THE STORY OF

Sam Willett's Adventures on the Great

Colorado of the West.

By ALFRED R. CALHOUN,

Author of

"Cochise," "Excelsior," "The Californians," etc., etc.

ILLUSTRATED.

NEW YORK:

A. L. BURT, PUBLISHER.

Copyright 1888, by A. L. Burt.

————

Sam succeeded in guiding the raft to a ledge of sloping rocks.

————

CONTENTS

————

LOST IN THE CAÑON.

————

[CHAPTER I.—A REMARKABLE CAMP.]

The scene of this narrative is laid in Southwestern Colorado, and the date is so recent that boys living out there at that time are only just beginning to think themselves young men—and it is really astonishing how soon boys leap into vigorous manhood in that wild, free land.

"We's 'bleeged to hab 'im, for dah ain't de least scrap ob meat in de camp!"

This stirring information was shouted by a stout negro boy of fifteen or sixteen years of age, who, with a long, rusty, single-barrel shot-gun in his arms, stood at the base of a towering mass of bare rocks, and looked eagerly up at two other youths creeping along the giddy heights, and evidently in eager search of something that had escaped them, but which they were determined to overtake.

The lithe form, long black hair, and copper-colored skin of one of the young hunters bespoke him an Indian of the purest type. He wore a close-fitting buckskin dress, and slung at his back was a short repeating rifle.

The other youth up the rocks, though bronzed on the hands and face to a color as dark as the young Ute's, had the blue eyes and curly yellow hair that told of a pure white ancestry. His name was Samuel Willett, and though not much more than sixteen years of age, his taller form and more athletic build made him look several years the senior of his red and black companions.

Sam Willett was armed and dressed like a hunter, and his well-worn equipments told that he was not out masquerading in the costume of a theatrical Nimrod.

The Indian youth, Ulna, and Sam Willett had chased a Rocky Mountain or bighorn sheep into the mass of towering rocks which they were now searching; and that they were not hunting for mere sport was proven by Ike, the black boy's repeated cry:

"We's 'bleeged to hab 'im, foh dar ain't de least scrap ob meat in de camp!"

"I want to get the meat as much as you do, Ike, so have patience!" Sam shouted down, without stopping in his pursuit an instant.

The two daring hunters disappeared, and Ike, whose desire for meat was greater than his love for the chase, began circling about the confused pile of rocks so as to keep his companions in sight.

The bighorn "sheep" is in reality not a sheep at all, but a variety of powerful mountain antelope, whose strength, speed and daring among the rocks and cañons are not the least wonderful things about the wonderful land in which he makes his exclusive home.

Even old Western hunters believe that these animals can leap from immense heights and land on their horns without harm, but this is an error.

While Ike was gazing with eager eyes and open mouth at the towering, volcanic cliffs, the bighorn came to view on a rock five hundred feet overhead.

The hunters were close behind, and the creature's only means of escape was to leap across a chasm fully thirty feet wide to another rock of a little lower elevation.

"Shoot! shoot!" yelled the excited Ike, as the bighorn gathered himself up and eyed the terrific gorge that beset his course.

As if stung to desperation by the shout the creature leaped forward with a force that must have cleared the gulf, and an accuracy that would have insured a landing on the other side, but just as it sprang into mid-air two shots rang out within a small fraction of a second of each other, and the bighorn came crashing down and fell dead at the black boy's feet.

In his wild excitement Ike discharged the rusty single-barrel shot-gun, which he had been hugging in his arms as if it were a baby. All the power of the old-fashioned weapon must have been in the report and recoil, for the former sounded like the explosion of a howitzer, and the latter was so terrific as to send the holder sprawling across the carcass of the bighorn.

Sam Willett saw all this as he hurried down the rocks, otherwise he might have thought when he had reached the bottom that the animal had fallen on his companion and faithful servant and killed him.

"Hello, Ike, old fellow, what's up?" asked Sam, as he helped the owner of the shot-gun to his feet.

"Is I all alive, foh shuah, Mistah Sam?" demanded Ike, as he stared wildly about him.

"Of course you are, and here is the meat you have been so eager for," said Sam.

"Wa'll, Mistah Sam, it's dat ar gun," said Ike, gazing sadly at the old weapon which he still held in his arms. "I ain't used her bad; ain't fired her off for more'n six months afore we kem out har from Michigan—dat's five months ago—an' now only to tink she's done gone back on me in dat are way."

The Indian youth, Ulna, had come down by this time, and when he took in the situation his fine, almost effeminate face was wreathed in smiles, that displayed a beautiful set of white teeth.

In a low, musical voice and without any accent, he said in excellent English:

"The sun is setting and we must hurry if we would reach the camp before dark."

"An' more partikler ez we've got to tote dis ar venizon home," said Ike, now wide awake to the necessities of the situation.

Each of the youths had a hunting knife in his belt, and they soon proved that these weapons were not carried for ornament.

With a rapidity and skill that would have won the admiration of an eastern butcher, they skinned and cleaned the animal, severed the mammoth head and then divided the meat into three parcels.

Each had to shoulder about fifty pounds, but being sturdy, healthy young fellows they did not seem to mind their burdens, as they started off with long, vigorous strides toward the west.

The sun in all his course does not look down on a wilder, grander or more desolate land than that which met the gaze of the young hunters, no matter to which side they turned.

Verdureless mountains of fantastic shapes rose into the cloudless sky on every hand.

Here and there in the crevices of the black volcanic rocks, over which they hurried, a stunted sagebush or a dwarf cactus suggested the awful barrenness of the place rather than told of vegetation.

They were in the land of cañons and drought, on the summit of the Great American Plateau where rain but seldom falls, where the streams flow through frightful gorges, and where men and animals have often perished from thirst within sight of waters which they could not reach.

Bleak and sublime as the land was, is, and ever must be, yet the belief—a well founded belief by the way—that its gloomy ravines contained gold, led hundreds of hardy miners and adventurers to look upon it as that El Dorado for which the early Spanish explorers in these wilds had sought in vain.

As the leader of the little party, Sam Willett, strode ahead, the deepening shadows of the mountains impelled him each instant to a quicker pace.

There was no apparent trail, yet Sam never hesitated in his course, but kept on as unerringly as a bird of passage, till he came to a great black rift that seemed to suddenly open at his feet.

Away down in the shadowy depths he could see a white band that told of moving water.

A glow, the source of which could not be seen, indicated a fire down near the base of the cliff, and the barking of a dog—the sound appeared to come from the depths of a cave—suggested a human habitation.

On reaching the crest of the chasm Sam Willett did not hesitate, but at once plunged down to what, to a stranger, would appear certain death.

Along the cañon wall there was a steep but well constructed trail that afforded secure footing to a traveler who was not troubled with giddiness.

Without once stopping, Sam and his companions made their way to the bottom of the rift and forded the roaring torrent that thundered over its uneven bed.

On the cañon wall, opposite to that by which they had descended, they saw about a hundred feet above the stream, what seemed like a number of illuminated pigeon holes. This was their home, the place to which had been given the not inappropriate name of "Gold Cave Camp."

With barks of delight, a big dog met them near the water and joyously escorted them up the other side to an irregular plateau, about a hundred feet in diameter, that shot out like the once famous Table Rock at Niagara.

This plateau was in front of the cave, in which the miners had made their home.

The background of light revealed the forms of three men. The dress and long cue of one bespoke him a Chinaman, the second was dressed like a hunter, and the third, a tall, powerful figure, had only his heavy beard and striking stature to distinguish him.

"Is that you, Sam?" called out the tall man, as the foremost of the party reached the plateau.

"Yes, father," was the reply, "and we have brought back some meat."

"Wa'll!" exclaimed the second man, "I didn't think thar was a pound of live meat left within twenty mile of yar."

"Hoolay! Bully! Now me gettee suppel!" cried the excited Chinaman, who was known by the fitting name of Wah Shin.

Preceded by Maj, the dog, Sam and his fellow hunters entered the remarkable cave—of which we shall speak hereafter—and laid the meat on the floor.

"I began to grow uneasy about you, my boy," said Mr. Willett, as he fondly kissed his son, "meat is very desirable, but I would rather suffer for it than be worried at your absence."

Sam explained about the delay in the hunt, and then went to a spring that rose from the floor of the cave close to the fire, and here he set the example of drinking and washing himself.

Meanwhile Wah Shin began to demonstrate his position in that strangely mixed company. In nearly no time he had steaks broiling on the coals, the savory odor of which made Hank Tims, the old guide, take long inhalations with great enjoyment.

Apart from meat there was an abundance of other food in this strange camp, so that in a very short time Wah Shin, with Ike's aid, had a most excellent supper spread on a table consisting of two roughly-hewn cedar slabs, supported at either end by a square stationary stone, that had been placed there by the original but unknown cave dwellers.

[CHAPTER II.—LOOKING BACKWARD AND FORWARD.]

It is not a little remarkable that the six dwellers in Gold Cave Camp should represent four of the five types into which scientists divide the human race, but this though curious in itself, is not nearly so much so as their being residents of this sparsely settled wilderness, and living, as it were, in caves in the depths of the earth.

Mr. Willett had been a merchant in Detroit, Michigan, where his only child, Sam, was born.

He had been very happy in his married life and very prosperous in his business; but, alas, for the stability of human affairs, his wife died. Following this awful calamity came a series of reverses in business which no human foresight could prevent. His property was swept away, and in his fortieth year he found himself a poor man, with a son to educate and care for and all life's battle to fight over again.

Mr. Willett had been educated as a mining engineer, and though he had never followed his profession he, very naturally, looked to it as a means of support when all his other resources were gone.

In the days of his great distress and perplexity he read of sudden fortunes being made in the newly-discovered gold fields of the San Juan country in Southwestern Colorado, and thither he determined to go.

Although still in the prime of life, Mr. Willett concentrated all the love of his brave heart on his son and resolved to devote his time and thought to his care and education.

Sam's maternal grandfather, Mr. Shirley, was a very rich, but a very morose and eccentric old man, who chose never to become reconciled to his daughter's marriage to Mr. Willett. But when Sam's mother died, the old gentleman offered to adopt his grandson and make him his sole heir, if the father would consent to renounce all claims to him.

In his son's interest Mr. Willett might have considered this proposal favorably had not Sam himself upset the scheme by saying stoutly:

"Father, do not ask me to leave you, for I feel it would be sending me to death. If you go to the West, I shall go with you. There are only two of us left, why should we be parted?"

Mr. Willett replied to this query by kissing his son, and so it was settled that they should go to the West together.

Ike was an orphan lad who, in some inexplicable way, had drifted up to Michigan from Kentucky. Mr. Willett found and cared for the boy, and he repaid this generosity by a fidelity and devotion worthy of all praise.

Mr. Willett could see no use for Ike in the West, but when the time for departure came, the black boy appeared at the depot with an old hunting bag, containing all his clothing, slung at his back, and a remarkable-looking shot-gun folded in his arms.

"Dar's no use a talkin' to me, boss," he said to Mr. Willett, when that gentleman expressed his surprise at the boy's appearance. "Ize bound to go 'long wid Mistah Sam. Oh, don't yeh feel skeat 'bout de cash foh de passage. Ize got ebery cent I ever earned stored away har; its more'n fifty dollar, an' I'll foot de bills till de las' red cent's gone."

In proof of this bold statement, Ike drew from the depths of his trousers' pockets a bag containing several pounds weight of bronze, nickel and silver coins.

Ike found an eloquent advocate in Sam; and so it came about that at the very last moment Mr. Willett decided to take the colored boy with him, though he could not be made to avail himself of the generous fellow's hoardings.

The three went to Denver, thence over the Rocky range to St. Luis Park, and over the Sierra Madre mountains to the San Juan country.

They had procured horses to ride on, and two pack mules to carry their supplies and mining tools.

While at Port Garland in the St. Luis Park, they met with Hank Tims and the Ute boy, Ulna, who was a nephew of the great chief Uray, whom the writer of this narrative knew very well and greatly admired.

Hank Tims and Ulna were themselves thinking about going into the San Juan country, and, as they were well acquainted with that region and appeared to take to Mr. Willett's party at once, they were readily induced to join his expedition.

It would be out of place in this brief but essential review to recount all the adventures that beset our friends till they reached the scene of their proposed labors.

After much wandering, they found Gold Cave Camp, but it was in the possession of a wild, dissolute fellow named Tom Edwards.

As Edwards was working his claim all alone and was eager to leave it, Mr. Willett bought him out at his own price, and at once made preparations to pan for such gold as might be found in the bed of the cañon.

A few days after the commencement of operations, Wah Shin appeared in the camp.

He looked as if he had been blown in from the bleak hills, but he managed to explain in his broken English that he had lost himself coming up from Santa Fe, and that he was a first-class cook.

He asked for "a job," but even before Mr. Willett had made up his mind to hire him, he set to work to give an exhibition of his skill; and the result was so entirely satisfactory that he was retained on his own terms.

But it is much easier to explain the presence of these people than it is to account for the strange home in which they lived.

Learned men claim that long before the coming of the white men to this continent, long, indeed, before the coming of the Indians, that there was a strange race of people in that Western land, whom, for the want of a better name, they call "The Cave Dwellers."

But no matter how formed, or by whom they were first inhabited, these caves—they are quite common in that land—made ready and comfortable homes for the mining adventurers.

Those occupied by Mr. Willett and his associates, consisted of a series of eight apartments, all opening on the plateau and all connected by passage ways that must have been the work of human hands.

The apartments were circular in shape, and the largest, which was used as a kitchen and general store room, was about twenty feet in diameter and ten feet in height.

As before stated there was an ample spring of delicious cool water in this apartment, and the original hewers of the caves, no doubt, selected the place on this account.

After a hearty supper, Mr. Willett and Hank Tims lit their pipes and sat before the fire, for though the days are warm in this land the nights are unusually cool.

