k to rafts. The story is that a
hundred and sixty-five men of that stampede were drowned in one year
on the Death Rapids."

Leo picked up a stick and began to make a map on the sand, showing the
Big Bend of the Columbia and some of its side-streams.

"You start Beaver Mouth," said he, "all right, till you come on
Surprise Rapids--all at once, right round bend. Surprise Rapids, him
very bad. Much portage there. Very bad to get boat through even on
line. Portage three mile there, maybe-so.

"Here was old man Brinkman, his rapid--not so bad, but bad enough for
to scare old man Brinkman, so they name it on him, 'Brinkman's
Terror.'

"Here is what Walt Steffen calls 'Double Eddy'--bad place sometam in
high water. Bime-by we come on Lake Timbasket, up there, maybe thirty
mile, maybe-so."

Leo made a tracing of the outline of the lake, then followed his
scratch in the sand on around.

"Now begin Twenty-six Mile Rapid, all bad--Gordon Rapids here, Big
Eddy here, Rock Canyon here. Now we come on Boat Encampment. This way
Revelstruck. Death Rapids here; Priest Rapids down here; and then
Revelstruck Canyon; him bad, very bad, plenty man drown there, too.
That five miles from Revelstruck; we get out and walk there.

"Now here"--and he pointed on his sand map--"is Boat Encampment. Right
around corner there is one of most bad places on whole river."

"But you've been through, Uncle Dick. Tell us about it."

"Yes, I came through once last year, and that's enough for me," said
Uncle Dick. "That's the Rock Canyon and the Grand Eddy. Leo has shown
it all pretty plainly here. I don't want to make that trip again,
myself. But when we got to Lake Timbasket we didn't any of us know
how bad it was going to be--the old trapper who acted as our guide had
never been through when the water was high. But when we got at the
head of the Twenty-six Mile Rapids, below Lake Timbasket, it was like
the bottom had dropped out of things, and we had to go through, for we
couldn't get back.

"Of course, we could line sometimes, and many of the chutes we did not
attempt. The first day below Timbasket we made about ten miles, to a
camp somewhere below the Cummins Creek chute. We could hear the water
grinding--it sounded like breaking glass--all night long, right near
the place where we slept, and it kept me awake all night. I suppose it
is the gravel down at the bottom of the deep water. Then there were
growlings and rumblings--the Indians say the