SAVED BY HIS NERVE
It was with a lurking fear that the burro had the better intuition of
danger that Roger decided to attempt the ford that the animal had
refused to try, but, so far as he could see, there was no other way out.
"He may follow me," said Roger aloud, looking at the little animal, "but
I hate to leave him behind."
The longer he looked at it, however, the worse it got, and so, in order
to test the feasibility of it, the boy sprang lightly upon the nearest
boulder about four feet from the bank. Water to the depth of six inches
was pouring over the stone, but he had paid no heed to this, feeling
that it was easy to brace against a current of that shallowness. But if
his feet ever touched that stone he did not know it, for the rush of
water took his footing from him, throwing him headlong as though his
feet had been jerked from under him by a rope.
As he fell, the boy threw out a hand to save himself and grasped a
projecting corner of the boulder on which he had expected to land, and
found himself hanging on for dear life with the current pouring over the
rock into his face and almost strangling him. Very few seconds were
enough to show that he had not strength enough to draw himself up on the
rock against the force of the stream, but the bank was scarcely more
than an arm's length away, and making a desperate lunge the boy reached
it and clambered on shore, his breath gone and his nerve somewhat shaken
by the suddenness of the peril.
The hope of a ford must be given up therefore; no boat or raft was
procurable, and indeed could hardly live in such a torrent, bridging was
out of the question, so nothing remained but to swim for it. Roger
figured that, while of course he could not swim directly across, if he
could manage to make any resistance to the current at all and would
point up stream at a slight angle, the onrush of the stream would carry
him across. A little distance below the ford he had attempted, the river
flowed deeper with less apparent turmoil, and there, perhaps, was a
chance to get through alive.
But the question of the wearing or the not wearing of boots was quite a
quandary. If he kept them on, they would impede his swimming greatly,
while if he took them off and did manage to get across, his feet would
be cut to pieces in ascending the Canyon on the other side. But he
decided to do one thing first, and if he crossed the river safely, then
it would be time to consider ways of going up the chasm. Taking off his
shoes he tied them to the burro's neck, feeling sure that even if the
little animal failed to cross alive, he might be washed ashore on the
further bank and the boots could be recovered.
Then, unexpectedly to the burro, while the latter was standing at the
edge of the bank, he gave him a shove and toppled him in and sprang into
the water after him.
But, despite his previous little experience of the force of the current,
Roger had altogether underestimated its power. He could not even face
it, the impetus stunned, blinded, and deafened him. The river took him
like a chip, and though in an aimless sort of way, he tried to swim so
as to keep his head above water, he knew that he was being swept down
the reach with incredible speed. As for the burro, he had not time to
think about the faithful little beast, who was being swept down the
river even more rapidly than the boy.
But, about two hundred yards down the river, there stuck out above the
water a large projecting snag, which had been carried down the stream
from the forests hundreds of miles above, and which had been partly
buried in silt and thereby held firm. The snag being on the further side
of the river, just as it took a sharp curve, had made a tiny shoal and
the burro was slung by the current against the snag and held there by
the force of the water. The donkey had hardly struck the snag before
Roger, gasping and exhausted, came whirling down upon him, but his
smooth wet sides afforded no handhold and Roger was slipping away from
him when his hands unconsciously touched and grasped the animal's tail.
A violent jerk followed, and for a moment it seemed doubtful whether the
wrench would not tear the burro from the crotch of the limb in which he
was imprisoned, but the anchored tree held fast, and Roger, though his
arms were nearly pulled from their sockets, fought inch by inch his way
to the lee of the burro, grasped the snag, and finally got footing on a
part of it below the water, where the current was not so swift. But
there was no time to lose, so Roger, rapidly unfastening his shoes from
around the burro's neck, threw them to the shore, which was about
sixteen feet distant; then to get a start for a jump he balanced himself
on the topmost branch of the snag and gave a wild leap for safety.
He could jump six feet, and with arms outstretched reach five, leaving
scarcely two yards to cover. This the impetus of his leap should give
him, Roger figured, but even those few feet were almost too much, and
had not the shore curved a trifle at that point he might have been
carried out toward the center of the stream again. But the initial
velocity of his spring was just enough, and a moment later, with his
heart beating like a trip-hammer and trembling with the exertion, Roger
flung himself upon the other shore. The Colorado was crossed!