Drift wood, picked up from the crevices of the rocks in which it had been lodged by floods caused by the melting of snow in the mountains, constituted the fuel of the camp, and the great pile near the fire showed that it was to be had in abundance.

All had been working hard that day, so after a desultory talk about the great success that was meeting their search for gold, they lay down on their blanket cots in the other apartments and went to sleep—that is, all but Sam and his father.

Mr. Willett and his son slept together in the nearest room, but though they lay down side by side they did not go to sleep at once.

"Sam," said Mr. Willett in a troubled voice, "since you left this morning that fellow, Tom Edwards, has been here again."

"What did he want?" asked Sam.

"He appeared to be drunk, and he threatened to kill me if I did not give him more money."

"But you have paid him the price agreed on?"

"Yes."

"Then I should not heed him."

"Still, I am afraid he will cause me trouble, so, to-morrow, I will ride over to Hurley's Gulch and consult a lawyer, and as that is our nearest market and post-office, I will take Hank and Ulna along with two pack mules so as to carry back supplies."

"That is forty miles away, so that you will be gone several days. But if you must go, father, I will do the best I can while you are absent," said Sam, laying his hand soothingly on his father's broad breast.

"I know you will, my boy, but there is another matter I wished to speak with you about."

"What is that, father?"

"Why, this Tom Edwards brought me a letter from your grandfather's lawyer in Michigan. It tells me that the old man is dead, and that in his will he leaves all his property to you, but you are not to have a cent of it till you are twenty-one years of age——"

"Four years and a half, dear father!" cried the excited Sam.

"But," continued Mr. Willett, "the will further says that if you should die in the meantime that the property is to go to your grandfather's nephew, Frank Shirley."

"A bad, disreputable man to whom neither you nor mother would speak," said Sam.

"He is all that, I fear, and it troubles me to learn from Edwards that Frank Shirley has recently come into this land," said Mr. Willett.

[CHAPTER III.—SAM'S TRIALS BEGIN.]

While daylight was flooding the upper world next morning, and the shadows were lifting from the gloomy depths of the cañon, the modern cave dwellers ate their breakfast.

About three hundred yards above the caves the cañon widened out into a valley some three hundred yards in diameter. The bottom of this valley was covered with rich grass, and in it was a grove of cotton-wood trees whose bright verdure gave the place the appearance of a rich emerald gem in a mighty setting of granite.

In this valley the horses and pack mules were kept, and, as they had but little to do, they might be said to "live in clover."

While it was still dusky in these depths, though the glimpses of far-off ruddy mountain peaks told that the sun was rising in the upper world, Sam and Ike, who were hardly ever apart, went up to the valley and soon returned with three horses and two mules, the latter were to carry back the necessary supplies from Hurley's Gulch.

It had been Mr. Willett's custom to make this trip once a month, so that his going now was not an unusual event, yet his face showed that he was much dejected, as if he had a premonition of the awful calamity that was so soon to come upon himself and his beloved boy.

His last words, as he kissed Sam, were:

"If anything should happen to detain me longer than four days, I will send a letter back by Ulna."

"But we'll be back on time," joined in Hank Tims, "for I don't like crowds, an', then, we've struck pay dirt rich up at the head of the valley, an' I'm just a spilein' to see how it'll pan out to the ind."

Good-bys were said, and Sam, Ike and Wah Shin stood on the plateau before the cave and waved their hats, till the three men had led the animals up the giddy trail and disappeared beyond the towering summit of the cliff.

Under the teaching of his father and Hank Tims, Sam had become a skillful gold miner, that is, so far as panning out the gravel and collecting the gold were concerned.

The fact that he was the prospective heir to a large fortune did not unfit him for work this morning. With Ike he went up to the sluices immediately after his father left, and until the sun was in mid-heaven they worked, shoveling gravel into the cradle and rocking it under the water, and only stopping to pick out the nuggets and yellow dust and scales that rewarded their effort every hour.

By means of an old-fashioned horn, Wah Shin summoned them to dinner. Of the fresh meat he had made pies that would have tempted an invalid's appetite. And, as the boys ate, sitting before the entrance to the cave, the Chinaman's face fairly glowed with delight at the evidence of his excellent cooking.

"Ven'zon pie belly good," chuckled Wah Shin, as he produced a second when the first had vanished. "But man eatee too muchee, den get mebbe sick."

"Dat ar edvice is 'tended foh Mistah Sam," laughed Ike, as he helped himself again. "But vanzon pie an' 'possums are two tings I ain't nebber got my fill ob up to dis time."

Sam heard but did not heed the talk of his companions, for his attention was at the moment attracted to two strange men who were slowly making their way down the trail on the opposite side of the cañon wall.

As there was danger from prowling bands of Indians who had left the reservation, and also from white outlaws who frequently robbed weak mining camps, every one at Gold Cave Camp strapped on a belt, with a knife and pistols in it, as regularly as he pulled on his boots.

Starting to his feet and followed by Ike, Sam went down to the stream, getting there just as the two men reached the bottom.

One of the strangers was a tall, dark-bearded man, with one eye, and the other was a short, yellow-skinned man with a mean expression of face, whom Sam recognized as his cousin, Frank Shirley.

Sam had never spoken to this man, so he did not greet him like an acquaintance now.

Both men were well armed, as is the fashion of the country, and when they came within hailing distance, Frank Shirley called out:

"Hello, young man, is this Mr. Willett's camp?"

"It is, sir," was Sam's reply, as he came to a halt.

"Is Mr. Willett home?"

"He is not."

"Where is he?"

"He has gone to Hurley's Gulch."

"When did he leave?"

"This morning."

"Ah, I'm sorry I missed him. When do you expect him back?"

"In a few days. Won't you come over and have some dinner?" asked Sam, waving his hand in the direction of the plateau, on which Wah Shin was visible.

"Thank you; no. We are going on to Hurley's Gulch, and are in a great hurry," said Frank Shirley, turning and whispering to his companion, who nodded vigorously in response.

"Who shall I say called?" asked Sam, as the two men turned to ascend the trail.

"Friends," was the laconical reply.

"If dem's frien's," said Ike, when the men had gone out of hearing, "den Ize de biggest kind ob a foe."

The conversation of the two men when they reached the top of the cliff proved the black boy's surmise to be correct.

They had left their horses hitched to a rock, and as they prepared to mount, Frank Shirley said to his companion:

"That's the boy, Badger."

"The boy ez stan's atween you an' fortune?" said Badger.

"Yes."

"Wa'll, ain't you hired me to help you clear the way?"

"I have, Badger."

"Good; then let us git rid of the father first, an' then all the rest'll be ez smooth ez ile."

"You will stick to your contract?"

"I'd be a fool if I didn't. You pay expenses an' give me ten thousand dollars to get 'em out of the way. Isn't that it?"

"That's it, Badger," said Frank Shirley, as he mounted and rode along beside his companion.

"That ar boy down thar," said Badger, waving his hand back at the cañon, "ain't no slouch. He'll fight, he will; an' the best way with sich is to give 'em no chance."

"No chance," echoed Frank Shirley, "that's it exactly. And now that we have them parted our opportunity has come."

"Just ez if 'twas made to order," said Badger.

After the men had gone, Sam and Ike went to work again, but the former had lost the cheerfulness that distinguished him in the morning.

He could not get those two men out of his mind, not that he feared their return—indeed, he could not account to himself for the strange feeling of dread that possessed him for the next three days.

While working, on the afternoon of the fourth day since his father's departure, he noticed that the sky had become overcast and that the water in the bed of the stream was rapidly rising.

He and Ike quit work earlier than usual, and they had great difficulty in making their way to the caves through the swollen torrent.

They had hardly reached cover when a terrific storm came up and the cañon became as dark as night, while the roar of the waters and the crashing of the thunder were ceaseless and appalling.

It was about nine o'clock at night, and the three occupants of the cave were sitting with awed faces before the fire, when, to their inexpressible surprise, Ulna, the young Ute, stood dripping before them.

"How did you reach here?" asked Sam, springing to his feet and grasping Ulna's hand.

"I rode till I killed my horse, then I ran for hours. The flood was up, and it is rising, but I managed to swim across——"

"But my father!" interrupted Sam, pleadingly laying his arm on the young Indian's shoulders.

"He and Hank Tims are prisoners at Hurley's Gulch," said Ulna.

"Prisoners."

"Yes, and in the hands of the lynchers who charge them with the murder of Tom Edwards. Here is a letter from your father that will explain all," said Ulna, pulling a damp paper from his pocket and adding, "your testimony is wanted at once to clear the accused; but no man can cross the cañon for a week, and then it will be too late!"

[CHAPTER IV.—A PERILOUS SITUATION.]

Sam Willett had courage and fortitude in no common degree, but the words of Ulna, who stood dripping and panting before him, froze him with a speechless terror.

He took the wet paper from the Indian boy's hand, but for some seconds he had neither the courage nor the strength to open it.

The howling of the wind down the gorge and the hoarse roaring of the maddened waters heightened the terror of the situation.

Wah Shin, though not well versed in English, fully understood the import of Ulna's message, but realizing his own inability to do or to suggest anything, he stood with his lips drawn and his little oblique eyes half closed.

Ike was the only one of the party who did not appear to have lost the power of speech. Taking the letter from Sam's hand, he said:

"Dat ar paper's powahful damp, an' I reckon, Mistah Sam, yeh kin read it bettah if so be I dries it so's it won't fall to pieces."

Ike opened the paper and while he held it before the fire, Ulna briefly explained the situation.

He said that Mr. Willett, Hank Tims and himself reached Hurley's Gulch without any mishap.

They found the rude mining camp in a great state of commotion owing to a robbery and murder that had recently been committed.

The more law-abiding, or rather the more industrious, for there was no organized law in the place, had formed a vigilance committee to hang the next murderer or robber, under the wild sanction of "lynch law."

"Just as soon as we reached Hurley's Gulch," continued Ulna, "we met Tom Edwards, and he was very drunk and very abusive. He shouted to every one he met that Mr. Willett had robbed him, and took Gold Cave Camp from him without paying a cent, though he had promised fifteen hundred dollars."

"Why, the man lies infamously!" interrupted Sam. "I was a witness to Edwards' receipt for the money in full, and I have it here among father's papers."

"And that receipt is what your father must have at once in order to clear him of the charge of robbery and murder," said Ulna.

"Murder!" repeated Sam.

"Yes. Last night Tom Edwards was found dying with a pistol bullet in his breast, and with his last breath he swore to the men who found him that your father and Hank Tims shot him to get rid of paying the money they owed him. The vigilantes at once arrested Mr. Willett and Tom, and they swear they will hang them if they do not prove that Tom Edwards was paid. I saw the money paid myself, but they refuse to take the word of an Indian," said Ulna, with a flash of indignation in his splendid black eyes; then continuing, "but they agreed to let me come here for the paper."

"Heah!" cried Ike, springing from beside the fire, "de lettah's dry enough to read. Let's know w'at Mistah Willett he has to say foh hisself."

Sam took the paper, and kneeling down to get the benefit of the light, he read aloud as follows:

"My Dear Son:—I do not want you to be at all alarmed at my detention. Ulna will explain why neither Tom nor I can return till you have brought us the receipt which Tom Edwards signed when I paid him the money in full for his claim at Gold Cave Camp.

"This receipt you will find among the papers in my saddle-bags. Bring it to me with all speed and leave Ulna back in charge of the camp; it does not matter if the mining ceases till we return.

"I regret to have to tell you that Tom Edwards is dead. He was drunk when he received the shot that killed him, and he accused Hank and me of the crime. If the people here knew us well they would not believe this charge for one instant, but they do not, and so we must wait till we can show the vigilance committee who hold us prisoners, that we could have no motive for, even if we were inclined to do this awful deed.

"I saw Frank Shirley here yesterday afternoon in company with a well-known desperado who goes by the name of 'One-Eyed Badger.' I cannot but think that these two men are at the bottom of this new trouble, but what their reasons can be I cannot even guess; certain it is that I have never done them or any one else a wrong knowingly.

"Do not lose heart, for I have no fear as to the result: only come as soon as you can to your loving father,

"Samuel Willett."

Sam read this over rapidly, then he read it a second time with more deliberation.

"De boss am in a bad fix," groaned Ike, "an' I jest wish I could take his place."

"I shall go to my father at once," said Sam, stoutly.

He went to the saddle-bags, got the necessary papers—the receipt and deed—and placed them securely in the inner breast pocket of his buckskin tunic.

"You no gettee on holse an' lide such night as deez coz it was so muchee stolmy?" said Wah Shin when he saw Sam getting out his saddle, bridle and rifle.

"I must get to Hurley's Gulch before another day," was the resolute reply, "if I have to go there on my hands and knees."

"But you cannot go to-night," protested Ulna. "Come and see the danger."

He took Sam by the arm and led him out to the plateau before the entrance to the cave.

It has been said that it but seldom rains in this land, but when it does the watery torrents come down with a continued fury, of which the dwellers in more favored climes can have only the faintest conception.

The bare rocks refuse to absorb the rain as it falls, and so the ever-accumulating waters sweep into the cañons and fill the narrow beds between the precipitous banks with wild torrents, that must be once seen before an adequate idea can be formed of the tremendous and seemingly irresistible power of water in action.

The four occupants of the caves, all fine types of four human races, went out to the plateau.

The light, streaming through the cave opening, cut across the inky blackness of the cañon like a solid yellow shaft, that made the surrounding darkness more impenetrable.

Laden with sheets rather than drops of rain, the wind swept down the ravine with a force that threatened to tear the observers from the rocks and hurl them into the seething torrent.

"Before this time," said Ulna, speaking with the calmness that distinguished all he said, "the valley is flooded and the horses up there are drowned."

Sam shuddered but made no reply.

He went back to the cave, secured a lighted brand, and, returning to the edge of the plateau, he dropped it over.

It went hissing down. If the current were as low as the day before it should have fallen sheer down for a hundred feet, but before going half that distance, it lit up an expanse of water white with foam, and was extinguished.

