“Perhaps we can follow the shore up and attract the attention of the boys,” Don suggested. “I can’t swim across!”
“I don’t believe the Rambler can get over to this shore,” Clay said, looking over the mass of broken waters. “There’s more than a million big rocks in there. You know, we kept off this shore when we came up.”
“Well we can walk up and see what the chances are,” Don grunted.
But the lads did not walk up very far before they came to a cliff which stood out flush with the water, and against which the current thundered with a sound like the booming of heavy artillery. To the west the canyon wall rose sheer a thousand feet.
“Right here is where we get ours,” Don exclaimed. “A fly couldn’t climb up that wall! We’ll have to wait here until the boys look us up.”
“It won’t take them long to find the broken boat!” Clay mourned.
“And they’ll want to know about the fish for dinner!” Don finished, with a grin.
The cliff which blocked the narrow beach set out from the main wall of the canyon like the leg of the letter “L,” and the lads sat down in the angle to dry their clothes in the hot sunshine. In a moment Clay sprang to his feet and began running up and down the beach.
“That’s the first symptom!” Don grinned. “You’ll be fit for the foolish house in an hour or two. Go on and play you’re an aeroplane and lift us both out of this!”
“Where does this cold wind come from?” asked Clay, paying no attention to the facetious remarks of his chum. “There’s an open passage in the west wall here! Can’t you feel the current of air?”