Roger's first thought, after a sense of gratitude and relief, was for
the burro, but for whose providential capture in the snag and whose most
convenient tail, he would probably have been dashed upon the rapids
below. He got nimbly to his feet, though considerably bruised and sore,
and hurried up stream the thirty or forty feet to where he had left the
animal. As he reached there, he saw that the burro had found shoal water
under his feet and was pawing away for a foothold, thus loosening the
hold of the snag upon the bottom, and the boy saw the tree begin to
shift.
"Don't, Jack," he called, as though he believed the burro could
understand, "keep still till I help you out!"
But the companion of the boy's perilous trip took the shouting for
encouragement and kicked all the harder, till a few seconds later, amid
a swirl of mud and sand, the huge wreck of a tree rolled over and
whirled down in the river in a confusion of branches amid which the poor
burro seemed to have no chance. The very size of the tree evinced to
Roger how furious must be the torrent of the Colorado in the spring
floods, for the snag showed that it must have come from a pine not less
than thirty inches at the base. The forking, broken and splintered
limbs, however, projecting on all sides, caught in the bed of the river
now that the stream was low, and this prevented the burro from being
swept into the middle of the current, and suddenly, to the surprise and
delight of the boy, a swift back eddy caught the animal and threw him
up upon the shore.
Roger ran to him, but there was no sign of motion, the poor burro lay
quiet as though dead. Heaving a sigh, for their twin peril had made
Roger quite fond of the little animal, he turned to go, half-thinking
that, if there were any future state for the four-footed part of the
world, he would have a candidate to present. Then, sitting on a fallen
rock, he put on his boots, his feeling of pride at the great achievement
of having crossed the Colorado River only dimmed by his sorrow for his
faithful comrade. Before leaving, however, he went back to where the
burro lay.
"It's a shame to leave you lying there, Jack," he said, "but there's
nothing I can do for you. Of course, I know you're only just a burro,
but I do hate to say 'Good-by.'"
There was a great big lump in the boy's throat.
"I'd like to dig a grave, or--or--something," he added, "but I can't. It
seems playing it low down on you, Jack, when I couldn't have got across
but for you, but there's no help for it. It's got to be good-by!"
He turned away sadly, when, just as he did so, he thought he saw the
little burro's side heave. With a shout of delight, he stooped down,
though he had not the faintest idea whereabouts to locate the animal's
heart, and was feeling for a throb, when, with two or three deep
breaths, the burro opened his eyes and staggered to his feet; looking
with a mild surprise on Roger, who was dancing the wildest kind of a
war-dance round him and whooping enough to make it sound as though the
Apaches were on the scalping trail once again.
But while the difficulties of the trip were by no means over, the
dangers were now few. Roger knew that he was bound to strike the Indian
trail which paralleled the river on the southern side, and that, if he
desired still easier going, though probably longer, he had only to
follow any of the terraces and he would strike one of the trails. He
decided on the latter course, and with Jack following him with absolute
docility, he commenced his long trip up the other side of the Canyon. On
and on he went, hour after hour passed, when, just as the boy had given
up all hope of ever reaching the trail, the burro turned sharply and
stood still. The afternoon was drawing on, and between hunger and
exhaustion Roger was very nearly played out. Looking up, however, he
found he could just discern the edge of the Canyon near the hotel, and
he knew that the little black specks upon the brink were people,
probably looking down at him, and all unaware of the desperateness of
his condition.
His handkerchief had been lost somewhere, so Roger tore off the sleeve
of his shirt to wave at the people, and a following glint of white told
him that they were waving back. But it was help that he wanted, not
greeting, and the boy puzzled his brains to think how he could signal at
that distance. Then an idea struck him, and looking up to see that the
people were there, he stumbled and fell as though to make them think
that he had been hurt or wounded in some way. A rapid increase in the
numbers on the edge of the chasm told him that his ruse had succeeded,
and in a few minutes he saw several people debouch on the trail, which
was only visible for a few yards from the summit.
He pulled himself together and started up the trail, but it was not
until it was almost dark that the rescue party found him, the leader
being a long, gaunt frontiersman.
"What's your name?" demanded the latter.
"Got anything to eat?" promptly countered Roger, to whom this was the
chief need.
The frontiersman signed to one of the party who had brought some
provisions along, and after the boy had been somewhat refreshed, the old
man said:
"Now tell us whar you've been."
"I've come from the other side, down Bright Angel Canyon," replied Roger
tersely, "and I came to get grub for the Survey camp."
