The Boy With the U. S. Survey Part 13

It was with a lurking fear that the burro had the better intuition of danger that Roger decided to attempt the ford that the animal had refused to try, but, so far as he could see, there was no other way out.

"He may follow me," said Roger aloud, looking at the little animal, "but I hate to leave him behind."

The longer he looked at it, however, the worse it got, and so, in order to test the feasibility of it, the boy sprang lightly upon the nearest boulder about four feet from the bank. Water to the depth of six inches was pouring over the stone, but he had paid no heed to this, feeling that it was easy to brace against a current of that shallowness. But if his feet ever touched that stone he did not know it, for the rush of water took his footing from him, throwing him headlong as though his feet had been jerked from under him by a rope.

As he fell, the boy threw out a hand to save himself and grasped a projecting corner of the boulder on which he had expected to land, and found himself hanging on for dear life with the current pouring over the rock into his face and almost strangling him. Very few seconds were enough to show that he had not strength enough to draw himself up on the rock against the force of the stream, but the bank was scarcely more than an arm's length away, and making a desperate lunge the boy reached it and clambered on sh.o.r.e, his breath gone and his nerve somewhat shaken by the suddenness of the peril.

The hope of a ford must be given up therefore; no boat or raft was procurable, and indeed could hardly live in such a torrent, bridging was out of the question, so nothing remained but to swim for it. Roger figured that, while of course he could not swim directly across, if he could manage to make any resistance to the current at all and would point up stream at a slight angle, the onrush of the stream would carry him across. A little distance below the ford he had attempted, the river flowed deeper with less apparent turmoil, and there, perhaps, was a chance to get through alive.

But the question of the wearing or the not wearing of boots was quite a quandary. If he kept them on, they would impede his swimming greatly, while if he took them off and did manage to get across, his feet would be cut to pieces in ascending the Canyon on the other side. But he decided to do one thing first, and if he crossed the river safely, then it would be time to consider ways of going up the chasm. Taking off his shoes he tied them to the burro's neck, feeling sure that even if the little animal failed to cross alive, he might be washed ash.o.r.e on the further bank and the boots could be recovered.

Then, unexpectedly to the burro, while the latter was standing at the edge of the bank, he gave him a shove and toppled him in and sprang into the water after him.

But, despite his previous little experience of the force of the current, Roger had altogether underestimated its power. He could not even face it, the impetus stunned, blinded, and deafened him. The river took him like a chip, and though in an aimless sort of way, he tried to swim so as to keep his head above water, he knew that he was being swept down the reach with incredible speed. As for the burro, he had not time to think about the faithful little beast, who was being swept down the river even more rapidly than the boy.

But, about two hundred yards down the river, there stuck out above the water a large projecting snag, which had been carried down the stream from the forests hundreds of miles above, and which had been partly buried in silt and thereby held firm. The snag being on the further side of the river, just as it took a sharp curve, had made a tiny shoal and the burro was slung by the current against the snag and held there by the force of the water. The donkey had hardly struck the snag before Roger, gasping and exhausted, came whirling down upon him, but his smooth wet sides afforded no handhold and Roger was slipping away from him when his hands unconsciously touched and grasped the animal's tail.

A violent jerk followed, and for a moment it seemed doubtful whether the wrench would not tear the burro from the crotch of the limb in which he was imprisoned, but the anch.o.r.ed tree held fast, and Roger, though his arms were nearly pulled from their sockets, fought inch by inch his way to the lee of the burro, grasped the snag, and finally got footing on a part of it below the water, where the current was not so swift. But there was no time to lose, so Roger, rapidly unfastening his shoes from around the burro's neck, threw them to the sh.o.r.e, which was about sixteen feet distant; then to get a start for a jump he balanced himself on the topmost branch of the snag and gave a wild leap for safety.

He could jump six feet, and with arms outstretched reach five, leaving scarcely two yards to cover. This the impetus of his leap should give him, Roger figured, but even those few feet were almost too much, and had not the sh.o.r.e curved a trifle at that point he might have been carried out toward the center of the stream again. But the initial velocity of his spring was just enough, and a moment later, with his heart beating like a trip-hammer and trembling with the exertion, Roger flung himself upon the other sh.o.r.e. The Colorado was crossed!

