FACING GRIM DEATH.
Of what occurred then, neither boy had in the retrospect any clear
idea. Over and over they were rolled in a vortex of white water, each
clinging for dear life to his log. Then came a plunge into a breathless
abyss and, after what appeared to be an eternity of submergence, they
rose to the surface, half-choked and blinded by their immersion. There
followed a fierce fight with the boiling, foaming water at the base of
the fall, and then both boys found themselves almost side by side in
the quieter outer eddies of the maelstrom.
“Are--you--hurt?” gasped out Harry.
“N-n-n-n-no. Are--you?”
“Not a bit. But--what--sort--of--a--place is--this--anyhow?”
“Don’t know. It’s--awful--wet--though.”
In spite of his peril, Harry could not help smiling at Persimmons’
whimsical rejoinder.
Dashing the water from his eyes he resumed swimming, pushing the log
before him, for in some mysterious way throughout the awful buffeting
they had received in their tumble through the water, both boys had
retained their hold on their logs.
It was a rather difficult task to reach the shore, for their wet
clothing hampered them sadly and they were greatly fatigued. At last
their feet encountered solid ground. Like two drowned creatures they
dragged themselves up the bank of the pool beneath the fall and spread
themselves panting, on the grass, incapable for the moment of either
thought or speech.
“Woof!” panted Percy Simmons at length, gazing back and upward at the
fall, “do you mean to say that we came down that and are still alive?”
“So it seems. It’s a good thing we didn’t know of the existence of that
waterfall before we built the raft.”
“How’s that?”
“Because in that case we would never have had the nerve to use it.”
“Cantering cascades, I guess you are right! That was the wildest ride I
ever took in my life.”
“And the wildest you are ever likely to, I reckon.”
“Let’s hope so, anyhow. Hammering hummingbirds, what a drop!”
Both boys gazed at the fall, which thundered and boomed its white
waters from a height that appeared to be fully fifty feet above where
they lay, although in all probability the drop was not half that
altitude.
“Say, Persimmons,” murmured Harry presently.
“Well?”
“Has it struck you that we are mighty lucky to be lying here safe and
sound after all we’ve been through?”
“You just bet it has,” was the hearty response. “Walloping waterfalls,
if it wasn’t that I’m so hungry I’d think I was dead.”
“We’d better be seeing about getting back to camp,” said Harry
presently. “It’s getting late and they’ll be worried to death over us.”
“Not half so worried as we were over ourselves about twenty minutes
ago,” breathed Persimmons fervently.
“I don’t know about that. But look, the sun is getting low. We’d better
start.”
“Right you are; but how about your ankle?”
“It doesn’t hurt half so much now. I guess I can make it all right.”
“All right. But if it hurts you badly, I guess I can carry you a way.
Or maybe we can find a hut of some trapper or something where you can
stay till I bring help.”
“Got your compass?” was Harry’s next question.
“Yes; but the sun would give us our direction in any event. The camp
must lie over that ridge to the east.”
“Then we came under part of the hill and were brought by that river
down into the valley here.”
“That’s what. It seems funny to think of all we’ve been through since
we left camp this morning, doesn’t it? I wish we could have brought
back poor old White-eye, though.”
“So do I. We’ll have to get another pony some place, I guess.”
Talking thus, the two boys began to climb the hill under whose rugged
surface they had traveled by that strange subterranean route, bored or
shaken out there when the world was in its infancy. It was a strange
thought that theirs were the first human feet that, almost beyond a
doubt, had ever trod those gloomy rifts beneath the earth’s surface.
But being boys, they did not waste much time on speculations of this
kind. Instead, they munched what remained of their chocolate, a sad,
pulpy mess, and cheered themselves as they trudged along by thoughts of
a camp fire and a hot supper.
They did not make very rapid progress. Although Harry’s ankle was much
improved, yet it gave him pain as he walked, and from time to time
they were compelled to sit down and rest on a rock or a log. Both boys
still carried their rifles by the bandoliers, and an examination had
shown that the water had not injured the almost waterproof locks. But
the weapons, although lightweight, felt as heavy as lead on their tired
backs as they toiled up the rugged steeps.
“Well,” remarked Harry as they paused, not far from the top of the
ridge which they had crossed that morning, “camping in the Canadian
Rockies isn’t all fun, is it?”
“Galloping grasshoppers, no!” was the fervent rejoinder. “If this is
what the professor calls getting experience, I’d rather accumulate
mine in less strenuous fashion.”
“I imagine, though, that after a good night’s rest and some supper
we’ll feel different about it.”
“Maybe. But to-day we’ve done nothing but tumble in.”
“Yes, and we were lucky to get out again every time as easily as we
did.”
“True for you. I guess there’s not so much to grumble about after all.”
“Anyhow, we got a fine bearskin. It will help to remind us of this day
every time we look at it.”
“Thanks. I don’t need any reminder. I can recollect it all perfectly
well without a souvenir.”
They paused once more to rest Harry’s ankle, when suddenly young
Simmons gave a glad exclamation.
“Look, Harry! Over yonder among those trees! There’s a man on horseback
coming toward us. Maybe we can get you a lift into camp!”
“Perhaps it is some one from the camp. No; it isn’t, though. Who can it
be?”
Just then the solitary horseman emerged from the shadow of the white
birches that stood ghost-like against their dark back-ground of pine.
The red glow of the setting sun streamed full upon him, bathing both
rider and horse in a flood of crimson light.
“Why,--that’s--that’s one of our horses!” exclaimed Harry suddenly.
“So it is. Maybe that fellow’s been sent out to search for us. Wow, but
he’s a wild-looking customer, though!”
His shaggy hair, huge, unkempt beard and ragged clothes did, indeed,
give the horseman a mysterious, almost uncanny look as, with head bent
down, he came riding out of the wood into the sunset light. Suddenly he
raised his head and saw the two boys for the first time.
“Hey, mister!” cried young Simmons.
The next instant, with a wild cry like that of some animal, the uncouth
figure wheeled his pony and dashed off into the wood from whence he had
come.
“Well, what do you know about that?” gasped Persimmons, gazing after
him.
“I don’t know what to make of it. He looked like a wild man; but that
was one of our ponies, I’ll take my oath on that.”