Boy With the U. S. Survey

  CHAPTER VII

  SAVED BY HIS NERVE

  It was with a lurking fear that the burro had the better intuition ofdanger that Roger decided to attempt the ford that the animal hadrefused to try, but, so far as he could see, there was no other way out.

  "He may follow me," said Roger aloud, looking at the little animal, "butI hate to leave him behind."

  The longer he looked at it, however, the worse it got, and so, in orderto test the feasibility of it, the boy sprang lightly upon the nearestboulder about four feet from the bank. Water to the depth of six incheswas pouring over the stone, but he had paid no heed to this, feelingthat it was easy to brace against a current of that shallowness. But ifhis feet ever touched that stone he did not know it, for the rush ofwater took his footing from him, throwing him headlong as though hisfeet had been jerked from under him by a rope.

  As he fell, the boy threw out a hand to save himself and grasped aprojecting corner of the boulder on which he had expected to land, andfound himself hanging on for dear life with the current pouring over therock into his face and almost strangling him. Very few seconds wereenough to show that he had not strength enough to draw himself up on therock against the force of the stream, but the bank was scarcely morethan an arm's length away, and making a desperate lunge the boy reachedit and clambered on shore, his breath gone and his nerve somewhat shakenby the suddenness of the peril.

  The hope of a ford must be given up therefore; no boat or raft wasprocurable, and indeed could hardly live in such a torrent, bridging wasout of the question, so nothing remained but to swim for it. Rogerfigured that, while of course he could not swim directly across, if hecould manage to make any resistance to the current at all and wouldpoint up stream at a slight angle, the onrush of the stream would carryhim across. A little distance below the ford he had attempted, the riverflowed deeper with less apparent turmoil, and there, perhaps, was achance to get through alive.

  But the question of the wearing or the not wearing of boots was quite aquandary. If he kept them on, they would impede his swimming greatly,while if he took them off and did manage to get across, his feet wouldbe cut to pieces in ascending the Canyon on the other side. But hedecided to do one thing first, and if he crossed the river safely, thenit would be time to consider ways of going up the chasm. Taking off hisshoes he tied them to the burro's neck, feeling sure that even if thelittle animal failed to cross alive, he might be washed ashore on thefurther bank and the boots could be recovered.

  Then, unexpectedly to the burro, while the latter was standing at theedge of the bank, he gave him a shove and toppled him in and sprang intothe water after him.

  But, despite his previous little experience of the force of the current,Roger had altogether underestimated its power. He could not even faceit, the impetus stunned, blinded, and deafened him. The river took himlike a chip, and though in an aimless sort of way, he tried to swim soas to keep his head above water, he knew that he was being swept downthe reach with incredible speed. As for the burro, he had not time tothink about the faithful little beast, who was being swept down theriver even more rapidly than the boy.

  But, about two hundred yards down the river, there stuck out above thewater a large projecting snag, which had been carried down the streamfrom the forests hundreds of miles above, and which had been partlyburied in silt and thereby held firm. The snag being on the further sideof the river, just as it took a sharp curve, had made a tiny shoal andthe burro was slung by the current against the snag and held there bythe force of the water. The donkey had hardly struck the snag beforeRoger, gasping and exhausted, came whirling down upon him, but hissmooth wet sides afforded no handhold and Roger was slipping away fromhim when his hands unconsciously touched and grasped the animal's tail.

  A violent jerk followed, and for a moment it seemed doubtful whether thewrench would not tear the burro from the crotch of the limb in which hewas imprisoned, but the anchored tree held fast, and Roger, though hisarms were nearly pulled from their sockets, fought inch by inch his wayto the lee of the burro, grasped the snag, and finally got footing on apart of it below the water, where the current was not so swift. Butthere was no time to lose, so Roger, rapidly unfastening his shoes fromaround the burro's neck, threw them to the shore, which was aboutsixteen feet distant; then to get a start for a jump he balanced himselfon the topmost branch of the snag and gave a wild leap for safety.

  He could jump six feet, and with arms outstretched reach five, leavingscarcely two yards to cover. This the impetus of his leap should givehim, Roger figured, but even those few feet were almost too much, andhad not the shore curved a trifle at that point he might have beencarried out toward the center of the stream again. But the initialvelocity of his spring was just enough, and a moment later, with hisheart beating like a trip-hammer and trembling with the exertion, Rogerflung himself upon the other shore. The Colorado was crossed!

