"There's a big canyon ahead," I yelled to Jim. "It's got the biggest roar of any we have met yet."
"All right, Jo," answered Jim, "we will swing off to the first good landing."
This we found without much difficulty and we got a good night's rest to prepare us for the struggle that lay before us.
For the next two days we had a terrific struggle with this canyon, the most dangerous that we had so far encountered. In fact it was in many ways the worst we were to go through on the whole trip.
There was one place we ran through that struck me with terror. We came upon it early one afternoon. There was a sharp plunge downward of the river and on all sides it was beaten into foam among the rocks. In the center there was a swift, clear run, that ended in big successive waves.
We took it fairly in the middle. Jim had become too good a steerer to be beaten now. But when we struck the waves our boat plunged as in a heavy sea. Much of it would have made one seasick.
One big red fellow curved over the bow, knocking me forward and I was only saved from going overboard by grasping the side and holding on for dear life. It seemed as if the deluge held me under for a full minute, but it was only a few seconds.
My oar was shattered and I hastened to replace it with an extra one. We carried several for just such emergencies.
"Hello!" exclaimed Tom, after this exciting episode, "just listen to that thunder."
"Thunder!" cried Jim, "that isn't thunder. It's perfectly clear overhead. There is not a storm within a hundred miles."