his 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. An hour after daybreak he
returned. Nothing but rock and desert could be seen. We dragged the
boat down in the slime of the slough until we caught the falling tide.
Then Al rigged up his sail. With the rising sun a light breeze blew in
from the Gulf. Here was our opportunity. Slowly we went up against the
falling tide. Then as the breeze failed, the tide returned. Fifty feet
away a six foot black sea bass floated; his rounded back lifted above
the water. With the approach of the boat he was gone. The sharks were
seen again.

Two hours later we had entered the mouth of the river carried by the
rising tide. Several miles were left behind. Another breeze came up as
the tide failed, and the sail was rigged up again. Things were coming
our way at last. Al knew how to handle a boat. Running her in close to
the top of the straight falling banks I could leap to the land, take a
picture, then run and overtake the boat, and leap on again.

Then the wind shifted, the tide turned, and we tied up, directly
opposite the point where we had camped the afternoon before. It was
the hottest day we had seen Whirlwinds, gathering the dust in slender
funnels, scurried across the plains. Mirages of trees bordering
shimmering lakes and spreading water such as we had come through below
Yuma were to be seen, even out towards the sea. Then over toward the
cliffs where the old Colorado once ran we saw a column of distant
smoke. Perhaps it was a hunter;