“Wow!” ejaculated Joe.  “Drops out of sight there.  But that one ain’t much.  I can tell by the roar.  When you see my hair stand up straight —­then watch out! . . .  Lassiter, you look after the women.  Shefford, you stand ready to bail out with the shovel, for we’ll sure ship water.  Nas Ta Bega, you help here with the oar.”

The roar became a heavy, continuous rumble; the current quickened; little streaks and ridges seemed to race along the boat; strange gurglings rose from under the bow.  Shefford stood on tiptoe to see the break in the river below.  Swiftly it came into sight—­a wonderful, long, smooth, red slant of water, a swelling mound, a huge back-curling wave, another and another, a sea of frothy, uplifting crests, leaping and tumbling and diminishing down to the narrowing apex of the rapid.  It was a frightful sight, yet it thrilled Shefford.  Joe worked the steering-oar back and forth and headed the boat straight for the middle of the incline.  The boat reached the round rim, gracefully dipped with a heavy sop, and went shooting down.  The wind blew wet in Shefford’s face.  He stood erect, thrilling, fascinated, frightened.  Then he seemed to feel himself lifted; the curling wave leaped at the boat; there was a shock that laid him flat; and when he rose to his knees all about him was roar and spray and leaping, muddy waves.  Shock after shock jarred the boat.  Splashes of water stung his face.  And then the jar and the motion, the confusion and roar, gradually lessened until presently Shefford rose to see smooth water ahead and the long, trembling rapid behind.

“Get busy, bailer,” yelled Joe.  “Pretty soon you’ll be glad you have to bail—­so you can’t see!”

There were several inches of water in the bottom of the boat and Shefford learned for the first time the expediency of a shovel in the art of bailing.

“That tarpaulin worked powerful good,” went on Joe.  “And it saves the women.  Now if it just don’t bust on a big wave!  That one back there was little.”

When Shefford had scooped out all the water he went forward to see how Fay and Jane and Lassiter had fared.  The women were pale, but composed.  They had covered their heads.

“But the dreadful roar!” exclaimed Fay.

Lassiter looked shaken for once.

“Shore I’d rather taken a chance meetin’ them Mormons on the way out,” he said.

Shefford spoke with an encouraging assurance which he did not himself feel.  Almost at the moment he marked a silence that had fallen into the canyon; then it broke to a low, dull, strange roar.

“Aha!  Hear that?” The Mormon shook his shaggy head.  “Reckon we’re in Cataract Canyon.  We’ll be standing on end from now on.  Hang on to her, boys!”

Danger of this unusual kind had brought out a peculiar levity in the somber Mormon—­a kind of wild, gay excitement.  His eyes rolled as he watched the river ahead and he puffed out his cheek with his tongue.