They came to the rapids, first, the Box Canyon, and, several miles
below, the White Horse. The Box Canyon was adequately named. It was a
box, a trap. Once in it, the only way out was through. On either side
arose perpendicular walls of rock. The river narrowed to a fraction of
its width, and roared through this gloomy passage in a madness of
motion that heaped the water in the centre into a ridge fully eight
feet higher than at the rocky sides. This ridge, in turn, was crested
with stiff, upstanding waves that curled over, yet remained each in its
unvarying place. The Canyon was well feared, for it had collected its
toll of dead from the passing gold-rushers.
Tying to the bank above, where lay a score of other anxious boats, Kit
and his companions went ahead on foot to investigate. They crept to
the brink and gazed down at the swirl of water. Sprague drew back
shuddering.
"My God!" he exclaimed. "A swimmer hasn't a chance in that."
Shorty touched Kit significantly with his elbow and said in an
undertone:
"Cold feet. Dollars to doughnuts they don't go through."
Kit scarcely heard. From the beginning of the boat trip he had been
learning the stubbornness and inconceivable viciousness of the
elements, and this glimpse of what was below him acted as a challenge.
"We've got to ride that ridge," he said. "If we get off of it we'll
hit the walls--"
"And never know what hit us," was Shorty's verdict. "Can you swim,
Smoke?"
"I'd wish I couldn't if anything went wrong in there."
"That's what I say," a stranger, standing alongside and peering down
into the Canyon, said mournfully. "And I wish I were through it."
"I wouldn't sell my chance to go through," Kit answered.
He spoke honestly, but it was with the idea of heartening the man. He
turned to go back to the boat.
"Are you going to tackle it?" the man asked.
Kit nodded.
"I wish I could get the courage to," the other confessed. "I've been
here for hours. The longer I look, the more afraid I am. I am not a
boatman, and I have only my nephew with me, who is a young boy, and my
wife. If you get through safely, will you run my boat through?"
Kit looked at Shorty, who delayed to answer.
"He's got his wife with him," Kit suggested. Nor had he mistaken his
man.
"Sure," Shorty affirmed. "It was just that I was stopping to think
about. I knew there was some reason I ought to do it."
Again they turned to go, but Sprague and Stine made no movement.
"Good luck, Smoke," Sprague called to him. "I'll--er--" He hesitated.
"I'll just stay here and watch you."
"We need three men in the boat, two at the oars and one at the steering
sweep," Kit said quietly.
Sprague looked at Stine.
"I'm damned if I do," said that gentleman. "If you're not afraid to
stand here and look on, I'm not."
"Who's afraid?" Sprague demanded hotly.
Stine retorted in kind, and their two men left them in the thick of a
squabble.
"We can do without them," Kit said to Shorty. "You take the bow with a
paddle, and I'll handle the steering sweep. All you'll have to do is
just to keep her straight. Once we're started, you won't be able to
hear me, so just keep on keeping straight."
They cast off the boat and worked out to middle in the quickening
current. From the Canyon came an ever-growing roar. The river sucked
in to the entrance with the smoothness of molten glass, and here, as
the darkening walls received them, Shorty took a chew of tobacco, and
dipped his paddle. The boat leaped on the first crests of the ridge,
and they were deafened by the uproar of wild water that reverberated
from the narrow walls and multiplied itself. They were half-smothered
with flying spray. At times Kit could not see his comrade at the bow.
It was only a matter of two minutes, in which time they rode the ridge
three-quarters of a mile, and emerged in safety and tied to the bank in
the eddy below.
Shorty emptied his mouth of tobacco juice--he had forgotten to
spit--and spoke.
"That was bear-meat," he exulted, "the real bear-meat. Say, we want a
few, didn't we, Smoke, I don't mind tellin' you in confidence that
before we started I was the gosh-dangdest scaredest man this side of
the Rocky-Mountains. Now I'm a bear-eater. Come on an' we'll run that
other boat through."
Midway back, on foot, they encountered their employers, who had watched
the passage from above.
"There comes the fish-eaters," said Shorty. "Keep to win'ward."