The Frontier Boys in the Grand Canyon Part 39

The roar of the thunder in the narrow gorge that we were going through was terrific and the lightning streaks lit the gloom of the canyon with weird intensity, flashing a strange glare on the red and turbulent river.

It was exceedingly dangerous and wonderfully exciting. I do not know how we would have managed if Tom had not been free to watch the river ahead.

It was so dark in the chasm that we could see only a short distance ahead. And the roar of the river and of the thunder was something terrible.

No landing could be made and we dashed blindly down. It was marvelously exciting, and we were keyed to the highest pitch of efficiency.

The white line of foam would be the first warning we would have of a rock ahead, then we would bend all our strength and sometimes our boat would tilt on the current that ran off from the rock. It was close.

If we had struck head on we would have been in a most critical situation. The lightning was of no real help, only serving to blind us.

Tom closed his eyes for the second of the flash so that he would not be blinded.

Fortunately the storm was brief and we saw a beautiful sight when the clouds cleared. On both sides of the canyon, from the cliffs twelve hundred feet in height, sprang numerous little water falls.

Some amber, others tinged with red or glittering with the silver of the sun. The largest in volume were four or five feet across, but before they reached the river below, they feathered out in spray. These cascades were beautiful indeed.

Several days after the thunder storm we had an overwhelming experience.

It came on us suddenly and without sufficient warning to enable us to reach the sh.o.r.e.

It was a clear day and there had been no storm in our vicinity. We were going swiftly down the current, in the midst of a canyon, with towering walls over three thousand feet in height.

Suddenly my ear caught the sound of a louder roar than the usual tone of the river. I glanced back and in my dismay I could give no word of warning.

But the other boys had heard the ominous, thunderous roar filling the narrow depth of the canyon. Jim sprang to the steering oar, and without a word Juarez leapt to Jim's vacant place.

A great flood wave was charging down the canyon, filling it from side to side, the center of it bulging and boiling forward in foam. It was a terrific sight.

"Roll the stern anchor forward," yelled Jim.

The wave was a quarter of a mile away, coming down upon us with devouring fury.

"Defy the dragon, will you?" it seemed to roar. "You are caught in its jaws now. No escape."

Jim looked at it with a sneer of set teeth.

"We'll show you," he yelled. "You can't beat us, curse you!"

"Draw in the oars," he commanded, "into the bows; use the poles."

It was almost upon us. The stern began to lift upwards.

"Stand by to repel boarders." These were the last words we could hear.

Then we were swallowed up in a tumult of roaring, foaming water, whirled downward like a straw in the furious onset of the flood.

By throwing all the weight to the bow we had kept from being swamped.

Our high, strong sides saved us for the moment. If anything could stand the fury of that charge "The Captain" could. Powerful, braced like an ironclad, unsinkable.

We rose out of the jaws into the back of the dragon, and were surrounded by a chaos of rushing drift and some big logs and timber.

This ma.s.s held the waves down, and our powerful little craft, wedged in for the moment, was carried along at bewildering speed. It was like going down a cataract.

Then came a veritable battle of the logs. They tried to ram our boat. We fought them off with poles as best we could. Occasionally we received a blow that jarred "The Captain" from stem to stern.

One log bent a board back by a heavy, glancing blow. In a minute I had it braced back to its old place. Without a second's cessation we fought desperately but not wildly.

It was like a prize fighter tearing into a powerful opponent with flying, flaying fists to forestall a knockout. The next moment a jam of logs threatened to overwhelm us. It seemed viciously determined to thrust us against the wall of the canyon.

Something had to be done immediately. Juarez was the man. Before we could say a word, yea or nay, he leapt from the boat and on to the back of the jam. Prying with his pole against the key log of the combination he broke it and the freed logs swept down the current.

Nothing but his marvelous quickness and Indian litheness saved him. Just as it broke he sprang, with the nimbleness of a panther from the log that swirled back under the impulse of his leap, to the boat.

CHAPTER x.x.x

THE GREAT GORGE--THE END

"FINE boy, Juarez," rang out Jim's voice. "We'll beat this roaring devil yet."

No sooner had Jim spoken than our chance came. A change had taken place in the situation, as there was an opportunity to land on the west sh.o.r.e, as the canyon had ended and there was a break between it and the canyon following.

If we did not land now we would probably land at the bottom of the river, for we could not hope to run another canyon. Those below were terrific gorges, dangerous under ordinary conditions, but with the rush of the flood waters, absolutely impossible.

We were favored for the moment by a change in the condition of the river. The first rush of the drift had pa.s.sed and there was a comparatively smooth stretch of water, but further up the river great red waves were coming with reinforcements of logs and timbers against our boat.

"To the oars," yelled Jim, "we must get out of this now or go under."

Juarez and I sprang forward with lightning quickness, placed the oars in position, and then we pulled, how we pulled! Biting the raging current of the river with rapid strokes.

Exerting his strength to the very utmost, Jim fought the boat towards the sh.o.r.e. He seemed animated with a fury equal to the floods.

"Pull, pull," yelled Tom in frenzy. "Here comes a log to kill us."

It was bearing down toward us with awful swiftness. Its great end, three or four feet across, was like a battering ram in the swift swing of the current, ready to demolish us.

It was the last blow of the river, escape it and we would be safe. No need to urge us. Our oars foamed into the current and "The Captain"

responded. Down it came, flung forward on a wave above Jim's head. With a desperate surge of strength Juarez and I gave a last pull together and the great log swept by our stern by six inches.

We were saved. With a few more strokes under Jim's skillful steering, we grounded our boat on the sh.o.r.e. Utterly exhausted Tom and I fell forward on the ground when we landed, our faces buried in our arms. Tom was sobbing hysterically. Little wonder! Even to stand on the sh.o.r.e and watch the raging river would frighten most of you into a chill.

Jim now turned and shook his fist at the baffled river.

"We fooled you," he yelled. "You don't get us or 'The Captain,' either."

Juarez said nothing, but sat on a rock breathing heavily, his hands hanging down before him. Without his help, quickness and skill we would never have made it.