"I bet that this stream rises sometimes," interposed Tom. "Just look at that drift caught up there on that cliff, that must be all of thirty feet."
"It isn't very low water now," said Jim, "which is lucky for us, for we would be knocked out pretty quick if we ran into a whole nest of rocks or at least we would get stalled."
"I reckon that only a light skiff could go down here in low water," said Tom.
"Yes," I replied, "but it would be stove in pretty quick if it should strike an outcrop of rock."
"I guess 'The Captain' is the boat for this business," commented Jim. "We will knock through with her somehow."
"More rapids," I cried, as we rounded the curve in the canyon.
Tom and I sprang to our oars, and in five minutes we were fighting our way through a bunch of foaming rocks, then down a bunchy descending current.
After a run of fifteen miles we came to a place where the river broadened into quietness, and ahead of us we saw a place where the waters rippled into a cove.
"There's the place to land," cried Jim.