  Roger's first thought, after a sense of gratitude and relief, was forthe burro, but for whose providential capture in the snag and whose mostconvenient tail, he would probably have been dashed upon the rapidsbelow. He got nimbly to his feet, though considerably bruised and sore,and hurried up stream the thirty or forty feet to where he had left theanimal. As he reached there, he saw that the burro had found shoal waterunder his feet and was pawing away for a foothold, thus loosening thehold of the snag upon the bottom, and the boy saw the tree begin toshift.

  "Don't, Jack," he called, as though he believed the burro couldunderstand, "keep still till I help you out!"

  But the companion of the boy's perilous trip took the shouting forencouragement and kicked all the harder, till a few seconds later, amida swirl of mud and sand, the huge wreck of a tree rolled over andwhirled down in the river in a confusion of branches amid which the poorburro seemed to have no chance. The very size of the tree evinced toRoger how furious must be the torrent of the Colorado in the springfloods, for the snag showed that it must have come from a pine not lessthan thirty inches at the base. The forking, broken and splinteredlimbs, however, projecting on all sides, caught in the bed of the rivernow that the stream was low, and this prevented the burro from beingswept into the middle of the current, and suddenly, to the surprise anddelight of the boy, a swift back eddy caught the animal and threw himup upon the shore.

  Roger ran to him, but there was no sign of motion, the poor burro layquiet as though dead. Heaving a sigh, for their twin peril had madeRoger quite fond of the little animal, he turned to go, half-thinkingthat, if there were any future state for the four-footed part of theworld, he would have a candidate to present. Then, sitting on a fallenrock, he put on his boots, his feeling of pride at the great achievementof having crossed the Colorado River only dimmed by his sorrow for hisfaithful comrade. Before leaving, however, he went back to where theburro lay.

  "It's a shame to leave you lying there, Jack," he said, "but there'snothing I can do for you. Of course, I know you're only just a burro,but I do hate to say 'Good-by.'"

  There was a great big lump in the boy's throat.

  "I'd like to dig a grave, or--or--something," he added, "but I can't. Itseems playing it low down on you, Jack, when I couldn't have got acrossbut for you, but there's no help for it. It's got to be good-by!"

  He turned away sadly, when, just as he did so, he thought he saw thelittle burro's side heave. With a shout of delight, he stooped down,though he had not the faintest idea whereabouts to locate the animal'sheart, and was feeling for a throb, when, with two or three deepbreaths, the burro opened his eyes and staggered to his feet; lookingwith a mild surprise on Roger, who was dancing the wildest kind of awar-dance round him and whooping enough to make it sound as though theApaches were on the scalping trail once again.

  But while the difficulties of the trip were by no means over, thedangers were now few. Roger knew that he was bound to strike the Indiantrail which paralleled the river on the southern side, and that, if hedesired still easier going, though probably longer, he had only tofollow any of
the terraces and he would strike one of the trails. Hedecided on the latter course, and with Jack following him with absolutedocility, he commenced his long trip up the other side of the Canyon. Onand on he went, hour after hour passed, when, just as the boy had givenup all hope of ever reaching the trail, the burro turned sharply andstood still. The afternoon was drawing on, and between hunger andexhaustion Roger was very nearly played out. Looking up, however, hefound he could just discern the edge of the Canyon near the hotel, andhe knew that the little black specks upon the brink were people,probably looking down at him, and all unaware of the desperateness ofhis condition.

  His handkerchief had been lost somewhere, so Roger tore off the sleeveof his shirt to wave at the people, and a following glint of white toldhim that they were waving back. But it was help that he wanted, notgreeting, and the boy puzzled his brains to think how he could signal atthat distance. Then an idea struck him, and looking up to see that thepeople were there, he stumbled and fell as though to make them thinkthat he had been hurt or wounded in some way. A rapid increase in thenumbers on the edge of the chasm told him that his ruse had succeeded,and in a few minutes he saw several people debouch on the trail, whichwas only visible for a few yards from the summit.

  He pulled himself together and started up the trail, but it was notuntil it was almost dark that the rescue party found him, the leaderbeing a long, gaunt frontiersman.

  "What's your name?" demanded the latter.

  "Got anything to eat?" promptly countered Roger, to whom this was thechief need.

  The frontiersman signed to one of the party who had brought someprovisions along, and after the boy had been somewhat refreshed, the oldman said:

  "Now tell us whar you've been."

  "I've come from the other side, down Bright Angel Canyon," replied Rogertersely, "and I came to get grub for the Survey camp."

