At the last rapid in Cataract I
carried all my stuff over the cliff, then tried to line the
boat from the narrow ledge. The boat jerked me into the
river, but I did not lose my hold on the chain and climbed
on board. I had no oars, but managed to get through without
striking any rocks, and landed a mile and a half below the
supplies. I hope the 'movies' are good.[7]
"Sincerely yours,
"CHAS. SMITH."
CONCLUSION. HOW I WENT TO MEXICO
CHAPTER XXIV
ON THE CREST OF A FLOOD
A westward-bound train was bearing me across the Mojave Desert one day
in May. In a few swiftly passing hours we had made a six-thousand foot
descent from the plateau with its fir and aspen-covered mountain, its
cedar and pinon-clothed foot-hills, and its extensive forests of
yellow pine. Crimson and yellow-flowered cactus, sage and chaparral,
succeeded the pines. The cool mountains had given way to burned-out,
umber-coloured hills, rock-ribbed arroyos, and seemingly endless
desert; and the sun was growing hotter every minute.
If the heat continued to increase, I doubted if I would care to take a
half-planned Colorado River trip down to the Gulf. Visions of the
California beaches, of fishing at Catalina and of horseback rides over
the Sierra's trails, nearly unsettled my determination to stop at
Needles, on the California side of the river. This was my vacation!
Why undergo all the discomfort of a voyage on a desert stream, when
the pleasures and comforts of the Pacific beckoned? One thing was
sure, if I was not successful in securing a boat at Needles, the very
next train would find me on board, bound for the Western Slope.
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