"Don't you see behind those bushes? There's a whole bunch of Indians."
Tom made a plunge forward for his rifle.
"Hold on," cried Jim, "don't exert yourself, Tom. Jo didn't see any Indians. It was just his diverting method of breaking up our little discussion."
Tom was so disgusted that he turned his back on us and became absorbed in the view down the river.
In a little while we heard Commodore Jim's voice.
"To the oars, my bonnie lads. We are coming to another dancing, prancing rapid."
Tom regarded the commodore askance.
"What's the matter with Jim?" he soliloquized. "He must consider himself a blooming poet. I guess it's because he hasn't had his hair cut for a year."
But all further repartee was cut off by the necessity of attending to business. In a short time we ran out of the rapids.
After passing a great wide canyon we came to a very remarkable place. At this point the wall was set back well from the river.