THE ATTACK
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 certainly _under_ fire 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.