“There is no soil here to catch and hold the downpour,” Case explained, “and this valley drains a lot of country, which seems to be mostly standing on end. The result is that a heavy rain here will send a lot of water into this depression, and there you are!”
“And it will send the Rambler over the rapids!” Alex exclaimed, “if we sit around here and wait for it to raise a few feet more.”
“I don’t know what we can do, I’m sure,” Case said, dejectedly.
“Perhaps the river will rise so we can shoot the rapids,” Alex suggested. “That would be easier than rolling the boat around. I don’t feel no nourishment in treating a boat like a wheelbarrow.”
“Do you think we might do that?” asked Case, turning to Clay.
“We can tell by looking,” was the reply. “This whole valley is a larger repetition of the little one the rivulet fills to the brim every time it rains. For a hundred miles, here, the valley of the Columbia is narrow, with mountains on either side. The rain, comes off the slopes in sheets, and there is no reason why the Columbia should not rise six or eight feet during a storm like this.”
“If it does, shall we risk it?” asked Case.
“I vote for risking it!” Alex shouted. “What’s the use of going for a boat ride and then trundling the old thing along on wheels?”
“Well,” Clay said, to change the subject, “all we can do now is to get out a long, strong rope and tie up to one of the cedar trees. Who’ll swim out with it? It will be like taking a morning bath!”
“I will!” Alex replied. “I want a good swim, anyway. I’ll put on an old suit, so I won’t get scratched if I go to the bottom over a nest of briars, and carry the rope to that big tree near where we built the cooking fire. The rope will hold the Rambler all right, will it?”