But an examination showed that the tide ran back to
the cliffs. One of us had to stay with the boat. Telling Phillipps to
get what sleep he could, I sat in the boat, and allowed the small
breakers which fox-chased each other to beat it in as the tide rose.
An arctic explorer has said that having an adventure means that
something unexpected or unforeseen has happened; that some one has
been incompetent. I had the satisfaction of knowing that the fault of
this adventure, if such it could be called, was mine. Here we were, at
our goal in Mexico, supposed to be a hostile land, with scant
provisions for one day. It was a hundred miles along the line of
cliffs, back to Yuma. So far, we had failed to find the ranch. It was
not likely that it was around the point of rocks. We knew now that the
Colorado channel was fifteen miles from the mouth of the river, and
was not a slough as we had supposed. Doubtless the ranch was up there.
Our best plan was to return to the head of the tide, going up the
Colorado, then if we did not find the ranch we would abandon the boat,
snare some birds, keep out of the scorching heat, and travel in the
morning and evening. Two active men should be able to do that without
difficulty.
So the hours passed, with the breakers driving the boat toward the
line of cliffs. When it had reached its highest point, I pulled into a
slough and tied up, then woke Al as we had agreed. While I slept, he
climbed the cliffs to have a last look.
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