HOWARD IN DANGER
"It's Howard Fenton!" cried Sam Randall, in terrified tones. "Can't
something be done to save him?"
"The boat will be carried into the gorge, as sure as fate," groaned
Phil Levins. "See--it's moving faster every minute."
"Awful!" breathed Tom Clifton. "Awful to stand here and see that!"
Into the minds of each flashed the dreadful conviction that Howard
Fenton was doomed. Spellbound, they watched the "Dauntless" struggling
in the current, tossing about like a chip, now floating broadside,
then stern foremost, and each moment nearing the dark, gloomy gorge of
Canyon River.
Sam Randall brought out his field-glass.
"I see Howard plainly," he gasped. "He's holding on to a rope. The
water is rough out there. Great Scott! This is terrible!"
"I wonder how it happened," groaned pale-faced Tom Clifton.
"It seems like an awful dream," panted Phil. "See how fast the
'Dauntless' is going now. In a few minutes he'll be in the gorge."
"Oh, why did we ever ask Howard to come over?"
Sam Randall directed his glass toward the base of the cliff, and a
shiver ran through him.
A ridge of white foam shot up against the dark rocks which rose sheer
from the water. There was nothing in that glance to inspire hope, and
breathlessly they waited.
Glittering in the sunshine, the white hull, tossing and pitching
violently, shot toward the base of Round Mountain.
"Poor Howard," groaned Sam. "No hope now. The 'Dauntless' is in the
gorge."
[Illustration: "THE DAUNTLESS IS IN THE GORGE."]
He turned away to hide his feelings, and when he looked again the boat
was sweeping rapidly between the cliffs. Silently the boys watched,
until the jutting crag hid it from view, and then, with heavy hearts,
retraced their steps. For some time none could trust themselves to
speak.
"What an awful difference a few hours has made," said Sam, finally, in
an unsteady voice. "Poor Howard, I can't understand how he was ever
caught like that."
"Looked to me as if the 'Dauntless' had lost its rudder," answered
Phil, tremulously. "The wind's pretty strong, too, and if an accident
happened near the passageway it would be easy to get carried out."
"Never felt so bad in all my life," put in Tom Clifton. "Fenton was
such a jolly good chap."
"I can't help feeling that Howard will be saved in some way," said Sam.
But Phil Levins shook his head gloomily.
"You don't know Canyon River, Sam," he exclaimed. "Everybody will tell
you that Fenton hasn't a chance."
They soon reached the "Spray," and hastily embarked. So eager were they
to get ashore that the boat seemed to move at a snail's pace. But once
outside the passageway, a good, stiff breeze carried them along at a
rattling clip. They were obliged to tack many times, and their patience
was sorely tried.
At length, however, the hotel wharf was reached, and the boys jumped
ashore.
They found great excitement at the Resort House. Groups had
congregated, eagerly discussing the accident.
The arrival of Sam, Tom and Phil furnished fresh interest. The three
were besieged with questions, and they, in turn, asked many others.
"Yes, we saw it," said Philip Brown, the proprietor's son. "A searching
party has already gone off to the place where Canyon River comes out of
the gorge. Dear knows how long it will take them to get there."
"An' when they do, 'twon't be any use, I calc'late," remarked "Big
Bill" Dugan, the stage-driver. "I tole Fenton many a time ter look out
fur that current. Awful news fur his dad, when he gits back."
"Where is Mr. Fenton?" asked Sam.
"Went a-ridin' jist afore Howard put off in the boat. It beats me, it
does--this business."
"Say, Sam, let's go over to White Rocks," suggested Phil Levins.
"Coming, Tom? You can get a good idea of the current there."
"Like as not yer'll drop in," growled Dugan. "Best keep away. It's
'nuff ter have one stranger carried down, without bein' plumb crazy
'nuff ter run any more chances."
But the boys had already started off.
The White Rocks were a series of huge boulders and flat stones which
extended into the lake not far from the base of Round Mountain.
Led by Phil Levins, the boys were soon making their way from rock to
rock. But Tom Clifton finally balked. The distance which separated him
from the next was a little more than he cared to cross.
"Better not go out any further, fellows," he cautioned.
"Wait here, Tom. Your legs ain't quite long enough," replied Sam, as he
made a flying leap.
Phil Levins, like most of the village boys, had often been out on the
Rocks, and knew the easiest way, but Sam Randall drew many a long
breath during the time that he was jumping and scrambling from one to
another.
"Christopher! Isn't it terrific!" he cried, when they finally came to a
pause on the smooth, flat top of a rock near the outer end.
The water foamed and boiled against its sides; miniature whirlpools
formed here and there, while long, rippling swells with a glassy
surface separated them from the boulders beyond.
Above all other sounds was the steady roar of the torrent thundering
toward the barrier. As if angry at resistance, it lashed itself into
a fury, beating and splashing against the sullen cliff. Hurled back,
its blue-green waves, patched with foam, paused for an instant before
rushing in mad triumph toward the gorge of Canyon River, about fifty
yards ahead.
Sam Randall was fascinated at the spectacle. From where they stood, it
was possible to see down-stream for a considerate distance, and the
boys eagerly turned their gaze in that direction, vainly hoping that
the "Dauntless" might be somewhere in sight.
"Well, what do you think of it now?" asked Phil Levins, at length.
"I give up. No one would have the least chance in such a current," said
Sam, in a hollow voice.