A TERRIBLE EXPERIENCE
That evening as we sat on the bank above we talked over our experience
of the day. Then I bethought myself of the piece of folded bark and
pulled it out of my pocket.
"Here's something that I picked up in the rock hollow," I remarked.
Jim seized it eagerly and Juarez watched its unfolding with the keenest
interest. The word "bark" is only a rough term to describe it. The
document was really made of some sort of pulp, whether of wood or cacti
I could not say.
When it was spread out, the paper was 12x12 inches. There was a curious
drawing in the center with words written in Spanish, and in one corner
was the representation of a mountain.
"That's a diagram," commented Jim, "but I cannot make much out of it,
can you, Juarez?"
"I see somethings," announced Juarez. "That mountain is in Mexico. But
the lines I do not understand, but we shall see when we go down there."
"It is the key to the whereabouts of the treasure box," announced Tom,
"that drawing is. Only we have got to get someone who reads Spanish to
translate it. Let me keep it?"
"No," said Jim, decisively. "Jo found it and he can take care of it."
"Hold on," suggested Tom. "Let's make a copy of it for each one of us."
"That's the idea," I acceded. "Who is the best artist?"
"Let Juarez try his hand at it," said Jim, "he's the one."
So Juarez went steadily to work, and he justified Jim's choice, for it
was splendidly copied. His trained eyes and hand were evident in the
drawing.
The next morning we started on the last part of our journey.
"Heave ho, my hearties," cried Jim as we pulled up our stone anchors.
"All ashore who are going ashore," and we swung out into the easy
current.
"This is what I like," cried Jim. "Give me the boat every time."
"You teach me how to steer, Jim?" said Juarez.
"You bet I will," replied the commodore.
Juarez was an apt pupil and he soon learned to use his lithe strength to
the best advantage. It was of the greatest assistance to us, for it gave
either Jim or Juarez a chance to take the other oar on the side back of
me.
This threw Tom out of a job, but he did not mind, as his bruised leg
bothered him. Jim found him a position, however, for he stationed him
back of us to keep a sharp lookout ahead for rocks and other dangers.
He was really a pilot and his keen eyes were of great help. By a wave of
a hand he indicated the direction to Juarez in which to steer, and to
Jim and me he would call port or starboard.
Tom liked this. He was quick of decision and was not afraid to take the
responsibility. In an easy stretch he would lean against the cabin and
shout out his orders in a clarion voice, but in rough water he stood
braced on deck, looking keenly ahead.
"Starboard your helm," he would yell. Then we dashed safely by a great
rock.
"Now let her r-r-run," he commanded (slurring his r's) as we came to a
clear section of the river.
Tom assumed considerable style under the impulse of his new authority,
and we had to take it out of him at regular intervals.
It really was a fine plan, for we could give our whole attention to the
oars. Then, too, Jim and I were much stronger than Tom, and with Juarez
or Jim at the steering oar, we managed "The Captain" as though she were
a skiff. We had need of our skill, too, in the great canyons that were
ahead of us.
For a week or more we had easy work, as the Temple canyon was wide and
the rapids not so severe. But it was easy only by comparison with what
we had been through. To a fresh voyager it would have seemed terrific.
The weather was mostly clear and sunshiny, but one afternoon we ran into
a heavy storm almost like a water spout.
The roar of the thunder in the narrow gorge that we were going through
was terrific and the lightning streaks lit the gloom of the canyon with
weird intensity, flashing a strange glare on the red and turbulent
river.
It was exceedingly dangerous and wonderfully exciting. I do not know how
we would have managed if Tom had not been free to watch the river ahead.
It was so dark in the chasm that we could see only a short distance
ahead. And the roar of the river and of the thunder was something
terrible.
No landing could be made and we dashed blindly down. It was marvelously
exciting, and we were keyed to the highest pitch of efficiency.
The white line of foam would be the first warning we would have of a
rock ahead, then we would bend all our strength and sometimes our boat
would tilt on the current that ran off from the rock. It was close.
If we had struck head on we would have been in a most critical
situation. The lightning was of no real help, only serving to blind us.
Tom closed his eyes for the second of the flash so that he would not be
blinded.
Fortunately the storm was brief and we saw a beautiful sight when the
clouds cleared. On both sides of the canyon, from the cliffs twelve
hundred feet in height, sprang numerous little water falls.
Some amber, others tinged with red or glittering with the silver of the
sun. The largest in volume were four or five feet across, but before
they reached the river below, they feathered out in spray. These
cascades were beautiful indeed.
Several days after the thunder storm we had an overwhelming experience.
It came on us suddenly and without sufficient warning to enable us to
reach the shore.
It was a clear day and there had been no storm in our vicinity. We were
going swiftly down the current, in the midst of a canyon, with towering
walls over three thousand feet in height.
Suddenly my ear caught the sound of a louder roar than the usual tone of
the river. I glanced back and in my dismay I could give no word of
warning.
But the other boys had heard the ominous, thunderous roar filling the
narrow depth of the canyon. Jim sprang to the steering oar, and without
a word Juarez leapt to Jim's vacant place.
A great flood wave was charging down the canyon, filling it from side to
side, the center of it bulging and boiling forward in foam. It was a
terrific sight.
"Roll the stern anchor forward," yelled Jim.
The wave was a quarter of a mile away, coming down upon us with
devouring fury.
"Defy the dragon, will you?" it seemed to roar. "You are caught in its
jaws now. No escape."
Jim looked at it with a sneer of set teeth.
"We'll show you," he yelled. "You can't beat us, curse you!"
"Draw in the oars," he commanded, "into the bows; use the poles."
It was almost upon us. The stern began to lift upwards.
"Stand by to repel boarders." These were the last words we could hear.
Then we were swallowed up in a tumult of roaring, foaming water, whirled
downward like a straw in the furious onset of the flood.
By throwing all the weight to the bow we had kept from being swamped.
Our high, strong sides saved us for the moment. If anything could stand
the fury of that charge "The Captain" could. Powerful, braced like an
ironclad, unsinkable.
We rose out of the jaws into the back of the dragon, and were surrounded
by a chaos of rushing drift and some big logs and timber.
This mass held the waves down, and our powerful little craft, wedged in
for the moment, was carried along at bewildering speed. It was like
going down a cataract.
Then came a veritable battle of the logs. They tried to ram our boat. We
fought them off with poles as best we could. Occasionally we received a
blow that jarred "The Captain" from stem to stern.
One log bent a board back by a heavy, glancing blow. In a minute I had
it braced back to its old place. Without a second's cessation we fought
desperately but not wildly.
It was like a prize fighter tearing into a powerful opponent with
flying, flaying fists to forestall a knockout. The next moment a jam of
logs threatened to overwhelm us. It seemed viciously determined to
thrust us against the wall of the canyon.
Something had to be done immediately. Juarez was the man. Before we
could say a word, yea or nay, he leapt from the boat and on to the back
of the jam. Prying with his pole against the key log of the combination
he broke it and the freed logs swept down the current.
Nothing but his marvelous quickness and Indian litheness saved him. Just
as it broke he sprang, with the nimbleness of a panther from the log
that swirled back under the impulse of his leap, to the boat.