth.
"How do you feel, Jim?" I asked.
"All right," he replied. "I was a bit lame when I got up. You boys were still sleeping, so I took the gun and went back hunting for turkeys."
"What luck?" I asked.
"Look in the cabin," he replied.
"Three!" I exclaimed, "that's fine. They will last us four or five days."
"I found all three of them roosting on a limb," Jim said, "two the first barrel, and the other one the second."
We now made preparations to reëmbark. It did not take us long to weigh anchor and with a hearty shove we were headed down stream.
Jim was at the sweep and I had my position in the bow.
"It seems kind of home-like to be aboard again," announced Jim.
"It does that," I replied. "We understand our craft now, and feel sure she will take us through if we do our share."
This was true. Perhaps we did not have the enthusiasm with which we started, but we had a confidence in ourselves and in our boat that had come through dangers and difficulties, encountered and overcome.
I felt a thrill of competence and expectation go through me as I gripped the familiar handle of my oar and settled myself ready to pull hard when the time should come.
I did not have to wait long, for now we were going through a continuous canyon with great walls of red sandstone, two thousand feet in height. After running a succession of rapids, dodging boulders this way and that, we saw ahead of us the sharpest canyon curve we had yet met. It seemed that the canyon itself ended right there and that the water was piled upon the great red wall opposite.
If you want to get the idea in a miniature way, take a board, put it partially across some little stream and see how the water runs up on the board and curves around the end of it.
Pull as we would we could not overcome the force of the current that was carrying our boat towards the wall. It would have required superhuman strength to have turned our craft.
We struggled frantically and Jim bent the sweep till it seemed on the point of breaking. The best we could do was to modify the force of the current.
We bore down on the cliff like a shot, as if we were about to ram it. But we managed to swerve the boat somewhat, and we struck the rock a glancing blow that jarred our boat through and through.
The force of the impact sent me hard against the side of the boat.
How Jim kept his legs I do not know, but before I had time to struggle to my feet, we had rounded the curve and were taking a dizzying plunge down the current.
To you boys of these days, it was comparable only to shooting the chutes.
On the downward slant the experience was like that when a buggy goes around a curve on two wheels, almost tipping over.
Fortunately our boat did not capsize. I sprung and got my oar as we shot down into the boiling river.
There was no time to be frightened, only to act. A great rock rose squarely in our way.
We were rushing down on it with the speed of an express train.
Jim bent the sweep into the rushing tide of the river and I buckled to the oar. We grazed by and down the rapids we went.
We were becoming used to incidents like this and did not make much ado about them.
We had a clear sweep ahead of us, but very rapid. The walls widened some, with ledges and shelves above the water. I was the lookout in the bow when I saw a sight that caused me to yell to Jim:
"There's a whole lot of Indians on the cliff up there waiting for us."
"We can't stop," grinned Jim. "If they want to say anything they will have to telegraph."
This was correct, for we were being borne along on a current that was running fifteen miles an hour, if not more.
"Do you think they are hostile?" Tom inquired anxiously.
"It wouldn't surprise me a bit," I replied. "That Indian who trailed me last night probably was a scout, and has told his people that we were shooting the river and this is the reception committee."
"Take to the cabin, boys," commanded Jim, "if they commence to fire things. I'll steer."
We had only a couple of minutes for anticipation, for we were coming down like a runaway race-horse toward the narrow place in the chasm where they stood.
Jim swung the boat over to the middle of the stream to get the benefit of the fastest rapids, for it was speed just now that we needed more than anything else.
We might have steered in close to the wall under them, but there was a nasty "sag" that would have rendered us helpless, and when we did get into the current again we figured that we would lose headway and make a better target.
We could make out that there was great excitement among the Indians, on the ledge some four hundred feet above the stream. There was little doubt about their intentions now, and they were not of the peaceful variety.
One of them had a carbine which he aimed toward us, a little puff of smoke and then there was a flick in the water back of us.
Others stood with bows drawn back at full strength as they poised forward and let fly a snow storm of their white feathered darts.
Swish, swish they cut into the water all around us.
"It beats the hail storm way back in Kansas," yelled Jim.
