the accident had thrown the ramblers into such consternation that for an instant all seemed incapable of action.
but the seriousness of their situation demanded immediate attention. the "speedy" had already passed the passageway, and each moment the current of canyon river and the wind were dragging it nearer the dreaded gorge.
bob somers was the first to arouse himself. the yell of tommy clifton seemed to be still ringing in his ears. he grasped the tiller.
"ease over the sheet, dave," he shouted. "we're coming about on the starboard tack—quick!"
but the instant's delay had been fatal. before the boat could respond to her helm, another furious blast sent her heeling over. this time, the tapering mast met the water; the boys shot out in all directions; then the "speedy" turned bottom up, and, as if rejoicing at another victim, the current raced her swiftly along.
when they rose to the surface, the ramblers, with one accord, struck out for the boat; each felt that to stem the force of wind and water was impossible. numerous rocks studded the channel a bit further down, and their only hope seemed to lie in reaching one of these. at any rate, they had already gone so far that no effort at swimming could have saved them from the turbulent water below.
clinging to the hull, they could only glance at each other with white faces—faces which reflected the terror that gripped their hearts.
by this time, dark, rolling clouds had blotted out the mountain tops, and seemed to be on the point of pouring earthward a flood of rain. nature was, indeed, in a wild and threatening mood.
and now an ominous roar rose above the sound of wind and waves. already the upturned boat was sweeping past the lower end of promontory island.
the cliffs lashed with perpetual foam were near at hand.
like one in a dream, sam randall saw flashing into view the white rocks upon which he had stood only a short time before. then, almost instantly, torn like the others from their hold on the "speedy," he was battling for life in a seething vortex.
exhausted by the pounding and almost blinded, he struggled desperately to keep his head above water and reach one of the rocks. but a short distance separated him from a haven of safety. he kept his eye fixed on a form over which the water pounded and lashed. a few feet more, and his hand would reach it.
at last, with the agony of despair, sam randall grasped hold of the projecting point. his fingers closed tightly around it, and for an instant it looked as if success would crown his effort.
then he was torn away.
a deafening roar rang in his ears; he seemed to be fairly lifted above the madly swirling water, then forced beneath, and when, gasping and choking, he rose to the surface, it was within the gloomy gorge, with nothing but rocky walls on either hand.
yes, bob and dave were there, too.
the current was now smooth and even, and the three, notwithstanding their exhausted condition, found little difficulty in keeping to the surface. the "speedy" could be seen not far ahead.
bob somers felt a strange calmness steal over him; the first crushing shock had gone, and even when, a few minutes later, a steady murmur rose above the gurgle of the lapping water, it did not seem to increase his agitation.
the cataract was not far ahead.
the sound rapidly increased in volume, a steady droning, musical and solemn.
the swimmers shot around a jutting crag; then bob somers felt like uttering a shout. hope swept away the unnatural calmness, and renewed his strength.
the river widened out; on the left side a green field, dotted with trees, sloped gently to the water's edge.
"let's try to land there," cried bob, and the boys struck out in that direction. the current was swift, and they realized that an instant's delay would result in their being swept down to the falls. already more than half the green shore was behind them, when bob somers won his battle. he grasped an overhanging tree and pulled himself up on the bank. then, a bit further along, dave brandon crawled up on a shelving rock, and lastly, sam randall.
exhausted, the three lay perfectly still, their hearts filled with thankfulness at their wonderful escape. bob somers was the first to rise, and, in a moment, the others joined him. they were three strange-looking boys, pale-faced, with wet, bedraggled clothing that stuck tightly to their forms.
"we had a narrow escape, fellows," exclaimed sam randall, with a shiver. "i never expected to get out of it."
"one adventure like this would last a fellow a lifetime," murmured dave. "we ought to thank our stars. i'll never forget how i felt when we were in that gorge," and dave shuddered.
"nor i," said bob. "if we only knew what happened to poor tommy and dick."
"travers is a good swimmer; the current doesn't run very strong there, and they were close to hemlock island."
dave's cheering words brightened the others considerably.
"listen to the roar of that cataract," put in sam. "it can't be far off—sounds like a whopper."
"suppose this valley had been on the other side of the falls, instead of this," said dave, reflectively.
"don't, chubby," and bob shivered. "poor old 'speedy,' she's smashed to bits, now—nice news for uncle barton. maybe he won't have a few things to say to dugan."
"fellows," said sam, suddenly, "how are we going to get out of this place? we may be in a fine pickle after all—let's explore a bit."
the valley seemed circular, and less than a quarter of a mile across. trees and all sorts of vegetation grew in the richest profusion. above, the cliffs were enveloped in the low, scudding clouds, and occasionally big drops of rain spattered about them.
the three came to a halt at the end of the valley. the rocky walls rose sheer from the water again, and all hope of escape in that direction was cut off. a little below them, on the other side of the river, they could see another green shore, but its extent could not be determined on account of the cliff which jutted in front.
"might have been better if we'd landed there," said dave, reflectively. "look at that spur extending out into the stream."
"maybe," admitted bob. "suppose we explore the rest of the valley."
at the end of half an hour, the boys looked at each other in dismay. every nook and corner of the border line had been inspected, and a disheartening fact was forced upon them—the valley had no outlet.
"bob, we're bottled up," said sam, gloomily.
"an awful fix," murmured the captain, with sinking heart.
dave glanced upward.
"might as well think of trying to climb the sides of a house, chubby," said sam, despairingly. "hang it—what's to be done?"
"have lunch," answered the "poet." he pointed toward a mass of blackberry bushes. "better than nothing," he added.
the others thought so, too, and began an onslaught which lasted until their hunger was considerably appeased. then, despite a drizzly rain, they wandered back to the river, and ran up and down the banks to keep warm. the top of promontory island could be faintly seen between the canyon walls.
"if we only had some matches, it might be worth while to build a fire," remarked sam. "old neil prescott would be sure to see it."
"but bill dugan said that no one could ascend the river from below," declared bob.
"and no one's coming the way we did. what can be done, dave?"
"eat blackberries, and hope," counseled the "poet," and, as sam made an impatient gesture, he added, "until to-morrow, at least."
"and to-morrow?" said sam.
but his question remained unanswered.
soon they sought shelter under a thick clump of trees.
"seems a pity that such a beautiful little place should be hidden," remarked the "poet," thoughtfully. "remember the poem,
"'full many a flower is born to blush unseen
and waste its sweetness on the desert air'?"
but neither bob nor sam could view the situation as cheerfully as their companion, and remained moodily silent.
never could the boys remember so tiresome a wait as they had beneath the trees that afternoon. the minutes seemed to drag out interminably. it was late when the rain stopped, and they continued their exploration, in a vain hope that some way out of their dilemma might be discovered.
"no use," said sam, wearily. "we are in an awful pickle."
dave brandon and his chums nodded.
toward dusk the clouds began to clear away, and when night came, twinkling stars peeped between the flying masses. but it was a black, gloomy night; the wind rustled the tree-tops mournfully, and the monotonous roar of the cataract sounded louder than ever.
