All three of them were accustomed to tobogganing, and thinking it would be only a toboggan slide on a huge scale, they decided to go.
They spent the night at the lumber camp, and were roused up very early in the morning, so that they might get down to their business in the valley betimes. After a hearty breakfast, they wrapped themselves up as warmly as they could, and prepared for their trip.
They had left warm weather in the valley, but here in the mountains the snow lay thick, and it was bitter cold.
They shivered (not altogether with cold) when they caught sight of the little boat that was to take them their fifty miles.
The boat was a very rough-looking thing, nailed together without much care, and did not look over-strong.
However, as none of the three was willing to be the first man to give in, they stepped into the little craft, and gripping the seats firmly, in obedience to the orders of the lumbermen, were pushed off.
For the first few minutes their experience was something terrible. They were going at such a frightful rate of speed that they could hardly catch breath; they seemed to be falling down the side of the mountain, and every moment the speed of their fall increased.
They flew past snowy mountains and ice-bound rivers, and had no time to see anything.
Each man remembered all the dreadful stories he had heard about accidents in flumes, and at every curve and turn expected to be dashed to pieces in the cañon below.
So they sped onward, past rocks and cliffs, down, down, down, until they flew out of the regions of snow and ice over hillsides clothed with vineyards. Still down, past orchards, the trees in full bloom, down and still down, until their fear had passed, and they were able to enjoy the novelty of their position.