CANYON RIVER
The accident had thrown the Ramblers into such consternation that for
an instant all seemed incapable of action.
But the seriousness of their situation demanded immediate attention.
The "Speedy" had already passed the passageway, and each moment the
current of Canyon River and the wind were dragging it nearer the
dreaded gorge.
Bob Somers was the first to arouse himself. The yell of Tommy Clifton
seemed to be still ringing in his ears. He grasped the tiller.
"Ease over the sheet, Dave," he shouted. "We're coming about on the
starboard tack--quick!"
But the instant's delay had been fatal. Before the boat could respond
to her helm, another furious blast sent her heeling over. This time,
the tapering mast met the water; the boys shot out in all directions;
then the "Speedy" turned bottom up, and, as if rejoicing at another
victim, the current raced her swiftly along.
When they rose to the surface, the Ramblers, with one accord, struck
out for the boat; each felt that to stem the force of wind and water
was impossible. Numerous rocks studded the channel a bit further down,
and their only hope seemed to lie in reaching one of these. At any
rate, they had already gone so far that no effort at swimming could
have saved them from the turbulent water below.
Clinging to the hull, they could only glance at each other with white
faces--faces which reflected the terror that gripped their hearts.
By this time, dark, rolling clouds had blotted out the mountain tops,
and seemed to be on the point of pouring earthward a flood of rain.
Nature was, indeed, in a wild and threatening mood.
And now an ominous roar rose above the sound of wind and waves. Already
the upturned boat was sweeping past the lower end of Promontory Island.
The cliffs lashed with perpetual foam were near at hand.
Like one in a dream, Sam Randall saw flashing into view the white
rocks upon which he had stood only a short time before. Then, almost
instantly, torn like the others from their hold on the "Speedy," he was
battling for life in a seething vortex.
Exhausted by the pounding and almost blinded, he struggled desperately
to keep his head above water and reach one of the rocks. But a short
distance separated him from a haven of safety. He kept his eye fixed on
a form over which the water pounded and lashed. A few feet more, and
his hand would reach it.
At last, with the agony of despair, Sam Randall grasped hold of the
projecting point. His fingers closed tightly around it, and for an
instant it looked as if success would crown his effort.
Then he was torn away.
A deafening roar rang in his ears; he seemed to be fairly lifted above
the madly swirling water, then forced beneath, and when, gasping and
choking, he rose to the surface, it was within the gloomy gorge, with
nothing but rocky walls on either hand.
Yes, Bob and Dave were there, too.
The current was now smooth and even, and the three, notwithstanding
their exhausted condition, found little difficulty in keeping to the
surface. The "Speedy" could be seen not far ahead.
Bob Somers felt a strange calmness steal over him; the first crushing
shock had gone, and even when, a few minutes later, a steady murmur
rose above the gurgle of the lapping water, it did not seem to increase
his agitation.
The cataract was not far ahead.
The sound rapidly increased in volume, a steady droning, musical and
solemn.
The swimmers shot around a jutting crag; then Bob Somers felt like
uttering a shout. Hope swept away the unnatural calmness, and renewed
his strength.
The river widened out; on the left side a green field, dotted with
trees, sloped gently to the water's edge.
"Let's try to land there," cried Bob, and the boys struck out in that
direction. The current was swift, and they realized that an instant's
delay would result in their being swept down to the falls. Already more
than half the green shore was behind them, when Bob Somers won his
battle. He grasped an overhanging tree and pulled himself up on the
bank. Then, a bit further along, Dave Brandon crawled up on a shelving
rock, and lastly, Sam Randall.
Exhausted, the three lay perfectly still, their hearts filled with
thankfulness at their wonderful escape. Bob Somers was the first
to rise, and, in a moment, the others joined him. They were three
strange-looking boys, pale-faced, with wet, bedraggled clothing that
stuck tightly to their forms.
"We had a narrow escape, fellows," exclaimed Sam Randall, with a
shiver. "I never expected to get out of it."
"One adventure like this would last a fellow a lifetime," murmured
Dave. "We ought to thank our stars. I'll never forget how I felt when
we were in that gorge," and Dave shuddered.
"Nor I," said Bob. "If we only knew what happened to poor Tommy and
Dick."
"Travers is a good swimmer; the current doesn't run very strong there,
and they were close to Hemlock Island."
Dave's cheering words brightened the others considerably.
"Listen to the roar of that cataract," put in Sam. "It can't be far
off--sounds like a whopper."
"Suppose this valley had been on the other side of the falls, instead
of this," said Dave, reflectively.
"Don't, Chubby," and Bob shivered. "Poor old 'Speedy,' she's smashed to
bits, now--nice news for Uncle Barton. Maybe he won't have a few things
to say to Dugan."
"Fellows," said Sam, suddenly, "how are we going to get out of this
place? We may be in a fine pickle after all--let's explore a bit."
The valley seemed circular, and less than a quarter of a mile across.
Trees and all sorts of vegetation grew in the richest profusion. Above,
the cliffs were enveloped in the low, scudding clouds, and occasionally
big drops of rain spattered about them.
The three came to a halt at the end of the valley. The rocky walls
rose sheer from the water again, and all hope of escape in that
direction was cut off. A little below them, on the other side of the
river, they could see another green shore, but its extent could not be
determined on account of the cliff which jutted in front.
"Might have been better if we'd landed there," said Dave, reflectively.
"Look at that spur extending out into the stream."
"Maybe," admitted Bob. "Suppose we explore the rest of the valley."
At the end of half an hour, the boys looked at each other in dismay.
Every nook and corner of the border line had been inspected, and a
disheartening fact was forced upon them--the valley had no outlet.
"Bob, we're bottled up," said Sam, gloomily.
"An awful fix," murmured the captain, with sinking heart.
Dave glanced upward.
"Might as well think of trying to climb the sides of a house, Chubby,"
said Sam, despairingly. "Hang it--what's to be done?"
"Have lunch," answered the "poet." He pointed toward a mass of
blackberry bushes. "Better than nothing," he added.
The others thought so, too, and began an onslaught which lasted until
their hunger was considerably appeased. Then, despite a drizzly rain,
they wandered back to the river, and ran up and down the banks to keep
warm. The top of Promontory Island could be faintly seen between the
canyon walls.
"If we only had some matches, it might be worth while to build a fire,"
remarked Sam. "Old Neil Prescott would be sure to see it."
"But Bill Dugan said that no one could ascend the river from below,"
declared Bob.
"And no one's coming the way we did. What can be done, Dave?"
"Eat blackberries, and hope," counseled the "poet," and, as Sam made an
impatient gesture, he added, "Until to-morrow, at least."
"And to-morrow?" said Sam.
But his question remained unanswered.
Soon they sought shelter under a thick clump of trees.
"Seems a pity that such a beautiful little place should be hidden,"
remarked the "poet," thoughtfully. "Remember the poem,
"'Full many a flower is born to blush unseen
And waste its sweetness on the desert air'?"
But neither Bob nor Sam could view the situation as cheerfully as their
companion, and remained moodily silent.
Never could the boys remember so tiresome a wait as they had beneath
the trees that afternoon. The minutes seemed to drag out interminably.
It was late when the rain stopped, and they continued their
exploration, in a vain hope that some way out of their dilemma might be
discovered.
"No use," said Sam, wearily. "We are in an awful pickle."
Dave Brandon and his chums nodded.
Toward dusk the clouds began to clear away, and when night came,
twinkling stars peeped between the flying masses. But it was a black,
gloomy night; the wind rustled the tree-tops mournfully, and the
monotonous roar of the cataract sounded louder than ever.