Roger's first thought, after a sense of grat.i.tude and relief, was for the burro, but for whose providential capture in the snag and whose most convenient tail, he would probably have been dashed upon the rapids below. He got nimbly to his feet, though considerably bruised and sore, and hurried up stream the thirty or forty feet to where he had left the animal. As he reached there, he saw that the burro had found shoal water under his feet and was pawing away for a foothold, thus loosening the hold of the snag upon the bottom, and the boy saw the tree begin to s.h.i.+ft.

"Don't, Jack," he called, as though he believed the burro could understand, "keep still till I help you out!"

But the companion of the boy's perilous trip took the shouting for encouragement and kicked all the harder, till a few seconds later, amid a swirl of mud and sand, the huge wreck of a tree rolled over and whirled down in the river in a confusion of branches amid which the poor burro seemed to have no chance. The very size of the tree evinced to Roger how furious must be the torrent of the Colorado in the spring floods, for the snag showed that it must have come from a pine not less than thirty inches at the base. The forking, broken and splintered limbs, however, projecting on all sides, caught in the bed of the river now that the stream was low, and this prevented the burro from being swept into the middle of the current, and suddenly, to the surprise and delight of the boy, a swift back eddy caught the animal and threw him up upon the sh.o.r.e.

Roger ran to him, but there was no sign of motion, the poor burro lay quiet as though dead. Heaving a sigh, for their twin peril had made Roger quite fond of the little animal, he turned to go, half-thinking that, if there were any future state for the four-footed part of the world, he would have a candidate to present. Then, sitting on a fallen rock, he put on his boots, his feeling of pride at the great achievement of having crossed the Colorado River only dimmed by his sorrow for his faithful comrade. Before leaving, however, he went back to where the burro lay.

"It's a shame to leave you lying there, Jack," he said, "but there's nothing I can do for you. Of course, I know you're only just a burro, but I do hate to say 'Good-by.'"

There was a great big lump in the boy's throat.

"I'd like to dig a grave, or--or--something," he added, "but I can't. It seems playing it low down on you, Jack, when I couldn't have got across but for you, but there's no help for it. It's got to be good-by!"

He turned away sadly, when, just as he did so, he thought he saw the little burro's side heave. With a shout of delight, he stooped down, though he had not the faintest idea whereabouts to locate the animal's heart, and was feeling for a throb, when, with two or three deep breaths, the burro opened his eyes and staggered to his feet; looking with a mild surprise on Roger, who was dancing the wildest kind of a war-dance round him and whooping enough to make it sound as though the Apaches were on the scalping trail once again.

But while the difficulties of the trip were by no means over, the dangers were now few. Roger knew that he was bound to strike the Indian trail which paralleled the river on the southern side, and that, if he desired still easier going, though probably longer, he had only to follow any of the terraces and he would strike one of the trails. He decided on the latter course, and with Jack following him with absolute docility, he commenced his long trip up the other side of the Canyon. On and on he went, hour after hour pa.s.sed, when, just as the boy had given up all hope of ever reaching the trail, the burro turned sharply and stood still. The afternoon was drawing on, and between hunger and exhaustion Roger was very nearly played out. Looking up, however, he found he could just discern the edge of the Canyon near the hotel, and he knew that the little black specks upon the brink were people, probably looking down at him, and all unaware of the desperateness of his condition.

His handkerchief had been lost somewhere, so Roger tore off the sleeve of his s.h.i.+rt to wave at the people, and a following glint of white told him that they were waving back. But it was help that he wanted, not greeting, and the boy puzzled his brains to think how he could signal at that distance. Then an idea struck him, and looking up to see that the people were there, he stumbled and fell as though to make them think that he had been hurt or wounded in some way. A rapid increase in the numbers on the edge of the chasm told him that his ruse had succeeded, and in a few minutes he saw several people debouch on the trail, which was only visible for a few yards from the summit.

He pulled himself together and started up the trail, but it was not until it was almost dark that the rescue party found him, the leader being a long, gaunt frontiersman.

"What's your name?" demanded the latter.

"Got anything to eat?" promptly countered Roger, to whom this was the chief need.

The frontiersman signed to one of the party who had brought some provisions along, and after the boy had been somewhat refreshed, the old man said:

"Now tell us whar you've been."

"I've come from the other side, down Bright Angel Canyon," replied Roger tersely, "and I came to get grub for the Survey camp."