Six or more of the arrows struck in the boat. One transfixed the top of the cabin. As if stung, our boat leaped forward down the rapid.
Now we were almost under the party of Indians. As I dodged into the cabin where Tom was already curled up, I saw them stand poised with stones, some grasping them above their heads with both hands. Then they hurled them down in a regular hail. The water splashed in white foam all around the boat and the spray dashed in all directions.
One large round stone struck the bow splintering a board. Several more fell crash on the deck. Two grazed Jim as he dodged, yet stuck valiantly at his post, holding the boat to the current. He was splashed from head to foot with the flying spray. Fortunately none of the missiles struck the steering oar.
Finally a shell,—well it seemed like it, but I mean a stone,—came down fair on the roof of the cabin, splintering through and falling on Tom's leg. This smoked us out, and we crawled out on deck.
"Give those fellows a shot," yelled Jim, "make 'em dance, Jo."
I seized my rifle from the side of the cabin and leveled it back up the canyon at the group of Indians, who had given us such a warm reception.
It was laughable to see the effect upon them as I aimed. All that could dropped flat to the ledge, making themselves extremely small. Some clambered winding up the rough face of the rock.
I picked one of the climbing Indians and fired, the roar of the concussion in the narrow canyon was startling. It rolled back and forth like the thunder of artillery.
At my third shot an Indian slipped, it was one below the fellow I was aiming at, caught frantically at the face of the rock, missed the narrow ledge and shot down toward the river, whipped twice over in his fall, and with a great splash, disappeared into the muddy, whirling river.
I shall never forget the dark velocity with which that Indian fell. It was something appalling and it made me shrink inwardly, even if the fellow was our enemy.
"Good shot, boy," yelled Jim.
"He wasn't the fellow I was aiming at," I explained, "it was the one above him."
"Why didn't you keep still," came from Tom, "no one would be the wiser and you might have had the credit of a fine shot."
"I don't see it," I replied, "there's no real satisfaction in that sort of a bluff. Then, too, you establish a reputation that you can't live up to in case of need and that's no fun."
"Right you are, Jo," commented Jim. "Don't mind Tom's advice because he is going to be a lawyer."
"I'm more likely to be a cripple," retorted Tom. "That stone came near breaking my leg."
"To the oars, boys," suddenly cried Jim, "here comes another rapid. Never mind the leg now, Tom. We will run ashore as soon as we can."
So we took our places again. The board on Tom's side was smashed by a rock and as we dashed into the rapid we begun to ship water. Fortunately this series was nothing like so bad as we had before passed through.
In a half hour we got into quieter water and soon sighted a gravel beach at the foot of a cliff that here receded some.
"We will run in there and look things over," announced Jim. "Stand ready to throw over the bow anchor, Jo. The river is running strong there. We will have to catch it just right."
Partly by good luck and good management we did manage to lay alongside the gravel beach, though "the Captain" pulled taut at the anchors.
"What do you think of that for a scrape?" asked Jim. "Talk about it raining pitchforks, why, it rained arrows and hailed rocks. I know now something how it would be to be under fire in battle. But this was fun."
"You were certainlyunderfire if I'm a judge," commented Tom.
"It's a wonder you weren't struck, Jim," I said.
"It seemed like a miracle to me," he replied. "Why, two big rocks just grazed me and an arrow struck right between my feet and I don't know how many swished by me. They simply made a pincushion of the water around me."
"I'm the real hero," grinned Tom, sarcastically, "because I got wounded. It was a hard bump too."
"It's lucky that you had a roof over you," I remarked.
"You were just as lucky," he retorted.
"All hands and the cook repair ship," commanded Jim. "We might just as well get the surplus stones overboard. We don't need so much ballast."
There must have been eight stones of various sizes, but mostly round. The largest was about eight inches in diameter. The eight pounder, Jim called it.
"It made the old boat shiver when that landed," remarked Jim. "It's the only one that broke the deck."
It had embedded itself in the planking, and when he yanked it out we could see through to the water underneath. The other stones had left bad dents and bruises on the three half-inch planking, but none had gone through except the eight-inch shell above referred to.
