I saw the constricted rapids, where the Colorado took its plunge
into the box-like head of the Grand Canyon of Arizona; and the
deep, reverberating boom of the river, at flood height, was a
fearful thing to hear. I could not repress a shudder at the
thought of crossing above that rapid.

The bronze walls widened as we proceeded, and we got down
presently to a level, where a long wire cable stretched across
the river. Under the cable ran a rope. On the other side was an
old scow moored to the bank.

"Are we going across in that?" I asked Emmett, pointing to the
boat.

"We'll all be on the other side before dark," he replied
cheerily.

I felt that I would rather start back alone over the desert than
trust myself in such a craft, on such a river. And it was all
because I had had experience with bad rivers, and thought I was a
judge of dangerous currents. The Colorado slid with a menacing
roar out of a giant split in the red wall, and whirled, eddied,
bulged on toward its confinement in the iron-ribbed canyon below.

In answer to shots fired, Emmett's man appeared on the other
side, and rode down to the ferry landing. Here he got into a
skiff, and rowed laboriously upstream for a long distance before
he started across, and then swung into the current. He swept down
rapidly, and twice the skiff whirled, and completely turned
round; but he reached our bank safely. Taking two men aboard he