life-preserver.

I have never been able to explain it satisfactorily; it is one of the
paradoxes; but human nature seems to take a weird delight in placing in
jeopardy that which is dearest. Even a coward with his fingers clenched
desperately on the ragged edge of hazard, feels an inexplicable thrill
of glory. Having several times been decently scared, I know.

One likes to take a sly peep behind the curtain of the big play, hoping
perhaps to get a slight hint as to what machinery hoists the moon, and
what sort of contrivance flings the thunder and lightning, and many
other things that are none of his business. Only, to be sure, he intends
to get away safely with his information. When you think you see your
finish bowing to receive you, something happens in your head. It's like
a sultry sheet of rapid fire lapping up for a moment the thunder-shaken
night--and discovering a strange land to you. And it's really good for
you.

Under half speed we cruised through the windless golden morning; and the
lonesome canyon echoed and re-echoed with the joyful chortle of the
resurrected engine. We had covered about ten miles, when a strange
sighing sound grew up about us. It seemed to emanate from the soaring
walls of rock. It seemed faint, yet it arose above the din of the
explosions, drowned out the droning of the screw.

Steadily the sound increased. Like the ghost of a great wind it moaned
and sighed about us. Little by little a new note crept in--a sibilant,
metallic note as of a tense sheet of silk drawn rapidly over a thin
steel edge.

[Illustration: WOLF POINT, THE FIRST TOWN IN 500 MILES.]

[Illustration: ENTRANCE TO THE BAD LANDS.]

We knew it to be the mourning voice of the Eagle Rapids; but far as we
could see, the river was quiet as a lake. We jogged on for a mile,
with the invisible moaning presence about us. It was somewhat like the
intangible something you feel about a powerful but sinister personality.
The golden morning was saturated with it.

Suddenly, turning a sharp bend about the wall of rock that flanked the
channel, a wind of noise struck us. It was like the hissing of
innumerable snakes against a tonal background of muffled continuous
thunder. A hundred yards before us was Eagle Rapids--a forbidding patch
of writhing, whitening water, pricked with the upward thrust of
toothlike rocks.

The first sight of it turned the inside of me mist-gray. Temporarily,
wrecks and the arithmetic of them had littl