"Lucky we brought those extra boards along," said Jim. "We will soon fix up that hole in her bow."
"And put a new roof on the cabin," I pleaded, "that's up to Tom because the stone that broke it hit him on the leg."
"You've got a logical mind, haven't you?" sneered Tom. "It wasn' my fault that the coon Indian threw the rock that did the smashing."
"Don't go to arguing, Tom," said Jim, "but get to work; Jo is just guying you, Tom," he concluded.
It sounded like a carpenter shop set up in that grim canyon, for a while, with the drawn rip of the saw and the ringing of the hammers driving home the nails.
Every sound was sent bounding and echoing from rock to rock on either side, until the canyon was like one great clangorous workshop.
In an hour's time we had everything shipshape again. The bow was repaired, also the hole in the deck and in the cabin roof.
The scars remained upon the deck alongside, but these we were rather proud of and we felt we had a right, for our boat had proved herself stanch and strong enough to resist every danger and every attack.
The arrows we had extracted and kept for curiosities. They were of darker wood than those of the northern tribes we had skirmished with. They were also tipped with a different variety of stone, with green streaks running through it.
While Jim and Tom were putting the finishing touches to the job I jumped ashore and busied myself looking for specimens among the shingles and small stones on the shore.
I always took advantage of every opportunity to get ashore, while Jim stuck to his boat like a barnacle and if he had been allowed his choice, he would never have set foot off from her.
"You can see where the boat's entire side has been scraped," I said, "she certainly looks like she has been through a battle."
"That's where the rock we bumped into took the hide off," admitted Jim, "but she's none the worse for wear," he continued. "'The Captain' will take us through many a worse scrape than this."
I could not blame Jim for his confidence and he had a right to his pride in her, for it was his skill that had made her a serviceable boat instead of the clumsy raft Tom or I would have planned and constructed.
His success showed us the value of patient, hard work in preparing for an expedition that was hazardous at the best and would have been criminally reckless, if we had not had some one with a good head like Jim's to guide us through. It wasn't boy's work.
I had a nice time of it, looking for specimens. There is a fascination about the search for some rare or precious stone.
You feel that the next step may bring it under your eye or that you may overturn some stones and find it hidden underneath.
I moved along carefully, keeping my eyes intent in their search among the small broken rocks and rounded pebbles. Suddenly my eye caught a clear glitter and I stooped and picked up a beautiful crystal, with its sharp cut sides and water clearness. A little later I picked up a green stone that looked like jade, through it was not so clear. My last specimen was a smoky topaz of mild, dark transparency.
I had been longer in my search than I realized, for I was so intent and interested that I did not note how time was passing.
"All aboard, Jo," Jim yelled. "Hurry or you will be left."
Tom was already pulling up the bow anchor and Jim stood ready to hoist the one at the stern.
"All right," I called back.
Then I stooped to look at a peculiar stone. I heard a cry of alarm and glanced up.
"For heaven's sake, Jo!" was the startled cry that reached my ears.
It was all that Jim could say. I needed no warning. The boat was drifting away from the shore, carried by the current rapidly towards the outer river.
If I could not reach it, I was absolutely lost. The boat could not return and I was shut in by inaccessible cliffs. There was just one thing to do.
I took a short run forward and sprang out in the river as far as I could in the direction of the drifting boat. Jim and Tom were doing all they could, but it was impossible for one oar to effectively hold against the current.
Jim had his hands full with the steering sweep. As soon as I lit in the icy river,—my leap must have been eighteen feet,—I struck out desperately for the boat. The current helped me, but it seemed to be carrying the craft on faster than I did.
It was terrible, I had to catch it or my death was certain. Nothing could have saved me. "The Captain" seemed as remote and unreachable as though the length in feet that separated us had been miles.
If you have ever chased after a train that was gathering momentum every second as it pulls from the station, a train that you feel you must catch, you can have a faint inkling of how I felt. Still only a faint idea, for there was no later train for me.
I had to fight back a blinding fear and panic. If my heart had become cold like my body I should have not had the slightest chance. I was a strong swimmer and in my desperation I actually pulled up two strokes on her.