The result of this experiment brought Sam's heart to his mouth, and he could not have uttered a word if the life of the father he so well loved depended on it.

"If she keeps on a-climbin' up dat way," groaned Ike, "de watah'll be nigh into de cave by mawnin'."

Sam now recalled that he had found drift-wood lodged in the crevices of the rocks, even higher than the entrances to the cave, and from this he inferred that at the highest water no one could stay in the cave and live.

Maj, the fine setter dog, had been moaning beside the fire all the evening, but now he came out and crouched at his young master's feet, as if his instinct told him of the danger and that he wanted protection.

Fearing that the poor horses were gone, and well knowing that it would be madness to attempt to cross the cañon that night, Sam turned sadly to his companions and said:

"We can do nothing till daylight comes. Let us get in out of the storm."

They returned to the cave and silently sat down on the stones that had been placed for seats near the fire.

It was a most trying situation.

Even if Mr. Willett and Hank Tims had been safely there in the cave, the ever-increasing storm and the possibility, or rather the certainty of its danger if it continued would have been sufficient to drive sleep from the eyes of all.

But Sam Willett, brave, unselfish youth that he was, gave no thought to the peril of his own surroundings.

With his chin resting between his up-turned palms, he looked steadily at the dying fire without seeing it.

His heart and his thoughts were ever with his sorely-tried father at Hurley's Gulch, and he groaned as he read in the beating of the storm the edict that might bar his going to the rescue.

But though unmindful of himself, it was not in Sam's nature to neglect the comfort of others.

"Lie down, all of you," he said to his companions, "and I will stand guard till daylight comes."

After a weak protest, Wah Shin, Ulna and Ike brought in their blankets and lay down before the fire.

Ike pretended that he did not want to sleep, but, after an attempt at desultory talk, his eyes closed and he soon became oblivious to his surroundings.

Maj continued to be restless and frightened. Now and then, as if to judge for himself how the storm was getting on, he would go to the cave opening, and, after whining in a pained way for some seconds, he would come back and crouch down near the fire with his nose resting on his young master's knees.

To sorrow-stricken Sam Willett that night seemed like an eternity of darkness.

He was beginning to feel that the storm had destroyed the sun, when the grey light of another day began to creep slowly into the cave.

[CHAPTER V.—AT HURLEY'S GULCH.]

Hurley's Gulch, though subsequently called "Hurley City," has no right on the map if it ever had a place there, for, like many other more ambitious and important cities, it has ceased to be the abode of man and returned to its original state of barrenness and desolation.

It was at this time a mining camp that had sprung up in a night, as it were, when a man named Hurley—after whom the place was named—had discovered gold in a little creek near the spot that so suddenly became the site of busy mining life.

Though less than six months old and destined not to survive a second birthday, Hurley's Gulch had nearly a thousand inhabitants, with stores, saloons, assay offices, hotels and all the business establishments that characterize such places.

There were a few women in the camp and a sprinkling of Indians, Negroes and Mexicans, but the great mass of the inhabitants were miners, rough in appearance and even rougher in speech.

A more picturesque and novel settlement than Hurley's Gulch it would be impossible to find outside the peculiar mining camps of the West.

Two little streaks of grass could be found growing beside the creek on the bluff above which the camp had been established; but beyond this there was hardly a sign of vegetation in sight.

All about the place, far as the eye could reach, was a tempest-tossed expanse of dry, glistening rocks.

As there was neither timber for building nor material for bricks, the dwellings, stores, saloons, hotels and offices were necessarily of canvas.

The tents were pitched here and there irregularly, and as all of them had seen hard service in other mining camps and "cities," their general appearance was patched and dilapidated in the extreme.

The great majority of the men at Hurley's Gulch were industrious miners; but as vultures hover over the track of an army in the field and wolves follow up a buffalo herd to prey upon the weakest, so crowds of well-dressed gamblers and red-faced whisky sellers swarm in prosperous mining camps to plunder and demoralize.

Hurley's Gulch had more than its share of these wicked fellows, and as there was not the shadow of law there to defend the weak, every man went armed as a matter of course.

Until law officers can be elected or appointed and courts of justice established in such camps, it is the custom of the more industrious and peaceable to form what they call "vigilance committees" for their own protection.

It need not be said that, no matter how well-meaning the purpose, many men, themselves criminals, get on such committees, and that great wrong is often done to the innocent by these rude efforts to do justice.

Mr. Willett's was a case in point.

A few days before he had come over this last time to Hurley's Gulch, a hard-working miner had been killed and robbed of the gold-dust which he had patiently panned out from the bed of the stream.

This crime made the miners angry, and they held an indignation meeting after the poor man's funeral, and organized a committee to ferret out and punish the criminals.

As there was no jail in which to detain those guilty of lighter offences, there was only one penalty in the code of the vigilantes, and that was death!

Tom Edwards had not been a favorite with the better class of men at Hurley's Gulch.

In his opinion money was made for the sole purpose of gambling away and getting drunk on.

It was generally believed that he had been paid for his claim at Gold Cave Camp by Mr. Willett, so that many who heard him declare to the contrary and say that he had sold on credit, placed no faith in his word.

But when Tom Edwards was found dying the night before Mr. Willett was to have left the Gulch, his past falsehoods were forgotten in view of the nearness of his end and the calmest were inclined to believe him.

It was well known that hot words had passed that very day between Mr. Willett and Tom Edwards, and this afforded to many a reason for the act.

It was pitchy dark when the wretched man was shot, and he was very drunk at the time, so that when his wound restored him, for a short time, to his senses, there can be no doubt but he was honest in the belief that "two men," Mr. Willett and Hank Tims were the guilty parties.

The accused men were at once arrested by the vigilance committee and placed under guard in a tent.

Both protested their innocence, as well they might, and Mr. Willett asked to be permitted to send to his camp for papers that would prove to all that he had paid Tom Edwards in full the price at which he valued his claim.

A few men were inclined to believe Mr. Willett, but to set all doubts at rest, it was decided that further action should be postponed in the case till the receipt of the money and the deed of sale had been procured.

The next morning Ulna was dispatched on this mission, and we have seen the fidelity with which he performed the duty and the unexpected obstacles that prevented the return of the accused man's son with the papers.

There were two men at Hurley's Gulch at this time who, if they had chosen, could have set at rest all doubts as to the mystery surrounding Tom Edwards' death and handed over the guilty parties to the vigilantes; but as this act would have resulted in their own swift destruction, they kept their awful secret to themselves.

These men were Frank Shirley and the outlaw Badger.

Frank Shirley believed, and with reason, that if Sam Willett was out of the way, the last bar between him and a great fortune would be down.

He was a dissolute, thriftless fellow, every faculty of whose low mind seemed to have been concentrated into the one mean gift of cunning.

On the way from Gold Cave Camp to Hurley's Gulch, Frank Shirley and the man whom he had hired to help him in his wicked purpose, discussed the situation from every point of view.

The first thing they decided on was that Mr. Willett and his son must be prevented from ever meeting again, but they did not agree so readily as to how this was to be done.

More bluff, and possibly more brutal than his employer, Badger urged that he be allowed to waylay Mr. Willett and kill him on his return.

But Frank Shirley opposed this, saying, for he was a coward at heart, as all such men are:

"Willett will have with him the Indian boy and the old hunter, Hank Tims; they are all well-armed, and they would be stronger than us. No, Badger, we must hit upon some plan that has less risk in it."

"Wa'al," responded Badger, "hit upon the plan yersel', an' if I don't carry it out without flinchin', I'll give you leave to shoot me down like a dog."

When these men reached Hurley's Gulch they found Edwards "drunk as usual," and loudly declaring wherever he went that Mr. Willett was trying to rob him out of fifteen hundred dollars.

Here was the very chance for which Frank Shirley had been looking.

If he could have Edwards put out of the way, in such a manner as to fasten the crime on Mr. Willett, a hundred stronger and braver men would be ready to accomplish his purpose with their own hands.

He told Badger of his scheme, and that creature, without a moment's thought of the awful crime he was about to commit, pledged himself to carry it out when the other gave the word.

To add to the evidence against Mr. Willett, as that gentleman was arrested, Frank Shirley appeared to be very much cast down.

With tears in his eyes, he explained to the many who were only too eager to listen, that Mr. Willett had married his, Shirley's, cousin, that he had borne a bad character in Detroit, and that he had recently fled from that city to escape the consequences of his many crimes.

[CHAPTER VI.—WHY THE PAPERS WERE NOT BROUGHT.]

Before awaking his companions, all of whom seemed to be sleeping heavily, Sam went out to see if the flood in the cañon had risen.

He ventured but a few yards beyond the entrance to the cave, for the sight that met his eyes appalled him.

The rain was still pouring down in torrents, and the flood had risen till it was nearly on a level with the plateau.

"Three feet more and it will be into the cave," he said, speaking aloud.

"Watel littee mole high up no cannee stay, mus' allee die if no can swimmee," said a voice behind Sam.

There was no need to ask whose it was.

Wah Shin, with thoughts of breakfast in his mind, had got up, but first he decided to satisfy himself of the condition of affairs outside.

"Yes, Wah Shin," said Sam, without turning his head, "even as I look at the flood it appears to be rising."

"If it come mole up, wat we allee do?"

"I don't know."

"No cannee stop dis place?"

"I fear not."

"Way we go den, no can tink."

"Nor can I think either, Wah."

"If no can lib, den no coz wy die hungly," said Wah Shin, and with this belief strong in his mind, he re-entered the cave and set about getting breakfast with his usual indifference to the state of the weather.

At any other time the sight of the flood and the danger of its coming higher would have alarmed Sam greatly, but though he could not ignore the danger that threatened him now, his own situation was lost sight of as he thought of his father's position.

He was still standing looking at the rushing flood, as if fascinated by its power and volume, when Ike and Ulna came out and joined him.

"Foh massy's sake!" exclaimed Ike, when he caught sight of the water. "Ain't she jest a bilein' up."

"Do you think the water will rise higher?" asked Sam as he turned to Ulna, and tried to find some comfort in his calm, impassive face.

Before replying Ulna looked up at the sky for some seconds, then said:

"The storm is not half over."

"And while it lasts the water will go on rising?"

"Yes, Sam, that is what we must expect."

"Then it will flood the cave?"

"It will surely do that."

"And drive us out?"

"Yes, Sam, if we don't want to drown there."

"Then we must try to leave?"

"Yes, we must try to leave," echoed Ulna.

"But how can we get away?"

"Ah," said Ulna, with something like a sigh, "I cannot now think of how that's to be done."

"If so be we was all birds, we could fly," said Ike, very solemnly, "it'd come in mighty handy-like jest 'bout dis time."

Sam now realized that he must think and act for his companions as well as for himself.

His was a brave, sturdy, self-reliant nature, that grows stronger and stronger in the face of increasing trials and responsibilities.

"Let us go in out of the rain and think," he said, while he turned and nervously stroked his forehead.

When they went back to the cave they found that Wah Shin had a good breakfast ready, and was still busy cooking more food.

When asked by Sam why he was doing this, he said, as if it were a matter of course.

"Bime by, watel him come in, puttee out file; file him go out, no can cookee; no got tings cookee, no can eat; no eatee den allee mus' die."

"Well, Wah Shin," said Sam with a grim smile, "if there is any hope in cooking, keep at it while the food lasts."

Despite their troubles and the dangers that cut them off from the world and threatened their lives, all, Maj included, complimented Wah Shin's efforts in their behalf by partaking of a hearty breakfast.

During the meal Sam was unusually silent; it was evident he was thinking very hard, and the others did not attempt to disturb his deliberations till he had risen from his seat, then Ulna asked:

"Have you thought out a way to get across the cañon, Sam?"

"I have thought out a way of trying it," he answered.

"How?"

"On a raft."

"But we have no raft."

"Then we must make one."

"Where is the timber?"

"There is some here in the form of slabs and firewood, and there is plenty whirling down with the flood. You can handle a lariat, Ulna?"

"I think I can," was the response.

"Then get a rope, we have a lot here in the cave; make a noose and secure all the long pieces of timber you can. The water is nearly up to the plateau, and Ike will help you pull them out."

"An' watee can me do?" asked Wah Shin.

"Keep right on cooking, for if we cannot cross the flood on the raft, we'll be swept into the great cañon of the Colorado, and there we shall need all the food we can take along."

The others set to work with a will, but even Ulna, who was born out in that land, only faintly comprehended the import of what Sam said about the great cañon.

Indeed, Sam himself had only a vague notion of what was meant by the now famous geographical name.

He knew the history and geography of his own country very well, as every well-trained youth should, and he was, therefore, aware that the great Colorado of the West was formed by the junction of two important rivers, the Green and the Grand; he was further aware that the water roaring outside entered the latter river about twenty-five miles below the camp.

Had these been ordinary rivers there would be good reason to dread venturing out on their currents at flood time, even in a good boat; but the Green and the Grand for many score miles above their junction flowed through immense rocky defiles or cañons, and they united in one mighty cañon, through which flowed for fully four hundred miles the waters of the Colorado on their way to the Gulf of California.

Sam had talked a great deal about this wonderful chasm with Hank Tims, and that most reliable authority had assured him that only two parties had ever attempted to go through the great cañon and returned to tell of their perilous adventures and hair-breadth escapes.

Hank claimed to have stood on a cliff that rose straight up from the edge of the Colorado at one point, and looked down a sheer perpendicular depth of over seven thousand feet, the very thought of which is enough to make an ordinary head giddy.

But Sam helped to make a craft that would enable them to cross the two hundred feet that separated them from the opposite bank, and this accomplished in safety, they could make their way on foot to Hurley's Gulch, where he knew his father was eagerly awaiting his coming.

He secured all the gold dust about his own person, and then made up bundles of blankets, provisions and ammunition that might be of use if they did not succeed in making a crossing.

