The Argosy, September 1915 — page 203: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE DESERT CRUCIBLE. ing roar. ‘There were endless moments of strife and hell and flying darkness of spray all about him, and under him the rocking boat. When they lessened— ceased in violence—he stood ankle-deep in water; then madly he began to bail. Another roar deadened his ears, but he did not look up from his toil. And when he had to get down to avoid the pitch, he closed his eyes. ‘That rapid passed; and with more water to bail, he resumed his share in the manning of the crude craft. It was more than a share—it was a tremendous responsibility to which he bent with all his might. He heard Joe yell —and again — and again. He heard the increasing roars, one after another, till they seemed one continuous bellow. He felt the shock, the pitch, the beating waves, and then the lessening power of sound and current. That set him to his task. Always in these long intervals of toil he seemed to see without looking up the growing proportions of the canon. And the river had become a living, terrible thing. ‘The intervals of his tireless effort when he scooped the water overboard were fleeting, and the rides through rapid after rapid were endless periods of wait- ing terror. His spirit and his hope were overwhelmed by the rush and roar and fury. Then as he worked there came a change—a rest to deafened ears—a stretch of river that seemed quiet after chaos —and here for the first time he bailed the boat clear of water. Jane and Fay were huddled in a cor- ner, with the flapping tarpaulin now half fallen over them. ‘They were wet and muddy. Lassiter crouched like a man dazed by a bad dream; his white hair hung, stained and bedraggled, over his face. ‘The Indian and the cowboy, grim, hard, worn, stood silent at the oar. The afternoon was far advanced, and the sun had already descended below the western ramparts. A cool breeze blew up the cahon, laden with a sound that was the same, yet not the same, as those low, dull roars which Shefford dreaded more and more. Joe Lake turned his ear to the breeze. A stronger puff brought a heavy, quiver- ing rumble. This time he did not vent his gay and wild defiance to the river. He bent lower—listened. F2 A 417 Then, as the rumble became a strange, deep, reverberating roll, as if the mon- strous river were rolling huge stones down a subterranean cafion, Shefford saw with dilating eyes that Joe’s hair was rising stiff upon his head. “Hear that?” said Joe, turning an ashen face to Shefford. ‘‘ We'll drop off the earth now. Hang on to the girl, so if we go you can go together. And, pard, | if you’ve got a God—pray!”’ Nas Ta Bega faced the bend whence that rumble came. He was the same dark, inscrutable, impassive Indian as of old. What was death to him? Shefford felt the strong, rushing love of life surge in him. It was not for himself, he thought, but for Fay and the happiness she merited. He went to her, patted the covered head, and tried, with words choking in his throat, to give hope. And he leaned with hands gripping the eunwale, with eyes wide open, ready for the unknown. The river made a quick turn. From round the. bend rumbled a terrible up- roar. The current racing that way was divided or uncertain; it gave strange mo- tion to the boat. Joe and Nas Ta Bega shoved desperately upon the oar, all to no purpose; the currents had their will. The bow of the boat took the place of the stern. Then, swift at the head of a curved incline, it shot beyond the bulging wall. And Shefford saw an awful place be- fore them. The canon had narrowed to half its width and turned almost at right angles. The huge clamor of appalling sound came from under the cliff where the swollen river had to pass and where there was not space. The rapid rushed in gigantic swells right upon the wall, boomed against it, climbed and spread and fell away, to recede and gather new impetus to leap madly on down the canon. Shefford went to his knees, clasped Fay, and Jane, too. But facing this appalling thing, he had to look. Courage and despair came to him at the last. This must be the end. With long, buoyant swing the boat sailed down, shot over the first waves, was caught and lifted upon the great swell and impelled straight to- ward the cliff. Huge whirlpools raced alongside, and from them came a horrible, engulfing roar. Monstrous bulges rose on the other EOPMICLOOOKS (E@)