“Three days?”
“Maybe-so,” said he, at last. “Plenty bad water below here,” said he.
“Well, I haven’t seen any of these awful cañons yet that you’ve been telling about,” said John.
Leo smiled. “To-morrow see ’um plenty,” said he. “Pretty soon come Death Eddy, then Death Cañon, then Death Rapids, then Priest Rapids. All them bad places. Maybe-so can’t run, water too high.”
“We’ll not get out of here any too soon, that’s sure,” said Uncle Dick. “The best time to run any of these mountain rivers is in the fall, for then the water is lowest. But a day or two more will tell the tale for us. So, Moise, please don’t starve us any more than you have to—I could eat a whole porcupine now myself if I had one.”
That night at the fireside Uncle Dick saw the boys bending over close together, and looked at them curiously, for they seemed to be writing.
“What’s up, young men?” said he.
“Well, we’re making our wills,” said Rob. “We haven’t got much to give to anybody, of course, but you know, in case of any accident, we thought the folks ought to know about it. Not that we’re afraid. I was just thinking that so many people were lost here that never were heard of again.”
Uncle Dick did not smile at Rob’s frank confession, but liked the boys all the more for it.
“Well,” said he, “that’s all right, too. I’m willing to admit that when I ran the Rock Cañon above the Boat Encampment last year I did a little writing myself and put it in my pocket, and I tied one leg to the boat with a rope, too. But please don’t be too much alarmed over anything we’ve said, for if the cañons should prove too bad we will line down with the boat; and if we can’t line down, then we will all take to the woods.”