WHEN THE CHIEF WAS AWAY
Bob was asleep almost as soon as he touched the pillow. The long trip
on the train had tired him more than he had thought and he did not wake
until a heavy pounding on the door broke into his slumbers. Jerry King
came in when he at last answered.
“The Chief sent me up to wake you. Breakfast is almost over.”
Bob shook the sleep out of his eyes and hustled into his clothes. When
he came downstairs with Jerry he found that Mr. Whitney had already
finished his breakfast and had gone out. So he and Jerry had theirs.
During the meal Bob tried again to draw his new comrade out, but the
same unwillingness to talk possessed Jerry. Bob rather wondered what
was the matter. He had not been used to meeting with such reserve. He
remembered also that during the conversation on the porch the night
before Jerry had spoken hardly a word but sat in his chair motionless.
At last, giving it up as a bad job, he finished his meal in silence.
Steve Whitney met them in the lobby.
“Well, fellows,” he greeted them, “my orders have come, or at least I
think they will be my marching orders. A telegram has just been given
me. I’ve got to go to El Paso and meet the Division Superintendent. It
probably means my little vacation is over.”
“I’ll be glad to get to work,” said Jerry shortly.
“I don’t think you will have to wait much longer,” said Whitney
laughing. Then he turned to Bob. “Made up your mind yet? You can go
along with me if you’re going back East--”
“Not so’s you could notice it!” exclaimed Bob indignantly. “I’ve made
up my mind but it’s to stay right here!”
“Oh, if that’s the way you feel about it,” laughed Mr. Whitney, “all
right. Bob, I’m afraid the Service has got you. Now as to the future.
I probably won’t come back up here so I’ll telegraph you where to meet
me as soon as I know where we’ve been assigned. It’ll only be a few
days now, I reckon. My train’s going in a few minutes, so I’ll have to
hustle and pack. I’ll see you at the train.”
Bob got up early in order to see the Canyon at sunrise the morning
after Steve Whitney went away, but found that in comparison to the
sunset it was tame. Yet so inspiring was it that he was glad he had
taken the trouble. The panorama spread before his eyes was one of which
no other country could boast. Bob had seen pictures of it, had read
about it, and had been taught about it from his geography, but nothing
that he had read or heard or learned had given him even a faint idea of
the glory of the thing as it actually was, no matter what time of the
day it was seen.
After drinking his fill of the wonder he went back to the hotel to
breakfast and found Jerry King already at the table. The other boy
continued to puzzle him. Jerry made no effort to begin a conversation
and Bob refused to lay himself open to a turn-down by making the first
remark. However, as he rose from the table he asked if Jerry had been
down the Bright Angel Trail to the very bottom of the Canyon.
Jerry answered shortly, “Yes.”
“Go with me this morning?” asked Bob as shortly.
This time the answer was no--once was enough. So Bob, determined to get
as much fun as possible out of his enforced stay at the Canyon, started
out alone and joined the group of tourists in front of the hotel. They
were already preparing to make the descent. He decided to walk rather
than trust to one of the funny fat little mules which were provided
for the visitors who were too stout or too lazy to use the means of
locomotion given them by nature.
At last the start was made and after a walk of about a quarter of a
mile along the rim the party came to the head of the Bright Angel Trail
which led to the bottom. At first the going was fairly easy, but soon
the trail grew steeper and steeper and Bob was amazed to see the calm
way in which the little donkeys kept their footing, particularly when
they were carrying large and heavy human beings. Owing to the immense
zigzags that the trail had to take in order to provide a safe path, a
lot of ground had to be covered. Therefore it was not until almost noon
that the party reached the first plateau. This “plateau” is in reality
far from flat. It is merely a slight leveling out of the general
declivity about two-thirds of the way down.
Along with the most determined of the tourists, Bob made the final
descent to the bank of the river. It had been hot enough up at the
hotel. On the plateau it was fairly sizzling, but once at the bottom
the heat was intense. This probably accounted for the fact that the
whole party was quite ready to begin the return trip as soon as the
tourists got back their breath.
At the very depth of the Canyon Bob suddenly realized what the
Reclamation Service had to contend with. It was places like this which
needed feats of engineering skill to let people even get near to them,
that the Service had to contend with. Nature was the Service’s foe. Its
task was to subjugate her to its own ends. Of course this Canyon was
too big; the desert land was too far away for any irrigation project to
be thought of.
But it was in similar canyons, smaller, perhaps, that the Service built
its dams. Down the sides of cliffs like these, which even the mountain
goats had difficulty in mastering, the Service had to build its roads.
It was to such desolate beauty that the Service brought progress and
the service of mankind. In his imagination Bob saw the smooth face of
an enormous dam filling even this great canyon,--generating enough
horse power to run all the factories of the West, and collecting
enough water to irrigate all the homes that could be made on the great
American desert. Right then nothing was too stupendous a task for final
achievement. His whole being thrilled with the thought that he was to
be a part of the Service, that he was to have a hand in the great work
that it was doing and would do.
His mind busy with these thoughts, he found that the long climb to the
top did not bother him. After a wash-up he had supper and went out on
the hotel piazza. The sun had gone but its last banners of light were
flung up against the sky behind the farthest horizon. The depths of the
Canyon were black. Out of this rose myriad pinnacles, dim in outline,
rich in deep colors. Just at the opposite rim a strip of color spun
along, tipping the horizon with a golden glow.
