However, as none of the three was willing to be the first man to give in,
they stepped into the little craft, and gripping the seats firmly, in
obedience to the orders of the lumbermen, were pushed off.

For the first few minutes their experience was something terrible. They
were going at such a frightful rate of speed that they could hardly catch
breath; they seemed to be falling down the side of the mountain, and every
moment the speed of their fall increased.

They flew past snowy mountains and ice-bound rivers, and had no time to
see anything.

Each man remembered all the dreadful stories he had heard about accidents
in flumes, and at every curve and turn expected to be dashed to pieces in
the cañon below.

So they sped onward, past rocks and cliffs, down, down, down, until they
flew out of the regions of snow and ice over hillsides clothed with
vineyards. Still down, past orchards, the trees in full bloom, down and
still down, until their fear had passed, and they were able to enjoy the
novelty of their position.

Suddenly a curve in the flume brought them into a wide stretch of water,
and they had reached their journey's end. The little boat, still propelled
by the force it had gathered in its journey down the mountainside, cut its
way through the water, and reached the wharf,--only two hours having been
taken for the trip.

It must have been a wonderful ride. What a clever and yet simple device
for bringing the lumber down from the mountains with so little trouble and