Thick vegetation, at times, forced them toward the base of the cliff, while at others they skirted along the bank. Pretty wild flowers nodded in the breeze and brilliant-hued butterflies hovered about. Occasionally, a rustle amidst the underbrush indicated the presence of some startled creature.
Straight ahead, bright in the sunlight, loomed the towering walls of Crescent Mountain, its opposite neighbor being partly hidden by the cliff near at hand.
At length the end of the island was reached, and the boys only stopped where the cliff, rising straight out of the water, barred further progress.
"A daisy view," commented Tom. "Look at the current, Sam—pretty strong even here, eh?"
"That's right, Tommy. I wouldn't care to be more than fifty feet from shore. Nice fresh breeze, too, though we don't get so much of it on this side."
Sam seated himself, the others following his example. Now and then a stick or branch floated slowly by, occasionally caught by some counter current and swung in to shore, only to again be started on its journey toward the gorge of Canyon River.
Sam picked up a stout limb and sent it far out, then idly watched the current carrying it away.
"Wonder, Tom," he said, reflectively, "what kind of a journey the thing will have. Maybe it will go over that mysterious falls."
"I'm sure I don't care. Let's skip back, and see if Fenton has come."
"You run over and see, Tommy, like a good fellow."