CHAPTER XX.—A JOURNEY IN THE DARK.
“I’ve a hunch,” Don said, as the boys rowed off after fish, “that we would better land on the east shore, at the point where others have beached the boats, and try our luck fishing off the bank. That current looks ugly to me!”
Clay, who was rowing in order to give steerage way, rested a moment and looked over his shoulder at the water, sweeping toward the west shore with resistless force. The Colorado river, in passing through the Grand Canyon, makes many sharp turns in drift because of great rocks which have tumbled down from the cliffs, and so block the flow, turning it aside in angry swirls. It was one of these eccentricities the boys faced.
“There’s where I want to fish!” Clay explained, bending to the oars again. “Keep her over to the west, and we’ll get a big one in that deep pit next to the shore. If we ease along with the current, we won’t tip over. Don’t let the current strike her on the side!”
But the current did strike the boat on the side, struck her like a shot and whirled her round and round. One oar was twisted out of Clay’s hand, and Don lost the paddle he was steering with.
“Hang to the boat!” shouted Clay, and Don clung like death to an oarlock as the boat went over, half filled, righted, and swung toward the west shore. Striking a rock near the shore, she turned turtle, but the boys held on, and were dashed out of water where the current beat against a narrow beach which lay between the shoreline and the cliff.
Clay scrambled up, limping, and Don made his way farther up holding his right arm with his left hand. The former caught the boat as the wash moved it toward the current and drew it up on the shore, a dilapidated-looking craft, with the prow on one side crushed in!
“We are having great luck with rowboats!” Clay said, viewing the craft whimsically. “We ought to buy ’em by the dozen!”
“The boat be hanged!” Don grunted, rubbing his elbow, “what we need is a dozen lives! Say, but that was a dump!”
“Cheer up!” grinned Clay. “All we’ve got to do now is to swim a mile or so across the stream and get back to the Rambler! We’re stranded on a desert coast, with nothing to eat and nothing to catch fish with!”