"FINE boy, Juarez," rang out Jim's voice. "We'll beat this roaring devil yet."
No sooner had Jim spoken than our chance came. A change had taken place in the situation, as there was an opportunity to land on the west shore, as the canyon had ended and there was a break between it and the canyon following.
If we did not land now we would probably land at the bottom of the river, for we could not hope to run another canyon. Those below were terrific gorges, dangerous under ordinary conditions, but with the rush of the flood waters, absolutely impossible.
We were favored for the moment by a change in the condition of the river. The first rush of the drift had passed and there was a comparatively smooth stretch of water, but further up the river great red waves were coming with reinforcements of logs and timbers against our boat.
"To the oars," yelled Jim, "we must get out of this now or go under."
Juarez and I sprang forward with lightning quickness, placed the oars in position, and then we pulled, how we pulled! Biting the raging current of the river with rapid strokes.
Exerting his strength to the very utmost, Jim fought the boat towards the shore. He seemed animated with a fury equal to the floods.
"Pull, pull," yelled Tom in frenzy. "Here comes a log to kill us."
It was bearing down toward us with awful swiftness. Its great end, three or four feet across, was like a battering ram in the swift swing of the current, ready to demolish us.
It was the last blow of the river, escape it and we would be safe. No need to urge us. Our oars foamed into the current and "The Captain" responded. Down it came, flung forward on a wave above Jim's head. With a desperate surge of strength Juarez and I gave a last pull together and the great log swept by our stern by six inches.