Then she reached a swifter current and pulled away from me rapidly. I struggled on blindly, though I knew I was lost. A mist was before my eyes and I was conscious of nothing but a straining, strangling, struggling sensation.
Then my hand instinctively grasped something, and I held on with the clutch of desperation. It was a rope. I felt myself being drawn toward the boat. I had sense enough left to help myself onto the craft, then I collapsed.
I came out of it, in a few minutes and found myself lying alongside the cabin. For a second I did not realize where I was. I heard the roar of the river all around and saw the great walls of red sandstone towering up and up, almost shutting out the sky.
Then I saw Jim at the steering oar and Tom laboring at the bow oar, and it all came over me. I grew suddenly weak as I realized the narrowness of my escape and I clutched the boards and tried to shut out the sound of the river that seemed like a hungry and devouring animal that for a moment had been balked of its prey.
"How are you now, Jo?" yelled Jim, anxiously. "We can't do anything for you for a bit; we are in the rapids."
"I'll be all right in a minute," I answered in a hollow voice that I scarcely recognized as my own.
I decided that the best thing that I could do was to get to work at the oars and warm up, for I was chilled through and through to the very bone.
I staggered to my place and after I had pulled for a few minutes my blood began to circulate and I felt better and in a short time I was pretty well recovered, but I dared not let my mind dwell on the escape that I had just had.
That evening we made a cheerless camp, not being able to run out of the canyon and had to tie up at a place that was nothing but a narrow shelf of rock with a few tough and stunted bushes growing on it.
A grey rain, began to come down steadily into the canyon, the first that we had experienced, and we decided to sleep on the boat.
"Why did you let that boat get away?" was the first question I asked.
"It wasn't our fault," explained Jim. "It happened this way. When Tom pulled up the bow anchor the strain was too much on the other rope. It had become worn, I guess, and it parted near the stone."
"That was the rope that was trailing behind, I happened to grasp it and that was all that saved me. It was that close," I shuddered.
"No more talk about it to-night," said Jim, "you need a good sleep."
Jim rolled up in his blankets on deck, with a tarpaulin over him. While Tom and I lay under the cabin, with our extremities sticking out, but covered with canvas. We managed to feel quite comfortable and cozy with the rain coming down gently on the roof over our heads.
We were shut in and felt protected from the storm; and the roar of the river that swept by in the darkness only lulled us to sleep for we had become as used to it as a sailor does to the sound of the sea. Jim seemed to be perfectly comfortable under his tarpaulin and being on the deck of his beloved yacht, as he called his creation, he was thoroughly contented.
The next morning was grey and the rain was still falling but it seemed warmer than ordinarily and we put our clothes in the cabin to keep them dry and it was fun too, as the rain came down in a regular shower bath.
We shoved out into the stream and were soon racing down between the narrow walls of Dark Canyon, as we called it. Guiding the boat, and dodging rocks was fast becoming second nature to us and our muscles, those that we had not used much before, were becoming hard and bunchy as rocks.
Jim's work at the steering oar was the best all-round exercises, as it took in every muscle in his body as he stood bringing the sweep back and then shoving it from him as the boat needed to be guided this way or that.
He had developed great power and control and the sweep had become a live part of the boat just as the tail of a fish guides it naturally through the water with an instinctive wave, this way or that.
Tom and I often took the sweep with several hours of exercise at a time, but when the rapids became very dangerous Jim was always at the helm. It was a pleasure to see his sinewy form as it bent to the guiding oar, with a wary glance ahead every now and then.
By noon we ran out of the Dark Canyon and the river broadened out, the walls became lower and stood further back from the stream than at any point we had yet passed.
It seemed to give us breathing space after being cramped so long in narrow walls. We also left the storm behind with its dark grey masses piled up on the cliffs of the canyon and the wind was stirring the vapor around and around between the narrow walls as though the storm was boiling there.
The sun had come out with all the hot, intense brilliancy of the desert atmosphere. The river seemed plated with the thin silver of the sun and its current was moving lazily along at about four miles an hour.
"By Jove!" exclaimed Tom, "but it's fine to have the sun again after being buried alive in those canyons."
