The waves poured over into our boat nearly swamping us. We pulled out of it alive and the worst was over.
At last, at last, our war worn, battered boat drifted out into the broad sunny reaches of the Colorado. Behind us was the gloom of the labyrinthine, rock bound prison with the gnashing river within it rushing ever downward, eager to escape.
We were glad, glad to have come through our terrific experiences alive and though we were weather beaten, well and uninjured.
"Thank Heaven!" exclaimed Jim, as he steered down the broad unhampered river.
So after some time of quiet journeying we came to the end of our trip. We found a pleasant camping place near a cove where we anchored our faithful boat. How splendidly it had carried us through.
Battered and beaten though it was, still perfectly seaworthy, or to be more exact, riverworthy. It had been our home so many weeks that it seemed to be a part of our lives, and we had a real affection for it, like one has for a faithful dog who has been one's companion through trials and dangers.
One evening we sat around the campfire, underneath the cottonwood trees with the slow moving Colorado in the foreground. We had been talking of home, both in Kansas and York State and also of our old friend the captain, when Jim spoke up:
"Gentlemen of the Order of the Colorado and fellow pioneers," he said, in his most oratorical manner, "I move that we free and untrammeled Americans proceed next to the invasion of Mexico."
This was carried with but one dissenting voice and that was Tom's, but that was to be expected.
At this point I may say that "The Frontier Boys in Mexico, or Mystery Mountain," will be a book of varied and exciting incidents which take place in a wonderfully interesting and remarkable country. And now for a brief time I bid you adios.