ly small. Some
clambered winding up the rough face of the rock.

I picked one of the climbing Indians and fired, the roar of the
concussion in the narrow canyon was startling. It rolled back and forth
like the thunder of artillery.

At my third shot an Indian slipped, it was one below the fellow I was
aiming at, caught frantically at the face of the rock, missed the narrow
ledge and shot down toward the river, whipped twice over in his fall,
and with a great splash, disappeared into the muddy, whirling river.

I shall never forget the dark velocity with which that Indian fell. It
was something appalling and it made me shrink inwardly, even if the
fellow was our enemy.

"Good shot, boy," yelled Jim.

"He wasn't the fellow I was aiming at," I explained, "it was the one
above him."

"Why didn't you keep still," came from Tom, "no one would be the wiser
and you might have had the credit of a fine shot."

"I don't see it," I replied, "there's no real satisfaction in that sort
of a bluff. Then, too, you establish a reputation that you can't live up
to in case of need and that's no fun."

"Right you are, Jo," commented Jim. "Don't mind Tom's advice because he
is going to be a lawyer."

"I'm more likely to be a cripple," retorted Tom. "That stone came near
breaking my leg."

"To the oars, boys," suddenly cried Jim, "here comes another rapid.
Never mind the leg now, Tom. We will run ashore as soon as we can."

So we took our places again. The board on Tom's side was smashed by a
rock and as we dashed into the rapid we begun to ship water. Fortunately
this series was nothing like so bad as we had before passed through.

In a half hour we got into quieter water and soon sighted a gravel
beach at the foot of a cliff that here receded some.

"We will run in there and look things over," announced Jim. "Stand ready
to throw over the bow anchor, Jo. The river is running strong there. We
will have to catch it just right."

Partly by good luck and good management we did manage to lay alongside
the gravel beach, though "the Captain" pulled taut at the anchors.

"What do you think of that for a scrape?" asked Jim. "Talk about it
raining pitchforks, why, it rained arrows and hailed rocks. I know now
something how it would be to be under fire in battle. But this was fun."

"You were certainly _under_ fire if I'm a judge," commented Tom.

"It's a wonder you weren't struck, Jim," I said.

"It seemed like a miracle to me,"