  Numerous inquiries brought from the boy enough of the story to give themembers of the search party a fair idea of what had happened. He was tootired to talk, however, and contented himself with an appeal that Jackshould be well looked after, and thereafter satisfied himself withsticking to the saddle of the mule which had been brought down for himto ride. When they reached the hotel the frontiersman walked into therotunda with the boy, and as they stood before the desk, he turned tothe crowd assembled and said:

  "Ladies and gents, I'm no speechmaker, but I reckon we hadn't ought tolet this young feller hit the bunk before we tell him what we think of achap who is plucky enough to blaze a new trail across the Grand Canyon,and the first time in its history to cross it alone with one burro. Thisis Roger Doughty, ladies and gents, the first white man to cross theGrand Canyon alone."

  Immediately all the curiosity-hunters that hang about those sight-seeinghotels crowded around the boy, but he would have nothing to say, and wasfar too wearied to undertake to tell his story. Bidding the clerk haveall the supplies ordered for him early in the morning he turned to go,when his new friend, the frontiersman, said:

  "Did you reckon to go back yourself with the grub?"

  "Sure. To-morrow," said the boy. "That is, if I can get a little sleepto-night," he added pettishly.

  "Then I'll go with you, boy. You've done a thing that will be talkedabout in Arizona, I guess, as long as the Colorado River flows. It isn'tright for you to tackle the trip back alone, and anyway, I know thetrail better than you do. An' what's more, you sleep till I call youmyself to-morrow, and I'll see that all the supplies are ready andpacked for the start. I'm an old hand at the game, bub, and you canleave it all to me."

  Roger thanked him and once more turned to go to bed when he wasintercepted by another group. The frontiersman stepped forward.

  "The kid's going to hit the pillow," he announced, "an' I reckon thathe's earned it. Any one that tries to stop him can talk a while to me.Go on up, bub," which Roger, portentously yawning, proceeded to do.

  So, laughing at the mixture of friendliness and bravado exhibited by theboy's lanky champion, the people stood aside while Roger stumbledupstairs and fell on a bed asleep. A few minutes later the bigfrontiersman followed him, and seeing him dead to the world with all hisclothes on, even his hat being still crushed over his eyebrows; pickedhim up on his knee, took off his clothes and tucked him in as tenderlyas his mother might have done, the boy never even growing restless inhis sleep the while. That done, the burly Westerner, whose touch hadbeen throughout as light as that of a woman, looked down on the sleepingboy.

  "If that's the kind the government breeds," he said, "no wonder we canwhip the earth!" and he went down to arrange about the next day's trip.

  In the meanwhile the Survey party had progressed rapidly with its work,and on the afternoon following Roger's arrival at the hotel, theyreturned to the main camp. They thought it strange, as they rode in,that Roger should not have heard the horses' hoofs and come out to greetthem, and Masseth felt a slight alarm lest the hurt to Roger's wristshould have proved more serious than was at first thought. On reachingthe main tent, however, he saw a large piece of paper, held down by astone. He picked it up. It was written, boy-like, as an official report,and read as follows:

  "MR. MASSETH: Sir, I regret to report that James, the teamster, has got sick, and will not bring any supplies this week. He sent word that there was a lot of supplies in camp, but I could not find them. A cowboy from Bar X Ranch brought word. I have taken burro and will try to cross Canyon to get supplies. I hope to be back Friday afternoon or evening.

  "R. DOUGHTY."

  "By the eternal jumping crickets!" was Masseth's first astonishedexclamation. Then, calling to the cook, "George," he said, "come here amoment!"

  The cook came over and the chief handed him the letter. George read itthrough carefully twice, then handed it back.

  "I got a chance to get a long price for some pretty stale grub, and itlooked to me like a good stunt. How was I goin' to know that bally chumpof a teamster was plannin' to get sick?"

  "But the boy!"

  "It's sure tough on the boy. It's a beast of a trip, even if he's sureof the trail."

  "But he's only been over it once, and he could never remember thatconfusion of canyons." He turned sharply on the cook. "It's your fault,"he said; "you ought to know better than to let yourself run out. It'snever safe to go without some on hand for contingencies."

  The cook thought it wiser not to increase his superior's anger byreplying, so went to the cooking tent to try to devise some sort of ameal from the remnants that had been brought from the side camp. As forMasseth, the more he thought of the situation the less likely did itseem that the boy could have found his way, but he could have struckwater somewhere, so that perhaps search parties organized on the otherside might have a chance of finding him, but every hour counted. Hetalked it over with the assistant.

  "Well," answered Black, "of course the dark's confusing, but with bothof us watching the trail and knowing the landmarks, we can't get farastray. And we might drop across the lad. I'm ready to start any minuteyou say."

