“Hyar’s far enough,” declared Ike. “We can catch ’em if they come floating past. They haven’t any business down in thar anyhow.”
Oliver lingered a minute; but this sitting here was rather stupid.
“I’m going on,” he announced.
“Wall,” grunted Ike. “Twon’t do you any good. Yonder’s the Fiery Narrows. If they air wrecked in thar you can’t get at ’em, an’ if they ain’t wrecked in thar they’ll come out.”
Oliver rode along. He wanted to see those Fiery Narrows for himself.
The broken country forced him out and back from the river; and when he came in again he judged, from the roaring sound, that he must be at the Fiery Narrows. The river here swirled wildly through between reddish walls a hundred and more yards high. Slipping from the saddle and cautiously approaching the best and firmest spot, holding his horse by the lines Oliver craned his neck to peep in. The sight almost made him dizzy. Glancing about from side to side he thought that he espied a trail. Down he clambered, rifle in hand.
The depths of the Fiery Narrows were a terrifying place for a landsman. The Platte, coffee-color and heavy with sediment, fairly boiled through, without beginning and without end; its current dashed in foam against up-sticking rocks, and spun from projecting shoulders; surely no boat of any kind could live in such an angered turmoil!
Suddenly Oliver witnessed an astonishing spectacle. As his eyes shifted from the opposite shore (which rose not so sheer, although still steep and high) to scan up-stream, they encountered a dark object speeding down upon the current. It was the Frémont boat—the rubber boat! And hurrah—the crew were aboard; all were safe!
One man was kneeling in the bows, with paddle, to turn the boat quickly; the others were ranged, paddles in hands, along the sides; now and then they dug hard with their blades, to keep the craft bows on with the current or to dodge a rock; but they came gallantly, and as they came, they appeared to be singing. How fast they sped! Maybe they would make it.
Lieutenant Frémont was plainly visible; so was Mr. Preuss. Basil Lajeunesse was the one in the bows. He was wet; they all were wet, as if they had capsized, already. Of course something had happened to them, for they were late.