"And after you've once got into the rapids, there's no getting out—or landing?"
"Of course not. I suppose there are places where you might get on the bank, but the gorge above is impassable."
"You couldn't follow the river down—with horses?"
"Yes, in time. Of course it would be slow going, as there are no trails, the brush is heavy, and the country is absolutely unexplored. You see it has never been considered a gold country—and of course the Indians won't go except where they can go in canoes. Some of the hills must be impassable, too. I've heard my father speak about it—how that if any criminal—or any one like that—could take down this river in a canoe in high water—and get through into that great, virgin, trackless country a hundred miles below, it would be almost impossible to get him out. Unless the officers could chase him down the same way he went—by canoe—it would take literally weeks and months for them to get in, and by that time he could be hidden and located and his tracks covered up."
"And with good ambushes, able to hold off and kill a dozen of them, eh?" Ben's hands shook, and he locked them behind him. "They call that country—what?"
"'Back There.' That's all I've ever heard it called—'Back There.'"
"It's as good a name as any. Of course, the reason they were able to make it through in high water was due to the fact that most of the rocks and ledges were submerged, and they could slide right over them."
"Of course. Many of our rivers are safer in high water. But you seriously don't intend to take such a trip—"
He looked up to find her eyes wide and full upon his. Yet her concern for him touched him not at all. She was his enemy: that fact could never be forgotten or forgiven.
"I want to hear about it, anyway. I heard in town the river is higher than it's been for years—due to the Chinook—"