  Masseth thought for a moment, then pointed with his finger to the chasm.

  "I don't believe any of us would be comfortable to-night," he said,"knowing that the lad was down there, when for all we know he may bedying of starvation and the loneliness of desolation, just within ourreach. A bite to eat, whatever there is, and then an immediate start."

  Gathered to the hasty and scanty supper, the cook found himself in aposition of extreme discomfort, though no blame was attached to him. Hehad acted for the best and this result could not have been foreseen.Perhaps it was because his nerves were unusually upon the strain that hewas the first to hear a sound along the chasm. He held up his hand toenjoin silence, and in a moment or two horses' hoofs and voices wereheard. Then, looming unnaturally large in the last flush of twilightbefore the darkness fell, came two figures, one on a tall iron-grayhorse, one on a mule, with a burro plodding along patiently behind.

  A stentorian voice hailed them from the d
istance.

  "Hey, there!" it said.

  "Well?" called back Masseth.

  The second of the oncomers answered, this time in a boy's voice.

  "Oh, Mr. Masseth, have you been back long?"

  "It's the boy," said the topographer solemnly, but with a note of joy inhis voice, "and his life won't be laid at my door;" the soberness ofwords and tone revealing how keenly the fear of Roger's peril had beenpressing on him.

  When the two rode up the boy introduced his frontiersman friend to thechief of the party, the while he was being untied from the saddle, towhich, in his still exhausted and stiffened state, he had been fastened.But introductions, however informal, did not stop the big Westerner fromspeaking his mind.

  "I'm thinkin' there's some thunderin' big fools in this here party," heannounced in his abrupt way, "that can get matters into such a holethat a youngster has to start off on a crazy trip like that, but I wantto state that the boy is pay dirt all through. He's not only crossed theCanyon alone, but he's found a new trail!"

  "Where?" asked Masseth eagerly, thinking it wiser to ignore thestranger's criticism rather than debate the point.

  "Down Bright Angel Canyon, Mr. Masseth," answered the boy. "It wasn't soawfully bad, except in a few places."

  "But how did you get through?"

  "I went down by the spring," answered Roger, "keeping to the right,until I got wedged in between two cliffs, pink in color with a broadband of slate blue about two-thirds of the way up."

  "That's usually a bad wall!" interjected Masseth. "How did you crossit?"

  Roger described the device he had used, and received the encomiums ofall his comrades for the work, and then, as briefly as he could, gave anoutline of the various points of interest on the way.

  He was especially gratified, when, after telling how he had got out ofthe pocket of rock, Masseth turned to his assistant.

  "We'll chart that as Doughty Point," he said, "for the boy's sake."

  The boy flushed with delight at having his name given to a part of thecountry, just like a real explorer, and cast a grateful look at hischief.

  "It was just beyond that that I struck water. The ravine sloped abruptlyfor about one hundred feet, then struck an upcurving rock and gave alittle jump like a fellow does on skis and fell like a long silverribbon for about two hundred feet. I suppose that is Bright AngelCreek?"

  "And rightly named," put in the assistant topographer, nodding his headaffirmatively, "any stream that doesn't run dry in this sort of countryis angelic, all right."

  Roger continued his story of the trip, describing points which he hadnoted, Masseth naming them, "Deva Temple," "Brahma Temple," "ZoroasterTemple," etc., and at last he fixed the route by its relation to "CheopsPyramid," one of the well-known configurations of the Canyon.

  "But on which side of the creek were you, when you saw the pyramid?"asked the chief.

  "On the other side from it," answered Roger.

  "If you had only crossed once more, or once less, it would have broughtyou to the main trail where the boat is," said Masseth regretfully."But how in the world did you cross?"

  So Roger told the story of the burro, and the manner in which he hadbeen caught in the crotch of a snag; and the party, though old hands atthe business, hung on his tale as though they had been so manygreenhorns. He told, moreover, as well as he could, his route up theother side, until the frontiersman took up the story from the pointwhere the lad had been seen by the spectators on the edge of the Canyon,near the hotel.

  The last few sentences of the boy's story had been somewhat incoherent,for the long trip of that day, following his arduous experiences alonehad been too much for him, and he could not keep his eyes open. He waspromptly taken to his tent and bidden to sleep, the while thefrontiersman described enthusiastically the boy's pluck and nerve.

  "And I thought, by thunder," he concluded, "that the overschooled kidsof this generation were a pack of milksops, but I see there's grit in anAmerican boy yet!"