A RIVER AMBUSH
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 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 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."