CHUNKY WANTS TO GO HOME
Instead of a half hour, as had been prophesied, a full hour elapsed
before they reached the bottom of the trail that was practically no trail
at all. Tad was sure that the guide couldn't find his way back over the
same ground, or rather rock, to save his life, for the boy could find
nothing that looked as if the foot of man had ever trodden upon it
before. He doubted if any one had been over that particular trail from
the Garden on.
As a matter of fact, Dad had led them into new fields. But at last they
stood upon the surer foundation of the bottom of the chasm.
"Anyone needs to be a mountain goat to take that journey," said Tad, with
a laugh.
"No, a bird would be better," piped Stacy.
"I'd rather be a bug, then I wouldn't have to climb," spoke up Walter.
"Hurrah! Walt's said something," shouted Ned.
By this time Nance and the Professor had walked along, climbing over
boulders, great blocks of stone that had tumbled from the walls above,
making their way to the edge of the river.
The others followed, talking together at the tops of their voices,
laughing and joking. They felt relieved that the terrible climb had
come to an end. As they approached the river, their voices died away.
It was a sublime but terrifying spectacle that the Pony Rider Boys gazed
upon.
"This is more wonderful than Niagara," finally announced the Professor.
"The rapids of the Niagara River would be lost in this turbid stream."
Great knife-like rocks projected from the flood. When the water struck
these sharp edges it was cleanly cut, spurting up into the air like
geysers, sending a rainbow spray for many yards on either side.
What puzzled the lads more than all else were the great leaping waves
that rose without apparent cause from spaces of comparatively calm
water. These upturning waves, the guide explained, were the terror of
explorers who sought to get through the Canyon in boats.
"Has any one ever accomplished it?" asked Tad.
"Yes; that intrepid explorer, Major J.W. Powell, made the trip in the
year 1869, one of the most thrilling voyages that man ever took. Several
of his men were lost; two who managed to escape below here were killed
by the Indians."
"I think I should like to try it," said Tad thoughtfully.
"You won't, if I have anything to say about the matter," replied Dad
shortly.
"No one would imagine, to gaze down on this stream from the rim, that
it was such a lively stretch of water," remarked the boy. "It doesn't
seem possible."
"Yes, if they had some of this water up on the plateau it would be
worth almost its weight in gold," declared Nance. "Water is what
Arizona needs and what it has precious little of. Speaking of the
danger of the river," continued Nance, "it isn't wholly the water, but
the traveling boulders."
"Traveling boulders!" exclaimed the boys.
"Yes. Boulders weighing perhaps a score or more of tons are rolled
over and over down the river by the tremendous power of the water,
almost with the force and speed of projectiles. Now and again they
will run against snags. The water dashing along behind them is
suddenly checked under the surface. The result is a great up-wave,
such as you have already observed. They are just as likely to go
downward or sideways as upward. You never know."
"Then that is the explanation of the cause of those up-waves?" asked
the Professor.
"That's the way we figure it out. But we may be wrong. Take an old
man's advice and don't monkey with the river."
"I thought you said Dad's beloved Canyon would not hurt him," said Tad
teasingly.
"Dad's Canyon won't. The river isn't Dad's The river is a demon. The
river would scream with delight were it to get Dad in its cruel
clutches," answered the old man thoughtfully, his bristling whiskers
drooping to his chest. "Are you boys hungry?"
The boys were. So Dad sought out a comfortable place where they might
sit down, a shelf some twenty feet above the edge of the river, whence
they could see the turbulent stream for a short distance both ways. It
was a wonder to them where all the water came from. The Professor
called attention to his former statement that the river drained some
three hundred thousand miles of territory. This explanation made the
matter clearer to them.
Coffee was made, the ever-ready bacon quickly fried and there in the
very heart of the Grand Canyon they ate their midday meal. Never
before had they sat down to a meal amid such tremendous forces.
The meal having been finished and Dad having stretched himself out on
a rock after his dinner, the boys strolled off along the river,
exploring the various crevices.
"Isn't there gold down here?" asked Tad, returning to the shelf.
Dad sat up, stroking his whiskers thoughtfully.
"I reckon you would find tons of it in the pockets of the river if she
were to run dry," was the amazing reply.
"But," protested Tad, "is there no way to get it?"
"Not that man knows of. The Almighty, who made the whole business here,
is the only one who is engineer enough to get that gold. No, sir, don't
have any dreams about getting that gold. It isn't for man, at least not
yet. Maybe He to whom it belongs is saving it for some other age, for
folks who need it more than we do."
"Nobody ever will need it more than we do," interposed Stacy. "Why, just
think, I could buy a whole stable full of horses with what I could get
out of one of those pockets."
"Maybe I'll show you where you can pan a little of the yellow out, before
you finish your trip."
Later in the day the guide decided that it was time to start for the
surface again. But the boys begged to be allowed to remain in the
Canyon over night. It was an experience that they felt sure would be
worth while. For a wonder, Professor Zepplin sided with them in this
request.
"Well, I'll go up and water the stock, then if you want to stay here,
why, all right," decided Dad.
"I will go with you," said Tad.
"Professor, I'll leave the rest of the boys in your charge. Don't let
them monkey with the river. I don't want to lose anybody this trip.
Fall in there, and you'll bring up in the Pacific Ocean---what's left
of you will. Nothing ever'll stop you till you've hit the Sandwich
Islands or some other heathen country."
