DOWN THE GORGE
During the week, the boys went out on several hunting expeditions. Many
quail and jack-rabbits fell victims to their good aim. Dick Travers had
been gradually developing what Dave described as a severe attack of
"photographis nightowlis." He was constantly talking of Hank Merwin and
the promised jacklight expedition, and Dave was sympathetic.
"Before it gets any worse, fellows, we'd better pull up stakes for a
while," he said.
"That's good," approved Havens. "We can come back to the dugout any
time," and, Bob agreeing, the matter was thereupon settled.
One morning, bright and early, they were ready to start. A great part
of the outfit was hidden, the hunters carrying only what was absolutely
necessary. Of course each was provided with a stout pole having a spike
at the end.
"We'll have a dandy time out with Hank Merwin," said Havens. "He looks
solemn enough--never smiles--but he'll treat you white."
At the first clearing, a magnificent view brought forth delighted
exclamations. Streamers of purple mist hung over the valley, while
the early morning sun cast a rosy glow over the snow-covered mountain
summits which stood out against a pearly green sky.
Masses of pink and white laurel, gay in sunlight and cool in shadow,
sent forth their delicate odors to mingle with those of the wild rose
and grape blossoms.
Presently Bob Somers held up his hand--"Listen."
A faint musical murmur reached their ears.
"It's a cascade," announced Havens. "Let's steer for it."
As they progressed, the sound changed into a steady roar. It was not
difficult to guide themselves by it, nor easy to go in a direct line,
on account of irregularities in the mountain slope. Dense masses of
vegetation also interfered, but by persevering for about fifteen
minutes the boys emerged from a heavy belt of timber, to find an
extensive prospect opening out before them.
"Gee willikens! Isn't that a wonderful sight!" cried Dick Travers,
enthusiastically.
"Oh, ho--the finest I ever saw," sighed the "poet."
"Perfectly stunning!" burst out Bob Somers, while Havens smiled at
their enthusiasm.
Rising almost perpendicularly, a gigantic wall of whitish rock jutted
out from the side of a gorge. Perhaps a hundred feet above them, a
foaming, glittering stream dashed over the edge, spreading out like
a fan in its descent, and dashing with a thunderous roar upon the
rocks below. Clouds of mist rose above the boiling, bubbling water and
showers of dancing drops glittered like diamonds in the sunlight.
The four approached the edge of the ravine that hemmed in the torrent.
Havens, shouting at the top of his voice, explained that a short
distance further along there was another cascade.
Dave nodded. Then he slowly raised his arm and pointed upward to the
mountain slope beyond.
Several animals on the heights above the cascade were seen moving
about, now and then leaping lightly from rock to rock.
"Big horns--mountain sheep--good eating, too," said Havens, laconically.
Bob Somers brought out his field-glass. "By Jove, isn't it wonderful
how they keep their footing?" he cried. "Look, Dave!"
The powerful glass brought the animals close into view, and the "poet"
gazed long and earnestly. He could see them bunch their four feet
together, poise for an instant, then leap gracefully and land on the
steepest rocks.
"That's a great sight, Bob," he said, at length.
"Big horns generally keep above the timber line," explained Havens.
"They go in bands of about fifty. Some of the old stagers are whoppers."
"Wish I could get a snap-shot of 'em," sighed Dick.
They watched the wild sheep for some time, then retraced their steps
and before long were again on their way down the mountain slopes. They
found the descent both difficult and dangerous. Gullies and precipices
were encountered, and a misstep might have resulted disastrously.
It was about noon when they finally scrambled over a ledge of rocks and
reached a clear, swift-flowing stream.
"Oh, ho, how glad I am to get down with arms and legs safe and sound,"
sighed Dave.
"This stream leads to the lake where Hank Merwin has his cabin,"
announced Jim Havens.
"That's what I call a bit of good news," said Bob. "Let's have a bite
to eat--that is if Chubby is willing."
"Willing?" groaned Dave, as he lolled at full length. "I couldn't go a
step further without something to strengthen me. If there was only a
store around where a fellow could get a plate of ice cream, eh? Um--um."
"Wish to thunder we could swim to Hank Merwin's," remarked Dick, with a
glance toward the swift current.
"Not as much as I do," said Dave, languidly.
"Hank is a crackerjack at cooking," put in Havens. "Most likely he'll
get up a fine spread, if we reach there in time."
"Eh? That sounds interesting," said Dave. "We must give him a chance.
Come ahead, fellows," and he sank back on the turf and closed his eyes.
A little judicious tickling with a blade of grass soon brought him to
his feet, however, whereupon the boys, in single file, began to trudge
along the bank.
In about half an hour they reached a dilapidated log cabin.
"H'm--about the worst wreck I ever saw," commented Bob. "Struck by
lightning, blown over by a cyclone, or knocked out by an earthquake?"
"All three--I should say," chimed in Dick, with a grin. "More logs
lying about the ground than on the walls."
"Hey, fellows, I've got an idea," said Bob, suddenly. "A dandy one,
too."
"Quick--speak out. Don't let it get away," grinned Dick. "Something
tells me it's something."
"Well, why not make a raft?"
"A raft!" echoed his companions.