This done, he went out and found that Ike and Ulna had succeeded in staying and landing a great deal of drift-wood, just the thing for a raft, and a number of stout poles that might be used in guiding it.

By this time the flood had risen still higher and higher, and was now ankle deep on the plateau outside the cave opening, and there was not a moment to lose.

With an energy that was all his own, and a skill that surprised himself, Sam set about building the raft.

By means of ropes, the longer timbers were securely lashed side by side, and over these, like a deck, the lighter slabs taken from the cave were nailed.

When this clumsy and insecure structure was completed, Sam saw that the food, blankets, arms and ammunition were tied so that they could not be swept off by the wash of the waters.

It comforted him somewhat to know that all his companions could swim, though the stoutest swimmer could not last long in the mad torrent sweeping past.

Sam assigned each one a position, and gave him strict instructions as to what he must do under certain circumstances; and Maj seemingly well aware of what was up, crouched down in the center of the raft.

"Now," said Sam, as he stood up, pole in hand, at one end of the raft, "we must wait for the current to float us off, and trust in God."

[CHAPTER VII.—THE WONDERFUL VOYAGE BEGINS.]

Under and around the raft the waters surged and poured, as if they were testing the strength of the frail structure before lifting it up and hurling it away to destruction.

With his feet well apart to balance himself, and the long pole ready in his strong hands, Sam stood pale but resolute.

They had only a few minutes to wait.

Ike and Wah Shin sent up a cry of horror as, with the roar of an angry monster, the current swept the raft into the stream.

With the grim stoicism of his race, Ulna looked about him without seeming to be at all disturbed by the awful situation.

Sam's object was to get across to the other side of the cañon and effect a landing with his party, for he never for an instant lost sight of the fact that his father's freedom if not his life depended on his reaching Hurley's Gulch at once with the papers in the Edwards case.

But alas for all the schemes planned by love and executed by courage! What was man's strength and daring to the weight of the piled-up, flying waters?

The instant the raft swung away from the plateau Sam saw that his pole was of no use, for the river bottom was fully one hundred feet below the surface.

He tried to use the pole as a paddle, but his efforts had no effect on the course of the raft.

It was hurled like a plaything by some mighty, unseen power, into the center of the flood; then, with the speed of a racer urged on by whip and spur, the frail ark went flying down the cañon.

For the life of him Sam could not utter a word. His face was blanched, but it was not with fear, though death seemed now inevitable.

"What will become of poor father!" This is what poor Sam would have cried out if he could have given expression to the one thought that filled his brain and the one feeling that stirred his heart.

But neither Ike nor Wah Shin attempted to restrain their cries, though their voices were nearly drowned out by the never-ceasing roar of the torrent.

Wah Shin was terror-stricken, and in his fright he forgot his little store of defective English and shouted for help in his native tongue.

The effect on Ike was to change the color of his face to a dark grey, and to make the whites of his eyes very conspicuous. He was devoutly on his knees, though he clung to the logs with both hands, and prayed with an earnestness that there was no mistaking.

In much less time than it takes to describe the feelings of the passengers they were whirled out of sight of the caves and were rushing down between the towering cañon walls with a velocity that was truly appalling.

It was Sam's belief, as well as the belief of the others, after they saw that crossing was impossible, that they would be crushed by the great jagged rocks that beset their course, but they soon discovered that they were in the middle of the current, and that they were passing in safety the obstructions that threatened ruin every instant.

The bravest men tremble on the eve of their first battle, and their hearts sink when they hear the first rattle of the skirmishers' rifles. But as the time passes without their being shot down, they become indifferent to the dangers that at first alarmed and unnerved them, and fight with the coolness and confidence of veterans.

A sailor will laugh at a storm that is full of terrors to the landsman, for it is certain that familiarity with danger does breed contempt.

After the raft had dashed on for an hour or more, our friends began to feel confident and to look at the situation without fear in their eyes.

Ike was the first to speak; perhaps because Wah Shin had not yet regained his knowledge of English. After winking very fast for fully a half minute, he said:

"It don't seem like's if we was goin' to sink—at least not yet a bit."

He had to shout this out to make himself heard, and Sam, in response, had to speak in the same tones.

"If we can find a place where we can make a landing, I don't care how soon she sinks after that."

"Dar don't appeah to be much show foh a land in dese ar parts," said Ike, as he looked up at the walls that not only formed the sides of the cañon, but which seemed to block their advance, for the course of the river was tortuous in the extreme, so much so, indeed, that they could but rarely see more than a few hundred yards in advance.

At length, and after they must have floated more than twenty miles, the cañon of Gold Cave Creek entered the much greater and more sublime cañon of Grand River.

Here the bed of the river was so much wider, that though there was more water in it, it flowed with a current that was calmness itself when compared with the fierce mountain torrent that had recently made the raft its plaything.

With a great sigh of relief, Wah Shin now proceeded to show that his knowledge of English had come back to him.

"Dees place no so belly bad likee dat place we way back alle come flom."

"This is Grand River," said Ulna, speaking for the first time, and seemingly as calm as if he were in a place of safety, as he added: "And further down all the cañons of the Green and Grand rivers unite to form the mighty Colorado."

"I hope we may be able to land before we reach there," said Sam Willett, who had now discovered that by means of the pole he could steer the raft in the calmer water.

Even the dog regained confidence. Maj had been crouching down on the blankets, and wincing and trembling with fear, but he sat up when the smoother current was reached, and licked his lips and moved his tail in a way that left no doubt as to his approval of the changed condition of affairs.

But though the current of Grand River was slow as compared with that of Gold Cave Creek, it would be a mistake to imagine that it was at all stagnant.

The beds of all its tributaries were swollen at this time, so that the waters of Grand River were thirty feet above the average level and moving with a speed of four or five miles an hour.

Although continually watching for some place in which he could make a landing, it was not till near sunset that Sam found such a spot as he wanted.

The river soon widened out into a bowl-shaped valley, on the margin of which there were benches of dry ground, covered with stunted little cedars that gave a grave-yard appearance to the place.

By means of their poles Sam and Ulna succeeded in forcing the raft to the shore, where it was securely fastened, and Wah Shin and Ike sent up prayers of thanks, each after his fashion.

This arrangement had been made none too soon, for they had not finished removing the cargo from the raft when the black shadows of night seemed to rise up from the water, for the glow on the top of the cañon walls showed that it was still comparatively light in the upper world.

"Wa'al," said Ike when the last of the cargo was safely stored under the cedars, "w'at am de nex' t'ing on de programmy?"

"De nex' t'ing," replied Wah Shin as he began getting out his pots, pans and supplies, "is dat we makee file, den we has to gettee hot someting mebbe fol to eat."

This admirable suggestion met with general approval.

That there had been higher floods than this the drift-wood lodged in the crevices of the neighboring rocks abundantly attested.

As it had not only stopped raining by this time, but the clouds had exhausted themselves and vanished from the strip of sky visible above their heads, they had no difficulty in starting a fire.

In the ruddy glow the yellow current, roaring and sweeping near by, took on the hue of blood, but our friends were too hungry, weary and anxious to be impressed by this.

Wah Shin had plenty of food cooked, but he very wisely thought that it would be more palatable if warmed over and a cup of good coffee added to the meal.

Despite the dangers that surrounded them and the woful anxiety about his father, that was never absent from Sam Willett's heart, he could not help being impressed by the wild weirdness of the situation.

He kept his feelings bravely to himself and expressed pleasure at the appetites shown by his friends, while trying to comfort them with a half-felt hope that they might be able to escape from the cañon on the morrow.

[CHAPTER VIII.—MR. WILLETT AND HANK TIMS.]

Mr. Willett and his friend and fellow prisoner, Hank Tims, were kept securely guarded in a tent situated in about the center of the straggling habitations that went to make up the camp at Hurley's Gulch.

Hank, who knew the country and the climate better than any white man in it, was well aware, from the continuence and violence of the storm, that it was spread over a wide area, and that the heavy rainfall and the consequent melting of snow on the crests of the higher mountains would flood all the streams flowing into the great Colorado.

He did not wish voluntarily to confess his fears to Mr. Willett, and yet he felt that it was only right that that gentleman should know what effect the storm might have on their own lives.

"Do you know what I have been thinking ever since night came and the rain has been dashing on the canvas over our heads, as if determined to get in?" said Mr. Willett, along toward morning, on the day following the departure of Ulna for Gold Cave Camp.

"Mebbe ye've been thinkin' that this is a powerful stormy night," answered Hank, at a venture.

"Yes, and that the storm will be apt to flood the cañon where the boys are."

"Wa'al," drawled Hank, as if weighing his words, "this yar rain'll be mighty apt to raise the creeks in the bottoms of the cañons."

"What if Ulna should not be able to get across?"

"He'll get across, no fear of that," said Hank. "But thar's another important pint in the case."

"What is that, Hank?"

"It's can Ulna git back an' fetch yer son with him."

"And what do you think about that, Hank?"

"I don't know what to think."

"But, surely, you have some idea."

"Oh, yes," said Hank, his hand to his ear to measure the sound of the pouring rain, and his gray eyes intently fixed on the ceiling, as if he were trying to find out when the flood would break through and drench them.

"Well," said Mr. Willett, nervously, "what's your opinion?"

"I don't really think that Ulna, or Sam, ken git back to Hurley's for days. Cos why, they can't cross the flood to the trail, an' no man could, onless he chanced to be rigged with wings, like a bird, an' up to this time I ain't run acrost a human mortal fixed in that way, though I'll allow that sich an addition would be powerful convenient at times."

"But if my son can't come here, what then?"

"You mean, how will it fare with us?"

"Yes, Hank, that is what I mean."

"Wa'al, it'll depend on many pints."

"Give me some of them."

"If the men in these diggins keep sober, we ken hope for fair treatment, but if they don't it'll go hard on us. But all that depends on the storm," said Hank, with great deliberation.

"On the storm?" repeated Mr. Willett.

"Yes; that's what I said. Of course, you understand that if the rain keeps on an' raises the creek har at Hurley's, then the miners won't be able to work for days an' days?"

"I understand that, Hank."

"Wa'al, if they don't work, an' have somethink to okerpy their minds, do you know what they will do?"

"I haven't the slightest idea," said Mr. Willett.

"Why, they'll crowd into the saloons an' git drunk. When even a well-meanin' man is drunk he's a beast, but when these rough fellows drink that devil's broth, whisky, why it makes 'em reg'lar out and out fiends."

"I understand you," said Mr. Willett sadly.

The two men relapsed into silence and again lay down on the blankets that had been given them by the vigilance committee.

Hank Tims was right in his surmise.

Morning brought no cessation to the storm, and as a consequence the miners could not work, for Hurley's Gulch was transformed from a little stream into a raging torrent.

As has been before stated, a majority of these miners were industrious, honest men; and their vigilance committee, though apt to do wrong in its efforts to be just, had a repressing effect on the lawless element.

These men were honest in the belief that Mr. Willett and his companion were responsible for the death of Tom Edwards, and it must be confessed that all the circumstances—circumstances that were strengthened by the dying man's statements, pointed that way.

The "Grand Union Hotel," the most important establishment at Hurley's Gulch, was composed of three tents, and old dilapidated tents at that.

The front tent was occupied by a bar, the center tent as a kitchen and dining room, and the rear canvas afforded space for the guests to spread their own blankets and sleep as best they might.

Frank Shirley and Badger had their headquarters at the Grand Union. Here, the following day, the miners gathered to discuss the effect the storm might have on the return of the messenger with the paper that was to show that Mr. Willett had paid Edwards in full for his claim at Gold Cave Camp.

A few men believed Mr. Willett's story, but yet, in deference to the wishes of the majority they were willing to have a trial, but not till a sufficient time had passed for the floods to subside so that the messenger might have a chance to return.

Frank Shirley saw the drift of affairs, and, without seeming to do so, he made up his mind to direct it.

He was well supplied with money, and feeling that he had a large fortune to fall back on, if he managed his game properly, he decided to give every man, for nothing, all the whisky he could drink, and then when he had the camp crazed with liquor to turn them at once against Mr. Willett.

In carrying out this monstrous scheme, Frank Shirley was ably seconded by Badger.

The storm continued throughout the day, but the sound of its fury was gradually deadened by the uproar of the drunken men in and about the Grand Union Hotel.

From being a well-meaning crowd of miners, they gradually became a mob of fierce and profane drunken men, with no more moral conception of their conduct than the inmates of a mad-house.

By the time night came again, they had forgotten their promise to give the accused men a hearing, and were resolved to slay them at once.

[CHAPTER IX.—A FRUITLESS EFFORT.]

The blankets and bundles carried on the raft were pretty well soaked by the rain and the whirling waters of the cañon, but as soon as supper was over Sam gave orders to have the things spread out and dried before the fire.

In this work all took an eager part, and as they had been able to collect plenty of fuel, they were enabled to build such a fire as had never chased the night shadows from that part of Grand River Cañon before.

When the blankets were dried they were spread over heaps of cedar boughs and made beds that would have tempted a dyspeptic to sleep.

But, though very weary, our friends did not lie down at once, but sat before the fire speculating and wondering if they would be able to climb out of the cañon on the morrow and make their way to Hurley's Gulch.

Although there was no danger in this place from wild beasts or savage foes, Sam Willett began to-night a system of guard duty which he kept up during all the nights of his perilous journey.

His great fear now was that the flood might rise and carry off the raft or drown out their camping-place, as it was evident it had done on many former occasions.

That they might not be taken by surprise, he divided the night into four watches, to begin at nine o'clock and to continue till five, when it would be broad daylight.

Each one was to stand guard two hours at a time and to wake the next one when his watch had expired. The order was to be changed every night so that no one would have to be on duty at the same time two nights in succession.

This arrangement met with the approval of all, and Sam took the first turn on guard.

The others lay down with the promptness of soldiers when the word of command was given, and they were soon sleeping soundly.

