in cataract, and above I
found sheer cliffs curving in a double horseshoe. It was impossible to
swim the racing current, and I came back to the log. By that time another
twilight was on me. The forest had been very still; I hadn't noticed a
bird all day, but while I stood weighing the chances of that crossing, I
heard the harsh call of a kingfisher or jay. It seemed to come from the
slope beyond the bluff, and instantly an answer rose faintly in the
direction of the trail. I was leaning on one of the tilted slabs, and I
wormed myself around the base, to avoid leaving an impression in the wet
sand, and dipped under the trailing bough of a cedar, through the pool,
and crawled up into the cavern. There wasn't room to stand erect, and I
waited crouching, over moccasins in water. The cedar began to sway--I had
used the upper boughs to ease myself in sliding down the slab from the
bluff--a fragment of granite dropped, then an Indian came between me and
the light.

"While he stopped to examine the sand at the edge of the pool, another
followed. He ventured a short distance out on the log and came back, while
the first set his rifle against the trunk and sank on his hands and knees
to drink. The water, roiled probably by my steps, was not to his taste,
and he rejected it with a disgusted 'Hwah!' When he rose, he stood looking
across the pool into my cavern. I held my breath, hugging the bluff behind
me like a lizard. It was so dark I doubted if even his lynx eyes could
discover me, but he lifted the gun and for an instant I believed he meant
to send a shot into the hole. Then he seemed to think better of wasting
his ammunition and led the way down-stream. They stopped on a level bank
over the cataract, and in a little while I caught the odor of smoke and
later of cooking trout. My cramped position grew intolerable, and finally
I crept out into the pool to reconnoitre. The light of their fire showed
both figures stretched on the ground. They had camped for the night.

"It was useless to try to go down-stream; before dawn Indians would patrol
the whole canyon; neither could I double back to the Dosewallups where
they had as surely left a watch; my only course was to risk the log
crossing at once, before the moon rose, and strike southward to the
Lilliwaup, where, at the mouth of the gorge, I knew the mail steamer made
infrequent stops. I began to work up between the gnarled roots to the top
of the trunk and pushed laboriously wi