ts, and hurriedly leave, not willing to
be caught in the robbery, yet excusing ourselves by pleading our great
want. We run down a short distance to where we feel certain no Indians
can follow; and what a kettle of squash sauce we make! True, we have no
salt with which to season it, but it makes a fine addition to our
unleavened bread and coffee. Never was fruit so sweet as those stolen
squashes. After dinner we push on again, making fine time, finding many
rapids, but none so bad that we cannot run them with safety, and when we
stop, just at dusk, and foot up our reckoning, we find that; we have run
thirty-five miles again.

What a supper we make; unleavened bread, green squash sauce, and strong
coffee. We have been for a few days on half-rations, but we have no
stint of roast squash.

A few days like this, and we are out of prison.

_August 27._ This morning the river takes a more southerly direction.
The dip of the rocks is to the north, and we are rapidly running into
lower formations. Unless our course changes, we shall very soon run
again into the granite. This gives us some anxiety. Now and then the
river turns to the west, and excites hopes that are soon destroyed by
another turn to the south. About nine o'clock we come to the dreaded
rock. It is with no little misgiving that we see the river enter those
black, hard walls. At its very entrance we have to make a portage; then
we have to let down with lines past some ugly rocks. Then we run a mile
or two farther, and then the rapids below can be seen.

About eleven o'clock we come to a place where it seems much worse than
any we have yet met in all its course. A little creek comes down from
the left. We land first on the right, and clamber up over the granite
pinnacles for a mile or two, but can see no way by which we can let
down, and to run it would be sure destruction. After dinner we cross to
examine it on the left. High above the river we can walk along on the
top of the granite, which is broken off at the edge, and set with crags
and pinnacles, so that it is very difficult to get a view of the river
at all. In my eagerness to reach a point where I can see the roaring
fall below, I go too far on the wall, and can neither advance nor
retreat. I stand with one foot on a little projecting rock, and cling
with my hand fixed in a little crevice. Finding I am caught here,
suspended four hundred feet above the river, into which I should fall if
my footing fails,