Sam had an excellent watch, the gift of his dead mother and valued accordingly, and this enabled them to measure the time with military exactness.

The flood rose about a foot during the night, but beyond this, nothing of a startling nature occurred.

They breakfasted the following morning before it was quite light, and when the glow of the rising sun could be seen on the crest of the peaks that towered for many hundreds of feet above the bed of the stream, Sam and Ulna started off to see if they could find a way to the upper world, leaving Ike and Wah Shin in charge of the camp.

These two worthies were the best of friends, and when together they talked in a way that would have been very amusing to any one who could have overheard it.

"Dis am a mighty queah place," said Ike, glancing about him after Sam and Ulna had got out of hearing.

"A belly funny hole, way, way down flom wo'ld," said Wah Shin as he imitated Ike's movements.

"Wah Shin."

"Go on chin, me heal you," said Wah Shin.

"Do you t'ink God made all de world?"

"Oh, me t'ink so," said Wah Shin carelessly.

"An' eberyting He made 's got some use?"

"Oh, yes, allee tings got some use—mebbe."

"An' He made dese canyons?"

"Don't know 'bout dem," said Wah Shin dubiously.

"Wa'al, if God didn't make de canyons, who did?" asked Ike, with a manner that indicated his appreciation of the great weight of the question.

To confess ignorance of a subject is a manly habit which very few are addicted to. Wah Shin at once proved that he did not consider himself an authority on all matters, for he said, promptly and frankly:

"Me don't know."

"Dey aint got no use, ez I ken see," continued Ike, "an' it's my farm belief dat dat oder pusson ez goes roun' like a roarin' lion dug out dese yer canawls an' den found ez he had no watah to fill 'em up wid."

"Mebbe so—me don't know."

"Now, if dey was filled wid fire," said Ike, with the same wise manner, "I'd call it a fust-rate job—ob de kind."

"Ha, ha!" roared Wah Shin, as if he caught the sharpest point of an excellent joke. "'Spose alle file, den wat we do, eh?"

"We wouldn't be har," said Ike.

"But no cannee help oursels."

"Reckon yer right. Ez atween de two, I goes in foh watah ebery day in de week an' twice on Sundays. But if I'd had de buildin' ob dese yer canyons I wouldn't hab wasted sich a mighty sight ob stone in puttin' in de banks. But den eberyting in dis yer world ain't jest as we'd like to have it, so it's better to take tings as dey come; what do you say, Wah Shin?"

"We gottee take it as it come—no can help oulsels," said Wah Shin grimly.

This phase of the situation was so self-evident that even Ike could not think of objecting to it, so he began to whistle a hymn tune and to pack up the food and blankets so that they might be all ready to start when Sam and Ulna returned with the information that they had discovered a way out of the cañon.

But this hope, after having been strongly cherished for three hours, was doomed to disappointment.

Shortly before noon the two explorers returned, and though Sam's face told of his failure, Ike could not help asking:

"Wa'al, Mistah Sam, wat luck?"

"Poor luck, Ike," was the sad reply.

"Couldn't find de way out, eh?"

"There is no way to find. Every wall we came to is as high and steep as those about the camp," said Sam, with a sigh and an upward glance at the perpendicular cliffs that appeared to be bending over them, as if the touch of a child's hand might tumble them into the chasm.

"Undah sich sarcumstances ez dem," said Ike, very solemnly, "wat do yeh tinks best to be done?"

"We must leave here at once."

"But how's it to be did, Mistah Sam?"

"We must leave as we came."

"On de raft?"

"Yes."

"Wa'al, dat's a heap sight moah comfotable way dan if we had to swim foh it," said Ike, with a sudden display of cheerfulness.

Sam now began to realize that their stock of provisions was small, that there was no way of replenishing them in the cañon, and that their stay in these depths was very indefinite, if, indeed, the chances were not all against their ever being able to get out.

He saw that it would be a mistaken kindness if he let the others or himself eat all that they desired, and great as his affection was for Maj, the dog, he regretted that the animal was along, for it made another and a very large mouth to feed.

With force and frankness he laid the case before his companions, and without a sign of dissent, they agreed to have the food so divided as to make it last for ten days, before which time the least hopeful was certain they would again be in the upper world.

A dinner of limited rations was at once eaten, and though it was ample, every one of them thought that he could easily eat as much more and not feel that he was playing the glutton.

Again the cargo was placed securely on the raft, and Maj walked demurely on board and lay down on top of the blankets.

After strengthening the raft by the addition of some pieces of light, dry cedar, it was freed from its moorings and pushed into the current.

The four passengers occupied the same relative positions as on the previous day, Sam standing in the stern and skilfully steering the float from the many angry-looking rocks that jutted into the swift current.

As the light began to fade, Sam gazed eagerly in front and on either side in the hope of being able to find some expansion or ledge on which they could land for the night. But an impenetrable darkness settled over them, and they were still afloat in the cañon.

[CHAPTER X.—A NIGHT OF AWFUL GLOOM.]

Words can convey to the reader an idea of only those things with which he is familiar, or of which he can form a picture through his imagination, and even when the latter is vivid it must draw largely for its creation on things with which it is somewhat acquainted.

No pen or tongue could properly describe the situation and the feelings of the four human beings who through the long black hours of that night whirled and drifted down through the black depths of the cañon.

As it was useless to stand up and attempt to steer, for he could not see his hand held close before his face, Sam Willett crouched down on the raft, and clung with nervous hands to its trembling timbers.

Now and then they seemed to be floating through quiet waters, but just when hope came to cheer them with the belief that they had passed through the most dangerous part of the current, the raft would be hurled down long lines of rapids, or caught by some projecting rock it would be sent spinning around with a velocity that made the occupants sick with the whirling motion and the fear that the end had come. Such a situation would have tested the strength of the most experienced nerves, even if the midday sun was shining into the chasm, but the darkness added to its terrors and filled the bravest with alarm.

On and on, and on. It seemed to Sam that they were sinking into the bowels of the earth, or flying away through the realms of night and the abode of impenetrable darkness.

Now and then he would look up at the few stars visible in the strip of sky far overhead, to assure himself that he was yet in the world of life and light.

They were floating down a quiet stretch of water when Ike called out in a tremulous voice.

"Say, Mistah Sam, ken yeh heah me?"

"Yes, Ike, I can hear," was the reply.

"How does yeh feel, 'bout dis time?"

"I feel hopeful, Ike."

"Why does yeh feel dat way?"

"It is my disposition," said Sam, for want of a better answer.

"Got any ideah wot's de time?"

"I have not, Ike."

"How long does yeh tink it is since de sun went down foh de last time?"

"About eight hours," said Sam, though, judging by his own feelings, it seemed like so many days.

"Eight houahs!" exclaimed Ike. "Oh, Mistah Sam, yeh's away clar off de track."

"How long do you think it is since the sun went down?" asked Sam, for the sound of their voices seemed to lighten the gloom.

"Jest 'bout fifteen yeahs an' six months ago," said Ike, with the greatest solemnity, adding quickly, "an' I don't tink de sun'll eber rise agin. It's done gone gin out. My, if we could see our faces 'bout dis yer time, do yeh know wot we'd find?"

"What, Ike?"

"Dat we've all growed up in de darkness, and dat we'z ole men."

"Me not feel like ole man," said Wah Shin.

"What do you feel like?" asked Sam, glad to hear them all speaking again.

"Me feel belly hungly," was the reply.

"Patience, patience," cried out Ulna, from the forward part of the raft, "God's sun is rising now."

"Where!" was the exclamation of all.

"In the east," said the young Ute.

Not one of them could tell in what direction the east was, but all turned their heads.

Suddenly Ike called out:

"Oh, I see a light in de sky!"

At the same instant all saw it, high up and directly in front.

The light looked like the glow of a wonderful fire opal, set in the inky blackness of the sky.

Brighter and brighter it grew each moment, till the reflected light penetrated the profound depths of the cañon.

It was the rising sun saluting the highest snow peaks of the mountains, a section of which was visible in front.

With the joy of the blind when the blessing of sight is restored, our friends watched the increasing light coming down from the sky.

Gradually the towering walls of the cañon became more distinct, till at length their far-off summits could be seen, with here and there a cedar clinging for dear life to the giddy ledges.

"If dis yar day is gwyne to be ez long ez de last night," said Ike, when he felt that the coming of the sun was not a false alarm, "why, I reckon we'll all be ole men afore it gits dark agin."

Even the dog gained courage by the coming of the day, and sitting up he began to bark in a way that proved his interest in the world was returning.

There was no means of telling how far they had been borne by the current during the long hours of that awful night, but as soon as it was light again Sam took the pole and resumed his position as helmsman.

As they were swept on he looked to the right and left in the hope of finding a place where they might make a landing.

They were wet, hungry and weary, but the coming sun revived their drooping spirits.

It was not till near noon that the precipitous walls expanded into an area a quarter of a mile in diameter, that looked, in its flooded state, like a subterranean lake.

Here the current was much slower, and with Ulna's help, Sam succeeded in gliding the raft to a ledge of sloping rocks, where it was made fast, and again the passengers carried the cargo on shore.

The sun shone on their landing place, which, being on the south bank of the river, Sam decided to explore thoroughly in the hope of finding a way out of the cañon, for he did not lose sight for a minute of his father's trying situation.

This expansion of the cañon walls was much greater than the one from which they had come the day before, and there were so many recesses and irregularities that getting out appeared to be an easy matter indeed.

They spread their wet blankets and clothing on the rocks, and they found enough drift-wood to make a fire, but all were so hungry that they did not wait for the fire before eating.

Wah Shin had some cooked food ready, and, although it had not been improved by its long soaking, hunger made it very palatable.

After the fire was started, Wah Shin and Ike, thoroughly exhausted, and it may be more weary in feeling because unburdened with the responsibility of the situation, lay down on the sun-heated rocks and were soon asleep.

"You must be tired also, Ulna. Lie down and I will look around and see if I can find a way out of this," said Sam, laying his hand on the handsome young Indian's shoulder.

"I will not say that I could not lie down and go to sleep at once," replied Ulna, "but if you are going to search I shall go with you. I know how you feel about your father, and that thought is always in my heart; so if you stay awake to work, I must do the same."

Sam succeeded in guiding the raft to a ledge of sloping rocks.

The two youths shook hands, and after seeing that their rifles were in order and loaded they slung them over their shoulders and started off.

They clambered over huge masses of white sandstone rock that had fallen in from the sides of the cañon, like the ruin of a giant's stronghold, and at every step they could see by the drift-wood that the present flood had been preceded by others much higher.

Compared with the great pillars of stone scattered about them each was impressed with the idea that his companion must have shrunk, he looked in contrast with his surroundings so much smaller than usual.

After much searching and climbing they came to a great rift in the cañon wall that led up to the blue sky, and seemed to promise an outlet from these awful depths.

At the discovery Sam could not restrain a cry of joy, and even Ulna's usually impassive face was illuminated with the light of hope.

"I can see nothing to stop us!" said Sam, as with the activity of a mountain lion he sprang up the defile.

But it was three thousand feet to the top of the rift, and from their position they could not see all the obstacles that lay in their way.

But like the poet's Alpine climber, the motto was Excelsior!—higher up—and with stout hearts they faced the unknown path that promised access to the upper world and then to Hurley's Gulch.

They clambered up and on, the way becoming narrower and steeper at each step, while here and there their course was made difficult by huge bowlders that had fallen in from above.

After fully three hours hard work, and just when it seemed that a little more exertion would take them to the summit, the cleft came to an end in a precipice fully a hundred feet in height, though from the bottom it looked only like a step that a child might overcome.

Sam was so cast down by his discovery that he leaned against the side of the cliff and pressing his hands to his eyes, he groaned:

"Oh, my poor father, what will become of him! What will he think of my absence?"

"He will know that if you could you would come to him; and those who keep him and Hank Tims prisoners need not to be told about the flood. They will give us time to get back, I am sure they will give us time," said Ulna, and he took Sam's hand and pressed it affectionately.

They had made a bold attempt and failed, and now there was nothing left but to make their way back to the place where they had left the raft tied, and Ike and Wah Shin were sleeping on the rocks.

[CHAPTER XI.—A TRYING SITUATION.]

Mr. Willett and Hank Tims were guarded by a number of the vigilantes, and with these men, who appeared to be rough but honest fellows, they talked about their trying situation.

It will be remembered that Frank Shirley and Badger spent money freely during that first rainy day in order to get the miners drunk, believing that while they were in that state they could be led to destroy the prisoners without even the appearance of a trial.

In addition to making two-thirds of the men drunk, Shirley poisoned their minds by telling them what a very bad man Mr. Willett had been in Detroit, and he intimated, in a way more powerful than a direct accusation, that he had poisoned his wife.

The result of all this was that by the evening of that rainy day a great mob, inflamed with liquor and driven into fury by lies, was shouting for the lives of Mr. Willett and his companion.

The guards not having been subjected to the influence of the bars were calm and determined to do what they believed to be their duty.

Soon after dark one of the guards, a tall, rugged man named Collins came into the tent, and, turning up the lamp that hung from the pole in the center, he said:

"I'm afraid, gents, we are goin' to have trouble."

"Trouble!" repeated Mr. Willett, as he rose from the blanket on which he had been lying. "I don't see how our trouble can be increased."

"I'll tell you how," said Collins, evidently very much excited. "You know those of us here at Hurley's Gulch that are in for doin' about what's right, want to give you gents a fair show."

"That is what I want to believe," said Mr. Willett.

"Well, I'm very much afeerd that things has took a change for the worst."

Collins hesitated, and Mr. Willett said:

"For the worse! What do you mean?"

"I mean that this man Frank Shirley, who says he's yer dead wife's cousin, has made most of the men crazy drunk, for as it's been stormin' and as the krik is up the boys couldn't work to-day. Then Shirley's give out that he knowed you in Detroit, and that you was a very bad man back there."

