and felt a great relief when the oar stopped slipping down,—­as the blade reached the ring.  It was the work of a second to climb the oar, and I found I was under the cockpit.  Securing a firm hold on the gunwale, which had helped us so often, I got on the outside of the boat, thinking I might climb on top.  About that time one of the largest waves broke over me, knocking me on the side of the head as if with a solid object, nearly tearing me from the boat.  After that I kept as close to the boat as possible, paddling with my feet to keep them clear of rocks.  Then the suction of the boat caught them and dragged them under, and for the rest of the rapid I had all I could do to hang to the boat.  As the rapid dwindled I began to look for Emery, but was unable to see him, for it was now growing quite dark, but I could see a fire on shore that he had built.  I tried to call but was strangled with the breaking waves; my voice was drowned in the roar of the rapid.  One of the life-preservers was torn loose and floated ahead of me.  Finally I got an answer, and could see that Emery had launched his boat.  As he drew near I told him to save the life-preserver, which he did, then hurriedly pulled for me.  I remarked with a forced laugh, to reassure him, “Gee, Emery, this water’s cold.”

He failed to join in my levity, however, and said with feeling, “Thank the good Lord you are here!” and down in my heart I echoed his prayer of thanks.

Somehow I had lost all desire to successfully navigate the Soap Creek Rapid.

But our troubles were not entirely over.  Emery had pulled me in after a futile attempt or two, with a hold sometimes used by wrestlers, linking his arm in mine, leaning forward, and pulling me in over his back I was so numbed by the cold that I could do little to help him, after what, I suppose, was about a quarter of an hour’s struggle in the water; although it seemed much longer than that to me.

We then caught the Edith and attempted to turn her over, but before this could be done we were dragged into the next rapid.  Emery caught up the oars, while I could do nothing but hold to the upturned boat, half filled with water, striving to drag us against the wall on the left side of the stream.  It was no small task to handle the two boats in this way, but Emery made it; then, when he thought we were sure of a landing, the Edith dragged us into the river again.  Two more small rapids were run as we peered through the darkness for a landing.  Finally we reached the shore over a mile below the Soap Creek Rapid.  We were on the opposite side of the stream from that where we had unloaded the Defiance.  This material would have to stay where it was that night.

While bailing the water from the Edith we noticed a peculiar odour, and thought for a while that it might be the body of the man who was drowned at the ferry, but later we found it came from a green cottonwood log that had become water-soaked, and was embedded in the sand, close to our landing.  It was Emery’s turn to do the greater part of the camp work that night, while I was content to hug the fire, wrapped in blankets, waiting for the coffee to boil.