In the evening we reached the next rapid, called the Cascades--Nepe
Kab??tekik--"Where the water falls," and camping there, we had a
symposium in our tent, which I could not enjoy, having headache and
heartburn, a nasty combination. The 16th was the hottest day of the
season--a hard one on the trackers, who now pulled along walls of
solid limestone, perpendicular or stepped, or wrought into elaborate
cornices, as if by the art of some giant stonecutter. At one place
we came to a lovely little _rideau_, and on the opposite shore were
two curious caves, scooped out of the rock, and supported by
Egyptian-like columns wrought by the age-action of water.
Towards evening we reached the Crooked Rapid--Kah??wakak o
Po???estik--and here the portage path followed on the summit of the
limestone rampart, which the viscous gumbo-slides made almost
impassable in rainy weather, and indeed very dangerous, forming, at
the time we passed, pits of mud and broken masses of half-hard clay,
along the very verge of the wall of rock, likely at any moment to
give way and precipitate one into the raging torrent below. At other
parts the path was jammed out to the wall-edge, to be stepped round
with a gulp in the throat. But these and other features of a like
interesting character, though a lively experience to the tenderfoot,
were of no account whatever to those wonderful trackers. At one of
the worst spots I was hesitating as to how and where I should step
next, when a carrier, returning for his load, seeing my fix, humped
his back with a laugh and gave me a lift over.
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