"If you men knew this Shirley as well as I do," said Mr. Willett, his brown cheeks flushing with indignation, "you would not believe him under oath. But what has this to do with my case? Have they not agreed to wait till my son comes here with the papers to prove I paid Edwards in full for his claim at Gold Cave Gulch?"

"Yes, they agreed to that when they was sober."

"But, surely, Mr. Collins, they do not think differently now," said Mr. Willett.

"I'm afeerd they do. Hark! don't you hear 'em a-hollerin' and yellin' and shootin' off their pistols?"

Mr. Willett and Hank Tims must have heard the noise even had their hearing been less acute, for every minute it came nearer and nearer.

"When men get drunk," said Hank, "they become brutes. But you are here to guard us, an' you are sober an' have yer judgment an' senses about you. Now, Mr. Collins, do you know what I'd advise?"

"What?" asked Collins, who seemed at a loss what to do under the trying circumstances.

"Either protect us till we've had a trial, or else give us back our rifles and pistols and let us protect ourselves. What do you say?"

"I want to stand by you," said Collins, "but before I can 'gree to anything I must see my friends."

He hurried out, and, blending with the yelling of the intoxicated mob, the prisoners could hear the low tones of men in earnest conversation just outside the tent.

"What do you think of the situation, Hank?" asked Mr. Willett, when they were again alone.

"I think it is mighty bad," was the reply.

"But you surely do not think those men will shoot us down in cold blood?"

"They've done such things before. If they was only sober they'd do near right as they know how, but they ain't. Just hear how they yell! Talk about Injuns an' savages, a drunken white man is meaner and more bloodthirsty than all of 'em put together. Ah! It'd be a heap sight better world if thar was never a drop of whisky in it," and Hank sighed and shook his head.

He had but just ceased speaking when the flap of the tent was again raised and Collins re-entered. This time he brought the rifles and pistols that had been taken from the prisoners.

"Here!" he said, "we've agreed not to let you be kilt without a show. But we may git you to a place where you'll be safe till the mob has a chance to cool down. Quick! put on these things and foller me."

Mr. Willett and Hank fastened on their belts, and when they had done so, Collins put out the lamp and led the way out of the tent.

It was very dark outside and the rain had been followed by a fierce gale.

"Hang on to my arms, so's we won't git parted," said Collins as he stepped between the two men whom he was gallantly determined to save from the fury of the mob.

They hurried on through the darkness, the yelling of the crowd gradually dying out behind them.

It seemed to Mr. Willett that they had walked several miles, and he was wondering how their guide could be certain of his way in the inky darkness, for from the time of starting he never hesitated for a moment, when Collins came to a halt and said:

"This is the place. Now foller behind me and be very keerful, for the path is steep and slippery, and if you should chance to lose your footin' you'd shoot into the creek whar the water's forty foot deep 'bout this time."

Bracing themselves they followed Collins down a steep bank till they came to the very edge of the seething torrent, then up along the uneven shore they went for about a hundred yards and turned sharply to the right.

At length they found themselves standing before a rock and wondering what would happen next.

They were not long in doubt, for Collins lit a dark-lantern and its glance of golden light revealed an opening in the rock very much like the entrance to the old abode at Gold Cave Camp.

"This is whar me and Si Brill, my pardner, hold out," said Collins as he led the way into the cave.

The place was somewhat contracted, but it had two beds, a fire-place and cooking appliances, so that space was not a matter of any importance.

"I must thank you, my friend," said Mr. Willett with a great sense of relief, "and I hope to be able to prove to you before long that your kindness and courage have been exercised for innocent men."

"Yes," added Hank, "and for two men that would rather do a right, even if it put them out of the way, than to think a wrong that paid big."

"I'll stand by you," said Collins, "and you must stand by me, for if it was knowed I fotched you har, them fellers would make short work of me and Si Brill. Si's back at the tent and I must go and hunt him up. But what I was a goin' to say is, don't try to light out. Stay har till we can have a fair trial. You'll find lots of grub in this corral, and I don't want you to be hungry. When your son comes over from Gold Cave Camp, Mr. Willett, I'll fotch him to you at once. And now, good-night, for I won't be back again before sun-up."

"We certainly appreciate your kindness, Mr. Collins," said Mr. Willett as he took the sturdy miner's hand, "and I can assure you that Hank and I will remain here till you say we are free to leave."

"And if we get well out of this scrape an' you should chance to be in the same fix," said Hank, "you ken bet your last cent we'll stand by you as one good man should stand by another."

Putting out his lamp and warning them not to venture outside the cave till they saw him again, Collins scrambled out and made his way back to the tent in which the prisoners had been confined.

He found that the canvas had been torn down and slashed to pieces with knives in the hands of the furious mob.

The shouting and the occasional pistol shots told that the mob had gone back to the saloon, and while Collins was wondering whether he should go there or not, he was joined by his partner, Si Brill.

"What's up now, Si?" asked Collins.

"I'm afeerd we're in for it," was the reply.

"What do you mean?"

"The mob believes we run the prizners off——"

"They do, eh?"

"Yes, and they swear if they ain't brought back by daylight, you and me will have to fight for it."

"Well," said Collins slowly, "they ken have a fight."

[CHAPTER XII.—THE VOYAGE IS RESUMED.]

When Sam Willett and Ulna returned to the camp they found Ike, Wah Shin and the dog lying on the rocks near the dying fire.

Although they had been sleeping for nearly five hours, it was with difficulty that Ike could be aroused, and when he did sit up and rub his eyes, he declared with laughable solemnity that he had only been asleep a few minutes.

"If you look at the sun I think you will see you are mistaken," said Sam, pointing to the west.

"Dat sun," said Ike, with the fine contempt of one who had lost all faith in the luminary that rules the day; "I don't got no use foh it. 'Tain't like the sun we uster know way back at Detroit. Wy, sometimes he gets up and hurries across the sky like a race-horse, an' sometimes he don't get up foh weeks an' weeks. He's foolin' us, dat's all I got to say." And Ike rose and yawned till he showed every tooth in his capacious mouth.

"I gottee heap muchee sleep, me no sleep mole foh twenty-one day," said Wah Shin, who seemed determined not to agree with Ike in this matter.

"If ebber I should get out of this yar scrape, an' I should hab lots of money an' plenty ob time," said Ike with comical earnestness, "I'll go off to some place whar it ain't dark most all de time, an' I'll sleep in de sun foh weeks an' weeks an' weeks at a stretch, an' don't you forgit it."

As it was now about three o'clock in the afternoon Sam, after consulting with Ulna, and recalling their experience of the night before, decided not to launch their raft till the following morning.

Wishing more than ever that he was a bird, Ike went off with Wah Shin to gather fuel, and Sam and Ulna, both much exhausted, lay down to get a little much needed sleep.

When they closed their eyes the western sun was flooding the cañon with a river of golden glory, when they woke up "night had let her sable curtain down and pinned it with a star."

A great fire was blazing near by, and Ike and Wah Shin were preparing supper, while Maj sat licking his chops and eagerly watching the operations.

Sam had already divided the provisions, so that with care, "an' not eatin' nigh's much as they felt like," to use Ike's words, they could manage to live without much suffering for another week.

After supper Ike startled the company by saying:

"See heah, Mistah Sam, I'ze got an offer to make."

"What is it, Ike?"

Before proceeding Ike turned and pointed to the parcels containing their little stock of food.

"Ain't I de owner ob one-quarter ob dat grub?"

"You shall have your share, Ike; but why do you ask?" said Sam, who half guessed what was coming.

"I've eat my share for to-night."

"Yes, Ike."

"An' I still feel as holler as a drum," and Ike rolled his eyes and tightened his belt.

"You have had as much as the rest," said Sam.

"Oh, I ain't a complainin'; no one won't say, Mistah Sam, dat you don't tote fair, but heah's de pint I wants to git at——"

"Go on, Ike."

"You let me have all my share now."

"What would you do with it?"

"Do wif it!" echoed Ike. "Wy, I'd sit right down an' gib it all a inside passage. I'd a heap sight rudder hab one good, squar meal dan a hundred scrimpsy ones. Dar ain't no pleasure in stoppin' jest when yeh wants to keep right on eatin'."

"Nevertheless we must all do it, Ike. We are not eating for pleasure, but to keep alive till we get out of this place."

"Wa'al, if we ebber does git out, an' I can sit down before grub an' eat all I wants, dat grub will suffer—if I has any strent left," and Ike sat down and watched Maj with a hungry look that boded no good to that faithful creature.

Sam had often been surprised at Ulna's gentle manners and the excellent English he spoke; he seemed so little like the wild Indians he had read about that he was anxious to know something of his life, but from feelings of delicacy he had never asked him about his past up to this time. By way of passing the time before setting the guard, he asked Ulna where he had learned English so well.

"In the Mission School at Taos," said Ulna. "My father, who was a brother of our chief, Uray, was killed in the Sierra Madre Mountains, by the Hill, or Arizona, Apaches, when I was a little child."

"And your mother?" suggested Sam.

"She could read and write, and she could speak Spanish and English as well as the language of her own people; all this she had learned in the school at Taos, to which place the good missionaries took her when she was a child; that was long before the white man crowded into this land."

"Is your mother living?"

"Yes, and my sister; she is a year older than I, and she is very good. Two years ago my mother, who still lived at Taos, married a white man—a Mexican. I did not like him and I ran away and joined the tribe. But I did not like the ways of our people, though I felt that their free life on the hills and along the great rivers was the only one to live. Yes, I have much of the white man's knowledge, and I am glad of it. Still, my heart has ever hungered for the free life of the Ute. No matter what befalls me, I do not complain; the Great Spirit rules and directs all," and as Ulna ceased speaking, he uncovered his head and raised his handsome, expressive face to the stars.

"I thank you for telling me this," said Sam, taking the young Indian's hand and pressing it warmly, while he added: "It does not make me love you any the less or more, Ulna, but somehow I think that the more good people know of each other the warmer friends they become."

"Dem's my sentiments," said Ike, who looked as if he had been sleeping, though he must have been wide awake. "Foh instants, when I didn't know Mistah Sam, I didn't like him at all; but now dat I does know him better'n any one in de world, w'y as a consekence I likes him a heap sight more'n I does any one in de world."

Sam had been inclined to feel angry with Ike when he spoke in the way he did about dividing the food, but this little expression of genuine sentiment on the black boy's part quite touched his heart, and he showed his feeling by saying:

"Ah, Ike, you may have a hungry stomach, but it cannot be truthfully said that you haven't got a kindly heart."

"Bimeby, mebbe, I tell you sometings all 'bout me, Wah Shin," said the Chinaman, who felt that he must add something to the expressions of good-fellowship.

After a little further talk, in which they discussed the situation and vainly tried to guess where they were, Sam gave the order in which the guards should be called and handed his watch to Ike, whose turn came first, and lay down on the blankets, which were quite dry and comfortable by this time.

To prove that Ike was not in the least selfish, though his display of healthy-boy appetite might lead us to a different belief, it is but just to him to say that when his two hours guard were up, he did not call Sam, whose turn it was next, and who appeared to be sleeping very soundly, but he stood the whole four hours on watch and then awoke Wah Shin, and, after whispering to him what he had done added:

"Mistah Sam's got the keer of all on his shoulders, an' he needs all de sleep he kin git. W'y, I ken sleep any time; he can't, so I sez, let's let him sleep his fill w'ile he's at it."

They were up again before daylight, and the allowance of food for breakfast made ready, a portion being set apart for Maj, for though the dog was not at all a useful member of the little band, indeed, his consumption of rations for one made him undesirable, yet Sam could not find it in his heart to put the faithful creature out of the way.

There was no need to discuss the course they should next take; there was only one avenue that held out the promise of escape, and that was the swift stream rushing by their resting place to an unknown landing.

By this time all hands had become quite expert in loading and unloading the raft, so that it did not take them long to get under way this morning, each one in his accustomed place and Maj crouching down on the blankets in the center.

The rope was untied, and, with the pole in his hand, Sam stood up behind, and again they were sweeping down on the red waters of this wonderful river.

As they drifted between the precipitous banks that seemed to grow higher and higher with the passing of each bend, Sam recalled all he had ever heard or read about the mighty Colorado of the West and its wonderful cañon. He remembered that it was four hundred miles of continuous cañon wall from the point where the Green and Grand Rivers united to the Mormon settlement at Virgin River, where the cañon walls give place to a wide valley.

He shuddered but kept his thoughts to himself, for he wisely reasoned that no good could result from frightening his companions by a true picture of the dangers that lay before them.

For himself he believed that there must be some opening by which they could leave the cañon before traversing its length, and this hope was not darkened with the thought that such an avenue of escape, if used, might not better their condition.

They drifted on till the middle of the afternoon, passing many side cañons which it was impossible to enter, when they suddenly found their raft swept by a whirling current, that boiled about them like the waves of a storm-tossed sea.

They looked up, to find that the towering gray walls had broken into mighty pillars that rose for thousands of feet into the sky.

It was the junction of the Green and Grand Rivers, and the piled up, roaring and irresistible flood was caused by the coming together of the two currents.

The scene that presented itself at this point was indescribably sublime, and even the dangers of the situation were forgotten for the moment in the awful grandeur of their surroundings.

Although Sam still stood bravely up, his pole was useless to control the movements of the raft, which was borne with the speed of a swallow's flight into the whirlpool, about which the waters circled and danced, as if celebrating their meeting in these wild depths.

[CHAPTER XIII.—WHIRLED AWAY.]

As the raft was being swept into the whirlpool, Ike and Wah Shin sent up a shriek of alarm that rose high above the roar of the waters, and Maj crouched down lower on the blankets and moaned piteously.

Ulna sat in his accustomed place. He did not make a movement, nor did the expression of his face change as they were being whirled to what seemed certain death.

As nothing could be done to avert the impending catastrophe, Sam uttered a prayer, drew in his pole to save himself from being swept off and then sat as calmly and stoically down as if he were a young brave.

