But as we left the bank the river increased in speed and the boat gradually lost.  Then she stood still, but began to turn slowly, broadside to the current.  This was something we had not foreseen.  With no headway the rudder was of no avail.  There was no sweep-oar; we had even neglected to put an oar on the boat.  With pieces of boards the stranger and I paddled, trying to hold her straight, but all the time, in spite of our efforts, she drifted away from the land and slowly turned.  A big sand-wave struck her, she wheeled in her tracks and raced straight for a pier, down the stream.

About this time our engineer began having trouble with his engine.  At first we feared it would not run, now it seemed it would not stop.

A great shout went up from the shore, and a bet was made that we would run to the Gulf in less than a day.  A darky boy fell off a boat in the excitement, the Indians did a dance, men pounded each other and whooped for joy.  Then a bolt came loose, and the engine ran away.  Driving-rod and belts were whirled “regardless,” as the passenger afterwards said, about our heads.

Then the crash came.  Our efforts to escape the pier were of no avail.  I made a puny effort to break the impact with a pole, but was sent sprawling on the deck.  Al tumbled headlong on top of the engine, which he had stopped at last, our passenger rolled over and over, but we all stayed with the ship.  Each grabbing a board, we began to paddle and steered the craft to the shore.

With the excitement over, the crowd faded away.  Only two or three willing hands remained to help us line the craft back to the landing.  The owner, who had to run around the end of the bridge, came down puffing and blowing, badly winded, at the end of the first round.  Without a word from any one we brought the boat back to the landing.

Al was the first to speak.

“Well, what are you going to do?” he asked.

“Me?  I’m going to take my boat and start for the Gulf in ten minutes.  I’ll take nothing that I cannot carry.  If I have to leave the river I will travel light across the desert to Calexico.  I think that I can get through.  If you want to go along, I’ll stick with you until we get back.  What do you think about it?”

It was a long speech and a little bitter perhaps.  I felt that way.  The disappointment on top of the three days’ delay when time was precious could not be forgotten in a moment.  And when my speech was said I was all through.

Al said he would be ready in half an hour.  Our beds were left behind.  Al had a four-yard square of canvas for a sail.  This would be sufficient covering at night in the hot desert.  We had two canteens.  The provisions, scarcely touched before arriving here, were sufficient for five days.  I was so anxious to get started that I did not take the time to replenish them in Yuma, intending to do so at the custom-house on the Arizona side twelve miles below, where some one had told me there was a store.  I counted on camping there.  After a hurriedly eaten luncheon we were ready to start, the boat was shoved off, and we were embarked for Mexico.