Numerous inquiries brought from the boy enough of the story to give the
members of the search party a fair idea of what had happened. He was too
tired to talk, however, and contented himself with an appeal that Jack
should be well looked after, and thereafter satisfied himself with
sticking to the saddle of the mule which had been brought down for him
to ride. When they reached the hotel the frontiersman walked into the
rotunda with the boy, and as they stood before the desk, he turned to
the crowd assembled and said:
"Ladies and gents, I'm no speechmaker, but I reckon we hadn't ought to
let this young feller hit the bunk before we tell him what we think of a
chap who is plucky enough to blaze a new trail across the Grand Canyon,
and the first time in its history to cross it alone with one burro. This
is Roger Doughty, ladies and gents, the first white man to cross the
Grand Canyon alone."
Immediately all the curiosity-hunters that hang about those sight-seeing
hotels crowded around the boy, but he would have nothing to say, and was
far too wearied to undertake to tell his story. Bidding the clerk have
all the supplies ordered for him early in the morning he turned to go,
when his new friend, the frontiersman, said:
"Did you reckon to go back yourself with the grub?"
"Sure. To-morrow," said the boy. "That is, if I can get a little sleep
to-night," he added pettishly.
"Then I'll go with you, boy. You've done a thing that will be talked
about in Arizona, I guess, as long as the Colorado River flows. It isn't
right for you to tackle the trip back alone, and anyway, I know the
trail better than you do. An' what's more, you sleep till I call you
myself to-morrow, and I'll see that all the supplies are ready and
packed for the start. I'm an old hand at the game, bub, and you can
leave it all to me."
Roger thanked him and once more turned to go to bed when he was
intercepted by another group. The frontiersman stepped forward.
"The kid's going to hit the pillow," he announced, "an' I reckon that
he's earned it. Any one that tries to stop him can talk a while to me.
Go on up, bub," which Roger, portentously yawning, proceeded to do.
So, laughing at the mixture of friendliness and bravado exhibited by the
boy's lanky champion, the people stood aside while Roger stumbled
upstairs and fell on a bed asleep. A few minutes later the big
frontiersman followed him, and seeing him dead to the world with all his
clothes on, even his hat being still crushed over his eyebrows; picked
him up on his knee, took off his clothes and tucked him in as tenderly
as his mother might have done, the boy never even growing restless in
his sleep the while. That done, the burly Westerner, whose touch had
been throughout as light as that of a woman, looked down on the sleeping
boy.
"If that's the kind the government breeds," he said, "no wonder we can
whip the earth!" and he went down to arrange about the next day's trip.
In the meanwhile the Survey party had progressed rapidly with its work,
and on the afternoon following Roger's arrival at the hotel, they
returned to the main camp. They thought it strange, as they rode in,
that Roger should not have heard the horses' hoofs and come out to greet
them, and Masseth felt a slight alarm lest the hurt to Roger's wrist
should have proved more serious than was at first thought. On reaching
the main tent, however, he saw a large piece of paper, held down by a
stone. He picked it up. It was written, boy-like, as an official report,
and read as follows:
"MR. MASSETH: Sir, I regret to report that James, the
teamster, has got sick, and will not bring any supplies
this week. He sent word that there was a lot of
supplies in camp, but I could not find them. A cowboy
from Bar X Ranch brought word. I have taken burro and
will try to cross Canyon to get supplies. I hope to be
back Friday afternoon or evening.
"R. DOUGHTY."
"By the eternal jumping crickets!" was Masseth's first astonished
exclamation. Then, calling to the cook, "George," he said, "come here a
moment!"
The cook came over and the chief handed him the letter. George read it
through carefully twice, then handed it back.
"I got a chance to get a long price for some pretty stale grub, and it
looked to me like a good stunt. How was I goin' to know that bally chump
of a teamster was plannin' to get sick?"
"But the boy!"
"It's sure tough on the boy. It's a beast of a trip, even if he's sure
of the trail."
"But he's only been over it once, and he could never remember that
confusion of canyons." He turned sharply on the cook. "It's your fault,"
he said; "you ought to know better than to let yourself run out. It's
never safe to go without some on hand for contingencies."
The cook thought it wiser not to increase his superior's anger by
replying, so went to the cooking tent to try to devise some sort of a
meal from the remnants that had been brought from the side camp. As for
Masseth, the more he thought of the situation the less likely did it
seem that the boy could have found his way, but he could have struck
water somewhere, so that perhaps search parties organized on the other
side might have a chance of finding him, but every hour counted. He
talked it over with the assistant.
"Well," answered Black, "of course the dark's confusing, but with both
of us watching the trail and knowing the landmarks, we can't get far
astray. And we might drop across the lad. I'm ready to start any minute
you say."