"Yes! Why not? That's better than swimming, isn't it? We ought to be
able to steer with a couple of poles, all right, and keep out of the
way of rocks, eh, Havens? Dandy fun, besides."
Jim reflected. "A good scheme, Bob. Only there are some pretty swift
rapids. We might get upset in the middle of one--that sounds nice, eh?"
"But if we walk," drawled Dave, "it means a lot more climbing, doesn't
it?"
"Sure thing," said Jim.
"Then I say, real loud, build a raft--but do you think it can be done?"
An anxious look came over the stout boy's face.
"Of course," asserted Bob, confidently.
"But how? Don't keep me in suspense. My! Wouldn't it be great to float
down that stream."
"By Jove, there are enough loose logs around to build two rafts,
Chubby," said Bob. "Don't you see 'em? But let's begin on the job."
"I'm willing, if the rest are," put in Jim Havens, slowly.
"Hurrah for the raft!" shouted Bob.
In a few minutes the four guns were stacked, their outfits piled in
a heap, and then the sound of axe and hatchet resounded through the
forest. Cutting the logs to the proper length was a hard task, but
the boys worked with a vim and were rewarded by success. A sufficient
number finally lay at the water's edge.
"Now, fellows, we need tough roots to bind 'em together," said Bob.
"Must be lots around."
"And with the old door from the cabin nailed across it ought to be
solid," said Dick.
The work progressed rapidly. The raft was not a thing of beauty, but
it promised to hold together. The roots used were extremely tough and
flexible, and, fortunately, great quantities were close at hand. Bound
securely with these, and braced by strips from the door, the raft was
completed to their satisfaction.
"Now we'll fashion a couple of paddles, and begin our voyage," said Bob.
"Don't forget a rest for the guns," put in Dave.
"That's so, my boy. Great head."
"A couple of short logs, with a strip nailed across the tops, will do
the trick."
"Somebody's got to look out for 'em, though. You will, Dave?--good."
At last, everything was ready. The raft had been built on a shelving
bank, and after a hard tussle was set afloat.
"All aboard the 'Mayflower'!" yelled Bob. He stood, paddle in hand,
with Havens at his side.
"Let 'er go, cap'n!" cried Dave. "All overboard at the next rock.
Hurrah! We're off, and still on!"
The clumsy pile of logs swung slowly out, then caught by the swift
current, began its voyage down-stream.
With but little effort the boys kept it well out from the shore, and
the motion was delightful.
"Whoop la! This is dandy," cried Dick, in great glee. "It beats walking
all hollow, eh?"
"Oh, ho, what views--look at the reflections," said Dave.
"And isn't the water clear?" put in Bob. "You can see the bottom."
"We'll see it closer, if you don't keep her steady," said Havens, with
a laugh.
At good speed, they swept along. The stream soon widened out, each
shore presenting a most picturesque appearance. Oaks and maples hung
far over, and occasionally a birch stood out sharply white against its
fellows.
"Rocks ahead! Port your helm," sang out Dick.
"Aye, aye, sir!" laughed Bob.
The two navigators pushed their poles down against the pebbly bottom
and by exerting all their strength succeeded in swinging the unwieldy
craft to one side.
But an instant later, a terrific jolt made Havens sit down with a thud.
"By jingo!" cried Dick. "We're stuck."
He had hardly uttered the words, however, when the mass of logs slowly
ground off the submerged rock into clear water again.
"And this is just the beginning," remarked Havens, rubbing his legs.
"Nothing soft about these logs, fellows."
"Hello, we're going into a canyon soon, sure as blazes," remarked Dick,
rather apprehensively. "I'll bet the old thing hits a rock and busts."
The valley began to narrow, and before many minutes had elapsed the
raft was running between high, precipitous banks, then, swinging around
a bend, the walls of a canyon came into view.
"We're in for it now," said Havens, with a long breath. "Wow!"
As they entered the dark gorge, a chilling breeze swept in their faces;
the current fairly raced along, and, as the voyagers looked up at the
straight walls of rock, they began to doubt the wisdom of their course.
Rocks, and snags, too, were numerous.
"Mind your eye!" yelled Havens. "If we get dumped into this pocket,
we'll be in a mess, sure enough."
"You bet we will," panted Bob. "Look out for that rock straight ahead,
Jim. Now--both together."
By vigorous efforts, they once more kept clear of the obstruction,
then, as the gorge became still narrower, they were obliged to redouble
their efforts.
"Oh, ho, real exciting sport, this," remarked Dave.
"Just a bit too much so," grumbled Dick. "Wow! We're coming to another
bend."
"Canyon ends just beyond it," called out Havens. "Look out, though,
we're coming to the worst stretch of all."
With a rush and a roar, the river swept around the giant cliffs. The
"Mayflower" shook convulsively, swung in a half-circle, then, gripped
by another current, wobbled violently.
Only quick work prevented a catastrophe, and all breathed a sigh of
relief when the wider valley was again reached.
As the raft approached a clump of trees, a flock of ducks arose with
cries of alarm.
"Hey there, ye chumps--what d'ye mean by scarin' away them ducks?"
yelled a stentorian voice.
A tall, lank figure stepped into view, and shook his fist angrily
toward the advancing raft.
"'Surly Joe,'" said Havens, laconically.