There was a central vortex about which the waters swept with the speed of a mill-stream, and for this point—as if forced on by an irresistible power, the raft plunged.

It seemed like going down a hill on a sled. Once fairly under way there was nothing to stop it.

With one quick glance from the center of the whirlpool to the pillars piercing the sky, Sam closed his eyes expecting the next instant would be the last.

But instead of rushing down to death, he was called back to an interest in his surroundings by feeling a peculiarly soothing, swinging sensation in the raft.

He opened his eyes and looked about him, and to his unutterable surprise they were being swept about the mighty whirlpool, like a ball at the end of a string in a strong man's hand.

Nearer and nearer to the center, until it seemed that the fraction of a second must bring the fatal plunge, and then the raft would be suddenly flung to the outer edge of the whirlpool again.

"Golly!" exclaimed Ike, as he looked about him and winked very fast, "dis am curus."

"Too muchee, swing, swing!" cried Wah Shin, as the raft hung again on the edge of the vortex, only to be hurled a second time to the outer edge.

This swinging was at first a decidedly pleasant sensation, but soon it made the passengers on the raft giddy and then quite sick.

It was only by keeping their eyes shut that they could command their senses.

A half an hour of this whirling to the center and being thrown back to the edge continued, though it seemed much longer to the tortured occupants of the raft, and Sam spoke his thoughts rather than addressed any of his companions when he said:

"Will this go on forever?"

"It do look to me powahful-like's if we was a-gwine to sikle round dis yar place foheber an' eber, amen," said Ike.

Sam looked up again at the sky, and the crimson hue of the clouds told him that the sun would soon sink in the upper world and that darkness would soon come to add to their trials.

He felt that whether the raft was swallowed up or continued to swing in that giddy dance till morning would make but little difference to himself or his companions, for in either case death would come before morning.

His brave heart grew heavy, as if the darkness of descending night were falling on it.

He thought of his dead mother, thought of the imprisoned father, whom he had set out so heroically to save, and the death that threatened was only awful to him because he was to see his father nevermore.

While these thoughts were running through his mind he felt a different movement in the raft. This was followed by a cheer from Ike and Wah Shin and the loud barking of the dog.

Sam looked quickly up.

Joy! joy! In some inexplicable way the raft had been hurled so far beyond the circle of the whirlpool's power as to be caught by the current and carried into the Colorado, which here begins its journey under that name, for the Gulf of California.

Even Ulna was roused from his usual stoicism by the change. Pointing to the right, where in the twilight a low peninsula could be seen jutting into the river, he called to Sam:

"Let us steer for that point. I think we can make a landing there."

"All right," replied Sam with his habitual cheerfulness.

Ulna now took up his own pole, and after much effort they succeeded in getting the raft to the low point, and here, without difficulty, they made a landing.

As there was neither tree nor rock to tie to they pulled the raft high up on the strip of beach, and then looked around, but without success, for the means to make a fire.

It was too dark to see ten feet away, so they sat on the rocks after making the discovery that what they supposed to be a peninsula was really an island.

But they made another discovery at the same time that was destined to affect their progress very seriously, and that was that one-half the provisions had in some way been pushed or slipped from the raft; but they were lost, and hunger, or rather, starvation was only a few days off.

They ate a little of their remaining provisions and then spread the blankets on the low, damp ground.

Sam Willett had a military idea of the value of discipline. Having begun with having guards at night, he determined to keep it up till the end.

The wisdom of this precaution was shown before another sun came to banish the shadows.

About an hour before daylight Ulna, who was then watching, discovered that the flood was rising around them, and hastily awoke his companions.

They sprang up to find the water roaring about them, and Sam, holding the raft to keep it from floating off, ordered the others to bundle up the blankets and get all the things on board.

As soon as this was done they pushed the raft into deeper water, got on board and were at once swept away by the current.

Such trials would have crushed the spirits of any but the bravest, and with a less resolute leader than Sam, despair would have made the others indifferent to their surroundings.

While it was yet as dark as midnight in the cañon, they could look up and see pink streaks in the far-off sky that told them the light of another day was again flushing the upper world.

But the sun only looked into this gloomy abyss for one short hour in the twenty-four, and then left it to the gathering shadows and impenetrable night.

It was ten o'clock by Sam's watch when they found a ledge of rocks on which they could make a landing.

This haven was discovered none too soon, for the severe straining the raft had had in the whirlpool had loosened the cords that held the logs and they threatened to come apart and let all into the water.

The remaining food was very much soaked, but their appetites were keen enough to eat the whole of it just as it was.

Two more days would see all of their provisions gone, and, realizing this fact, Sam proposed dividing what was left so as to last over three days, but against this arrangement Ike and Wall Shin entered a protest.

"Now, Mistah Sam," said Ike, "I ain't got nigh so much sinse as you has, but it'd been a heap sight bettah if you jest took my edvice."

"Your advice about what, Ike?" asked Sam.

"'Bout dat grub."

"What about it?"

"I proposed, night afore last, we should all go in and eat all we could—now, didn't I?"

"I believe, Ike, you did say something like that."

"An' you said 'no;' so w'at's the consekence?"

"The consequence is, Ike, that you obeyed me then, and I expect you to obey me still," said Sam firmly.

"Yes; an' I'll keep on obeyin' you till I die, but har's de pint," and Ike spread out his hand and looked at the palm as if he were reading. "If we'd hab eat a lot more ob dat grub, den dar wouldn't have been so much lost. Wouldn't it be a heap sight better if we had dat stuff inside ob us dan at de bottom ob dat ar whirlpole?"

"We did everything for the best, Ike, and therefore we should not blame ourselves," said Sam.

"I no tinkee dat glub's in watel," said Wah Shin.

"Whar is it, den?" asked Ike.

"I tink Maj he lookee muchee fat. Him no so hungly like befole; mebbe him eatee glub."

The object of this awful accusation sat near by eyeing the little stock of provisions as if he could dispose of the lot without feeling any great discomfort.

"No," said Ulna, who usually listened to these conversations without taking part in them; "the dog did not eat that food."

"W'y you tinkee no?" asked Wah Shin.

"Because the bag in which the food was placed is gone, and the dog could not have eaten that."

"Me no so shule bout lat," said Wah Shin. "W'en dog him heap hungly him eat bag too."

Clearly Ike and Wah Shin had formed a conspiracy against the dog, and this only confirmed Sam in his attachment to the poor brute, though more than once he wished that he was in some other place.

Sam and Ulna at once set about repairing the raft, and while they were engaged in this work Ike showed that he had unbounded faith in his young master's knowledge by asking these questions:

"Mistah Sam, w'at you tink bout dis time?"

"Nothing, Ike," was the reply.

"Know 'bout whar we is?"

"I do not."

"Know whar we'z goin'?"

"No."

"Nor whin we'll git dar?"

"No."

"Eber heah ob sich a fix?"

"Never."

"If we gits out ob dis yeh won't neber want to try anudder sich scrape, I reckon?"

"No."

"Ye've had enough?"

"Yes."

"So has I, but dar's no use a gibbin' up so, Mistah Brown!" and then with a sudden change of manner that startled all hands, the dog included, Ike sang out in a rich tenor voice.

"Oh fust was made de sun,

An' den was made de sky,

An' den dey made de earf

An' hung it up to dry,

An' den de made de star, outer yalla gals' eyes

Foh to gib a little light

W'en de sun don't rise."

[CHAPTER XIV.—ORDER AND DISORDER.]

The storm died out over Hurley's Gulch, and except for the high current in the creek there was nothing to indicate that the land had been recently deluged.

The bluest of cloudless skies bent over the landscape; the verdureless rocks glistened in the light of the sun, as if they had recently been subjected to a furnace heat instead of being drenched by a flood.

The lines of the Sierra Madre Mountains, to the east, were so clear and sharply defined that they seemed to be but a short walk away instead of being seventy miles.

Only the ragged tents and dilapidated cabins showed the effects of the storm; perhaps we should include the crowd of red-eyed miners, who, with the evidences of unbridled dissipation on their faces, crowded about the principal saloon.

Frank Shirley and Badger were disappointed in the work they had planned for the night before.

They had spent much money and time in working the mob up to a pitch of unreasoning and brutal frenzy, and yet nothing had been done.

"'Tain't the boys' fault," said Badger, as on the following morning he and Frank Shirley walked along the banks of the creek.

"Whose fault is it, then?" asked Shirley, sulkily.

"Why, it's the fault of them other two fellers—Collins and Brill—that was sot to guard the prizners; they ain't no good; they've gone clar back on us," said Badger, with an angry light in his single eye.

"Well, I left the management to you, and I don't understand why you failed," said Shirley, who evidently felt that the man he had employed to do his vile work was not keeping his part of the contract.

"If a man don't win first time is he agoin' to give up and never try again?" and Badger answered his own question by adding: "Not if he's got the right kind of stuff in him."

"But what are we to do next? You see, I must have this man out of the way. If he lives then I have no show to get the fortune."

"I thought it all depended on the boy's livin'."

"So it does, but you know our plan."

"I do that, and I'm goin' to stick to it. Don't lose patience; this yar world wasn't made in a day. Time is allers well-spent on a big job."

By this time they had come in their walk to the tent in which the prisoners were confined the night before.

The tent, as has been said, lay torn on the ground, but the knives of the mob and not the storm had made the rents.

Collins and Brill, both seemingly very angry, were talking to a lot of the miners when Badger pushed through the crowd and said:

"You two is purty guards."

"We didn't ask your opinion," said Brill, hotly.

"Still I feel like givin' it. Whar's the prizners?"

"They are safe," said Collins.

"Safe whar?"

"In my charge."

"But whar have you hid 'em?"

"Where a lot of drunken ruffians can do them no harm till they have had a fair trial," said Brill.

"Drunken ruffians!" retorted Badger, with a cool effrontery that won the admiration of his employer, "we ain't murderers at any rate. And if we did want to do for them two, that you've hid away in yer dugout, as I believe, it was to prevent others from doin' like 'em. When you are a savin' of them, you'd orter think of poor Tom Edwards, as is dead and buried."

"I started out to see that them two men had a fair trial," said Collins, stoutly, "and I'm goin' to do it. We've sent other messengers for that boy with the paper, and if he don't show up with it, why then, I'll be in for trial. But let me warn you fellers that there's men in this camp that means to see fair play, and if you don't like our way of doin' business, Badger, just step to one side and say so to me, and I'll give you all the chance you want to larn who's best man."

As Collins spoke he laid his hand on the stock of his pistol and there was a set to his firm lips and a light in his keen gray eyes that there was no mistaking.

Like all of his class, Badger was at heart a very great coward, and he proved it now.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, in a voice that trembled perceptibly, "I don't want to quar'l with you. I'm in for doin' what's right. But I tell you this, Collins, and you mark my words, that boy of Willett's ain't agoin' to show up in this camp with no paper."

"We'll see about that," said Collins.

"I'm willin' to bet on it," said Badger.

"Have you got money to bet?"

"Yes, I have."

"Then my advise to you, Badger, is to start off and pay your debts instead of gambling with other people's money," and with this caustic shot, Collins turned on his heel and walked away with his partner, Brill.

They had gone about fifty yards when Badger shouted after them:

"See har, Collins!"

"What is it?" asked Collins looking over his shoulder.

"How long are we to wait for the trial?"

"I told you till Mr. Willett's son comes."

"A day?"

"On account of the floods it may take three days."

"Say three days then."

"Wa'al, if it will make you fellers easier, I'll say three days!"

"And then the trial?"

"Yes."

"Boy or no boy?"

"Boy or no boy," replied Collins.

"And if they're found guilty?"

"Then me an' Brill will be in for punishin them as much as any man in your gang. Meantime it might be better if you fellers shut down on drinkin'."

With this very sensible opinion Collins and Brill, each active and tall and with a rifle at his back, started off in the direction of their dugout.

They told Mr. Willett and Hank Tims what had happened, and Brill added:

"You're purty safe for three days, Mr. Willett, yet if I was you I don't think I'd leave this place or run the risk of meeting any of the gang drunk."

These miners, like all brave fellows, were gentle and generous to the two men whom they took pains to treat as guests, so that they might forget that they were prisoners.

The day following the events just narrated the man who had been sent by the vigilantes to Gold Cave Camp to hurry up Sam Willett with the all-important paper, came back on a weary horse, bringing with him a very startling report.

The instant he dismounted before the canvas hotel he was greeted from all sides by queries like these:

"Got back, Ned?"

"Wot's the news?"

"Whar's the boy?"

"Wouldn't he come?"

"You found thar wasn't any paper to fetch?"

When the messenger had recovered his breath and the silence abated, he replied to all these questions in one sentence:

"Thar wasn't no one at the caves!"

"No one!" shouted a number.

"Not a livin' soul."

"Whar had they gone?" asked Badger.

"The flood must have drowned 'em all out," said the messenger.

"Did it rise as high as the caves?" asked one.

"Yes; clear up to the top."

"But they mout have got off afore the flood riz?" said Badger.

"Wa'al," was the reply, "if they did git off, they must have gone inter hidin', for I sarched and sarched, and didn't see hair nor hide, nor sign nor trace of 'em."

This news startled every one, but it brought intense pleasure to two.

As soon as Frank Shirley and Badger could go off without attracting attention, they withdrew from the crowd, and the former asked:

"What do you think of the news, Badger?"

"Couldn't be better," said Badger.

"Think the boy's drowned?"

"He must be."

"But might he not have escaped?"

"How?"

"In a boat or on a raft."

"Wa'al," laughed Badger, "they didn't have no boat, and if they tried a raft, why that'd be the same as committin' suicide."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I've knowed of men as got into the great cañon of the Colorado, but no one knows of any that came out on a raft. The boy's dead as a door nail by this time, and you're a rich man," said Badger, reaching out his hand.

[CHAPTER XV.—THE PROVISIONS ALL GONE.]