"It's nice to loaf along like this too," I said, "after sliding down hill at forty miles an hour for several hundred miles."
"Better get all our wet duds out," put in Jim, "and hang them in the rigging until they get dry."
We did this and then we took it easy for several hours. I laid down on the deck with my head on one of the saddles gazing up into the blue sky and basking in the sun.
We felt like sailors who have been through days of storm and who run into a calm in which they can sit on deck and mend their clothes and absorb the sun into their frozen systems.
We had the whole afternoon of this restful drifting and made a good camp in a comparatively open place.
"Let's climb to the top of the cliffs and have a look out," proposed Jim.
It was not particularly hard and we enjoyed having a chance to climb once more. In an hour we reached the top.
"What a splendid view," cried Jim.
It certainly was. The mountains that we had seen first in the distance, stood out with clear distinctness in their marvelous symmetry and sharp outlines, but robed in a mystery of blue enchantment. We saw nearer to us the wide landscape of the plateau land.
"See below there!" exclaimed Jim. "It looks as if a big river comes in there. It must be the Grand."
"Then we shall be on the Colorado River," I said. "I wonder if we will have any trouble navigating where the two of them come together?"
"I have read that there is quite a whirlpool, formed by the junction," replied Jim, "we will have to be careful."
"From the appearance of things we ought to be able to reach it to-morrow," suggested Tom.
"We certainly will if we have good luck," responded Jim.
"Do you suppose that we will find any gold or precious stones in the country that we run into below the Grand?" questioned Tom, who never lost sight of the practical side of our cruise.
"We stand a first rate chance," replied Jim. "One thing is certain and that is that there has not been very many ahead of us to get away with any valuables that might be near the river. I don't suppose that there have been more than a dozen persons down this river since the world first started rolling."
"Well, I certainly hope that we will find something that will repay us for all the risks that we have run the past months," remarked Tom.
"Just think of the experience you are getting. Don't you consider that valuable?" asked Jim.
"I have got a goldarned sore leg if that's what you mean, where that rock hit me," growled Tom.
"You've got a sore head, but you always had that," added Jim.
"It isn't sore from being swelled," Tom retorted, bitingly.
"If I ever want a lawyer with a razor-backed tongue, I will employ you," laughed Jim.
"You won't ever have the money, unless you strike something soon," remarked Tom.
"Let's not quarrel among ourselves, so long as we have the river and the Indians to scrap with," I suggested.
"Very well, old sox, we won't," concluded Jim, and Tom kept silent.
So peace was established, until the next outbreak.
It was the middle of the afternoon of the following day that we neared the junction of the two rivers, the Grand and the Green. We had considerable curiosity to see the uniting of the two great streams. We imagined that the surroundings would be "Grand and Green" as Jim phrased it, but we were to be disappointed.
The walls were neither so high nor so impressive as those we had already passed through. They appeared to be about twelve hundred feet high and were set back some distance from the river.
"We will make a landing," said Jim, "before we reach the junction of the two streams and get a bird's eye view of the situation."
"It's a good idea," I said, "I'll keep a sharp lookout for a landing."
I soon sighted ahead an excellent place in a rocky little cove, where the waters were quiet. Here we effected an easy landing and climbed up on a plateau of absolutely bare rock that extended from the river to the cliffs.
"What curious looking formation," exclaimed Jim. "It looks something like layer cake. A thick red base then a strip of grey and the red again."
There were low walls of this formation bordering the rock plateau and much recessed.
"Isn't that a strange looking rock over there," said Tom, "something like a bunty church with a round tower."
This expressed it as nearly as possible. Two-thirds of it was of the solid red rock with the broad white band of stone placed squarely upon it. But I cannot stop to refer to the many odd and curious formations, that came under our observation, for I would never have done.
After a walk of about a half a mile we came to a place where we could look down upon the mingling of the two rivers. They rushed together equally, the Grand being the clearer of the two streams. They whirled in a round dance as they met, forming a great whirlpool.
"We will have to look out for that," said Jim, shaking his head, "but I think we can avoid it all right."
We returned to the boat and prepared for the descent. Everything was made tight and snug. "The Captain" trimmed perfectly and we shoved off.
