water in nearly every instance. The motion-picture film was not so
fortunate. The paraffine had worn off the tin boxes in spots, the
water soaked through the tape in some instances, and entered to the
film. One roll, tightly wrapped, became wet on the edges; the gelatine
swelled and stuck to the other film, thus sealing the inner portion or
picture part of the film, so that roll was saved.

The motion-picture camera was filled with water, mud and sand; and the
other cameras fared likewise. We cleaned them out as best we could,
drying them over small alcohol lamp which we had included in our
duffle. Our job seemed endless. Jimmy had retired early, for he could
help us but little in this work. It rained again in torrents, and the
wind howled about the tent. After midnight, as we still toiled, a
land-slide, loosened by the soaking rains, thundered down the mountain
side about a fourth of a mile below our camp. We hoped Jimmy would not
hear it. We retired soon after this. Smaller slides followed at
intervals, descending over the 3000-foot precipices. Thunder
reverberated through the canyon, and altogether it was a night long to
be remembered. These slides made one feel a little uncomfortable. "It
would be most inconvenient," as we have heard some one say, "to wake
in the morning and find ourselves wrapped up in a few tons of earth
and rock."

Emery woke me the next morning to report that the river had risen
about six feet; and that my boat--rolled out on the sand but left
untied--was just on the Point of going out with the water. It had
proven fortunate for us all Emery was a light sleeper! There was no
travelling this day, as the boat had to be repaired. Emery, being the
ship's carpenter, set to work at once, while Jimmy and I stretched our
ropes back and forth, and hung up the wet clothes. Then we built a