Masseth thought for a moment, then pointed with his finger to the chasm.
"I don't believe any of us would be comfortable to-night," he said,
"knowing that the lad was down there, when for all we know he may be
dying of starvation and the loneliness of desolation, just within our
reach. A bite to eat, whatever there is, and then an immediate start."
Gathered to the hasty and scanty supper, the cook found himself in a
position of extreme discomfort, though no blame was attached to him. He
had acted for the best and this result could not have been foreseen.
Perhaps it was because his nerves were unusually upon the strain that he
was the first to hear a sound along the chasm. He held up his hand to
enjoin silence, and in a moment or two horses' hoofs and voices were
heard. Then, looming unnaturally large in the last flush of twilight
before the darkness fell, came two figures, one on a tall iron-gray
horse, one on a mule, with a burro plodding along patiently behind.
A stentorian voice hailed them from the distance.
"Hey, there!" it said.
"Well?" called back Masseth.
The second of the oncomers answered, this time in a boy's voice.
"Oh, Mr. Masseth, have you been back long?"
"It's the boy," said the topographer solemnly, but with a note of joy in
his voice, "and his life won't be laid at my door;" the soberness of
words and tone revealing how keenly the fear of Roger's peril had been
pressing on him.
When the two rode up the boy introduced his frontiersman friend to the
chief of the party, the while he was being untied from the saddle, to
which, in his still exhausted and stiffened state, he had been fastened.
But introductions, however informal, did not stop the big Westerner from
speaking his mind.
"I'm thinkin' there's some thunderin' big fools in this here party," he
announced in his abrupt way, "that can get matters into such a hole
that a youngster has to start off on a crazy trip like that, but I want
to state that the boy is pay dirt all through. He's not only crossed the
Canyon alone, but he's found a new trail!"
"Where?" asked Masseth eagerly, thinking it wiser to ignore the
stranger's criticism rather than debate the point.
"Down Bright Angel Canyon, Mr. Masseth," answered the boy. "It wasn't so
awfully bad, except in a few places."
"But how did you get through?"
"I went down by the spring," answered Roger, "keeping to the right,
until I got wedged in between two cliffs, pink in color with a broad
band of slate blue about two-thirds of the way up."
"That's usually a bad wall!" interjected Masseth. "How did you cross
it?"
Roger described the device he had used, and received the encomiums of
all his comrades for the work, and then, as briefly as he could, gave an
outline of the various points of interest on the way.
He was especially gratified, when, after telling how he had got out of
the pocket of rock, Masseth turned to his assistant.
"We'll chart that as Doughty Point," he said, "for the boy's sake."
The boy flushed with delight at having his name given to a part of the
country, just like a real explorer, and cast a grateful look at his
chief.
"It was just beyond that that I struck water. The ravine sloped abruptly
for about one hundred feet, then struck an upcurving rock and gave a
little jump like a fellow does on skis and fell like a long silver
ribbon for about two hundred feet. I suppose that is Bright Angel
Creek?"
"And rightly named," put in the assistant topographer, nodding his head
affirmatively, "any stream that doesn't run dry in this sort of country
is angelic, all right."
Roger continued his story of the trip, describing points which he had
noted, Masseth naming them, "Deva Temple," "Brahma Temple," "Zoroaster
Temple," etc., and at last he fixed the route by its relation to "Cheops
Pyramid," one of the well-known configurations of the Canyon.
"But on which side of the creek were you, when you saw the pyramid?"
asked the chief.
"On the other side from it," answered Roger.
"If you had only crossed once more, or once less, it would have brought
you to the main trail where the boat is," said Masseth regretfully.
"But how in the world did you cross?"
So Roger told the story of the burro, and the manner in which he had
been caught in the crotch of a snag; and the party, though old hands at
the business, hung on his tale as though they had been so many
greenhorns. He told, moreover, as well as he could, his route up the
other side, until the frontiersman took up the story from the point
where the lad had been seen by the spectators on the edge of the Canyon,
near the hotel.
The last few sentences of the boy's story had been somewhat incoherent,
for the long trip of that day, following his arduous experiences alone
had been too much for him, and he could not keep his eyes open. He was
promptly taken to his tent and bidden to sleep, the while the
frontiersman described enthusiastically the boy's pluck and nerve.
"And I thought, by thunder," he concluded, "that the overschooled kids
of this generation were a pack of milksops, but I see there's grit in an
American boy yet!"