We were shut in and felt protected from the storm; and the roar of the river that swept by in the darkness only lulled us to sleep for we had become as used to it as a sailor does to the sound of the sea. Jim seemed to be perfectly comfortable under his tarpaulin and being on the deck of his beloved yacht, as he called his creation, he was thoroughly contented.
The next morning was grey and the rain was still falling but it seemed warmer than ordinarily and we put our clothes in the cabin to keep them dry and it was fun too, as the rain came down in a regular shower bath.
We shoved out into the stream and were soon racing down between the narrow walls of Dark Canyon, as we called it. Guiding the boat, and dodging rocks was fast becoming second nature to us and our muscles, those that we had not used much before, were becoming hard and bunchy as rocks.
Jim's work at the steering oar was the best all-round exercises, as it took in every muscle in his body as he stood bringing the sweep back and then shoving it from him as the boat needed to be guided this way or that.
He had developed great power and control and the sweep had become a live part of the boat just as the tail of a fish guides it naturally through the water with an instinctive wave, this way or that.
Tom and I often took the sweep with several hours of exercise at a time, but when the rapids became very dangerous Jim was always at the helm. It was a pleasure to see his sinewy form as it bent to the guiding oar, with a wary glance ahead every now and then.
By noon we ran out of the Dark Canyon and the river broadened out, the walls became lower and stood further back from the stream than at any point we had yet passed.
It seemed to give us breathing space after being cramped so long in narrow walls. We also left the storm behind with its dark grey masses piled up on the cliffs of the canyon and the wind was stirring the vapor around and around between the narrow walls as though the storm was boiling there.
The sun had come out with all the hot, intense brilliancy of the desert atmosphere. The river seemed plated with the thin silver of the sun and its current was moving lazily along at about four miles an hour.
"By Jove!" exclaimed Tom, "but it's fine to have the sun again after being buried alive in those canyons."