Numerous inquiries brought from the boy enough of the story to give the members of the search party a fair idea of what had happened. He was too tired to talk, however, and contented himself with an appeal that Jack should be well looked after, and thereafter satisfied himself with sticking to the saddle of the mule which had been brought down for him to ride. When they reached the hotel the frontiersman walked into the rotunda with the boy, and as they stood before the desk, he turned to the crowd a.s.sembled and said:

"Ladies and gents, I'm no speechmaker, but I reckon we hadn't ought to let this young feller hit the bunk before we tell him what we think of a chap who is plucky enough to blaze a new trail across the Grand Canyon, and the first time in its history to cross it alone with one burro. This is Roger Doughty, ladies and gents, the first white man to cross the Grand Canyon alone."

Immediately all the curiosity-hunters that hang about those sight-seeing hotels crowded around the boy, but he would have nothing to say, and was far too wearied to undertake to tell his story. Bidding the clerk have all the supplies ordered for him early in the morning he turned to go, when his new friend, the frontiersman, said:

"Did you reckon to go back yourself with the grub?"

"Sure. To-morrow," said the boy. "That is, if I can get a little sleep to-night," he added pettishly.

"Then I'll go with you, boy. You've done a thing that will be talked about in Arizona, I guess, as long as the Colorado River flows. It isn't right for you to tackle the trip back alone, and anyway, I know the trail better than you do. An' what's more, you sleep till I call you myself to-morrow, and I'll see that all the supplies are ready and packed for the start. I'm an old hand at the game, bub, and you can leave it all to me."

Roger thanked him and once more turned to go to bed when he was intercepted by another group. The frontiersman stepped forward.

"The kid's going to hit the pillow," he announced, "an' I reckon that he's earned it. Any one that tries to stop him can talk a while to me.

Go on up, bub," which Roger, portentously yawning, proceeded to do.

So, laughing at the mixture of friendliness and bravado exhibited by the boy's lanky champion, the people stood aside while Roger stumbled upstairs and fell on a bed asleep. A few minutes later the big frontiersman followed him, and seeing him dead to the world with all his clothes on, even his hat being still crushed over his eyebrows; picked him up on his knee, took off his clothes and tucked him in as tenderly as his mother might have done, the boy never even growing restless in his sleep the while. That done, the burly Westerner, whose touch had been throughout as light as that of a woman, looked down on the sleeping boy.

"If that's the kind the government breeds," he said, "no wonder we can whip the earth!" and he went down to arrange about the next day's trip.

In the meanwhile the Survey party had progressed rapidly with its work, and on the afternoon following Roger's arrival at the hotel, they returned to the main camp. They thought it strange, as they rode in, that Roger should not have heard the horses' hoofs and come out to greet them, and Ma.s.seth felt a slight alarm lest the hurt to Roger's wrist should have proved more serious than was at first thought. On reaching the main tent, however, he saw a large piece of paper, held down by a stone. He picked it up. It was written, boy-like, as an official report, and read as follows:

"MR. Ma.s.sETH: Sir, I regret to report that James, the teamster, has got sick, and will not bring any supplies this week. He sent word that there was a lot of supplies in camp, but I could not find them. A cowboy from Bar X Ranch brought word. I have taken burro and will try to cross Canyon to get supplies. I hope to be back Friday afternoon or evening.

"R. DOUGHTY."

"By the eternal jumping crickets!" was Ma.s.seth's first astonished exclamation. Then, calling to the cook, "George," he said, "come here a moment!"

The cook came over and the chief handed him the letter. George read it through carefully twice, then handed it back.

"I got a chance to get a long price for some pretty stale grub, and it looked to me like a good stunt. How was I goin' to know that bally chump of a teamster was plannin' to get sick?"

"But the boy!"

"It's sure tough on the boy. It's a beast of a trip, even if he's sure of the trail."

"But he's only been over it once, and he could never remember that confusion of canyons." He turned sharply on the cook. "It's your fault,"

he said; "you ought to know better than to let yourself run out. It's never safe to go without some on hand for contingencies."

The cook thought it wiser not to increase his superior's anger by replying, so went to the cooking tent to try to devise some sort of a meal from the remnants that had been brought from the side camp. As for Ma.s.seth, the more he thought of the situation the less likely did it seem that the boy could have found his way, but he could have struck water somewhere, so that perhaps search parties organized on the other side might have a chance of finding him, but every hour counted. He talked it over with the a.s.sistant.

"Well," answered Black, "of course the dark's confusing, but with both of us watching the trail and knowing the landmarks, we can't get far astray. And we might drop across the lad. I'm ready to start any minute you say."

Ma.s.seth thought for a moment, then pointed with his finger to the chasm.