He was a young man, with a two days' beard on his face, clad in the universal overalls and blue flannel shirt. He lay on the sand, too exhausted to move for perhaps five minutes, while Jonas pulled off his sodden shoes, and Na-che ran to kindle a fire and heat water. After a moment, however the stranger began to talk.
"Almost got me that time! Forgot to put my life preserver on. Don't bother about me. I'm drowned every day. Another boat with the rest of us should be along shortly. Hope they salvaged some of the stuff."
"What in time are you trying to do on the river, anyhow?" demanded
Curly. "There's simpler ways of committing suicide."
The young man laughed. "Oh, we're some more fools trying to get from
Green River to Needles!"
"On a bet?" asked Mack.
"Hardly! On a job! Geological Survey! Four of us! There they come!
Whoo—ee!"
He staggered to his feet, as another boat shot around the curve. But this one came through in proper style, right side up, two men manning the oars and a third with a steering paddle. With an answering shout, they ran quickly up on the shore. They were a rough-bearded, overalled lot, young men, all of them.
"Gee whiz, Harden! We thought you were finished!" exclaimed the tallest of the trio.
"I would have been, but for these folks," replied Harden. "Here, let's make some introductions!"
They were stalwart fellows. Milton, the leader, was sandy-haired and freckled, a University of California man. Agnew was stocky and swarthy, an old Princeton graduate and Forrester, a thin, blonde chap had worked in New York City before he joined the Geological Survey. They were astonished by this meeting in the Canyon, but delighted beyond measure. They had been on the river for seven months and up to this time had met no one except when they went out for supplies.