“Wasn’t much after all your trouble to get down, was it?” said a voice
behind him. Bob looked up to find that Jerry had appeared.
“It was worth the trouble anyway,” answered Bob as Jerry settled into
a chair. He realized that Jerry’s remark was in reference to his trip
down the Canyon. “I’m mighty glad I went. I wouldn’t have missed it for
anything.”
“Well, I wouldn’t go again for a pretty,” returned Jerry. “Once is
a great plenty. Besides, there isn’t any chance of our ever doing
anything with this place. Anything useful, that is. I don’t know what
the Chief wanted to bring us up here for. Wish we were on the job. Hate
this loafing.”
“I wish we were too,” agreed Bob, warming up to Jerry’s unexpected long
speech. “Isn’t there anything exciting we can do while waiting for Mr.
Whitney?”
“Not a thing if we’ve got to stay here,” said the other and relapsed
into silence.
After a long period Jerry spoke again almost to himself. “If we were
only up Green River way, now, there would be a chance. I was by there
once. There’s a canyon there we might do something with--”
“Do you mean there’s a chance for a dam?” asked Bob.
“Yes,” said the other. “But it would mean tunneling through a mountain
to get the water out after the dam was built. That is nothing for the
Service if only we could get a road down into the canyon. Need it to
get machinery and materials down to the dam site. Nobody’s ever gone
through the canyon alive, so no one knows whether a road is practical
or not. Lots have started. I’ve sort of a hankering to try it.”
“What is it called?”
“The Labyrinth. It is only about sixty miles long. But in those sixty
miles there are more rapids, and bad ones, than there are in all of
the Grand Canyon. Well, I reckon there isn’t much chance of my ever
tackling it.”
“Why not?” asked Bob.
But evidently Jerry had used up all the words he had on tap. After some
sort of unsatisfactory answer he got up and moved off in silence in
the aloof way he had. Bob sat still and thought over what the other had
just told him. The plan of exploring this canyon which no one else had
ever been able to go through fired his imagination. He wanted to try it.
His reverie was broken into a few moments later by a bell boy coming
out with a telegram. It was from Mr. Whitney, and sent from El Paso.
Bob opened it and read: “Unexpected developments. Must go Washington.
Back within three weeks. Will wire further instructions.”
For a moment or two after he had read the message all Bob could think
of was that there was a long procession of boring days to be met. It
would have been a lot easier if Jerry King had been more of a chum and
less of a grouch. But orders were orders and it was up to him to obey.
He stuck the telegram in his pocket and set off to find Jerry, if that
was possible. Jerry had a way of disappearing, only to show up at meal
times.
He had not gone but a few steps before a great idea come to him. Why
couldn’t they try the Labyrinth Canyon stunt in the three weeks the
Chief would be away? This idea lent him speed in his search for his
companion. At last he found Jerry sitting in a tall chair watching some
tourists play pool. He went over to the other boy and said, “Come on
along outside for a minute, Jerry. I’ve got something to tell you.”
Once again on the piazza Jerry said, “What is it?”
Bob held forth the telegram. The other read it and said questioningly,
“Well?”
“Don’t you see?” said Bob eagerly.
“Don’t I see what?”
“We can tackle the Labyrinth if it isn’t too far away.”
“You’re crazy. That would take money. Besides it’s too risky for a
tenderfoot.”
But Bob was too much in earnest to take the last remark seriously. He
laughed. “Oh, I’m a tenderfoot all right but I know something about
paddling a canoe. Had a lot of it last summer and I can swim. And if it
is not too expensive, I’ve got the money. Any other objections?”
He pulled out a draft his father had given him before he had left for
the West. His father had said it was for emergencies and had drawn it
for a respectable sum. Jerry looked at the figures and whistled. “Oh, I
guess you’ve got the money all right. It’d be enough to put the thing
through. But it’s too risky.”
This was too much for Bob. He flared up. “I don’t see that _you’re_
taking me. If I want to go, I can go. You said you wanted to try it.
Now you’re the one who’s backing out when the chance to try it comes
along. I think it’s you who has the tender and _cold_ feet.”
“Cut it out, kid,” said Jerry. Evidently Bob’s tone of determination
had impressed him. Also the taunt about cold feet stung him. “I just
wanted to make sure you wanted to go, that’s all. You’re taking a
chance of never going back East again.”
“That part is all right,” said Bob, now on his mettle. The way Jerry
had taken his suggestion had got his fighting blood up and he was now
determined to go through with the adventure at all costs. “How far is
it to the place we start?”
“About six hours on the train,” was the answer. “We ought to be able to
find a boat when we get there. If we’re going to do it at all we’ve got
to start in a hurry. Otherwise we won’t be back here when the Chief’s
telegram is due. That is,” he added, “if we live to get the Chief’s
telegram.”
“Oh, don’t be so pessimistic,” said Bob. “I bet we’ll come through
alive and kicking. Shall we start in the morning?”
“I’m game.” And with this Jerry turned on his heel and walked off. At
the door he flung back, “If we’re going on that train you’d better hit
the hay soon. You’ll need all the strength you’ve got.”