So he paced up and down the deck of the liner, watching Jim at the sweep and Tom and me at the oars. The stream was very mild in this canyon and nothing like the foaming fury that we had been accustomed to.
Juarez watched everything with a keen and intelligent eye—saw how we steered and avoided the rocks. His searching instinct was at work.
"Do you think that you can steer the craft down this trail, Juarez?" inquired Jim.
"Yes, I can do so, certainly most. I soon get on to its curves."
This was to prove true, for his strength and skill were exactly what we needed in the boat.
"Here's the last bend," I cried.
We followed the graceful, sweeping water around it and made an easy landing on the west bank.
"Suppose we leave Tom to look after the boat," I said, "while we chase after the golden chest."
Even Juarez had to laugh at the comical look of dismay that came over Tom's face. He saw that I was joking, and a sheepish smile came over his face.
"What shall we take with us?" I asked.