"All ready now?" said Jim.
"Ready," we replied.
We were feeling fresh and fit and were prepared to put every ounce of our strength into the pull. We dropped easily down until we came to the junction.
There were deep eddies carved in the water upon the outer edge of the whirlpool, within them was the deadly smoothness moving around and around. We could not see whether there was any central suction of a dangerous character and we did not intend to find out by experience.
We got into one of the outer eddies and then we pulled until the blades of our paddles bent almost to breaking, while Jim threw all his weight and strength against the sweep to cross the eddy that was struggling to get the boat into its slow, powerful control.
It was an obstinate, bitter fight. For ten minutes it was an even break, then with a supreme, united effort we burst through the chains of water, stronger than iron and forged out upon the united waters.
At last we were upon the back of the Colorado, its powerful current carrying us swiftly along.
"Hurrah!" yelled Jim, "we're off."
Tom and I were too breathless from the past struggle to yell, but we threw up a triumphant hand. We did not look back to see what we had come through. That we could never do on the Colorado, for there was always something to look forward to that required immediate attention.
"There's a big canyon ahead," I yelled to Jim. "It's got the biggest roar of any we have met yet."
"All right, Jo," answered Jim, "we will swing off to the first good landing."
This we found without much difficulty and we got a good night's rest to prepare us for the struggle that lay before us.
For the next two days we had a terrific struggle with this canyon, the most dangerous that we had so far encountered. In fact it was in many ways the worst we were to go through on the whole trip.
There was one place we ran through that struck me with terror. We came upon it early one afternoon. There was a sharp plunge downward of the river and on all sides it was beaten into foam among the rocks. In the center there was a swift, clear run, that ended in big successive waves.
We took it fairly in the middle. Jim had become too good a steerer to be beaten now. But when we struck the waves our boat plunged as in a heavy sea. Much of it would have made one seasick.
One big red fellow curved over the bow, knocking me forward and I was only saved from going overboard by grasping the side and holding on for dear life. It seemed as if the deluge held me under for a full minute, but it was only a few seconds.
My oar was shattered and I hastened to replace it with an extra one. We carried several for just such emergencies.
"Hello!" exclaimed Tom, after this exciting episode, "just listen to that thunder."
"Thunder!" cried Jim, "that isn't thunder. It's perfectly clear overhead. There is not a storm within a hundred miles."
"What is it then?" demanded Tom.
Jim listened for a moment. There was no denying the sound. It was different from the roar of the river. A deep rumbling bass with a grinding sound to it.
"I know what it is!" he cried. "It is the big boulders at the bottom of the river being rolled along by the current."
"Think of the force of it," I exclaimed. "I bet they are as big as a horse."
"Nearer an elephant!" cried Jim.
There was something appalling in a power that could play marbles with huge rocks.
"That's what helps to cut these gorges," said Jim.
I can give no adequate idea of this canyon. It was wonderful. In some places the walls were so perpendicular that they seemed to bend over us. But you must not imagine that the walls were all alike, and always perpendicular. For this was not so.
There was a wonderful variety. There were rounded summits of rocks standing back from the river giving the effect of their full majesty.
The walls averaged nearly three thousand feet. The prevailing color was the red sandstone but there would be broad bands of grey. Towards the lower end the walls were shattered into thousands of pinnacles rising in their piercing splendor towards the blue above.
Occasionally we swept past a narrow side, or lateral canyon. Our one quick impression was of narrow gloom between overwhelming walls.
"I wish we could stop long enough to investigate some of these side canyons," said Jim, "they look mighty interesting."
"There are no way stations on this line," I responded, "this is a through train."
It was with a feeling of tremendous relief that we finally emerged from this canyon safely. Battered and strained, but still alive. "The Captain" was still seaworthy and stanch but she showed many marks and wounds of the terrible descent.
Our next canyon of importance was just the opposite of the one we had just passed through. It was as the change from bitter winter to smiling, sunny summer.
What a relief and pleasure it was to get into the canyon on below the terrible gorge from which we had just emerged.
