We were feeling fresh and fit and were prepared to put every ounce of our strength into the pull. We dropped easily down until we came to the junction.

There were deep eddies carved in the water upon the outer edge of the whirlpool, within them was the deadly smoothness moving around and around. We could not see whether there was any central suction of a dangerous character and we did not intend to find out by experience.

We got into one of the outer eddies and then we pulled until the blades of our paddles bent almost to breaking, while Jim threw all his weight and strength against the sweep to cross the eddy that was struggling to get the boat into its slow, powerful control.

It was an obstinate, bitter fight. For ten minutes it was an even break, then with a supreme, united effort we burst through the chains of water, stronger than iron and forged out upon the united waters.

At last we were upon the back of the Colorado, its powerful current carrying us swiftly along.

"Hurrah!" yelled Jim, "we're off."

Tom and I were too breathless from the past struggle to yell, but we threw up a triumphant hand. We did not look back to see what we had come through. That we could never do on the Colorado, for there was always something to look forward to that required immediate attention.

"There's a big canyon ahead," I yelled to Jim. "It's got the biggest roar of any we have met yet."

"All right, Jo," answered Jim, "we will swing off to the first good landing."

This we found without much difficulty and we got a good night's rest to prepare us for the struggle that lay before us.

For the next two days we had a terrific struggle with this canyon, the most dangerous that we had so far encountered. In fact it was in many ways the worst we were to go through on the whole trip.

There was one place we ran through that struck me with terror. We came upon it early one afternoon. There was a sharp plunge downward of the river and on all sides it was beaten into foam among the rocks. In the center there was a swift, clear run, that ended in big successive waves.

We took it fairly in the middle. Jim had become too good a steerer to be beaten now. But when we struck the waves our boat plunged as in a heavy sea. Much of it would have made one seasick.

One big red fellow curved over the bow, knocking me forward and I was only saved from going overboard by grasping the side and holding on for dear life. It seemed as if the deluge held me under for a full minute, but it was only a few seconds.

My oar was shattered and I hastened to replace it with an extra one. We carried several for just such emergencies.

"h.e.l.lo!" exclaimed Tom, after this exciting episode, "just listen to that thunder."

"Thunder!" cried Jim, "that isn't thunder. It's perfectly clear overhead. There is not a storm within a hundred miles."

"What is it then?" demanded Tom.

Jim listened for a moment. There was no denying the sound. It was different from the roar of the river. A deep rumbling ba.s.s with a grinding sound to it.

"I know what it is!" he cried. "It is the big boulders at the bottom of the river being rolled along by the current."

"Think of the force of it," I exclaimed. "I bet they are as big as a horse."

"Nearer an elephant!" cried Jim.

There was something appalling in a power that could play marbles with huge rocks.

"That's what helps to cut these gorges," said Jim.

I can give no adequate idea of this canyon. It was wonderful. In some places the walls were so perpendicular that they seemed to bend over us.

But you must not imagine that the walls were all alike, and always perpendicular. For this was not so.

There was a wonderful variety. There were rounded summits of rocks standing back from the river giving the effect of their full majesty.

The walls averaged nearly three thousand feet. The prevailing color was the red sandstone but there would be broad bands of grey. Towards the lower end the walls were shattered into thousands of pinnacles rising in their piercing splendor towards the blue above.

Occasionally we swept past a narrow side, or lateral canyon. Our one quick impression was of narrow gloom between overwhelming walls.

"I wish we could stop long enough to investigate some of these side canyons," said Jim, "they look mighty interesting."

"There are no way stations on this line," I responded, "this is a through train."

It was with a feeling of tremendous relief that we finally emerged from this canyon safely. Battered and strained, but still alive. "The Captain" was still seaworthy and stanch but she showed many marks and wounds of the terrible descent.

CHAPTER XXV

A VISITOR

Our next canyon of importance was just the opposite of the one we had just pa.s.sed through. It was as the change from bitter winter to smiling, sunny summer.

What a relief and pleasure it was to get into the canyon on below the terrible gorge from which we had just emerged.

The walls were not so high by half as the upper canyon, but were of the smooth red h.o.m.ogeneous sandstone, in which were formed caves, grottoes and curious formations by the action of the water.

This h.o.m.ogeneous sandstone was like smooth broadcloth, compared to the rough serge of the granite or the tweeds of the thin bedded sandstone.

There were also groves and glen with broad-leaved trees as well as pines.

"This seems like a picnic," said Tom, "after tumbling and twisting and turning through that old gorge back there."

"You just wait," said Jim, "till we come to the granite gorge of the Colorado, then you will have something to talk about."

"I won't wait," said Tom, "I guess I'll go home now."

"Stay, stay, fair sir," adjured Jim, "we will prospect in this canyon for gold and precious gems, the latter of which you can take home to the dukes and other members of the Royal Family."

"You can joke all you please," retorted Tom, "the trouble with you guys is that you haven't brains enough to appreciate my kind of books."

"The saints be praised for that," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Jim, "I may have my faults of reputation and of character, but no one can accuse me without being shot of reading silly novels about the Lady Arabella and her lover, Lord Lumox."

Tom's face had grown red with repressed anger and suppressed speech.

"Look, boys!" I cried in alarm.

"What is it? What is it?" they both exclaimed.

"Don't you see behind those bushes? There's a whole bunch of Indians."