"I'll be all right in a minute," I answered in a hollow voice that I scarcely recognized as my own.
I decided that the best thing that I could do was to get to work at the oars and warm up, for I was chilled through and through to the very bone.
I staggered to my place and after I had pulled for a few minutes my blood began to circulate and I felt better and in a short time I was pretty well recovered, but I dared not let my mind dwell on the escape that I had just had.
That evening we made a cheerless camp, not being able to run out of the canyon and had to tie up at a place that was nothing but a narrow shelf of rock with a few tough and stunted bushes growing on it.
A grey rain, began to come down steadily into the canyon, the first that we had experienced, and we decided to sleep on the boat.
"Why did you let that boat get away?" was the first question I asked.
"It wasn't our fault," explained Jim. "It happened this way. When Tom pulled up the bow anchor the strain was too much on the other rope. It had become worn, I guess, and it parted near the stone."
"That was the rope that was trailing behind, I happened to grasp it and that was all that saved me. It was that close," I shuddered.
"No more talk about it to-night," said Jim, "you need a good sleep."
Jim rolled up in his blankets on deck, with a tarpaulin over him. While Tom and I lay under the cabin, with our extremities sticking out, but covered with canvas. We managed to feel quite comfortable and cozy with the rain coming down gently on the roof over our heads.