"Swiped it from our next neighbors," I suggested. "It must have been part of the foundation, from the size of it."

"Hey, Jim, where did you corner that?" Tom yelled.

Jim did not deign to reply until he had brought the big timber alongside of the other logs.

"I captured that over there on the other side of the valley," he informed us proudly but indefinitely.

"Where did it come from?" I inquired.

"From some of the Union Pacific bridges, about six hundred miles above here," he replied. "Some flood brought it down."

"It's a fine stringer," I commented.

"There's any quant.i.ty of good stuff in the drift over there," Jim said, "boards and about everything else we need to make our old raft shipshape. It's time to knock off work, boys, now; you have made a good start on those logs."

"I'm going to wash off," I declared.

The rest followed my example. It was a close, hot evening and it felt mighty refreshing to get into the river, for we had put in a hard day's work and were dirty and sweaty, though we were not especially tired.

"Why don't you swim over to that rock, Jim?" I asked.

"Not for me," he said, shaking his head. "I know when I have had enough."

We did not stay in the water long and in a short time we were seated in camp, and with ravenous appet.i.tes were attacking our supper, our heads still wet and our faces shining red from the water and the sun.

We were just tired enough to enjoy sitting on the old bent cottonwood, swinging our feet. You know how you feel if you have been tramping all day or working in the fields, and after a good clean up, sit down to a square meal.

We were in high spirits as we had made a good start or rather laid a basis for our work. We certainly felt st.u.r.dy and adequate enough for anything. There is a peculiar feeling of strength that comes to one after a day of muscular exercise and we had had that all right.

"What are you going to do with that big stick, Jim?" I asked.

"That goes for the keel," he answered.

"You are not going to build a boat, are you?" I inquired.

"No," replied Jim, "but even with a raft you will have to have something to keep her in the current."

We got into our blankets quite early and slept like logs, with never a thought of mosquitoes or anything else. A mountain lion might have crept down and yanked one of us off and the other two would not have been the wiser.

Jim got us out the next morning before the sun was up and we were down at the beach working like beavers. I tell you it was a busy scene.

Tom and I, with axes and adzes, hollowing out the two logs. Jim went to work on his stringer, shaping it up and also digging it out after he had made some measurements of the log I was working on.

When night came, after we had put in twelve hours' steady toil I felt discouraged. It did not seem that we had accomplished much, but Jim was cheerful.

The following morning, however, after a refreshing night's sleep, it looked much more hopeful as I stood on the beach looking over what had been accomplished on the two previous days.

Jim's plans began to shape themselves and we saw what our new craft was to be like. His design was far superior to what we had planned. The groundwork was three of the longest and largest logs.

The bow was three feet across, the end of the logs being trimmed and shaped together. The stern was made by the spread of the logs and was at least six feet across. This end was also shaped up so as to offer as little surface to the current as possible.

The logs were held together by heavy planking that we had recovered from the drift. These were spiked to the logs. Before this was done Jim had fixed his heavy keel to the middle log.

He had hollowed it to the shape of the log so that it fitted to it and made it as much like a boat keel as possible. It was pretty well water soaked and half as heavy as iron.

"How are you ever going to launch this craft?" I inquired. "She will be sure to weigh a ton."

"We will come to that in a couple of days," replied Jim.

The crucial time came and we went to work to get the raft into the stream. We were aided by the fact that it had been purposely put together near a steep slope into the river.

By means of the leverage of long poles and blocks we raised it up, and with smaller logs placed underneath we rolled it down into the stream.

"Hurrah!" yelled Jim. "She floats like a duck."

It was a jubilant moment for us. We had worked hard and carefully, and it was worth while.

It was a quiet stretch of water in the bend, but we took extra precautions and had strong ropes at each end fastened to heavy rocks on the sh.o.r.e. Jim had also selected a very heavy well-shaped stone, and we used this for an anchor at the stern.

"It's taken us a full week to get her launched," said Jim, "but before we are through with this river we will be mighty glad that the old tub is so strong and shipshape."

We now executed a dance on her main deck, which was more remarkable for action than for grace.

"She's steady as an old rock," I said. "What shall we call her?"

"The Juanita," suggested Tom, who was always something of a gallant.

"Call her 'The Colorado,'" I suggested.

"Hold on," cried Jim, "I know a better one than that. We ought to remember our old friend. Call her 'The Captain.'"

"The Captain," we cried in chorus, raising our hands in military salute.

So our boat was named and well named.

"We ought to finish the superstructure in three days," said Jim. "You would have thought it was an ocean liner to hear Jim talk.

"And the oars," I said.

"Yes and the cabin," put in Jim. "Of course," he said, smiting his chest, "the commodore must have a cabin and we want a place where we can store things and keep them dry."

"She will look like quite a boat," said Tom. "I suppose you will want to rig up a sail, too?"

"Never mind about the sail now, Tom," said our new commodore with dignity. "You landlubbers can go ash.o.r.e, I'm going to sleep abroad."

Tom and I decided that we preferred to be on _terra firma_ as we were more used to it, so we slept in camp, leaving Jim on his beloved yacht.