The Order Had Been Given For An Early Start, Which Meant Breakfast At Earliest Dawn, So That I Had To Go Down To The River While The Stars Were Yet Shining.

The water was quite warm, and as soon as I felt myself in its soothing embrace a half-dreamy mood came over me, and, throwing myself upon my back, I yielded to it, quietly pushing myself, as I thought, against the stream, but heading for the other side.

Though conscious of the enjoyment of the exercise, and the delicious sensation of the water around my body, my thoughts ran away with me, and I suddenly awoke to myself and the full significance of my surroundings by finding myself more than half-way across the river, in the swiftest part of the current, which was rapidly carrying me down to the rapids. For a few moments I was dreadfully alarmed. My heart stood still, and the surprise of it almost paralysed me. I remember distinctly my thoughts and reasoning. They were somewhat as follows: "The current on the south side is far less strong than on this side. Therefore it will be much easier to go back than to try to reach the north shore, which seems to be and is so much the nearer. If, however, you can't make it, what then? You'll go into the rapids. If you are dashed headlong or sideways against any of the five hundred and one waiting rocks, that will doubtless be the end of you; but there is a good chance that you may get through without hitting anything. A minute, or two minutes at the most, will see you through the rapids to calm current beyond. You can hold your breath that length of time, so that the spray and wildly tossing waves of the rapids, the froth and spume, will not get up your nose and choke you."

In the meantime, I had fixed my eye on an immense square block of rock, that rested just above the dangerous rapids, and close to the southern shore. I knew if I could reach the shore inside that rock I was safe, so striking out vigorously, and aiming for a point far above it, I swam as strongly as I knew how, making every stroke tell, refusing to be alarmed or confused by the terrifying roar of the rapids, which now seemed but a step away. I did not have to test my method of going through the rapids. I reached the shore in safety, walked back to camp, had a good breakfast, made all the more appetizing by my swim and the consequent danger, and in half an hour the ride up the trail and my companions were absorbing all my attention. To all of them, save one, this recital of my morning's adventure will be new.

Dangerous Unless Known Well. That the river is more dangerous than most people imagine, the bleaching bones of many a poor wretch who has been drowned in its treacherous waters fully attest. More than one prospector, cattleman, or even cattle and horse "rustler" (as in Arizona parlance a cattle and horse-thief is known), with too great self-confidence, has attempted to cross on a log, in a leaky skiff, or in a canvas boat, and ere he was aware of his danger, the current had swept him out of reach of all help. It is a river to know ere you risk yourself upon or in it.

Getting Animals across the River. Who could begin to recount the fun and frolic, and at the same time the worry and vexation we have experienced in taking horses, mules and burros across this surly river. We have crossed at all times of the year, at high water and low, when the water was cold enough to give one cramps merely to look at it, and when it was comfortably warm. Sometimes we had no trouble; then we felt how smart we were, and it made us happy; at other times the animals seemed to be "possessed." Sometimes it is the horses that are afraid; at others it is the mules; and sometimes the burros; generally all three together. The modus is to put your strongest rower in the boat, and then a man with plenty of nerve in the stern to handle the rope and the animal to which it is attached, - when you get the latter into the water. As many persons as then can be assembled get behind the animal to persuade it to enter the water. The boat is ready to go as soon as the animal is "in," but yet it prefers to be "out." Yellings, shoutings, pushings are of little or no avail, and the gentle pleadings of the man with the rope are as effective as Mrs. Partington's sweeping back of the Atlantic with a broom. Vigorous measures must be used, so a concerted movement is projected. At a given signal the boat is to be pushed off, the oarsman ply his oars with power, the man in the stern is to pull with energy, and a man at each flank of the animal is to push, while every other being is to do his or her part by a shout or a boost. One man swings a riata to help scare the animal in, and the boat pulls out into the current. We all stand and watch. What is the fool horse doing? Scared at first of going into the water, he now is making desperate efforts to climb into the boat. His rope is held as tightly as possible, but the beast swims frantically from one side to the other, endeavoring to climb aboard. His knees thump the boat, and his chin occasionally rests on the gunwale, but active interference thrusts him back. In the meantime, the current is taking the boat well down the river, but we are not alarmed, for we have a good half-mile stretch, with convenient sandy places on the north side, on which to land.

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