As a consequence, we had often to climb, often to break through
the narrowest thicket strips, and once to feel our way cautiously along
a sunken ledge under a sheer rock cliff. That was Billy's idea. We came
to the sheer rock cliff after a pretty hard scramble, and we were most
loth to do the necessary climbing. Billy suggested that we might be
able to wade. As the pool below the cliff was black water and of
indeterminate depth, we scouted the idea. Billy, however, poked around
with a stick, and, as I have said, discovered a little ledge about a
foot and a half wide and about two feet and a half below the surface.
This was spectacular, but we did it. A slip meant a swim and the loss
of the pack. We did not happen to slip. Shortly after, we came to the
Big Falls, and so after further painful experiment descended joyfully
into known country.
The freshet had gone down, the weather had warmed, the sun shone, we
caught trout for lunch below the Big Falls; everything was lovely. By
three o'clock, after thrice wading the stream, we regained our
canoe--now at least forty feet from the water. We paddled across. Deuce
followed easily, where a week before he had been sucked down and nearly
drowned. We opened the cache and changed our very travel-stained
garments. We cooked ourselves a luxurious meal. We built a
friendship-fire. And at last we stretched our tired bodies full length
on balsam a foot thick, and gazed drowsily at the canvas-blurred moon
before sinking to a dreamless sleep.
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