During the morning the going was easy.  The river was swift and led through a long series of broken buttes, between which one caught wild views of a tortured country; twisted strata, strange distorted cedar and cactus, uncanny shapes of rock pinnacles, in colors somber and strange.  They stopped at noon in the shadow of a weathered overhanging rock, with the profile of a witch.  The atmosphere of dissension had by this time permeated the crew and this meal, usually so jovial, was eaten with no general conversation and all were glad to take to the boats as soon as the dishes were washed.

The character of the river now changed again.  It grew broader and once more smooth canyon walls closed it in.  As the river broadened, however, it became more shallow and rocks began to appear above the surface at more and more frequent intervals.  At last the Na-che went aground amid-stream on a sharp rock.  The Ida turned back to her assistance but Enoch and Milton had to go overboard, along with the crew of the Na-che, in order to drag and lift her into clear water.  Then for nearly two hours, all thought of rowing must be given up.  Both crews remained in the water, pushing the boats over the rough bottom.

It was heartbreaking work.  For a few moments the boats would float, plunging the men beyond their depths.  They would swim and flounder perhaps a boat’s length, clinging to the gunwale, before the boat would once more run aground.  Again they would drag their clumsy burden a hundred yards over sand that sucked hungrily at their sodden boots.  This passed, came many yards of smooth rock a few inches below the surface of the water, which was so muddy that it was impossible to see the pot holes into which some one of the crew plunged constantly.

Jonas suffered agonies during this period; not for himself, though he took his full share of falls.  His agony was for the Na-che, whose freshly painted bottom was abraded, scraped, gorged and otherwise defaced almost beyond Jonas’s power of endurance.

“Look out!  Don’t drag her!  Lift her!  Lift her!” he would shout.  “Oh, my Lord, see that sharp rock you drag her onto, Mr. Hard!  Ain’t you got any heart?”

Once, when all three of the Na-che’s crew had taken a bad plunge, and Jonas had come up with an audible crack of his black head against the gunwale, he began to scold while the others were still fighting for breath.

“You shouldn’t ship her full of water like that!  All that good paint I put on her insides is gone!  Hey, Mr. Agnew, don’t drip that blood off your hand on her!”

“Shut up, Jonas,” coughed Agnew good-naturedly.

“Let him alone, Ag!” exclaimed Harden, between a strangling cough and a sneeze.  “What do you want to divulge your cold-heartedness for?  Go to it, Jonas!  You’re some lover, all right!”