The boys promised and so did the Professor, and both men knew the lads
would keep their word, for by this time they held that stream in
wholesome respect.
Chunky, after the guide and Tad had left, perched himself on the point
of a rock where he lifted up his voice in "Where the Silvery Colorado
Wends Its Way," Ned Rector occupying his time by shying rocks at the
singer, but Chunky finished his song and had gotten half way through it
a second time before one of Ned's missiles reached him. That put an
end to the song and brought on a rough and tumble fight in which Ned
and Stacy were the sole participants. Chunky, of course, got the worst
of it. The two combatants locked arms and strolled away down the river
bank after Chunky had been sufficiently punished for trying to sing.
Night in the canyon was an experience. The roaring of the river which
no longer could be seen was almost terrifying. Then, too, a strange
weird moaning sounded all about them. Dad, who had returned, explained
that it was supposed to be the wind. He confided to Tad that it was
the spirit of the Canyon uttering its warning.
"Warning of what?"
"I don't know. Maybe a storm. But you can believe something's going
to come off, kid," answered Nance with emphasis.
Something did come off. Tad and Nance had fetched the blankets of the
party back with them, together with two large bundles of wood for the
camp fire, which materials they had let down from point to point at the
end of their ropes. Tad had learned always to carry his lasso at his
belt. It was the most useful part of his equipment. He had gotten
the other boys into the habit of doing the same. Rifles had been left
in the camp above, as they were a burden in climbing down the rocks.
But all hands carried their heavy revolvers.
A very comfortable camping place was located Under an overhanging shelf
of rock, the camp fire just outside lighting up the chamber in a most
cheerful manner. There after supper the party sat listening to Dad's
stories of the Canyon during some of his thirty years' experience with
it.
The wind was plainly rising. It drew the flames of the fire first in
one direction, then in another. Nance regarded the signs questioningly.
After a little he got up and strolled out to the edge of the roaring
river. Tad and Chunky followed him.
"We are going to have a storm," said Dad.
"A heavy one?" asked Tad.
"A regular hummer!"
"Rain?"
"Everything. The whole thing. I'm sorry now that we didn't go back up
the trail, but maybe we'd never got up before we were caught. However,
we're pretty safe down here, unless-----"
"Unless what?" piped Chunky.
"Unless we get wet," answered Nance, though Tad knew that was not what
was in the guide's mind.
Just as they were turning back to the camp there came an explosion that
seemed as if the walls of the Canyon had been rent in twain. Chunky
uttered a yell and leaped straight up into the air. Tad took firm hold
of the fat boy's arm.
"Don't be a fool. That was thunder and lightning. The lightning struck
somewhere in the Canyon. Isn't that it, Dad?"
Nance nodded.
"It's always doing that. It's been plugging away at Dad's Canyon for
millions of years, but the Canyon is doing business at the same old
stand. I hope those pintos are all right up there," added the guide
anxiously.
"Mebby they're struck," suggested Stacy.
"Mebby they are," replied Nance. "Come, we'll be getting back unless
you want to get wet."
A dash of rain followed almost instantly upon the words. The three
started at a trot for the camp. They found the Professor and his two
companions anxiously awaiting their return.
"That was a severe bolt," said the Professor.
"Always sounds louder down here, you know," replied Dad. "Echoes."
"Yes, I understand."
"Is---is it going to rain?" questioned Walter.
"No, it's going to pour," returned Chunky. "You'll need your rubber
boots before long."
"Move that camp fire in further," directed Nance. "It'll be drowned out
in a minute."
This was attended with some difficulty, but in a few minutes they had
the fire burning brightly under the ledge. Then the rain began. It
seemed to be a cloudburst instead of a rain. Lightning was almost
incessant, the reports like the bombardment of a thousand batteries of
artillery, even the rocks trembling and quaking. Chunky's face grew
pale.
"Say, I want to go home," he cried.
"Trot right along. There's nothing to stop ye," answered the guide
sarcastically.
"Afraid?" questioned Ned jeeringly.
"No, I'm not afraid. Just scared stiff, that's all," retorted the fat
boy.
The shelf of rock that sheltered them had now become the base of a
miniature Niagara Falls. The water was pouring over it in tons, making
a roaring sound that made that of the river seem faint and far away.
Jim Nance was plainly worried. Tad Butler saw this and so did the
Professor, but neither mentioned the fact. Their location was no
longer dry. The spray from the waterfall had drenched them to the
skin. No one complained. They were too used to hardships.
All at once there came a report louder and different from the others,
followed by a crashing, a thundering, a quaking of the rocks beneath
their feet, that sent the blood from the face of every man in the
party. Even Dad's face grayed ever so little.
The next second each one was thrown violently to the ground. A sound
was in their ears as if the universe had blown up.
"We're killed!" howled Chunky.
"Help, help!" yelled Walter Perkins.
"What---what is it?" roared the Professor.
"We're struck!" shouted Tad.
"Lie still. Hug the wall!" bellowed the stentorian voice of Jim Nance,
who himself had crept closer to the Canyon wall and lay hugging it
tightly.
The deafening, terrifying reports continued. One corner of the ledge
over their heads split off, sending a volley of stones showering over
them, leaving the faces of some of the party flecked with blood where
the jagged particles had cut into their flesh.
It was a terrible moment for the Pony Rider Boys.