The walls were not so high by half as the upper canyon, but were of the smooth red homogeneous sandstone, in which were formed caves, grottoes and curious formations by the action of the water.
This homogeneous sandstone was like smooth broadcloth, compared to the rough serge of the granite or the tweeds of the thin bedded sandstone. There were also groves and glen with broad-leaved trees as well as pines.
"This seems like a picnic," said Tom, "after tumbling and twisting and turning through that old gorge back there."
"You just wait," said Jim, "till we come to the granite gorge of the Colorado, then you will have something to talk about."
"I won't wait," said Tom, "I guess I'll go home now."
"Stay, stay, fair sir," adjured Jim, "we will prospect in this canyon for gold and precious gems, the latter of which you can take home to the dukes and other members of the Royal Family."
"You can joke all you please," retorted Tom, "the trouble with you guys is that you haven't brains enough to appreciate my kind of books."
"The saints be praised for that," ejaculated Jim, "I may have my faults of reputation and of character, but no one can accuse me without being shot of reading silly novels about the Lady Arabella and her lover, Lord Lumox."
Tom's face had grown red with repressed anger and suppressed speech.
"Look, boys!" I cried in alarm.
"What is it? What is it?" they both exclaimed.
"Don't you see behind those bushes? There's a whole bunch of Indians."
Tom made a plunge forward for his rifle.
"Hold on," cried Jim, "don't exert yourself, Tom. Jo didn't see any Indians. It was just his diverting method of breaking up our little discussion."
Tom was so disgusted that he turned his back on us and became absorbed in the view down the river.
In a little while we heard Commodore Jim's voice.
"To the oars, my bonnie lads. We are coming to another dancing, prancing rapid."
Tom regarded the commodore askance.
"What's the matter with Jim?" he soliloquized. "He must consider himself a blooming poet. I guess it's because he hasn't had his hair cut for a year."
But all further repartee was cut off by the necessity of attending to business. In a short time we ran out of the rapids.
After passing a great wide canyon we came to a very remarkable place. At this point the wall was set back well from the river.
"Make a landing, Jim," I cried, "there's a tremendous cave ahead there in the wall."
"All right," replied Jim.
So we swung our boat over into a quiet cave that was sheltered by gently bending branches of some flowering bushes.
Making our craft perfectly secure we took the trail to this new wonder that was carved in the great cliff.
"Well, this is immense," exclaimed Jim.
That expressed it. It was.
"It looks just like the entrance to some great and ancient temple."
"Whatever made it?" asked Tom, in amazement.
"Water," said Jim, "by a process popularly known as erosion."
"You got that out of the physical geography," said Tom.
"I didn't say that I invented it," remarked Jim, blandly.
"How long did this job take?" I inquired.
"A few hundred thousands of years, I suppose," said Jim.
"How do you know?" grunted Tom, "you are just giving Jo a filler."
"Well, putting it another way,", said Jim, "it took about as long as it would for you to acquire a knowledge of spelling."
This was Tom's weak point, but all further controversy was cut off by our nearer approach to this temple. There was a broad arch of one hundred feet in the smooth, red sandstone through which we entered. Before this arch and almost in the entrance was a screen of cottonwood trees.
We stood within, silent, wondering at the majesty of the interior. It was like being under the dome of some great cathedral, though this had the added grace of being natural.
The temple was five hundred feet in width, and two hundred in height, with an opening far above in the roof, through which the blue sky was faintly visible.
It was not dark, for the light came from the entrance and dusky slants of sunshine came through the opening above. Our eyes were soon accustomed to the twilight of the place.
"Isn't it grand?" said Jim. "I never imagined such a place as this."
The floor was mostly of bare rock, smooth but not level, as it was worn concave or with rounding ridges. We crossed over to the opposite side facing the entrance, and sat down on a narrow ledge with a comfortable back of sandstone.
"Let's sing," said Jim.
"Tune up," cried Tom.
The sound was not echoed, but the dome gave it a deep, sonorous quality that was really impressive. As we sang we forgot all the hardships of the past, the uncertainty of the present and the dangers of the near future. We were back in civilization again and among our home surroundings and folks once more. The warmth of the sentiment softened us and did us good.