“It’s a good thing we picked out a camp site where the ground was firm,” Roger observed, as they passed such a slide on the next day, and saw what a terrible thing it had been.
Dick was ready to agree with what his companion said. He shrugged his broad shoulders and shook his head.
“It would have proved a bad job for us, I take it, Roger, if we had been camping on this spot. Think of having the ground slip from under you while you sleep; and of awaking to find yourself struggling in the river. Yes, we were lucky to be on firm ground while the rain lasted.”
“The days keep passing along,” mused Roger, “and so far I haven’t been able to take a single salmon. And only this morning I’m sure I saw one jump out of the water after some sort of insect. If only I knew what kind of fly it was I might be able to coax one of the big fish to come to time.”
“It is near the end of October, too,” Dick remarked, “and any day now Captain Lewis says he expects that we must reach the lower river.”
“And, after that, all we have to do is to let the swift current carry us along to the sea; eh, Dick?”
“Our only remaining danger will come from the Flat Head Indians who live along the banks of the broad river. Then we must remember, you know, Roger, that there is a great fall somewhere below us. The Nez Perces Indians told us they make a noise like thunder when the water is high, as it is after so much rain.”
“Of course we must keep on the watch for the fall, Dick; I give you my word for it, I have no desire to be carried over the brink in one of these frail little hide canoes. It would be smashed on the rocks below, and, as for us, we might not know what had happened.”
“Just watch that fish hawk hovering over that place in the river, meaning to snatch up his dinner when he gets ready. There’s the champion fisher for you, Roger. If that bird could only talk he could tell you all about the habits of these wary salmon that so far you haven’t succeeded in catching.”