When the raft was repaired, the blankets, arms, and little stock of food were put on board and securely fastened, each one took his accustomed place, with Maj in the middle, and the voyage was resumed.

How far they had come, Sam had no means of telling, he only knew to his sorrow that he was being borne further and further away from his father.

Without this awful anxiety on his mind, the situation would have been sufficient to shake the nerves and courage of a strong man.

The brave youth felt that he was not only battling in these depths for his own life, but for the lives of those whom fate had thrown with him on this most thrilling voyage.

He fully realized the situation, and the fortitude with which he faced it redounds the more to his credit.

They were on a shaky raft at the bottom of the mightiest gorge in all the world.

Even if they could reach the top, they would find themselves in the midst of an arid, trackless desert, cut up by other cañons, across which naught but the mountain eagle could pass in safety.

The hunger, ever gnawing at his vitals, kept before him the fact that their provisions were nearly out.

If by dying, Sam could save his beloved father and return to safety his companions in these trials, he would not have hesitated about facing death; but as it was, he determined to do his full duty while his strength lasted, though no eye but God's appreciated the effort he was putting forth.

The cañon through which they were now passing, had the highest walls they had yet seen. For more than a mile their glistening gray sides shot up to the thin belt of dark blue sky, their summits crowned with pinnacles that in comparison would dwarf the highest and noblest structure ever built by human hands.

As if resting after their mad dance in the whirlpool, the waters flowed calmly and silently down, yet with a speed that told Sam they were moving at the rate of about four miles an hour.

The most wonderful thing about these depths was the dim twilight, and long before the sun went down in the upper world, the stars were visible from the bottom of the cañon.

As night approached the passengers scanned the shores eagerly, and looked ahead to every bend in the tortuous river, hoping they might be able to find a strip of shore or a ledge of rocks on which to make a landing, but in vain.

"It don't look's if dar was any more shoah," said Ike, in a loud, frightened tone, that echoed from rock to rock for nearly a minute after he had spoken.

"Not within sight," said Sam, with affected cheerfulness.

"Den wat's we to do?"

"We must keep on."

"On de raft?"

"The only chance is between that and the water."

"Dat's so," said Ike, solemnly.

"Too muchee watel, too lillee glub; no likee dis fix belly muchee," said Wah Shin.

"You must try and rest as best you can," said Sam. "Ulna and I will take turns in steering the raft."

"All night, Mistah Sam?"

"Yes, Ike, all night."

"Den you done lost faith in dis chile?"

"I have not. Why do you ask?"

"Coz, Mistah Sam, I ain't agoin' to sleep while you weah yorself out. I may be purty mean, but I ain't nigh so mean as dat. I ken steer in de dark as well as de next man, an' I'm agoin' fer to try, if so be you don't objeck."

"Me, too; allee same like Ike. Me no steels so well likee me cookee, but I tly, too," said Wah Shin.

"I am glad to see, boys," said Sam, feeling stronger for the spirit shown by his two most dependent companions, "that you are willing to do your part. If we come out all right, as I believe we shall, it will be because we never felt like giving up."

"Dem's my sentiments," said Ike, heartily.

"Me say allee same likee dat," joined in Wah Shin, who showed that he was coming out strong as their trials increased.

Ulna spoke not a word, but in the dim and fading light his dark face glowed with a pride and pleasure more eloquent in its expression than words.

To show that he appreciated their efforts, and with the belief that it would be better for all, if each was made to feel that he had an important share of the responsibility on his shoulders, Sam decided that they should take turns in steering during the night, in the same order that they would if on guard.

These arrangements were hardly completed when the impenetrable darkness, to which no mortal with eyes could ever grow accustomed, came down on the cañon.

Sam had matches in a water-proof case, and with the help of these and his watch they were enabled to mark the hours during that long, dreary night.

During the watches of heavy, painful darkness, the raft swept swiftly and silently on, meeting with no mishap but giving to its occupants the impression that they were falling down, down through the depths of a rayless and fathomless space.

When it became light enough to see the next morning, Sam noticed that all his companions looked older, and he reasoned that this was due to hunger, mental anxiety and want of sleep.

Even in the days of plenty, Ike was always ready to eat, and, as we have seen, the desire for more food was ever on his mind, from the hour when Sam thought it prudent to limit the rations.

From the moment it was light enough to see he kept his eyes fastened on the little bag containing their remaining stock of provisions. It was evident, from the expression of his mouth, that he was trying to restrain his feelings, but unable to resist, he at length exclaimed:

"See heah, Mistah Sam!"

"What is it, Ike?" asked Sam, who already guessed what was coming.

"How does yeh feel 'bout dis time?"

"Pretty well, Ike; how are you?"

"I'ze mighty holler!" groaned Ike, and he pressed his hand over his belt and bent himself forward in a most comical way.

"Hungry, Ike?"

"Hungry!" repeated Ike, "dat ar' word don't nigh begin foh to 'spress jest how I feel."

"Cheer up, Ike; we'll find a landing-place presently, and then we'll have something hot."

"W'en a feller's as holler an' hungry as I am, he ain't so mighty partickler whedder do grub's hot or cole. De question wif him is, is dar enough to fill up all de emptiness."

"Very true, Ike——"

Sam's sentence was cut short by an exclamation from Ulna, who had risen to his feet and was pointing to a line of shore on the left, where grew a cluster of stunted bushes.

They succeeded in getting the raft to this point and made a landing without any difficulty.

Here they found a great quantity of drift-wood, and Wah Shin and Ike started a fire while Sam and Ulna, with an eye to the future, selected some stout pieces of timber with which to strengthen their raft.

"Don't you t'ink," asked Ike as he pointed to their little stock of food, "dat dar ain't no use in makin' two bites ob a cherry?"

"Why do you ask that, Ike?"

"Coz, dar ain't more'n nuff grub dar foh one right-down, honest, squar meal, an' if us was to eat it, we'd all feel a heap sight bettah."

"But the future, Ike?"

"Wa'al, sah, I ain't hungry in de futah; Ize hungry right jest now at dis bressed minute."

"Me feel allee same like dat," said Wah Shin.

As this was exactly how Sam and the uncomplaining Ulna felt, the former gave orders to warm up all the food and divide it into five shares, one of which was to be for Maj.

They had a good supply of coffee left and a few pounds of bread with a like quantity of meat.

We shall not attempt to describe that feast. Only those who have long endured the pangs of hunger can appreciate it.

Each one rose from the banquet much relieved and refreshed, and in their enjoyment of the present they quite lost sight of the fact that their last particle of food was gone.

[CHAPTER XVI.—DANGER AHEAD.]

After their last hearty meal, which finished up the provisions, Sam Willett and his friends felt better, stronger and warmer than they had since the beginning of this wonderful voyage.

It is one of the blessings and charms of youth that while it enjoys the present and anticipates the happiness of the future, it steadily ignores all thoughts of coming afflictions.

Ike was boisterous in his hilarity; he danced about the fire, as if "the squar meal" had had an intoxicating effect on him; and, at length, unable to restrain himself, he burst into the following snatch from an old plantation song:

"Oh! don't you know Miss Dinah Crane,

She's 'gwine to be married;

Glad am I, an' dat's a fac,

For berry long she's tarried.

"So fotch along de wine an' de hoe cake too,

De gumbo an' de cream,

An' don't fergit de weddin' cake

On wich we darkies dream!

"For we will larf an' sing all day,

Hooraw, hooraw, hooraw!

An' on de banjo sweetly play

With a zip, yaw, yaw—yaw, yaw!"

Even Ulna smiled at this performance, and Maj chased his tail and barked till the cañon walls rang with the echoes.

The strip of shore, on which they were encamped, extended from their landing place for some distance down the river, so before launching the raft again, Sam thought it would be well for Ulna and himself to make an examination as far as they could do so on foot.

Taking their rifles, which were loaded with metallic cartridges that the water could not injure, they started off, first telling Ike and Wah Shin to take advantage of their absence to get some sleep.

They walked and clambered along the shore for about half a mile, when there came to their ears a hoarse, deep, monotonous roar.

"What is that?" asked Sam, coming to a sudden halt and laying his hand on Ulna's arm.

"I don't know," was the quiet reply.

"From what direction does the sound come?"

"From down the river."

"It must be the water?"

"There is nothing else to make a noise down here."

"I once heard the roar of the great fall at Niagara, and that brings it to my mind. Let us move on," said Sam.

Again they resumed their journey.

At times they were forced to creep along the edge, knee deep in water, but they did not mind this.

After going about three hundred yards further down, they came to an irregular rock, up whose sides they climbed in the hope of getting a better view of the river below.

They were not disappointed in their purpose, but the prospect that met their gaze was well calculated to dismay the stoutest heart.

Their vision was limited by a bend in the river a quarter of a mile below, but between this and the rock on which they stood, the water was white with foam as it roared and tumbled over a series of rapids, in the midst of which black rocks appeared like the heads of monstrous creatures.

This sight was so appalling that neither Sam nor Ulna could utter a word for some seconds, but stood looking from the maddened waters into each other's frightened face.

Sam was the first to speak:

"Oh, Ulna, that is awful!"

"Bad," was the laconic reply.

"What are we to do?"

"I cannot tell."

"We can't go back the way we came?"

"No," said Ulna, and he emphasized this opinion by a vigorous shake of the head.

"We can't get out by climbing up the walls?"

"I wish we could," said Ulna.

"Then," continued Sam, "there are only two courses open to us."

"Only two."

"One is to try and go down the rapids on the raft."

"And the other," added Ulna, "is to remain where the raft now is and starve to death."

"And have you a choice, Ulna."

"Yes, I have."

"What is it?"

"If I am to die, I want to die resisting."

"Then you are for trying the rapids?"

"I am; but I shall do as you say."

"I say 'go on.'"

Sam reached out and took Ulna's hand, and so they stood for some minutes looking at the frightful rapids which they had decided to face.

It was now about noon, there was fully five hours of daylight left, and they decided to avail themselves of it to test the rapids.

Sam reasoned that the thing had to be done, and the sooner the experiment was made the better, and in addition to this he knew that there was no more food left, and that from this time on himself and his companions would grow weaker and weaker for the effort.

They turned to walk back, Sam clambering along the giddy ledge of the rock which rose straight up from the water. He was a few yards in advance of Ulna, for whose immediate safety he had no fear, when he was brought to a sudden stand, and his heart stopped beating, and the cold sweat came out on his forehead at hearing a short, quick cry of alarm behind him.

The cry was followed by a splash, and turning, Sam saw that Ulna had fallen from the rock into the fierce current that roared and foamed above its base.

Sam threw aside his rifle and sprang back to the rescue of the young Indian, but before he had gone ten feet Ulna was fifty yards away, bravely battling with the maddened waters, above whose roar came the words:

"God bless you! Farewell!"

Sam stood petrified with horror.

To plunge into the water and attempt to help Ulna in that way would be madness.

Even as Sam watched he could see the brave face becoming more and more indistinct as it rose and fell on the surges, and then with a wave of the arm vanished out of sight behind the distant bend of the river.

Overcome with his emotions, Sam sat down on the rock, and pressing his hand to his eyes, he cried as if his heart was breaking.

It was not for himself he grieved, nor would it be just to say that these tears were an evidence of weakness in the character of our brave young friend.

He loved the handsome Indian youth, as he might have loved a brother; but this awful loss came with the memory of his other trials, so that his emotion was a proof of his loyal heart and gentle nature.

The man or boy who is incapable of tears, it is safe to say, is also incapable of a noble feeling.

Believing that Ulna had gone down the mad river to his death, Sam, as he sat there, recalled that he owed a duty to the living.

Slinging his rifle on his back again, he retraced his steps to camp.

He found Ike, Wah Shin and the dog, all sleeping by the fire as peacefully as if they were on downy beds in the midst of civilization.

Maj leaped up barking with joy and began to fawn on his young master.

This awoke Ike and Wah Shin, the former of whom declared as usual that he had only just closed his eyes, "an' hadn't been asleep at all."

"We must make ready to start at once," said Sam. "Get the things on board and tie them securely."

"All right, sah," said Ike, and he went to work with the energy of one who had dined abundantly and slept well.

"Ulna, whele him go?" asked Wah Shin, stopping in the midst of loading the raft and looking about.

"He has gone down the river," said Sam, and his sad face told the Mongolian that something serious had happened.

"Him no gone gettee dlownded," gasped Wah Shin, and his eyes grew more oblique with alarm.

"Drownded!" cried Ike. "Why, Ulna kin swim like a whole flock of ducks in a mill pond."

"The river is very rough ahead," said Sam, "and after Ulna fell into the rapids he could not get back."

"An' whar did he go to?" asked Ike.

"Down the river."

"To de bottom?"

"I don't know."

"Golly!" exclaimed Ike, "if de ribber's as rough as dat, den we'd bettah stay whar we is."

[CHAPTER XVII.—MR. WILLETT LEARNS THE NEWS.]

Collins, and his partner, Brill, were at heart as tender as they were brave.

They reasoned that Mr. Willett should know the news the messenger brought back from Gold Cave Camp, yet neither felt like conveying it to the unhappy man.

"Somebody's got to tell him," said Brill, to his partner, "and as you've got the best gift of gab, Collins, I reckon you're the feller to do it."

"If it comes down whar I've got to speak my mind and tell a sneakin' feller jest what I think of him," replied Collins, "I ain't slow, and I find I'm flush of words 'bout that time, but tellin' a man his son's dead, and that that 'ar paper he sent for to save his own life, ain't agoin to be perduced, why, that's an entirely different matter, and I'd a sight rather contract out the job to some chap as don't mind sich things."

"See har, pard, I've got an idear."

"Let's have it," said Collins, much relieved.

"I think we'd better do this kinder by slow degrees like. What do you say?"

"Why, I say, Brill, ole feller, I don't catch on to the drift of your ore bed," said Collins.

"I mean through Hank Tims."