With a feeling of mute thankfulness, Van and his companions fell upon the necks of their faithful animals.
Their escape from a certain death seemed nothing short of a miracle.
For several minutes they stood upon the river bank, gazing at the roaring flood before them.
As it was near nightfall, Van suggested that they find a suitable spot to pitch their camp for the night, and start a fire to dry their wet clothing.
Following the course of the turbulent stream, they started forward at a quick trot.
In a few minutes they reached the crest of a monster waterfall, which went dashing fully three hundred feet to a bleak-looking valley below.
In the center of the valley was a smooth sheet of water, which was now filled with the logs that had formed their raft a short time before.
"I guess there is no use of following Doc Clancy any further," observed Jack Howard. "If he went over that falls it was the last of him."
"Maybe he didn't go over," returned Van. "We didn't, you know."
"I don't think he did, unless he bears a charmed life," exclaimed Joe. "Look down there!"