The Frontier Boys in the Grand Canyon Part 28

"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," a.s.sented 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 reembark. 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 rus.h.i.+ng down on it with the speed of an express train.

Jim bent the sweep into the rus.h.i.+ng 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."